Although I’ve run 100 miles or more on three separate occasions now, the number of actual 100-mile trail races that I’ve completed to this point has been one: The Bighorn 100 in 2022. After running Bighorn in 28 hours, I often wondered what it might be like to run a “normal” 100-miler (as if there is a “normal” 100-miler). When my coach mentioned running a 100-mile race in preparation for this years Tor des Geants, Yuch and I first considered the Ouray 100 in Colorado. With over 40,000 feet of gain in 100 miles, it would be great preparation for the vert we would find in the Italian Alps. Then we found out our friend Garret was going to be running the Tahoe Rim Trail 100 aka TRT and ultimately we decided we’d go for a convenient local 100 with a friend vs. one that would involve more travel and therefore more PTO and more exhaustion.

This year has been all about building towards the Tor from the start. Once I recovered from last year’s Tor (which took at least 3 months, maybe 4), I started the year out running The Big Alta 50k in March. In April I found myself chasing a 10k PR at the IPA 10k. In May, I ran the Miwok 100k in absolutely dreadful weather which consisted of torrential rain, wind, and cold. in June, I ran a sub 6-minute mile at the Marin Mile (which is not that fast, but fast for me), followed by the Dipsea the following week. TRT 100 would be my last (or so I thought) race before the Tor, giving me a chance to get a lot of time on feet, test out my nutrition, and experience running all night. In my naïve mind, TRT would be a “normal” 100-miler, that shouldn’t take nearly as long as Bighorn did.

Please note that if you do decide to do TRT 100, you will be required to do 8 hours of volunteer work specifically involving trail maintenance or construction. This was not easy to find and Yuch and I found ourselves desperate for an opportunity that would not conflict with our already planned out busy summer schedule. We ultimately ended up volunteering with VoCal (Volunteers for Outdoor California) doing a trail re-route in Fernandez Ranch and it was a really fun and rewarding experience. I had hoped there would be more (or any, for that matter) volunteer opportunities in Marin on our backyard trails, but in the end we were happy that we didn’t have to leave the Bay Area for volunteer work.  

We drove up to Carson City, NV – where the race starts and ends – on the Friday before the race, which involved taking the day off of work. With bib pick-up ending at 3:30 pm, and the drive to Carson City being around 4 hours (without traffic), there was no way around that. Arriving to the start/finish to pick up our bibs, fear began to creep in. On this totally exposed baseball field in the middle of summer in the heat of the day, I felt like I was inside of an oven. Just standing in line at bib pick-up I already had sweat dripping down my face. The next day was going to be rough. Despite the “mandatory” race briefing being held from 4-5 pm, we decided to hurry back to our air conditioned hotel room and get an early night.

The morning of the race, we located Garret. Although we had ultimately chosen this race largely because he was doing it, he had forgotten and was pleasantly surprised to find that we were indeed running it. Before the 5 am start, the race director announced that we were going to start off with the National Anthem and I think a lot of us were a little surprised to hear a unique rendition of the song being played on the loudspeakers by some unknown but enthusiastic rock band.

I knew the race start was going to be slow, with 4200 ft of gain in the first 9.5 miles. I had come out about a month before the race to do some recon with my friend Jon who was doing the 50-miler. I spent the beginning of the race hiking and catching up with Garret. I was (now) appreciative of the 5 am start during this climb because it had been so hot when I had done it the previous month two hours later. At some point, Yuch caught up with us and he and Garret surpassed me.

Although the sun had now come up, there was decent cloud coverage. Much of the race was spent yo-yoing with Yuch, as is usually the case. I started filling up my ice bandana as early as Spooner Lake (mile 16), and would continue to utilize this cooling method throughout the day. Despite it being overcast, it was still probably in the high 80s at altitude. The running felt pretty easy. My biggest concern going into TRT had been the heat and managing fuel and hydration, so I was really making an effort to prioritize all of these things to avoid blowing up. Racing this early on was nowhere in my mind. I was probably consuming about 300-400 calories an hour, which in retrospect is more than I have usually consumed. A typical hour might include a 250 calorie homemade rice krispie treat + 1-2 soft flasks of Skratch electrolyte drink (70 calories/flask). Everything seemed to be going down quite easy, of course until that inevitable point where it didn’t.

Tunnel Creek Aid Station is an aid station that the course passes by four times, and therefore it was a place where we were able to keep a drop bag where I would most importantly have food (gels, more rice krispie treats, daifuku balls, Skratch electrolyte drink powder) and other supplies. I first arrived at Tunnel Creek at mile 30, then again at mile 46.5 after the first Diamond Peak trip. Yuch and I had been sticking together pretty well to this point, but he was starting to slow down. He told me to go ahead, but I didn’t want to. We had made it this far, and I guess I wanted the company…his company. I began to get sentimental about getting married the following weekend. Did I want to a) worry about my time running this thing, or b) spend time with the person who I was going to marry enjoying beautiful Lake Tahoe? I decided to choose the latter and we travelled to Snow Valley Peak aid station (54.5 miles) together at his pace.

Arriving at Snow Valley Peak, a volunteer noticed Yuch’s weariness and asked him “How are you”? Yuch responded “tired”, to which the volunteer asked “Why?” I was starting to feel tired too, but this small exchange reminded me that it is not only okay, but normal to feel tired when you’re running 100 miles.

After hitting Snow Valley Peak, the course then returns to do another loop back to Diamond Peak, passing by Tunnel Creek Aid Station again at 62.5 miles. I would be picking up my pacer, Marie, at Diamond Peak, mile 74. The race, to me, to this point had not been a 100-mile race, but a 74-mile race. All I had to do was get to Marie and she would “drag” me to the finish. Something changed between mile 54.5 and 62.5. Yuch had some caffeine and was starting to get stronger, while I was now becoming the weaker link. I was starting to feel hot, nauseous, and a slight headache. This in turn made eating less desirable. I noticed I was having to stop to pee every 5-10 minutes, and I wondered if I had a urinary tract infection.

Around the same time, storm clouds started to accumulate. Here I had spent so much time worrying about the heat, and now we were going to get rain. Arriving at Tunnel Creek at mile 62.5, I changed into a long sleeved shirt. It was sprinkling now and with the overcast sky and the sun beginning to set, I was worried about getting cold. Food was looking less and less appealing with my new onset of symptoms. Nothing in my drop bag looked edible, and so I relied on the rice balls dipped in soy sauce from the aid station before heading out.

We now began our second descent to Diamond Peak. The first descent had been fun, but now my legs were not appreciating the accumulated downhill in addition to the fact that I did not feel good at all. Yuch, on the other hand, had a newfound energy, thanks to caffeinated gels. I told him to leave me, but he said he didn’t want to abandon me. I wasn’t sure if he truly didn’t want to, or if he felt the need to “repay” the favor. He decided he would feel more comfortable leaving me after we reached Diamond Peak and Marie.

I arrived to Diamond Peak around 1 am as Marie would later describe “a shell of a human” at mile 74. I could tell she had been waiting a pretty long time for me and I felt bad for what was in store for her. When I told her I hadn’t been eating and was not feeling good, she refused to join my pity party and told me she was going to get me back moving in no time. She immediately took charge, grabbing my soft flasks and refilling them, and fetching me broth with rice and quesadillas. I hated to disappoint Marie, but the truth was I knew it was going to be a very slow 30 mile slog to the finish. The broth tasted horrible and I could barely get a few sips down. The quesadillas too were difficult to eat and I managed just a couple nibbles. After a half cup of coffee and an anti-nausea pill, we finally left Diamond Peak for the final time.

The ascent out of Diamond Peak is STEEP, and I was actually grateful for the walking break. Marie began inundating me with stories while my body and mind reluctantly struggled to divert my attention from how bad I felt. But, I had to hand it to her. She was doing a good job. Physically, I still didn’t feel great, but mentally I was starting to improve. It was nice to have the company. Tunnel Creek was only 5 miles after Diamond Peak, but it was a slow 5 miles. This would be my last time visiting my drop bag. I was surprised to see Yuch there when we arrived. I think he was surprised too. Stunned, he questioned Marie. “What did you do to her??” Nevertheless, he took off, leaving me pondering what I could possibly get down. I ate several Dixie cups worth of broth and noodles which again tasted unbearable, but it was better than nothing. Marie consistently praised me for the small amounts I was able to get down while also encouraging me to take some gels for the road. I did what I was told.

