Date: September 7-8, 2018
Distance: 99.67 miles à 100 miles
Purpose: to finish what I started on January 4,
2018
2:32 am.
That is the first time I woke up the morning of
September 7, 2018. I was sure I had slept through my alarm clock which was set
for 3:00 am. I was terrified at first, then relieved later on that I did not
actually sleep through it. I had 28 minutes of additional sleep to obtain. Of
course, I didn’t get one more wink of sleep and just lay awake in bed stressing
out about everything I had to do that morning just to get to the starting line.
I hate the feeling of stressing in bed while laying idle, just waiting for the
alarm clock to actually go off.
I ate my normal pre-race meal of oatmeal and
bagels and gatorade. I dressed in the race day clothing I picked out 5 days
earlier like my nervous daughter getting ready to enter the 3rd grade, and
then cruised to pick up John Rich. We
hopped on the 4:00 am shuttle bus from downtown up to the trailhead and
designated starting line in Kaysville. At first I was worried that this race
wasn’t really going to be 100 miles, as the actual distance was “only” 99.67
miles. Where was I going to get in that last 0.33 miles to make it a clean 100
miler? Well, the answer came soon enough at the start line, which had such
little parking available that the bus dropped the racers off at least 0.33
miles away (probably more like 0.5 miles away) and made the racers walk just to
get the starting line. Oh well, it got the blood pumping I guess.
The racers crowded up to “toe the starting line”
in the chilly darkness, illuminated only by a parking lot light directly
overhead and a lot of smaller, bobbing LED head lamps all around me in front of
the East Mountain Wilderness Park sign. I said goodbye to John, thinking I
would see him again over the next 100 miles; little did I know it would be the
last we would see of each other for the entire race. I never saw Wetzel at the
start, thinking that I would surely run into him later as well, which proved to
be wrong.
 |
| The Start Area, east of Kaysville, UT - all quiet for now. |
After 8 months of worrying, training, climbing,
falling, stretching, stressing, spending, eating, drinking, researching,
tossing, turning, and basically thinking way too much about this, The Wasatch
100 had finally begun for me! Finally indeed – what a relief to be moving on
the trail...
I feel the need to document certain highlights and
lowlights of The Wasatch 100 in this, my final entry. The experience, the
sights, the sounds, the thoughts, the feelings that each runner has on this
race truly spans the spectrum of what a human feels. Maybe that knowledge,
experience, trail beta, and lessons learned (or not learned) will come in use
one day to me, my posterity, my friends, or complete strangers who consider
hiking and running 100 miles; or any other distance for that matter. Rather
than laboriously go through each and every mile of the race, I choose to
discuss the segments as defined by the aid stations or major reference points
in my mind where that particular segment ends. Some sections deserve more
writing than others after all.
Grobens Water Shed, mile 11.94: The first challenge of The Wasatch is
getting up Bair Canyon to the top of the ridgeline. This canyon is steep,
rugged, and overgrown in most spots. These challenges prevent runners from
being able to pass, which forms the infamous “Congo Line”. There is no running
here, just slow hiking, in a long, tight, single-file line. This stretch goes
on for a good 60 minutes. The highlight of this section was a ground nest of
hornets that was stirred up, resulting in true trail panic. People were yelling
to run (even the opposite direction of the Congo Line!), to move quicker, to
get out of the way while being stung multiple times. How I came away from those
10 minutes of chaos with no stings is beyond my understanding. I just felt so
fortunate to escape unscathed. One runner reported being stung here 9 times
through his sock! Another lady’s hand had swollen like a balloon from her
stings. When we finally broke out to the top of the canyon along the dirt road,
the first glimpse of morning was providing a line of light gray along the
horizon. Head lamps came off, relief was felt, and runners picked up the pace
to settle in for the first runnable section which was past the TV towers and to
a waiting watering truck.
 |
| Stairs in Bair, with overgrown brush and ground hornets nests. |
Bountiful B, mile 17.05: This was the first real aid station that was supported. The
sun was up by now, but it was still cool and overcast. The views of the Great
Salt Lake were awe-inspiring from this ridge and these totally new trails for
me. And it was so nice to smell pancakes and bacon coming into this aid
station, not to mention getting my first drop bag of the race. Someone was
filming a runner from a private helicopter. The helicopter hovered loudly about
30’ above the ground. I was by this famous runner, unfortunately. Dust was
swirling all around, getting in my eyes and ears and mouth and nose. Oh well,
don’t sweat the small stuff I guess.
