Tahoe Rim Trail 100M

I woke up at 3AM on Saturday morning to catch a bus ride from the host hotel in Carson City to the start of the race. I said goodbye to Kara and Micah and told them I'd see them at mile 25. I normally try to show up at races very close to the start time because I hate standing around, but the bus forced me to get there an hour early. I hung out with John (from San Antonio) and Allen (from Houston) waiting for the race to start. At 5AM sharp, we were off. They went up ahead of me, but I would see them both again...

The race starts with an 8 mile climb up about 1500 feet. It was an easy power walk, there were way too many people on this single track trail to do anything else. Besides, I new I had a long day in front of me so I was in no hurry at all. I hit the Tunnel aid station at 16 miles well ahead of 24-hour pace. While that would be great, I knew 24-hours wasn't within reach for me yet, at least not on this course. Hunstville, sure, but not on a course with 20,000 ft. of climbing.

An hour later, I made my first big mistake. After a sharp descent, there was a 700 ft steep incline out of the Red House aid station. I felt great, so I powered up it quickly. My heart rate red-lined, and by the time I got to the top of the climb I was beat. At that point, I should have laid back and recovered, but I pushed on for the next 10 miles of uphill climbing. Most of this portion of the trail is on what locals called "powder" but in Texas we call it sand. It was tough terrain to run on, your feet slid on the uphills and your shoes filled with sand on the downhills. I learned a valuable lesson on this trail, gaiters are not girly. I would have killed for a pair of gaiters on this trail, and I'm going to order a pair when I get home. By the time I hit 20 miles, I was beat. It didn't help that the aid station between Tunnel (16 miles) and Rose Mountain (26 miles) was missing. I had plenty of water, but it was mentally disturbing because you had no idea how far you had gone. On top of this, the altitude had hit me hard, and my poor pacing had knocked me down. I was nauseous and couldn't eat anything solid. I stumbled on for the next 25 miles to the half way point in a complete daze. It was frustrating.. While I knew I could recover, and always have recovered from these spells, I also knew that I would need to eat for it to happen. Only half way and I was beaten.

And then I reached Spooner Lake, the half way point. All I can say is thank goodness for friends, family, and the great trail running community. At Spooner my wonderful supportive wife was there to take care of my needs. Normally, I push my way in and out of the aid station, but she recognized that I needed to recover before I left again. She and Allen recommended some chicken noodle soup, which tasted like heaven. It was the first real food I had eaten in 12 hours. I ate 3 cups of soup and tons of canteloupe. A veteran runner (I know he was a veteran because he had a Badwater buckle on) working the aid station diagnosed my troubles, gave me salt and helped clean up my feet. I didn't catch his name, but I thanked him as I left. He said no problem, and told me to make sure I finish. After 25 minutes at the aid station I was feeling great. I watched several people come in and drop due to the heat (85 was the peak temp, not too bad after a solid Texas summer of training), and I think I took their energy each time I saw someone drop. I heard only 57% of 100 milers finished that day due to the heat... I left feeling good, and for the first time I knew that I would finish this race. I said goodbye to Kara and Micah, since I would not see them again until the following morning at the finish line.

The second 50 was identical to the first. I left Spooner at 13.5 hours, moving at a slightly slower pace than I had started. I figured 27 hours was probably out of reach, but I hadn't completely given up on it. I knew I was feeling better, but I also knew it would be tough to keep up the same pace in the dark. For now, I just power walked up to Tunnel aid station again at a similar pace to the first loop.

Darkness fell around mile 60, and it was a pleasant change. I got to watch the sun set over Lake Tahoe from a solitary spot on top of a 9000ft mountain, which was a magnificent site. It was just another reminder of why trail running, and especially ultra trail running, gives us rare moments that very few ever have. While enjoying the view, I sat down to check out my feet which were beginning to hurt. I discovered a couple of really big blisters on both feet. They were treatable, but it was a good thing I stopped when I did. I was proud in a way, because foot care was my fatal flaw last year at Big Horn. This time, I vowed to take my time and treat my problems before they ruined my run. A year ago I lost 2-3 hours because I was trying to tough out the pain in my feet, this time I wouldn't let that happen. I duct taped all the bad areas and put on some new socks. I had a new bounce in my step again.

As I hit the big hill out of Red House, I reminded myself not to ruin this loop like I did the first by powering up the hill. It was dark, and much cooler, but the hill was just as steep and sandy. I took it a little slower, but not much because I just felt so good. At the top I had a few more bowls of soup giving me some needed energy and also some time to recover, then proceeded up the long slow climb to Mt Rose (76 miles). Around 70 miles I saw John, who had taken off in front of me about 10 hours earlier as I was struggling on the first loop. He was hurting bad and announced he would drop at Mt. Rose. He had just run Big Horn last week, and his body was done. Normally I would try to talk someone out of stopping, but this was one of the rare times where I agreed he was done and that there should be no regrets in the morning.

At Mt Rose, I had some more soup and tried a piece of cheese pizza that one of the volunteers offered. The pizza wouldn't sit, so I threw it out and took off towards home. This was the final 24 miles to the finish line. By now it was 2am. I knew I had 30 hours easily, with 28 as a real possibility. 28 in the mountains would be very satisfying for me, especially given my rough start. I ran from 75 to 80 miles still feeling good and keeping a good pace. As I passed most areas, I reminded myself of how bad I felt 14 hours earlier and how much better I was now. Around 80, however, things started to fall apart. My left Achilles tightened up pretty badly, and my left foot extensor muscle (top of the foot, used to pull your foot toward your shin - I had to look that up) starting aching. Within minutes, I could barely lift my left toes up while I ran. Up hill was OK, so I began running up hills that I normally would have power walked. Downhills, however, just wouldn't work. Unfortunately, most of the final 20 miles is down hill, including a 7 mile descent at the end. I hit the final major aid station, Snow Valley Peak, at 26 hours. It was 7.1 miles to the finish and a 2000 ft drop. If I could run, even after slowing down dramatically, I could have been close to 27 hours. But I knew 27 was out and so was 28 since I would be walking down the mountain. Even 29 was a stretch considering I could only limp down the hill. It was frustrating, but my main goal was to finish, break 30, and run a smart race. I was clearly going to succeed all 3, so it was still a joy to continue.

As I approached the finish, I did finally find some adrenaline to drown out the pain, and got into a decent jog towards the finish line. At the finish line was Robert, Diana, Kara and Micah. It was the first time Micah got to see my finish, which felt great. He's 5 months old, I don't pretend that he'll remember it, but it was still meaningful to me. I finished in 29:14, not what I had hoped, but it also gave me a ton of confidence for future runs. I was just one muscle away from finishing strong and probably close to 27 hours. At least in my mind, that was a success. I learned from mistakes of my first 100, and learned a few more lessons on this one.

The Tahoe Rim Trail is an awesome place, a trail everyone should run or hike at some point. It had some of the most amazing views I've ever seen. The race support was flawless, the volunteers were friendly and in most cases, experienced. I am also grateful for the support of my family, and also the other runners out there. Robert and Allen each gave me some sage advice and medicine when I needed it out on the trail when they could have focused solely on their own run. As always, this run was a gentle reminder that we can't succeed in great things by ourselves. I hope to be able to repay everyone in the future.