It was another 5 miles to the next aid station, Hobart. Once you get into “slog mode” during an ultramarathon, the task becomes getting from aid station to aid station. You don’t even care about the finish anymore. Peter had told me that I had to take advantage of the Ensure smoothies at the Hobart aid station. If there was a time for me to drink Ensure, the time was now. I was still struggling to get down food, and that was clearly reflective on my ability to move well. The Ensure smoothie was not exactly appealing, but I got it down in addition to some more tiny cups of low-calorie broth. Although I was not necessarily expressing negativity, it was difficult to be optimistic when I was feeling so bad. Marie would not have any part of it and told me to stop playing the victim. I was the one who had signed up for this after all.

At this point I felt really tired. I could really go for a nap, but Marie was in charge now. “Marie, can I just lie down for 10 minutes?” I pleaded. To my surprise, Marie approved, but said she was going to set a timer. I lied myself down on a tarp covering the ground in a little section of the aid station that had been set aside for runners to rest. There were two lounge chairs there, the kind that you could adjust to stretch yourself out completely. The aid station volunteer asked if I would like to rest on one of the chairs, but the idea of getting in and out of the chair seemed way too difficult for me, so I just curled up in a ball on the tarp. I started to shiver with the cold Ensure smoothie entering my belly, and the aid station volunteer covered me with a wool blanket. Perfect. Except, not really. I was completely exhausted, but I was also caffeinated and my body hurt. My dirt nap dream had been crushed. I lied there wide awake, quickly getting colder and colder, and before Marie’s timer went off, I stood up and said “Ok let’s go”.

The volunteers at Hobart told me it was 7 miles to the next aid station. I was able to pick it up a little bit and I soon realized that this was all going to go a lot faster the more time I spent running. I also started to notice I was overall feeling a lot better. I’m not sure which came first, feeling better or starting to eat again. Marie had been consistently pushing Honey Stinger gels on me from the aid stations and she was now ordering me to have one every 20-30 minutes. The more I ate, the more I was able to run. My run to walk ratio was gradually increasing until I had progressed to a full on run. I had officially come back from “The Dead”. This is an extraordinary but real phenomenon that happens during the course of an ultramarathon. Although I had witnessed it happening to Yuch during his 2023 Western States, it is always difficult to imagine that it can happen to you when you are in the deep depths of despair of an ultra.

It was the longest 7 miles of my life to that final aid station, but that’s because in reality it was actually 10 miles. If I had paid attention to my pace chart instead of the volunteer at Hobart, I would have realized that. Arriving to the Waterfall aid station at mile 94, I wondered if I had would have anything left for those final miles. At the Waterfall aid station they were serving up a dairy-free smoothie (not Ensure). For the first time in a long time, something tasted delicious and I graciously accepted multiple servings. The volunteer at this aid station told me I was the third female, which didn’t make any sense to me. I had seen a handful of women in front of me earlier on and had passed no one. He did caveat his statement by saying that the tracking was not exactly perfect, and that he could be wrong. Even so, this gave me some incentive to get off my butt and leave the aid station.  Starting to run again was difficult. I had used so much energy getting to the Waterfall aid station, I wasn’t sure how much running I was capable of in this last stretch. I was soon going to learn that we always have more to give than we think we have.

The final 10k to the finish at Carson City is downhill, but it’s also very exposed and hot as you descend to lower elevation with the rising sun. I felt optimistic knowing the finish was near, and was running at a reasonable pace just hoping my legs would get me to the finish line. And then I saw something that I never expected to see; a female runner in the distance. I had not seen any female runners for ages and had assumed all the top female leaders had finished by now. I told Marie, “Marie, you are not going to believe what I just saw”. As soon as I told her, it was game on. I started increasing my pace. I was now running pretty much as fast as I could for singletrack dirt switchbacks at the end of a 100-mile race and Marie was right behind me. Yet, despite how fast we were running, the runner was now nowhere in sight. We passed by several male runners at this time, but still no luck finding her. I told Marie maybe we weren’t going to catch her after all, but she would not take no for an answer.

Marie was convinced we were going to catch her as soon as we got to the fire road. I kept running as fast as I could. We had gone from running 9 minute miles to 8 minute miles, and now were running sub 8 minute miles. Finally, I caught a glimpse of her in the distance. I was shocked that we had not caught up to her yet for how fast we were running. She was either really eager to get to the finish line or she knew she was being chased. I suspected it was the latter although I wasn’t sure how she would have seen us so far behind. Even with her in sight and now picking up the pace, it still did not seem possible. She was moving too well. Again, Marie told me we were going to do it, to just keep pumping my arms and lengthening my stride. I was now running a sub 7 minute mile and didn’t know how long I was going to be able to keep this going. The baseball field was now in sight and she was still ahead. If I hadn’t caught up to her these last 5 miles, there was no way I was going to do it now. Except, Marie was right. Somehow, I was able to tap into some extra gear that I didn’t know I had, and in the last maybe 200 yards, I finally was able to just barely edge past her. Unfortunately, as soon as I passed her I realized that I had used so much energy for that one move that I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep it up that last 200 yards to the finish line. But I didn’t look back and before I knew it I had rounded the last corner, and had crossed the finish line on the baseball field.

Despite how close we had been, it took her over 2 minutes more to finally hobble over the finish line, and when she did she basically collapsed into a chair with her crew rushing to her side. Marie and I looked at each other wide eyed. Not only had I nearly killed myself these last 5 miles, apparently we had done a number on her, too. It only made sense for me to say something to her so after giving her a little space, I went over and told her that she did a great job, but that I had to make her work for it, regardless of who finished first.

As it turned out, that aid station volunteer had been wrong, and I had finished fourth female. That didn’t matter to me though, because he had given me hope, just as the female runner in front (well now in back) of me had. My official time was 28:23:08, 23 minutes longer than Bighorn. Yuch had finished 6 minutes ahead of me. Maybe I would have caught up to him if I hadn’t indulged in my dirt nap back at Hobart. The last 28 hours had not gone as I had anticipated, but that’s the essence of ultrarunning. In the end, I was more pleased with my finish than I could have ever imagined because it reflected more than just that race, but all my training to that point.

Every year Yuch and I (for the most part) coordinate our Western States (WS) qualifiers. This year I was on my own. In December, his name was drawn in the WS lottery and mine was not. He also decided to run Miwok this year, a race I enjoy but have already done twice. By the time I realized I needed a qualifier, all the good races were sold out and the ones that were still open just did not appeal to me. I found the Beaverhead 100k on the WS website qualifier list, and decided it looked pretty cool. True, the Tor des Geants which I will be doing in September is a WS qualifier, but the likelihood of me finishing a 60 mile race in Idaho is a tad higher than that of finishing a 220+ mile freaking rollercoaster in the Italian alps.

Despite only being 3 weeks post-WS, I was able to convince Yuch to sign up too (actually it didn’t take much convincing). I was also able to convince my friend Cameron to sign up (actually it didn’t take much convincing). Misery loves company!

The race is a point to point starting nearing Leadore, Idaho and ending in Salmon. Since most runners stay in Salmon, a shuttle bus transports runners to the start line. Here’s the fun part: the race starts at 4 am and the shuttle bus leaves from the Stagecoach Inn in Salmon at 2:15 am. %$#@! Going into the race I could not wrap my head around this. But when the time came, I was able to execute. In the days leading up to the race, I went into a deep hibernation. Two nights before the race I slept for 10 hours. The day before the race I took a one hour nap in the living room while Yuch loudly chopped root vegetables in the adjacent kitchen. And the night before, I went to sleep at 6 pm and woke up at 1 am, getting a full seven hours of sleep despite a 9:21 sunset. P.S. Ativan is pretty darn effective as a sleep aid.

On paper the Beaverhead 100k looks pretty straight forward. The course boasts 12,700 ft of elevation gain ending with a downhill. The altitude averages at around 8,500 ft with the highest point at 10,000 ft and the lowest at the finish: 5,400 ft. I don’t do awesome in altitude, but I also don’t do terrible so I figured, eh – probably not high enough to make a huge difference. My estimations which were calculated based on nothing led me to a goal of 13ish hours.