Sessions Lift Off, mile 21.30: This next
section fell back behind the mountain front range into a north-south canyon. We
ran along a beautiful spring creek that made everything green and lush. I wish
I could have stopped and absorbed it longer, but I knew I had to simply keep
moving especially since it was such runnable terrain. The Sessions Aid Station
was one of my favorites. It was an Old West Saloon setting with country music
and all. I love the volunteers that get so passionate about helping strangers
that they feel the need to dress up. I was eating my aid station favorites of chips
and pretzels and watermelon regularly.
Swallow Rocks, mile 27.85: The course
climbed quickly after Sessions, explaining the name “Lift Off” very well. I gained a beautiful ridge that looked down
into Morgan Valley and East Canyon Reservoir. I spent about 5 miles running
with a fellow rookie ultra-runner from San Francisco named Ian. Like me, The
Wasatch was his first 100 mile race ever! I expressed admiration to him for
coming from sea level all the way up to 9000 feet average. I never saw him
again. I hope he made it. We then came up to a section called The Lungsucker.
It was steep and loose and hot, even with that friendly cloud blocking the sun
the last 3 hours. I found another runner with a similar pace to mine. I called
her Runner 2 because she didn’t like sharing her name, but she did like giving
me wise advice on how to do the Wasatch. What was it? “Just keep moving,” of course.
Seems to be the advice for this course – or maybe all 100 mile courses – or
maybe life in general. Anyways, after Lungsucker, we came to a large cirque
which I believe was the hanging bowl of the very upper reaches of City Creek
Canyon. It was incredible green, gorgeous, runnable – and skiable. I loved
these new trails. I loved these new vistas. Even more so, I loved the weather
of this section – overcast! These were fun miles. The volunteers at Swallow
Rocks acted like some old friends; it was very cool.
Big Mountain Pass, mile 32.30: I had to walk
and duck in the woods to work through some major stomach issues here.
Fortunately, it was only 4 miles to Big Mountain Pass, which would be the first
time I saw my incredible wife and crew chief, Rebecca. Also waiting at Big Mountain would be my
good friend and Pacer #1, Arthur. As I wound around Big Mountain and saw the
paved 2-lane highway for the first time, I surged with excitement. Then I could
actually hear the crowd cheering incoming runners with cowbells and I really
surged. I ran well into the exchange, with my head held high. Becky had
everything totally prepared: a seat, ice water, magic potatoes, pickles, and
quesadillas. I was so proud of her. I felt truly rejuvenated having seen her. From
here on out in the W100, I would be accompanied by pacers. Theoretically (more
on that later). Art and I were off after a 15-20 minute break at Big Mountain
 |
| Rory testing out the waters of trail running near Big Mountain; notice the smile..could she actually like it??? |
Alexander Ridge, mile
40.13: Art came out of the Aid Station like a lightning bolt. I had to slow
him down a few times over those first 2 miles just so I could keep up with him
and keep my heart rate down. We settled into a comfortable pace just as the
heat really set in. The clouds dissipated, the trees turned into sage brush,
the gravel turned into sand on the trail, all leading to one thing: HEAT. I had
been warned many times about the heat on this section so I was somewhat
prepared. Art wisely talked me into slowing me down, which kept my heart rate
steady. We kept the conversation upbeat during this section…until the last mile
before Alexander. Art became too quiet and I knew something was up… The MASH
Station at Alexander was awesome, but still way too hot and dusty.
