Burning River 100 Mile Endurance Run - Cleveland to Akron, OH - July 25 & 26th 2015

Why run a 100 mile race? I'm still not sure I can accurately answer that question. Maybe its too soon to answer after finishing this race yesterday morning, or maybe its because I don't really have one, or possibly because there's too many reasons to list. 

I've often heard people describe a 100 mile race like living an entire lifetime in a day. There are extremely high highs, and devastatingly low lows. And this is all true. It's a journey of the body and mind and an experiment in how far you can convince yourself that it's worthwhile to continue on. 

In the next few paragraphs I will try and decipher my 100 mile journey from Cleveland to Akron, OH. Before I do so, this would never have been possible without the tremendous support of my family and the awesome staff and volunteers that made this race possible. Thank you Mom, Dad, Gina and Danny for being my support team, carrying around my supplies, patching up my blisters, cheering me on at 4:00 AM in the morning,  and being there for me every step of the way. A special thank you to my sister Gina for pacing me the last 10 miles. I was a grumpy and horrible person to be around during this time but you stuck with me and kept me going. I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass and thank you for telling me to suck it up and keep on moving forward. What a tremendous help! You guys are the real stars of the weekend!

------ Race Report -------

The alarm beeped at 2:20 AM. It didn’t startle me because I was already half-awake, tossing and turning throughout the night, floating in and out of consciousness as thoughts of the race ran rampant through my mind. Nerves from the night before were now transformed into turbo charged balls of energy. I silenced the alarm and whipped together a strawberry and banana smoothie. After a successful attempt at a morning constitution, I donned my spotless and clean smelling running clothes – a look that would not last too much longer – and pinned bib number 247 to my shorts. A quick look in the mirror confirmed how stupidly crazy this whole thing was going to be, and with a flick of the light, my reflection darkened and I headed out the door to meet my maker.

I knocked on my parent’s door at 2:45 AM. We loaded the car and headed off to the starting line at Squires Castle in Willoughby Hills. The drive was quiet and peaceful. We got to the parking lot at 3:30 AM and sat in the car for a few minutes, waiting until 3:45 AM rolled around, and then progressed towards the starting line. 

The energy was ramping up as more runners congregated at the foot of Squires Castle, a formidable structure, lit up by flood lights. Music rocked the early morning air – cutting pre-race jitters with a hot knife – and amplifying the energy to a new level. Hundreds of headlamps dotted the near pitch black air as we stood for the National Anthem. And when that was over, the countdown began, and a little voice in my head said: relax, you got this, you’ve trained for this, stick to the strategy and all will be well.

Before I knew it, we were off, running through a field in the dark, the pre-morning air highlighted with dots of light, a swarm of runners, like bugs, buzzing with untold energy. The first miles were on dark, quiet roads. I relaxed and fell into a comfortable pace, enjoying the flat, easy terrain. I met a man named Mark in the morning hours, and we chatted about the race and other things. It turned out we had both lived in Seattle in the past, on the same street no-less, and we chatted about the Cascades and hiking and trail running in the Pacific North West.

I breezed through the first aid station at mile 6.67 stopping only for a moment to fill my water bottle. Still on roads, dawn emerged from underneath the darkness, and a low fog hung around the grasses of farmland, with horses and barns and rickety old fences lacing the road. It was beautiful out there, in a simple, yet effective way.

I made it to the second aid station, Polo Fields, at mile 11.56, in 1 hour and 50 minutes. I dropped my headlamp off with my Parents, snagged a few pieces of watermelon and some Gels, and continued on my way. The trail wrapped around the parking lot and finally darted into the woods, on horse trails. I kept up a decent pace, floating effortlessly over the terrain, up and down little depressions, and across a few streams. I was feeling really good, too good in fact. This is not going to last too much longer, I kept reassuring myself.

 I chatted with a tall man with a red beard; I don’t remember his name or even if we exchanged them. He was from Rochester, NY and taught physical education to children with special needs. This was his second 100 mile race. He was a cool dude and we kept a good clip, running the uphills, past people who were hiking them. There would be plenty of time later to walk the uphills when my legs were trashed – wise to make up some time when I was feeling good.

My tall bearded friend finally took off a head of me. I stayed back, conserving energy. I rounded the next aid station, Harper Ridge at mile 19.1, and ate some potatoes and watermelon, and snagged a few more gels. My strategy was to eat real food at the aid stations and take a gel and a salt tab every 30 minutes and drink plenty of water. My plan was working so far. I was feeling hydrated and energized.

I kept running at a comfortable pace, and ran with a guy from Wisconsin (or was it Minnesota?) for a few miles. We talked about farts and burps, better in-than-out sort of banter. He was a funny guy. We talked about trail running in Minnesota (or was it Wisconsin?), what we both did for a living. It’s interesting how you can learn about someone so well just by running a few miles with them.