The first 49 miles of the course is on the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) which also represents the border between Idaho and Montana. At the very start of the race, there was a slight bottleneck as runners funneled from a fire road to a single track. I felt claustrophobic and wished I could be alone, not concerned with those in front or in back of me. But as soon as the pack dispersed, I was left alone and felt a similar feeling that I last had when I ran Bighorn 100 last year. I felt kind of lonely, which is weird as I would not consider myself a social butterfly during training or racing.

The course was pretty with purple and yellow wildflowers flanking the sides of the trail. UltraTrailSteven had talked up the sunrise so that when it finally came, I was not as impressed as he had been. Sure it was pretty, but it was no Bigfoot (it’s hard when you start comparing everything to Bigfoot).

At 27.2 miles, I reached Lemhi Pass, where I would find my drop bag. I was surprised with how much crew and spectators there were. I’ve never had a crew, but I imagine things could be much more efficient if you had one! Filling up flasks with water, adding electrolyte powder, shaking up flasks, emptying garbage, filling up pack with new fuel, going to the bathroom…all of this takes time. Maybe 10 minutes later I got back on the trail. I was making pretty good time. “I’m surprised with how runnable this course is”, I commented to a female runner and previous podium winner for last year’s race.

The burn area arrived mid-day just as the day was starting to heat up. This section was overwhelmingly runnable, and therefore it felt long. I was getting tired of running. Running is hard. I put on a mix I made for Yuch before the Vermont 100 which he didn’t actually end up listening to at Vermont due to headphone restrictions. I listened to that, but afterwards decided the music wasn’t doing much for me. I was glad to come upon an aid station that had ice. I had brought my ice bandana in case I encountered any snow, but was pleasant surprised to fill up my bandana with ice.

After enduring the hot and runnable burn section, I was treated to some nice exposed sections where I finally got to spend some time hiking. And, scree! Scree? What scree? Aha! This must be the scree field, I thought. Definitely not worth the hype. This really wasn’t so bad.

At mile 45ish, I stopped at the Gold Stone aid station. Just as I was wrapping up to go, who should show up but Yuch! I was so excited to see him. I think I had honestly even forgotten that he was doing the race at that point. Let’s be honest, I wasn’t winning this race, so I decided to wait for him so that we could continue together. This cheered me up considerably and just having some company makes all the difference, as I shifted from inside to outside of my head. At Janke Lake aid station (mile 50.3), we were told it was another 5.4 miles to the next aid at Bohannon Creek. 5.4 miles – no problem. I could easily do this with two soft flasks. No need to fill up my bladder for a measly 5 miles. What I did not realize was that the next 5.4 miles would be the longest 5.4 miles of the race.

Around this point the course deviates from the CDT. The infamous “scree field” had arrived. OH. This was the scree. That last part had just been a warm up. My trekking poles were no help for me here, yet I continued to use them for who-knows-why reason. In fact, they probably made me slower. As I may have mentioned in previous posts, as I’ve gotten older I have developed a fear of heights or what I more specifically like to refer of as a “fear of death”. You see, when I get up on high mountains with potentially sketchy footing and/or weather, I start to slow down which appears to be more of a psychological than physical response to the terrain. The same terrain down lower without a steep dropoff would not elicit the same kind of anxiety. This is all to say that the scree field was incredibly slow.

Yuch continued ahead of me, but waited for me as I slowly and cautiously made my way over unsteady rocks unsure if and when a rock and consequently my ankle would suddenly turn. I don’t know how long this section took because my watch died, but I know I was so focused on the terrain and not injuring myself that I failed to take in any fuel during this time. My water had run out due to misjudging how long this segment would take. Poor fueling and hydration resulted in an even lousier brain, which seemed to be the most limited organ at the time.

The descent from the scree field was a monumental cause for celebration, until I realized that the descent itself was maybe even gnarlier than what we (I) had just endured. The descent was so steep and technical that I wished I was back in the scree field. Well ok not really. When you’re physically and mentally tired, everything seems hard. Bohannon Creek aid station (mile 55.7) couldn’t come soon enough. The aid station volunteers were blending and serving up smoothies which sounded amazing, but immediately bought a cold rush to my head. After the cold rush dissipated, I tried again – hoping for the smoothie to reenergize me, but the brain freeze immediately returned and I ended up ditching the smoothie.

I felt better after hydrating and fueling and was grateful that the last 4.8 miles was a downhill (but not too downhill) fire road. Yuch ran far ahead of me, not waiting for me, which was good because it was the carrot that I needed to continue moving my legs forward. As we approached the finish line, I told Yuch he should go on without me. He had been moving faster than me the last 10 miles. He could have surely finished at least an hour earlier if he hadn’t waited for me in the scree. But he said (cheesily) we had run since Gold Stone together, we should finish together. Ok, I’ll take the cheesiness! We crossed the finish line and I remarked “that was the hardest race I’ve ever done”, which I think I’ve said perhaps a dozen times. I guess when your memory isn’t so good, every race is the hardest race. A week or so after the race I told Yuch that in retrospect, the scree field didn’t seem too bad to which he replied “Too bad you didn’t come to this realization during the race”.

This June, our good friend Dan and his family moved to Switzerland for his work. The following thoughts ensued. Sounds like a great opportunity. We will miss you terribly. Can we come and visit? What races can we find in Switzerland? Of course there are lots of iconic races in the area: UTMB, the Eiger Ultra Trail, Sierre-Zinal, and the Jungfrau Marathon to name a few. Somehow Yuch identified the Swiss Peaks trail festival, and the decision was made.

The Swiss Peaks 100k is part of a larger trail festival offering races of all distances: 360k, 170k, 100k, marathon, half marathon, and even a kids race. The 100k is actually a 96k (60ish miles), with 5790 meters of gain (19,000ish feet). In other words, similar elevation gain to the Bighorn 100, but in 40 less miles. As per my usual, I was hesitant to sign up, but when Yuch offered the entry as my Christmas present, I couldn’t resist. Plus, I couldn’t let them have all the fun without me.

I haven’t had much time for training since I’ve been working full time, but between my solid base, biking to work, and running every chance I get, I knew I had enough miles underneath me to “survive”. My goal was 18-20 hours, but I was prepared for a 24 hour+ day if worse came to worse.

The race started at 8:30 am in a quaint little village called Finhaut (pronounced fah-ooh), and ended in Bouveret, a village on the southernmost end of Lake Geneva. We got accommodations in Finhaut and Dan and family got accommodations in Bouveret, so we had a place to crash at the finish. Having an Airbnb just minutes away from the start was awesome. It allowed me to sleep 10 luxurious hours that night and have a nice leisurely pre-race morning. At the start, announcers said all kinds of things I didn’t understand until the countdown which I could only assume meant we were taking off very soon. Heading up the road leaving Finhaut, kids shouted “Allez allez!” and before I knew it we were off into the mountains.  

There are ten peaks and nine refueling stations on the trek from Finhaut to Bouveret. Types of refueling stations varied between light refueling, full refueling, integral fueling, and lifebases. Don’t ask me what the difference was between each. I think the differences mattered more for the longer races. For example, we had only one lifebase during the 100k, but these were critical stations for those doing the 360k as there were beds for sleeping and showers. For us, the lifebase was where we would find our following bag.

The course profile was up, down, up, down, a little bit of flat, up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down, repeat. The ups were basically a whole lotta power hiking with the poles, which was fine by me. At the top of the first peak, Col de Fenestral (2450 meters), I thought alright, time for downhill!

Too bad the downhill was even slower than my uphill. All the runners I had passed on the uphill and even those behind me were now passing me as I crawled along trying not to faceplant on the technical descent. The next ascent brought us to Col d’Emaney at 2462 meters. More super steep and slow hiking. It was going to be a long day. Fortunately I had a lot of bovine company along the way. There were tons of cows with massive cowbells on their necks along the course.

Fortunately the descent from Col d’Emaney looked fairly runnable. I took a cue from the runners around me and stashed my poles this time, and took in the nice runnable singletrack to the first aid station at Auberge de Salanfe.