Lambs Underpass, mile
45.71: Even Art admitted that he felt good coming out of Alexander’s MASH
Unit. But I could say he didn’t look good – he was getting pale. One mile
later, his quads began pulsing. Shortly after that, they were knotting up on
him. And shortly after that the nausea and weakness kicked in. We talked for a
bit about our options. I tried to talk him into pushing through the 3 miles to
Lamb’s, where Becky would be waiting with plenty of food and drink (and a ride
home for Art). But he wasn’t having any of it and he knows his body better than
I do of course; I could see that arguing him in that state would be futile. So
we said a prayer together and parted ways. I must admit I felt forlorn looking
back and seeing my pacer walk the opposite way. I was supposed to be with a
pacer in the race from this point onward. He was supposed to be with me. Should
I have stayed with him? Should I have escorted him back to Alexanders? Did he
have enough water and energy to make it back to Alexander’s? How would Becky
find him? What if he passes out – or worse -
on the way back to the aid station? Is it even legal to leave a pacer or
will race committee DNF me for this “rule infraction”? I trudged upward on this
hot section while these thoughts of stress and concern for Art pulled me mentally
downward. I kept praying for him for the next mile. I snapped myself out of this bizarre trance when
I was in at the top of the Devil’s Armpit where I could look right down at
Parley’s and Lamb’s. Another surge hit me just then and I began a modest run. I
found another racer without a pacer from North Carolina shortly thereafter. We
kept each other company until Lamb’s. This Exchange was much busier than Big
Mountain for some reason. They were cooking hot dogs and burgers! None of it
sounded good, although it smelled good. I just stayed with my potatoes and
Cliff Bar. I happily changed my shirt, my socks, my water, and my electrolyte
at Lamb’s. I explained how Art had dropped and she would have to find him
somehow. She took it all like a champ, and was a superb support once again. After a 15 minute break at Lamb’s, Shawn
(pacer #2) and I walked out and up the canyon road. Many race veterans had told
me: the real race starts at Lamb’s. Now we would find out if I was ready for
the real deal!
Upper Big Water, mile
54.18: Walking up Lamb’s Road with Shawn, something just didn’t feel right.
I didn’t feel as re-charged as a I should have felt; rather everything was
slowing down. We got off the pavement and on to the actual trail, and things
really didn’t improve much. Shawn was asking me the simplest questions about
life and I was struggling to answer them. Everything was becoming a struggle it
seemed. I was near bonking I suppose because I was getting dizzy and slow and
weak. Finally, near the top of the Lamb’s Ridgeline, Shawn spoke up and said I
should eat something. That was it! I hadn’t eaten nearly enough at the last
Exchange; I was too busy changing clothes and talking and re-watering and looking
around. I needed to eat when it’s time to eat. Some people actually call the
W100 a big eating (and drinking) contest with some incidental running in
between! Shawn was well-prepared like a
good Eagle Scout should be. He pulled out half-eaten bagel and made me eat it.
This was new food for me on the race and…my body loved it. In fact, it was
exactly what I needed! As we crested Bare Bottom Pass and gazed into Millcreek
Canyon for the first time, I felt my physical and mental alertness come back. I
was soon after running strong and singing Imagine Dragons quite loudly all the
way to Elbow Fork. The weather was cooling as we power-hiked 3 miles up
Millcreek Canyon road. What a relief to be done with the Heat. I had a
delicious grilled cheese sandwich at Upper Big Water aid station, checked my
head lamp, and prepared for the night stretch. I was feeling good.
 |
| Shuffle-running in Upper Millcreek Canyon. |
 |
| Delicious grilled cheese sandwiches and fun-loving aid station support at Upper Big Water. |
Desolation Lake, mile
59.07: Of all the aid stations on the entire Wasatch 100 to volunteer at, I
would choose Desolation Lake each time. It is on the shores of a remote lake.