I eventually passed through Shadow Lake aide station, mile 22.3, and carried on to Egbert Aid station at mile 27.12 in about 4.5 hours. I was met by cheers from my crew team, my Mom and Dad, and my sister Gina and her boyfriend Danny, who just flew in from California. It was a lot of fun seeing everyone. I ate some watermelon and potatoes, stocked up on gels, and kept on keeping on. 

At this point it was starting to get a little hot and humid. The sun was out, not many clouds, beaming the earth with radiation. Luckily I was still under the trees, keeping a good pace, slowing down a bit, but still feeling very good - again, too good. I made it to Alexander Road aide station at mile 31.46 and received a frigid sponge rinse off with ice cold water from the friendly volunteers. I ate some more watermelon and some grapes and continued on.

Between the next aid station there was a crushed limestone tow path trail. This is where things started to slow down. It was hot at this point (high 80s), exposed to the sun. I decided to walk a little bit on this section, to avoid working too hard in the direct sunlight. I ran out of water about a mile and a half away from the next aid station, and dwelled on this error. I decided I needed to carry an extra water bottle from the next aid station onward. One bottle wasn’t going to be enough in this heat.

I eventually made it to Oak Grove 1 aide station, mile 37.68. I picked up my extra water bottle from my crew, ate some more fruit and potatoes, and got out of there quick. I wanted to spend as little time as necessary in the aid stations; if you aren’t careful – roots start to grow from out of the ground and trap you there! 

The next section was a 4.5 mile loop back to Oak Grove aid on fairly hilly terrain. I ran and walked, trying to keep a comfortable rhythm without overexerting myself.

I got back to Oak Grove, ate some things, filled up my water, and ran on to Snowville aid station. Before I exited, I asked my Dad how I was fairing compared to the field. He said I was near the front-ish of the pack, around 30^th place! This re-invigorated me. I gave myself and internal ‘fuck yeah’ and ran off.

I don’t remember much about my run to Snowville aid, at mile 47.57. Eventually, at around 10.5 hours after starting, I finally made it to the mental half-way point, Stanford House aid, at 53.17 miles. I entered the field to a huge crowd on both sides of barricade tape. I was the only runner coming through at the time. The roar of the crowd caught me off guard. I was surprised and wide eyed – everyone cheering me on–like a rock star, even though I didn’t feel like a rock star. At that point, I was starting to get tired, my legs hurt, my feet hurt, I could feel some hot spots on my heel, and my body was soaked in sweat. I downed two 20oz bottles of ice cold water, ate a bunch of salty food (potatoes and salt and pickles) and carried on. My hydration and electrolyte consumption was spot on so far. I wasn’t nauseous or having headaches. I wasn’t overly thirsty. I was eating well and everything was digesting. I was doing just fine, and at that moment, doing just fine meant everything.

After running a half mile from the aid station, I ran into the tall man with the red beard again. It was like seeing an old friend. We chatted about the race so far and walked a bit together. He was having a tough go of it, nausea and headaches, because of the heat. I felt for him. I was there back in May at the “50s fo yo Momma 50K” – dehydrated and defeated. Eventually I started running again and pulled away – it was the last time I saw him.

Eventually I made it to Pine Lane aid, mile 58.79. I don’t remember what this aid station looked like or what I did there. I was starting to get tunnel vision. All I knew is that I could see my crew at the next aid, Ledges, and desperately needed to change my socks. I messed up not changing them at Stanford House, which would come to bite me in the coming miles.

The Ledges aid, mile 65.56, seemed like an eternity to get to. I walked a lot of this section. A large portion was on a paved road, and then a paved bike path. You would think the pavement would be easy, but no, not at all. The hard surfaces tore up my feet, increasing the hot spots on my heels and toes, and in short, was generally a miserable experience. I dug deep, walking fast, running a little, and eventually made it to Ledges aid.

I sat down on a bench, grabbed some new socks, and shoved them on my feet. I gave orders to my crew like a General in the army – put my headlamp in my bag, give me wet wipes to clean my feet, fill up my water. They responded swiftly like a NASCAR pit crew, fixing me up and sending me on my way. I cannot write into words how helpful this was. My crew was amazing!

The run to the next aid was a struggle, but I made it to Pine Hollow I eventually, at mile 71.29. There were two huge hills right before this aid station that were brutal. When I arrived at the aid, with a glazed deer-in-the-headlights look, I asked one of the aid station volunteers who the heck designed this course! Apparently this was funny – because everyone laughed – but I wasn’t joking. Apparently the joke was on me.