First aid station, and it only took me…4 hours?! I was currently traveling at a pace of 2.5 miles an hour. Some running race! The aid station here had all the usual fair, bananas, watermelon, candy bars, but then there was bread, cheese, salami, and chocolate! Interesting. I wasn’t sure if I could handle that, so filled up on water, grabbed a granola bar, and took off.

The rest of the ascents and descents were kind of a blur. All I know is that they were hard as heck, and the usual negative thoughts creeped through my brain. “I’m never doing this again”. “If this is what UTMB is like, I’m never doing UTMB”. Then, it started raining on the descent from Col de Susanfe. The race had advised us to carry certain cold weather gear in our pack (rain jacket, warm second layer, gloves, and leggings), and to put it on sooner rather than later if bad weather hit. As the rain started, I couldn’t be bothered to put on any layers in such an exposed area so I just kept going hoping for some future coverage. A runner ahead of me slipped on a particularly slick rock, fell on his back, and hit his head. “Ahhh!” He moaned as he held both of his hands on either side of his head. I stopped, eyes wide open. “Are you okay??” I asked him. “Ahhh!” was all he could say. Finally he said in broken English that he would be okay and that I should go on. I left, pretty shaken up. The rocks were really slick now. What if that had been me?

 I slipped two times after this, luckily without any harm done but still freaked out. I repeated to myself that I couldn’t do this, and that it wasn’t worth injuring myself. I considered DNFing and I thought about my friend Paul. Before the race he commented that I was the only American woman running. As long as I didn’t DNF, I would be the first American woman. Therefore, it would be pretty lame if I DNFed. Shortly after I came across a little shed. I decided to take cover and put on my rain layers. Some other runners saw me duck in there and had the same idea. I ended up taking way too much time taking off my shoes so I could take my shorts off and put my leggings on, and putting my warm layer and rain jacket on. After all was said and done, I departed the shed to find that the rain had stopped and now I was sweating like a pig.

I arrived at the aid station at Barme pretty relieved to be there. The aid stations were not that far apart distance wise, but seeing as though I was going at a snail’s pace they were a welcome reprieve from the ups and downs of the race course. At Barme the aid station was in front of a hotel/restaurant. I utilized the bathroom inside which was very luxurious, but I had to move on. Hmm, what to eat from the aid station? Bread and cheese it was. Yum! I decided to have some more, hoping that there would not be dire consequences to this nutrition decision.  I also had several cups of Coke. I still couldn’t be bothered to do a clothing change so continued on out of Barme. As I continued, I decided I couldn’t bear to continue on with leggings and pulled aside the trail to make yet another time-consuming clothing change. The rain seemed to have stopped for now.

From this point on, I pretty regularly consumed bread and cheese at the aid stations, while having Spring Energy Awesome Sauce and dried pineapple and dates on the trail. One of the aid stations had chocolate fondue and I saw a runner dipping a banana in it. As much as I wanted to experience fondue in Switzerland, this did not look particularly appealing right now.

I approached the lifebase at Morgins (approximate half way point) close to sunset. This is where I would find my following bag. I was looking forward to dumping some of my wet layers and grabbing some of my dry ones. The lifebase was full of runners seated at long tables taking a much needed break and feasting on food. After making all the necessary changes and grabbing some more food, I decided I needed to move on. Leaving Morgins, I saw a runner heading up the trail with a Ben Nevis race shirt on. I asked him what year he had done the race, and he responded…in English! Up until this point, I had been on my own because no one on the trail spoke English. I decided to keep talking to this gentleman.

Maarten was from Zurich and was running the 170k. He had done the 360k the previous year, but due to family/training limitations, he had decided to do the “shorter” distance. He was very familiar with the course. He told me he was spending a decent amount of time at aid stations to insure that he was properly fueled for each section. I knew I would probably not spend as much time as him and that eventually we would part. However, as we continued on together, the unspoken decision was made that we were better off together. We never talked about it, but he started to spend less time at aid stations and I started to spend more time at aid stations.

Having Maarten’s company was monumental for me as we ran through the dark and then the rain for the last few hours of the race. It helped that he knew the course and all I had to do was follow behind him. It also helped to lighten the mood to have someone belting out a continuous stream of farts in between singing Danish folk songs. The second half of the race was not as crazy technical as the first half, but that didn’t mean that it was necessarily runnable. It was still quite technical and the rain contributed to some pretty slippery and muddy sections. I told Maarten, if I had been alone, I probably would have been resenting the fact that Yuch was not with me. Instead, I was absolutely fine.

As we got off the trail and entered the village of Bouveret, Maarten and I started to pick up the pace. We had passed a number of runners on the descent and were starting to get big heads about it. We saw some more runners in the distance and decided we would try and pass them, too. It’s always amazing how much gas you have left in reserve at the end of a race. Crossing the finish line was anticlimactic, but that was perfectly fine with me. I could count the number of people at the finish line on one hand. It was 4:30 am in the morning, after all. I finished the race in 20 hours and 52 minutes, 12^th female, and 1^st American woman.

The Bighorn 100 was a really tough race for me. It was not tough because it was a hundred miles. It would have been as tough if it had been 100 kilometers, 50 miles, or even a 50k for that matter. My legs felt crappy from the start. I’m not totally sure why. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to run the Dipsea 5 days before (but it sure was fun!)

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to do yoga the day before. Maybe the heat zapped any and all energy from my legs. Or maybe it just wasn’t my day. But who cares about all of my excuses? I knew Bighorn would be tough. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for the race. I had heard good things about the race (cool local vibe, beautiful course), but mainly bad things (soul sucking mud and freezing night time temps). I guess that’s what drew me to the race. I craved the challenge. We don’t sign up for these things knowing they’re easy. We sign up because we secretly (or not so secretly) desire the challenge, so that we can have the opportunity to overcome the challenges, and end up a changed person on the other side. 

My first drop bag was at mile 13.5 Dry Fork Ridge and I already felt like I had come a long way. The race had started at 9 am and the forecast for the day was in the 90s. I started the race with Kfaka’s Kool Tie , or what I refer to as my “neck snake”. You soak it in water, the crystals inside hydrate, and the thing blows up like a gelatinous snake.

The snake worked out fine, keeping my neck cool, but at 13.5 miles, I decided it was time to get serious and picked up my ice bandana. I filled it with ice and yow! The ice was so cold it almost hurt, but it did its job, keeping my neck and therefore my core temperature cool. It worked so well that the heat never really bothered me. In addition to constantly keeping my ice bandana stocked with ice, I took advantage of each creek crossing, dipping my arm sleeves and visor in the water.

En route to Sally’s Footbridge at mile 30, I fantasized about all the ways I could get out of running the rest of the race. Yuch was somewhere behind me, but I was surprised that he hadn’t caught up with me. Maybe he DNFed too? If that was the case, perhaps I should DNF in solidarity. He needed me! Maybe I could DNF and blame it on my toe. I had sprained it 10 days before the race and had to buddy tape it to its neighboring toe. While it had bothered me in the days leading up to the race, it didn’t appear to be an issue. But, I could pretend that it was a colossal issue if that meant sneaking out of this massive endeavor I had ahead of me. The point is I wanted to DNF already at 30 miles. That is not a good sign when you have 70 more miles on the menu. 

It’s not like anything was going terribly wrong. I was managing the heat really well and I was taking down food with no problems. My legs just felt trashed and that scared me. I also felt terribly lonely. Arriving at Sally’s, a volunteer asked me if I needed anything. I felt like crying. I told her I needed my boyfriend and he was nowhere to be found. I was scared of going on by myself. Scared of 70 more miles on these already trashed legs. Scared of the unknown. So I did the only thing I knew how to do and kept moving.

Leaving Sally’s, I ran a little bit with another female runner. It was clear this was not her first hundo, and I told her it was mine. I said I already felt like DNFing to which she responded that I couldn’t do that. “It’s an unwritten law that you have to finish your first 100!” I thought, that doesn’t sound like a law at all, but okay. I’m sure she just made that up, but I decided I better try and keep up with her as best as I could.

Another runner joined us and before I knew it they were ahead of me, chatting with each other, sharing a similar pace, and I got left behind. Alone, again. It’s not like I mind being alone. But I think it was kind of getting to me today. A big part of my enjoyment of races is meeting and running with other people. I had been running alone all day and feeling like crap. The wildflowers were pretty and the scenery was nice, but it was hard to enjoy it in my current mental state. It was hard to appreciate the highs and lows without any companionship or commiseration. You know what they say…misery likes company. 