You are far away from any road. Every bit of gear at Desolation Lake has to be
hiked in from either Big Cottonwood or Millcreek trailheads. They have
delicious and fake mashed potatoes there each year. And best of all, there is a
roaring fire each time I’ve been there. It warmed my soul and my mind. Pot
Hollow and Pole Line Pass could both learn how to make a fire from Desolation
Lake!
Scott’s Peak, mile
63.03: There is one final climb
prior to Brighton after Deso: Red Lover’s Ridge. This is a series of
switchbacks up from the lake that gets you to arguably the prettiest section of
the entire course: The Wasatch Crest. Although it was now pitch dark, I loved
running The Crest. The uphills and downhills are all so runnable. To your left
you have views of Park City lights. To your right you have views of Silver
Fork, Solitude, and eventually Brighton. The trail is not too technical and not
too overgrown. Although I had over 50 miles on my legs, the beauty and cool
temps of this section revived me. We even saw two bucks right off the trail as
we approached the “hidden” aid station of Scott’s Peak. The volunteers here
were nice, but gave me a lot of odd looks. I must have been too excited about eating
their oranges and pretzels while pacing back and forth to keep warm.
Brighton Lodge, mile 67.08: Shawn pulled out the “secret weapon” shortly
after Scott’s Peak – music! Shawn is a solid and confident runner in his own
right, having finished several marathons and even more half-marathons. I have run Ragnar Relays with him enough that
he knows the running music that gets my body and mind into a very happy place.
So he played such classics as “Best of Both Worlds”, “Paradise”, and
“Unforgiven” to help me run strong those last 4 miles to one of the most iconic
stops of the entire Wasatch 100: Brighton Ski Lodge. This place alone is truly
Heaven and Hell for runners. It is heaven because they get to see their family
and because they have gone 2/3 of the distance of the entire race! It is hell
because many runners go in here and don’t come out; in other words the warmth
and food and building muscle soreness causes them to call it quits here! I knew
that if I could just get through Brighton aid in a decent amount of time and
with a positive mindset, I would be able to finish. The support was amazing as I reflect back on
this magical aid station. First, I saw Trace and Travis, two good high school
friends, outside of the Brighton Loop. Trace was cracking jokes and Travy was
filming. It was what I needed then! These guys are both my age, with young
families, and plenty of competing priorities. Yet they made time on a Friday
night to leave their wife and kids and drive up to Brighton to see me. Amazing.
Next while coming up to the steps of the lodge, Colter suddenly saw me and let
out a scream. He and the other 3 kids sprinted my way to attack me before I
could even get into the lodge. Awesome. Next, Becky gave me a huge hug, walked
me into the lodge, sat me down, and started rubbing my legs and giving me an
incredible breakfast burrito and ginger ale. Wonderful. Next, Christy my sweet
sister gave me a big hug out of the blue, which was the most surprising visitor
of all. She and Ava drove all the way up there from Cedar Hills, just to see
me. Inspiring. Finally, a total stranger fireman took off my dirty socks, brought
a wash basin over, and began cleaning out my grimy, dirt-encrusted feet. I
repeat - a total stranger did this for me. Christlike! This pampering all went
on for 20 minutes. I flirted with the notion that maybe I didn’t want to leave
after all. Like, ever. The amount of support and love I received at that moment
makes me emotional right now. Thank you to each and every one of you. Arie, my battle-tested Pacer #3, shook me out
of my drunken stupor and told me it was time to hit the trail. He was so right.
So then I huddled them up to yell the following cheer as a crew: “Let’s Finish
This!!!” I readily admit I didn’t want to leave that warm scene of love and
support. But I knew I had to; I had come way too far to consider any other
alternative. My supporters came up there to help me finish from Brighton, not
to help me quit at Brighton. So I
quickly packed up and headed off into the cold, dark night to run 33 more miles
thinking “I Am The Captain Of My Soul.”
 |
| Christy drove all the way up to Brighton from Cedar Hills, just to watch her sweaty and dirty brother change his socks. |
 |
| All sorts of support here: Becky, Trace, Arie, Colter, Rory, Travy, etc... I didn't want to leave the scene! |
Pole Line Pass, mile 74.79: This was only a
3-mile stretch, but it was one of the hardest climbs of the race to that point.