The miles leading up to the turnaround at mile 48 aka Jaws were slow, wet, and cold. We were approaching 9,000 feet and the trail was filled with a lotta mud, water, and snow. Ok yeah I could have gone much faster, but the feet were a concern. It would be a while until I got to dry socks and shoes and didn’t want to gain any foot issues before then. Avoiding wet feet was a futile effort. It was impossible. I avoided the water by going on the snow, only to frequently find myself post-holing into freezing cold slush. The trekking poles helped, sometimes. Because other times they post-holed too. I started running with another female runner who happened to be going my same snow/mud/slush pace. Getting to Jaws was bittersweet. I had overcome the trail to Jaws, but now I had to go back that same way and it was getting dark. 

The aid station at Jaws was a well-oiled operation. The runners were shuttled inside a big tented space with chairs lined up, and numerous volunteers helped runners get food, give pep talks, and assess feet. I knew my feet were soggy, but I wasn’t about to get them assessed. I grabbed my drop bag, some noodle soup, and Coke then sat down to organize my things. I knew I was going to get cold fast. I had tons of warm clothing options in my drop bag that people had recommended I bring. I put on my Smartwool merino long sleeved shirt, my rain jacket, and my Light-Belt. It was so nice and cozy here at Jaws. Did I really have to leave?

I left Jaws with my new friend, Dana. It was her first 100 miler too. She was also from out of town and without a pacer, so we decided to stick together. I think we made a good team. We both had the silly idea (pre-race) that we were going to join the Rusty Spurs club (i.e. run sub-24 hours), but now had accepted the fact that we were going to be out on the course much longer than we expected. And we were okay with that. It was nice to have someone to talk to, commiserate with, and slip in slushy snow with. I told her about Yuch and that if I saw him, I would stop to talk to him, and that she should go on without me. As soon as I saw him, I pulled him aside and gave him a big hug. I told him, “I love you. I miss you.” and maybe something like “Hurry up and catch up with me”. But he was a mile or two from the turnaround which meant he was 2-4 miles behind me. I suppose I could have waited, but that idea didn’t seem to make sense. I felt like I needed to keep moving forward. Part of me felt like if I waited for Yuch, he might end up leaving me at some point and then I would be back to being alone. So, I said goodbye and moved on the trail, hoping that he would catch up with me at some point.

I was back to being alone again.The night was warm, and I quickly stripped off all my extra layers. I had descended past the snowy parts, and now the trail was “runnable”. Or was it?!  Despite my Light-Belt lighting up the trail, I felt uneasy on my feet. Running was hard physically and mentally. My legs felt like they couldn’t run, but also I felt like I didn’t trust myself to put my feet in the right places without spraining an ankle, ending up in mud, or slipping on a rock. So I kept walking. And walking. And walking. I felt like I had no other choice. I had run out of running legs. After a lot of walking I decided this was going to take a long freaking time if I kept this up. Yeah, I guess I could walk the rest of the race, but think about how much faster I could get to the finish if I ran!

I forced myself to start running. It did not feel good, but who said anything about this feeling good? It had to be done. I realized that I could run (sort of), I just had to ignore the fact that it hurt…a lot. I finally decided to take in some caffeinated gels, and this helped tremendously. I realized that although I wasn’t sleepy, part of the reason why I was having trouble running was that I was unfocused. The caffeine helped me focus on navigating the rocks and puddles. Now we were talking. 

The night sky was beautiful. I noticed it because I was now stopping to pee every 5 minutes. Perhaps my consistent hydration from the day had now caught up to me? I was barely drinking much now in the nighttime, but yet I peed at least a dozen times in 1 hour. I began to worry that I was over hydrated. Why was I peeing so much? Despite my numerous pee breaks, no one was catching up to me. Every now and then I would see a light that I thought was a headlamp, but it was just a course ribbon. 

I finally caught up to Dana at the next aid station. Her feet were a mess and somehow she had collected a new pair of “borrowed” shoes and socks from one of the volunteers. The only problem was that the shoes were too small for her.  This didn’t seem like a great idea to me, but she was pretty happy to have a change of shoes, and hoped they would get her to her next drop bag where she would have a pair of shoes waiting for her. I ate some more Ramen, which had now become my nighttime fuel of choice. Nice hot broth and carby noodles. We continued on together.

At Sally’s, we did all our drop bag and gear exchanges, stocked up on fuel, and made sure to head out together. I think we both knew we were stronger together. I again told the aid station volunteers to tell Yuch to hurry up and catch up with me. The climb out of Sally’s was brutal. It was a lot of steep climbing for a long long time. Or at least it felt that way. But Dana was a strong climber and kept up with me well. I had to go to the bathroom again, but needed to wait until the trail leveled out and there was somewhere to go. At the top, we arrived to a windy ridge. I squatted down, and failed to consider the consequences of urinating in the wind. The pee never made it to the ground. Honestly, this was the least of my worries. Running all day long through heat, mud, and snow really puts things in perspective. While I was peeing on myself, Dana lost her hat to the wind. We powered on.

The night time never felt hard from a sleep-deprived point of view. I was worried because I had such a hard time keeping my eyes open at New Years One Day, but this was very different. I was too busy problem solving and moving forward to worry about sleep. It also helped to have Dana there to talk to, commiserate with, and bounce ideas off of. Don’t ask me what ideas we were bouncing off each other, but I’m pretty sure that happened at some point. We kept each other moving by making conscious efforts to start and stop running. I could tell that she had the same determined and hardworking mindset as me and she never once failed to follow my lead. This was not an emotional endeavor. It was strictly business, and we just had to keep chipping away at the miles. 

At Kern’s Cow Camp, Dana decided she needed to assess her feet. She knew they were a mess and that something had to be done. My feet were a mess too, but there was no way I was opening up that can of worms. Her eyes filled up with tears as she told me I should go on without her, that she really needed to take the time to deal with the situation. I had no idea how long it would take, so as much as I hated to leave without her, I left the aid station alone.  

Arriving at Dry Fork Ridge the second time was a milestone. I had gone 82.5 miles which meant I was getting very close. I knew my feet were soggy and that the trail was relatively dry from here on out so I decided to change into clean shoes and socks. The medic/volunteer/foot-person/angel brought me a bin of water that I could soak and wash my feet in, in addition to a small towel to dry them off with. My feet were water logged. I had a couple blisters, but overall nothing to complain about, and my buddy tape still had managed to stay in place. I changed into a clean pair of Injini socks which meant I would have to buddy tape my sprained toe over my socks. I took my sweet time eating two cups of ramen, and left Dry Fork with clean dry feet and a belly full of noodles. As I left, I saw Dana coming in. I was happy to see that she had not dropped and had resolved her foot issues.

Unlike the previous day, the morning was relatively cool. The clouds favorably covered the sky keeping temps low and manageable. But as the morning progressed, this would change. I had left my ice bandana and visor at Jaws, thinking that I wouldn’t need them anymore. Now I was regretting this as I had no protection from the sun.

The single track was hard. My legs were dead and it was freaking technical. I walked a lot. I got passed by a couple men who seemed to be flying as if the trail was smooth as butter. I decided I needed to be more like them. Again, I forced myself to run. Again, I realized that I could do it if I just wanted it bad enough. It wasn’t pretty but I ran as much as I could. As soon as I started running I turned on Lindsey Stirling. I had initially turned my music on leaving Dry Fork, but immediately turned it off once I realized that music just isn’t that helpful when you’re poking along like a turtle. Now was the time to use it. Not that I was moving super fast, mind you, but I was moving. 

I arrived at the last aid station before the finish, mile 96. The volunteers informed me that the last stretch was 5 miles of flat road. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 12:10 pm. If I could do sub 10-minute miles for the last 5 miles I could get a sub 28-hour finish in. This was no Rusty Spurs kinda goal, but I needed some kind of motivation to get myself to the finish so sub 28-hours it would be. I started running as fast as possible. I felt like I was running so fast. This was like a road marathon effort! But alas, I was not running as fast as I thought. Nevertheless, I passed quite a bit of people, both 18 milers and 100 milers alike. These people were just trying to get to the finish, but me? I had a goal here. I needed to get to the finish before 1 pm, or else. Or else, what? Or else I’d turn into a pumpkin. So, I did not stop at the popsicle stand. I did not slow down. I ran as fast as I possibly could. But it was not fast enough. I crossed the finish line in 28:00:02. 