I wasn’t prepared for how steep and loose it would be due to all the motorbike
scarring that had gone on up there. Why the Forest Service allows motorbikes on
these pristine trails of our National Forest is beyond me... Anyways, we talked a lot about running honest
through here. I told Arie that for this entire summer I had been trying to run
as honest as I could: hike every uphill, shulffle every flat, run every
downhill. No matter how tired you are, no matter if someone is watching or not,
no matter how later in the day it is, just run with honesty and you will be all
right. I had some stomach issues I had to work out after fighting through The
Grunt. Fortunately for me, Arie had some
TP to help out. One sign I ate well is that I only lost a surprising 2 pounds on this whole race. For perspective, when I did the Milcreek 50 K in the daylight when I bonked I lost nearly 10 pounds! I re-fueled and ate some delicious bacon and watermelon at Pole
Line Pass. This would be the last time my stomach felt like truly eating for
the rest of the race. The fire there was smokey and weak compared to the Deso
Aid Station fire, motivating us to get back “in the trenches” again to warm
ourselves up by movement.
Rock Springs, mile 78.95: As the condition
of my stomach deteriorated at this point in the race, my mind actually
elevated. A spontaneous, clear, happy thought suddenly overcame me in the
middle of the night: “I’m going to finish my first 100-miler.” I don’t know why
I had that thought or where it came from, although I guess from Divine Help. I
only know this: it caused me to weep. I was still able to keep moving, but I
was suddenly emotional. I decided to not hide it from my good friend, but
rather hug him and gush to him and thank him for all he had done for me as a
pacer. He knew the way, he kept me positive, he helped me find things my
stomach could tolerate on some level. He
was key, and would be even more key as the race into the night wore on.
Pot Hollow, mile 84.79: If I had known that
the section between Rock Springs and Pot Hollow would be the hardest of the
entire race, I definitely would have fueled up and prayed up more. I guess ignorance
is bliss though. The infamous section known as Irv’s Torture Chamber is so
appropriately named. It is dark, it is overgrown, it is tight, it is lonely,
and it goes up and down with great unpredictability for one seems like an
eternity. And a couple more things: you are officially underslept and you have
85 miles on your legs. Torture is a pretty accurate description of this 6-mile
section. Take one or two of these elements away and it becomes runnable. But
with the “perfect storm” of all these elements, it is very much a torture
chamber. The Plunge is a steep, short technical section with scree covering the
trail. The Dive is a double
black-diamond ski-luge run that pounds the quads and does not end. The
traversing is just annoying and boring. Even Arie didn’t talk much in this
section. He told me we just had to grind through it. He was so right. He told
me when it was going to go up, when it was going to go flat, when it was going
to go down, with great accuracy. I still fell off the trail once, but that was
my fault. I was dizzy each time I stopped so I kept moving. I was totally
disoriented and had tunnel vision with my headlamp on. My body was screaming at me for sleep, as it
had never experienced this type of physical extreme sleep deprivation and
endurance before this moment. I was so very grateful for Arie right then, and
right now. I leaned on him more than he knows. I had to trust him. I owe
him. If there was any section I considered
dropping, it was this section. How runners do the Wasatch 100 without a pacer –
especially from midnight to 5 am - is beyond me. I have pondered why this
section was especially so difficult for me, besides the reasons mentioned
above. I have decided that it relates back to my “Big Why” for me doing the
W100, stated in this training journal way, way back in February 2018. Recall
that I am doing the Wasatch 100 “…to explore known and unknown beauties of my
beloved Central Wasatch.” Well, when it
is pitch black and you are underslept and you are on a completely foreign trail
for the first time, there is no exploring of any beauties. You only want to
explore your pillow and sheets at that point. It’s that simple. My primary motivation
for running this race was stripped away by the extremes of this race; I hadn’t
realized there would be no beauty in pitch black until now and it was making me
mad. I had to find a new motivation. It came to me that it would simply be what
I chanted with my family back in Brighton Lodge: “Let’s Finish This.” So I
started thinking about what the finish line would be like at this point,
something I usually don’t do in any race. But with over 75% of the race behind
me, I allowed myself that little mental pleasure. It helped. Sort of. Either
way, the torture chamber passed. Life’s torture chambers always seem to pass,
don’t they… Arie and I both quite literally stumbled into Pot Hollow what
seemed like hours later, but probably was only 15 more minutes. The quad
pounding was over. Unfortunately, this aid station was totally freezing and the
volunteers seemed a bit zombie-like as well. The only thing that warmed me up
was when Gary made a surprise visit as The Big Geru, a.k.a. The Sasquatch. He
nearly tackled me in the dark, and he had some great Geru stories as well. What
a great guy to come and volunteer in the middle of nowhere and cheer me on.
Arie was right and is right: I am blessed with a great support group. I should
never, ever forget that. We left Pot
Hollow shivering but happy to be done with Torture, courtesy of Irv. Who is Irv?
 |
| First Sunrays after Pot Hollow - relief. |
Stanton, mile 89.52: It is amazing what light can do to the mind.
It can push away mental and emotional darkness, just as it pushes away literal darkness. I love skiing from dark into light during the winter months when I leave at 5:00 am to get the powder. Once
we saw the first light, off on the east horizon, our minds elevated. It was palpable. The
fatigue certainly didn’t leave. But hope eternal sprung up again, willing us to
suppress the fatigue. Hope that full sunshine would come again, hope that we
could make it to the next aid station, hope that this too would pass, hope that we could finish this!
Gratefully I turned off my light and put it away. Arie turned up some running tunes. We
were now on a dirt road, which was a vast improvement of the trail from the
last section. We climbed two more ridges, and the sun was fully up. Arie
texted the support crew that we only had downhills left. They were on their
way to the finish line. I couldn’t believe we were talking about the finish
line with such reality and relevance now. “Celebrate” by Kool and The Gang was
playing as Arie and I hobbled into this aid station. Soon Johnny Lingo jumped
out of the woods it seemed to meet us. It was so good to feel of his positive vibes and fresh energy at this point, for
both of us. I could tell Arie was
grateful his 20 miles were over and he could pass the Pacer tag off to Lingo.
It had been a hard night on him as well.
 |
| Dawn IS The Best time of day for running - when you don't have 90 miles on your legs |
 |
| Coming out of Pot Bottoms |
Soldier Hollow, mile 99.67: Lingo took over as pacer when the running
should have been so easy and rewarding for me, but it wasn’t. The dawn was now
bursting with the first rays of actual sunlight and I tried as well as I could
to focus on the alpine sunrise on the back-side massive cliff walls of majestic
Mount Timpanogus. The race by this point was so simple and it was so hard. One of the cruelest ironies of
this entire race is that the most runnable, prettiest, easiest sections of the
entire race was when I was physically and emotionally unable to run. Oh, how I
wish I could have run even 8 minute miles for these last 10 miles- the fact I
couldn’t hurts me just thinking about it now! We ran to an undramatic feature
called The Wall, and it was totally symbolic of me hitting my real wall right
around mile 90. I wanted to run the gentle downhill from this section so very,
very badly. I know Lingo sure did on his fresh and long legs. But my legs were now experiencing a
concoction of fatigue and pain that is difficult to describe. Each step felt
like someone was taking a blunt hammer and simultaneously pounding into my
quads, hamstrings, gluts, calves, and most painfully for me especially, on my
foot pads. Each and every step. I tried to adjust my strike or my gait or my