A volunteer asked me at the Tongue River Trailhead aid station (mile 95) if I would do this race again. I politely told them that it was not a great time to ask me a question like that. The truth is I would not. BUT. I would most certainly do a hundred miler again. I’m proud of myself for moving forward despite feeling like crap so early on. Just because you’re having a bad day or whatever, does not give you the license to quit or to justify quitting. Good things can still happen. I managed the heat superbly with the help of my ice bandana. I kicked ass at hydration and fueling and had zero GI problems. If it sounds like I’m boasting, it’s because I can. I’ve sucked at both of these things in the past, and having gotten to a point where I am able to problem solve through both of these things is a big accomplishment for me. 

To those who ask, I’ve told that I did not find this experience very enjoyable at the time. I’m not totally sure why. Perhaps feeling physically bad led me to a bad mental state which led me incapable of enjoying the race. Some people might say “Do you ever enjoy this kind of thing?” My answer is, yes – of course! Most of the time I do. I would not do this crazy thing otherwise. Maybe I was too in my head until I met Dana. I’m not sure ultras are for me if I have to experience them completely alone. What’s the point of life if it cannot be shared with other people? Both the ups and the downs. Both the wildflowers and the mud. Joy and misery are better together. Having said all this, this was definitely leaning towards a more Type II fun. I found the experience incredibly rewarding. Solving problems and overcoming fear, anxiety, and feelings of failure is a gratifying and worthwhile practice. And for that I am hugely grateful to the Bighorn 100. So maybe it isn’t the most spectacular course I’ve ever seen. But it may be one of the most rewarding. Because without the obstacles, there is no overcoming. And the Bighorn 100 provides plenty of obstacles. 

Disclaimer: Despite the hugely rewarding nature of the Bighorn Mountain Wild and Scenic Trail Run, do not sign up for this race unless are up to the following: chronically soggy feet, post-holing in slushy snow, lotsa mud, 90+ degree temps during the day, quad banging technical trails, and a long freakin day(s).

What does it mean to have a successful race? Does it mean that you won? That you got a “good” time? Placed well?  Got a PR? Finished under the cutoff? Finished, period? Didn’t poop your pants? Nailed your nutrition? Had a good time? Didn’t die? Died, but then came back from the dead? Sure! Success could mean all these things or it could mean one of these things. Or maybe it’s none of these things and you have your own idea of a successful race and that’s fine too. The point is that success is very personal and not limited to some external interpretation of what it means to do “well” on race day. 

My goal for the 2022 Canyons 100k was to finish, secure my Western States qualifier for the year, and procure my UTMB “stones”. Ideally, I wanted to finish before dark, too. This may seem like a not-so-ambitious goal for a semi-seasoned runner like me, but it was a realistic goal. On January 11th, I sprained my ankle and fractured my distal fibula playing soccer. It was a pretty traumatic injury. I went for a ball that my opponent was also going for on the opposite side (of my foot). We both kicked at it and well, she won. My ankle rolled as it endured the hard impact of a soccer ball being kicked at it. I limped off the field and fell into a puddle of tears. I cried all night, for the loss of soccer, my running, and my upcoming races. 

After my initial meltdown, I embraced my time off running. In fact, I welcomed it as an unplanned “off season”. During this time, I truly enjoyed having time in my day to do things other than running. I found myself recovering pretty quickly, and noticed improvements on a daily basis. I found I was able to do yoga and kettlebell wearing my boot. Eventually when the boot came off, I was able to ride my bike. I tried to stay as active as possible on a daily basis without compromising my ankle. On February 12th, exactly one month after the injury, I went on my first trail run.

After surviving my first run back on the trail, I decided I needed to start training for Canyons. Recovering from injury and training is a tricky thing to juggle. My primary goal was to be strong enough to do Canyons, but I also needed to avoid reinjury. My weekly mileage (in miles) looked like this: February: 22, 38, 55. March: 65, 53, 70, 85. April: 42, 67, 36, race week! At the beginning of February I also started a new job as an exercise physiologist at a cardiac rehab center in Santa Rosa and began biking and taking the SMART train to work (9 miles of biking a day). At work, I am on my feet for the majority of my day (a stark contrast to my time at Roost). Despite having limited time to run, I was living and breathing endurance on a daily basis, starting from leaving the house at 6:45 am on my bike. 

As race day approached, I felt more and more confident that I might in fact be able to start and finish the race. On March 27th, Yuch, Dan, and I celebrated Yuch’s 53rd birthday by running 54 miles with a total of 12,500 ft of elevation gain (1 extra mile for luck). Yuch remarked that I was “officially healed”, although I still didn’t feel like my ankle was 100% better. Still, I had a lot more confidence that I could do Canyons. I decided to set another goal (kind of last minute, but hey better than never). I wanted to try and do a better job with my nutrition. 

Nutrition is always hard for me as the race distance gets longer, and the last two Castle Peaks I ended up with a giant balloon of a belly which caused me to do a whole lotta walking in the last 10 miles. I decided to make the following changes for Canyons.

1. Take care to avoid dairy and too many veggies in the couple of days leading up to the race. Put more simply, eat simple foods.
2. Do not use electrolyte drinks as fuel. Only drink water and eat solid fuel.
3. Use up-front soft flasks for water (instead of bladder). Empty soft flasks completely and refill at each aid station.
4. Stay on top of food and hydration (ok this wasn’t a change, but I never seem to be able to successfully do this!)
5. Stay calm and keep RPE (rate of perceived exertion) low(ish) (12-14 on a 6-20 scale).

I showed up at the start line of the 2022 Canyons 100k with a beginner’s mind. Maybe it was because I hadn’t raced in a while, maybe it was because it was my first race post-ankle injury, or maybe because it was the first time in a long time that I didn’t have a laminated piece of paper with goal splits in my pocket. I started the race conservatively. I knew the first half of the race was going to be very runnable and the second half would have the steep descents and ascents of the Canyons. I really wanted to be able to run that second half. Although I was running at a pretty comfortable pace, I felt a lot of anxiety at the start as we all merged onto singletrack and I felt runners behind and ahead of me.

I managed my anxiety and intensity using the RPE scale. The Borg 6-20 RPE scale was designed to correlate well with heart rate (for a young healthy 20 something year old). A RPE of 6 means no exertion at all, while a 20 indicates maximal exertion. Add a zero to the 6, and you get a resting heart rate of 60 bpm for so-called-young and healthy-individual. Add a zero to the 20, and you get a maximal heart rate of 200 bpm. In cardiac rehab, we want our patients to be at a 12-16 (somewhat hard to hard). A RPE less than this means they are not exerting themselves hard enough to get the proper heart adaptations. A higher RPE means they are exerting themselves too hard. Although I do not run ultras to strengthen my heart, I decided to practice what I preach and stay at a RPE of 12-14. More concretely, when I found myself feeling anxious or over exerting myself, I would focus on my breathing, and staying in that 12-14 zone.

The first 50k to Foresthill was extremely runnable. I graciously let runners on my tail ahead of me. I was not in a rush. I ate 100 calories every half hour. If I had a 200 calorie item, I would eat only half of it, then finish the second half a half hour later. Outside of ultras, I sort of eat like a bird, and my GI system is not used to processing large quantities of food so frequently. Despite my conservative start, I felt tired coming into Foresthill. If I already felt tired, what was the rest of the day going to look like? At Foresthill, I used the restroom, loaded up on water and drop bag items, and sat down while I ate a 1/4 homemade PB & J. In the past I have tried to get in and out of aid stations quickly, but it was important for me to make smart decisions on the early side today.

Now I will admit that I am writing this blog entry one month-post race and my memory is not so good, so please forgive me for my lack of details for the second half of the race i.e. “the hard part”. Despite the fact that I had doubted myself early on in the race, at some point I started getting into more of a “flow” state. I think the change in terrain helped with this. My legs like variety which is part of the reason why I gravitate towards hillier races. The second half delivered. It’s difficult to spend much time in your head when you need to focus on getting in and out of canyons. I tried to run the descents quickly and efficiently while also prioritizing not re-injuring my ankle. The ascents were all about power hiking what was too steep (or just not efficient) to run, and running what was runnable. Again, RPE of 12-14. The hiking was a welcome reprieve from the running, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it was easy. Just different.

I arrived at Deadwood, a 5-mile loop which bypasses the last aid station of the race. Volunteers directed me up the hill to the aid station (the beginning of the 5-mile loop). On the way up, numerous runners on their way back from the aid station and out of the loop flew by me. I was surprised at how many females were ahead of me. Not only were they ahead of me, but they were a 5-mile loop ahead of me! Because I had started mid-pack at the start, I really had no sense of where I was in the race, but this informed me I was indeed nowhere near the front. At Deadwood, I got some Sprite and some amazing avocado rice balls. Some might even call them amaze-balls. I generally don’t eat aid station food, but these were just what the doctor ordered. I ate two and proceeded on with the 5-mile loop. The beginning was slow and hard, but at some point it leveled out and most of the loop was smooth and fairly fast single track, until I arrived at the intersection that I had arrived at upon first entering Deadwood. I went up the hill to the aid station (again), ate a couple more amaze-balls, and gathered what I needed from my drop bag. I was now finish line-bound and it was then that I decided I could start “racing”. I grabbed my headphones, turned on Lindsey Stirling’s newest album Artemis, and set off for the last stretch to the finish line.

I started passing runners who had slowed to a walk. I seemed to have plenty of running legs left (two to be exact) and no longer needed to hike some of the easier ascents. With Lindsey Stirling’s help, I powered through that last stretch, finally beginning to benefit from my conservative start. At some point, I began to wonder how close I was to the finish. Deadwood had been the last aid station and without a watch, I had no concept of mileage. At the top of a long ascending fire road, I spotted a photographer. I began to get excited thinking – if there’s a photographer here, I must be close to the finish. I turned my music off and put my headphones away in anticipation. I asked him something along the lines of “Am I there yet?” His answer was not reassuring and he told me if I wanted to get to the finish, I better keep moving along the trail. So, I did. Until…the trail turned into a trail river. All of a sudden, the trail was flanked with freshly packed snow, a gift from the recent rain the night before. And the trail itself had become a river of freshly melted snow.

At first, I tried to avoid the water, by hopping on to the snowbanks on the side decorated with footprints from fellow runners ahead of me. After a while, I decided it was not worth the effort nor a potential sprained ankle, so fully committed to the trail river. A couple of miles of splashing in mud, water, and snow brought the realization that the finish was not as close as I had thought. Maybe I shouldn’t have put Lindsey Stirling away so soon. But I’m not even sure my music could have helped me. These last few miles would be a long, slow, and very wet slog. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I began to hear the finish line. I arrived to a road, crossed it, and the trail river and slog continued right up to the finish line.

I finished the 2022 Canyons 100k 25^th female with a time of 13:14:46. Despite my not-so-impressive time and place, this was definitely one of my most successful races. Why? I set goals and was able to meet them. I was able to finish strong and passed numerous runners in the last stretch from Deadwood to the finish. I did not have the GI issues that have plagued me for many of my previous ultras. In the past, I have relied purely on my bladder for hydration and tend to “drink to thirst”. This is not a great method for me as I consider myself a terrible judge of when I am thirsty. Additionally, I have a hard time gauging how much water I have left in my bladder, often conserving it when I should be drinking it. By relying purely on my two soft flasks, I was able to do a better job of hydrating consistently between aid stations. By keeping my hydration and fuel separate, I was also able to do a better job of keeping on top of fueling. In the end, I did not end up with a bloated balloon belly and was able to keep providing my body with energy up to the finish.

Another interesting difference between this race and others was how quickly I gained an appetite following the race. I usually cannot eat for hours and sometimes not until the next day because my stomach is so messed up after racing. After Canyons, I actually was hungry right away and ready for my post-race burrito. Some might say that this is due to not running as fast as previous races that I have won or podium-ed, but I don’t think this is the case. My time at Canyons was actually faster than any of my races at Castle Peak and Never Summer. Of course, it’s difficult to compare apples to oranges here as Castle Peak and Never Summer were both at altitude and higher temps.

I initially did not expect to be wow-ed by this race. I have run the Western States course numerous times during the Memorial Day training runs, and admit that there are much more beautiful race courses out there. In the end, I was pleasantly surprised by all that the Canyons 100k has to offer. For me, number one on the list is the challenge. I thoroughly enjoyed the challenging elevation profile. The runnable first half and ups and downs of the second half requires strategic pacing and part of me would like to come back to see if I can improve my time on the course. Number two is the bang for your buck, and I’m not talking about race goodies because all I got is one measly t-shirt. I’m talking about getting your Western States qualifier and UTMB stones all in one race without having to travel very far. Canyons is now a UTMB race which means there is a lot of hype and fanfare (if you like that kind of stuff). It’s also a Western States golden ticket race and UTMB “golden ticket?” race which means you can expect the entrants list to be ridiculously deep (if you like that kind of stuff).

Although I considered the Canyons 100k a definite win, there are always things to learn and take into future races. For one, I had a lot more to give when I finished the race. While it is always a good feeling to finish feeling strong, having more to give signaled to me that I probably could have conserved a little less during that first half. It really was not until Deadwood that I gave myself permission to start seriously moving. Although I didn’t go into the race with a competitive mindset, it was interesting to observe how important this mindset is if you want to be competitive. Time goals are also critical. Like I mentioned before, I typically have some kind of finish time goal with goal splits written out on a piece of paper in my pocket. It was interesting to take a completely different approach and see where that landed me. Going forward, I’d really like to take my wins from this race and combine them with a competitive mindset and see if I can find some kind of happy balance between the two. In the end, I consider my experience at the Canyons 100k a success. I finished, I didn’t poop my pants, I nailed my nutrition, had a good time, died, and then came back from the dead. In my mind, that is a successful race.

(Mostly) everyone has heard of the Bigfoot 200, but little know that Destination Trail also puts on the Bigfoot 73, 40, and 20 miler a month earlier. The 73 miler used to be a 100k, but the race was modified in order to make it more accessible for race officials and crew. Plus, the additional miles highlight more of the Mount Margaret backcountry. I honestly didn’t know what the Mount Margaret backcountry was, so in my mind more miles = more challenge and an added stepping stone to the 100 mile distance (which I have not done yet if you exclude New Year’s One Day).

Yuch found this race after learning that the Vermont 100 would be once again cancelled due to COVID-19. Although referred to as a “graduate race”, the profile didn’t look too insane: 14,400 ft of gain over 73 miles. Plus, I happen to be a graduate student so I thought it might suit me well. The course is a figure 8, circumnavigating around Mount St. Helens and nearby Silver Lake. The altitude fluctuates between 1,500 and 5,000 ft. Maybe the most “graduate” aspect of the race is that there are only 4 aid stations (3 total, but 1 that is visited twice), making some stretches between aid stations long, remote, and possibly necessitating the use of a water filter. This didn’t seem out of the ordinary to me as I’m used to doing long runs on my own and filtering water along the way.

Required gear for the Bigfoot 73 includes a rain jacket, long-sleeved insulated layer, long pants, hat & gloves, bivy sack, whistle, headlamp with extra batteries, and 500 extra calories. Ah, Ben Nevis all over again! But, after the tragedy in China a couple months ago, better safe than sorry.

When planning for this race, I considered the following goals; A goal: sub 16 hours, B goal: sub 17, and C goal: sub 18. How did I come up with these arbitrary numbers on a course I’ve never run? Who knows, and very carefully. I studied the women’s times from when the course was a 100k and the fastest time was 16:06. I think it was a pretty random decision when I decided I would aim for beating that time on a longer course. A sub 16 hour finish would mean a 13 min/mile average, which seemed totally doable. I cross referenced my paces at Castle Peak and Never Summer which have greater elevation gain/mile. Perhaps it was a stretch, but it’s always good to have goals. Plus, getting in before 9:30 seemed like it would get me to bed at a decent time.