cadence, but that would just cause new pains to immediately arise. Mile 96. I
was running on the edge. I felt like my system could shut down any moment or seize into cramps. I
had to walk – all on terrain that any decent trail runner would have gladly run 6
minute miles on. Lingo was patient with me in the best way he could be. I tried to explain the pain, but didn’t have
the energy to even articulate that. And whining about pain never makes it
better; in fact, it usually makes it worse (as my Dad always taught me growing
up). I walked 1 mile straight. Mile 97. During this time, 4-6 runners passed
me. I had secretly taken pride in the fact that I didn’t really ever get passed
for the entire prior 96 miles. I was “getting kills”, but not “getting
murdered”, to use some old Ragnar Relay talk. That dejected me even more. We were now down
on the north side of Deer Creek Reservoir. I looked down at the smooth water
with some slalom waterskiers cutting up the glass. I wished I could be there, in the cool water,
sinking to the bottom. I wish I could be done. I wish this race was all over at
mile 97. Please. But it was not to be…
“Just keep moving” now made so much sense. It is such profound advice that I
had received from veteran runners of The Wasatch for weeks, if not months,
prior. It is so simple, it is so universal, it is so relevant to life, it is so
powerful. Just. Keep. Moving. So I did. I told myself the pain doesn’t matter
anymore. I got passed by a few more runners. That didn’t matter anymore either.
What matters is finishing well, enduring well, like my brother Kevin did, like
my mom did, like Christ did. Mile 98. Arie granted my request and ran back from
the finish line to meet Lingo and I at this point. We turned on “The Winds of
Change” to try and get my mind off the pain. Bless his soul for doing that. He
went the spiritual and physical “extra mile” for me. I must be a pretty
high-maintenance runner to need two pacers for the last 2 miles of my first
100-miler... Arie was on my right. Lingo was on my left. These are two of the
greatest dudes in the mountains I know. We had skied lots of great powder
together over several winters, laughing and hooting all the way. But not now –
for now we were suffering together. They were forcing me to run, not walk this
section. They were forcing me to be honest. It was flat. I could run this. I
had to. Because the pain no longer mattered. Self-pity is nothing and serves
nothing. Mile 99. I came down the last hill on to the road that leads to
Soldier Hollow. I started to weep. That really messed me up because now I was
really blurry-eyed. I pushed back the tears. I came up on a rise and I saw the best sight I
could ever ask for: Rory, Avi, Colter, Eliza, Becky all jumping up and down
while yelling my name from the finish line. I could see my beautiful family. I
could see my finish line. I was no longer dizzy, or hallucinating, or falling
off the stupid trail. I was clear-eyed now. I steeled my resolve now. It all
came down to this – the training, the gear, the time, the money, the stressing,
the praying. I found energy from an unknown source and ran big normal strides,
like the good old days of a pure and simple 5K. I went up a hill and around a
corner. 100 yards left. I could see the finish line getting bigger. I tried to slow
down and savor this moment. I was fighting back tears no longer – they gushed.
10 yards. I said a final, short, sincere, silent prayer, thanking God that I had made it with
His Help. I glided through the finish. Then I was slam-hugged by my family and
my mother-in-law and the race director, all at once.
I finished THE WASATCH 100 on September 8,
2018 in 28 hours, 44 minutes at 09:44 hrs in 44th place.
 |
| There has been no better finish line in all my races and in all my life so far than this one. |
Lessons
Learned:
- -Just Keep
Moving
- -At Some
Point, Pain Doesn’t Matter
- -Great
Support Does Matter
- -Run
Honest
- -Eat and
Drink Every 30 Minutes No Matter What
- -Good
Music Helps
- -Pacers
Are Angels
- -Preparation
Is Everything
- -With God Nothing
Is Impossible and Impossible Is Nothing
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| The Wasatch 100 Race Plan 2018: a lot of data! |
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