We stayed at a wonderful Airbnb in Ariel, about 30 minutes from the race start at Marble Mountain Sno Park. The race started at 5:30 am. I secretly (or maybe not-so-secretly) hoped that Yuch and I could run together, since he had run Black Hills 100 (and 5) just two weeks prior and would likely be running on not-totally-recovered legs. I started out ahead of him, but that didn’t mean much since he always starts out slow and eventually passes me.

The course begins with 2,000 ft of pretty mellow elevation gain in the first 5 miles. About an hour into the race, we got our first views.

We then proceeded to traverse a field of boulders, which did not seem as treacherous as the boulder field in Never Summer and was actually quite fun (although slow). I felt fresh and jumped from boulder to boulder while wondering “Do any of these move?”

The first aid station was at Blue Lake (mile 12). I didn’t leave a drop bag here so basically checked in, grabbed more water, and headed back out. I looked at my watch and appeared to be right on pace. On the way out Yuch passed me coming in. I was pretty sure he would catch up with me soon. About 4 hours in, I started ascending up some switchbacks to a ridge.

As I turned up the upper switchback I looked below from where I came from to see a tiny runner down below. I couldn’t tell if it was Yuch or not, but waved anyway. He waved back and for some reason I knew it was him. We seemed to be pretty evenly paced since he was not catching up with me.

Beautiful views of Mount St. Helens appeared as I ran along the ridge.

The wildflowers were OFF THE HOOK. The pictures do not do them justice.

I mostly ran by myself. A small group of men ran together up ahead. I saw two men with red shirts running together for quite a long time and thought they must know each other. Until one of them seemed to peel off to take a break, and then somehow I ended up with the other red-shirted half. This was not ideal, as this half was a talker. Not just a talker, but the kind of runner that grabs on to you and won’t let go. I feel bad saying this. The guy was very sweet. Until he used his master barnacle skills to suck all the energy out of me and drain me of life. Maybe I’m embellishing just a bit. This is what he did. At first he was running in front of me at a pace that was too slow for me. I talked to him for a bit and then decided I needed to get in front of him. As soon as I did, he sped up and was running right behind me with a clumsy gait that didn’t seem natural and a jangling backpack that was slightly distracting. He seemed to prefer the company. This pattern seemed to continue where he would slow down and speed up in order to stick with me. Apparently this was his first race. He had done lots of 100 milers before (on his own). He said where he lives, people know him as the guy that runs 100 milers. I had a feeling he was known for a lot more than that.

I lost him at Windy Ridge Aid Station at mile 30. We arrived together but I left before him as he seemed to be having trouble getting food in. Yuch arrived as I was refilling my bottles. “You’re still here?” He asked. It did seem like I had been there for a while, but with only 4 aid stations over 73 miles, I needed to make sure I was always topped off on fluids. The next stretch would be 20 remote miles before the next aid station. Again, I thought he would catch up with me but I continued to run alone as I left the aid station. I was still on my 13 min/mile pace and feeling good.

It started to feel warm and exposed. I was ready for this though since I had started doing some preliminary heat training in preparation for Castle Peak (poor man’s altitude training). It was probably only in the 70s or 80s, but the lack of tree cover made it feel much much warmer. I still felt good and was all smiles as I ran through awesome single track flanked with friendly flowers.

The course was marked excellently. I rarely looked at my Gaia map for reassurance as confidence markers were well and frequently placed. I walked blindly through a jungle of tall foliage. With each few steps a confidence marker would appear in front of me confirming I was on the right track.

On my way up the next ascent I constantly looked behind me to see if Yuch was on my tail. Once again, a tiny runner appeared down below. I waved, but he didn’t wave back this time. Maybe he didn’t see me or maybe it wasn’t Yuch. It started feeling cooler as I ascended and I enjoyed the nice breeze and views of Silver Lake from up above.

Patches of snow started to become frequent and I started stuffing handfuls of it in the back of my buff around my neck. It felt incredible!

9.5 hours in (around 3 pm) I stopped to filter some water from a stream. And finally, Yuch arrived. I had finished filtering and was ready to go but was pretty excited to see him.

I waited while he filled up and we ran together the next 10 or so miles to Norway Pass, the next aid station at mile 50. This was probably my favorite part of the race. Yuch and I were having a blast and we shared our stories and how much we were loving the race and scenery. Every time we crossed a snow patch we grabbed handfuls of it and stuffed it into various regions on our body including our shorts and (my) bra. These intermittent cooling stations made a huge difference. Not only were they fun, but they were highly functional.

At Norway, Yuch left me. I admit I was taking much longer at the aid stations than he was. He had already-prepared smoothies in soft flasks in his drop bag while I had to prepare my drinks on site. He left and I would never see him again (well, until the end of the race). The stretch out of Norway Pass was not especially fast which was a slight let down after the swift miles leading up to it. But, the terrain continued to change keeping me interested and in constant awe of such a beautiful place. At around mile 55 or so, the course surprised me again as it dropped me off on Forest Road 99. I decided this was a good time for a pacer and turned on my favorite race music, Lindsey Stirling. I was pretty happy that I had legs to run this ascending road section pretty comfortably and passed a runner who had reduced to a walk. Yuch must have passed him too. Would I ever see him again?

Shortly after the road section I arrived at Windy for the second time. Just 15 miles to go! I was still on pace and my A goal was still in reach. At each aid station they asked me if I wanted any food. Wow – they had a lot, a stark contrast from the meat-centric aid station fare at Black Hills. They even had every flavor of Spring Energy gel (which I thought was very generous considering each one runs at $3.75 a pop). As much as I wanted to dig into their buffet, I had carefully planned my food for the day and was carrying more than I needed on me. I didn’t want to have to carry it all back on the plane, and I hate wasting food so I never indulged in any of the aid station food for the entirety of the race (except a couple sips of Mountain Dew). My pack felt especially heavy with all my mandatory gear and excess calories that I clearly was not going to use.

The run out of Windy on to the next trailhead was 2 miles and a sign appeared that said just 13 miles to the finish.

I was pretty sure the course profile had shown that it was mostly downhill from here, so it shouldn’t have been a problem to get to the finish before 9:30. What I didn’t realize (and what I could not have known from a course profile) was that these would be verrrry slowww miles. The last 13 miles were slow-going, which was fine.

But then it started getting dark. That was also fine, because I had my trusty light-belt. But then I started venturing into more boulder fields. While boulder hopping is fine and dandy in the light when your legs are fresh, it was a different story after running all day. I found myself struggling with balance and coordination and I was moving at a crawling pace. The ribbons were becoming increasingly difficult to see in the distance and I spent a lot of time trying to figure out where I was and where I was going. I heard something roaring in the distance. Perhaps it was a Bigfoot? When I wasn’t climbing boulders, I would descend into a ravine (also not fast miles) and climb back up. Okay so maybe I would not be cruising in the last 13 miles…

The last couple of miles were indeed runnable. I still had running legs, probably due to the varied terrain and therefore on-and-off running, hiking, hopping, crawling, etc. I hadn’t been paying attention to my watch for a long time. I knew it was after 9:30 and I didn’t want to get down on myself if I wasn’t even going to make my arbitrary A or B goal. But when I saw a sign that said there was just 1 mile to go, I finally looked at my watch and knew my B goal was still in reach. I crossed the finish line at 10:25 with a finish time of 16:55:47. When I crossed the finish line Yuch was waiting there for me. I didn’t say “That was the hardest race I’ve ever done!” or “I’m so glad to be finished!” which are common finishing line comments to have come from my mouth in the past. Instead I said “That was an AMAZING race!” And it was.

If you have any sense at all, DO THIS RACE. It really is more of an adventure run than a race. With such a small field I didn’t really feel like I was racing. I truly enjoyed the long remote sections with solitary miles enjoying the beauty of the area. I also really enjoyed running with Yuch. I did not enjoy running with red-shirted guy. The terrain was so varied I was never bored. The varied terrain was also helpful on my legs as I was able to run throughout the day when the opportunity arose. The course was so beautiful I never felt like I was suffering or that I wanted to be somewhere else. The snow fields were conveniently placed when I needed them for consistent cooling. Despite being a “graduate course”, I never felt scared or concerned for my safety (just out of it and slow at the end). The belt buckles are beautiful and some even have lichen in them!

Have I convinced you yet?