The next section was another loop back to Pine Hollow. This was a brutal section. I started out of Pine Hollow 1 at 8:15 PM and it took me 1 hour and 15 minutes to finish the 3.75 mile loop back. It was rocky and technical and hilly, and it finally got dark, which required use of my headlamp. I had been leap frogging with an older gentleman for a while now, and we both got back to Pine Hollow at about the same time. Other than this guy, it had been pretty lonely for the past 30 miles.

Since Pine Hollow was at two stops, there were a ton of people coming in for the first time. It was strange seeing how many people were probably 1 hour or more behind me – people that I had seen earlier on in the race. At Pine Hollow II, it was time for some feet maintenance. I plopped on the ground and my sister popped a heel blister that was giving me trouble and wrapped some Guerilla tape around it. When I stood up it instantly felt better. I should have done that miles sooner. I ate some grub, made sure I had some first aid supplies for the blisters in my pack, grabbed my extra headlamp just in case, and said goodbye to my crew, who I would not see again until mile 90. I had a hard 15 miles ahead of me, in the dark, undoubtedly by myself. I wasn’t too thrilled about this – but I pushed on. I had come too far to even consider quitting.

The next 15 miles were the strangest part of the race. It was pitch dark, on very technical trail. I was fortunate enough to run into the guy I had been leap frogging with, who had a pacer with him. I shouted, “Thank the trail gods I ran into you! Do you mind if I tag along for a bit?” Not at all, they said. The pacer was Jared and the runner was Larry, a lean, 58 year old badass.

Running with Jared and Larry saved me. I shut off and just followed them: walked when they walked, pushed myself to run when they ran, listened and chatted. They were going to get me to the Covered Bridge. They were my saving grace.

I got to know Larry pretty well. At mile 95, he was going to run with a local kid that had cancer to the finish line. It was a very moving story. I reflected on this for a while. The struggles I faced running this race were nothing compared to the struggles this teenager had to face. It brought me a sense of immense humility.

We finally got to the Covered Bridge. I was exhausted and lucid. I had that stare – a blank look of thoughtlessness that only can be achieved through sleep deprivation and physical exertion.  “What can I get for you?” the aid volunteer asked.

“What? Um..I don’t know.” I said, trying to stand. I shifted back, almost falling on my ass, but was pushed back by the volunteer, like a lamp that was about to tip over and righted.

“You’re doing awesome,” the volunteer said. “You got this.”

I ate some watermelon and potatoes, filled my water, and took some gels. Larry and Jared had started out already. I ran to find them. The next section was another loop that came back to Covered Bridge. It was a beast: single track; dark; rocks and roots; steep climbs. I was walking more than running now at this point. Larry and Jared were ahead of me, and I found myself alone, in the dark, with just my headlamp to guide me and my thoughts to keep me company.

I thought about Carolyn, my wife. How I missed her.  I hadn’t seen or talked to her in about a month. She had been in Guatemala and was coming home Tuesday. I thought about her smile and her laugh, her beautiful hair – the way she makes me happy. I was focusing on positive things – uplifting things; things that could keep me going.

I eventually made it back to Covered Bridge, mile 85.71. Larry and Jared were still there. I inhaled some food and bolted off to try and keep up. This was a mistake. About 100 yards away from the aid station, I forgot to grab some gels, and had to go back. I finally left and Larry and Jared were far gone.

I was by myself again – on the road now. I wanted to run. It was flat terrain, but my body just couldn’t. Run damn you, I cursed to myself. But I didn’t – couldn’t – listen. The more you run the faster this nightmare will be over. I agreed with myself. But I just couldn’t.

I saw a flash of light in the sky. Lightning? Or was I hallucinating? Drops of rain began to fall. No. Please don’t rain, I thought. Not now. This is really bad timing. It drizzled for 20 minutes, and then stopped. Thank you trail gods!

I walked and walked. Each step was like a lifetime. My right leg was a stiff piece of wood. I hobbled through the dark, trying to walk fast, but not really succeeding. Eventually I arrived at Botzum aid, mile 90.61! I was so thrilled. I sat down for a minute – breaking my first and only rule of aid station use. I ate some ramen noodles – they were salty and amazing. Gina was all geared up and ready to run the last 10 miles. I was so happy to have her there on the final stretch. 

We departed the aid station. “Run damn you!” I shouted internally again. But my right leg was beyond abused. “No way, buddy!” it mocked me. “All I can do is walk. Sorry! And by the way, screw you for doing this to me. This is what you get!”

And so that’s what I did. I could not run. So I walked, and walked, and walked. It took me 2 hours to walk to the next and final aid station, Memorial Parkway, mile 95.98, stopping often to stretch out my leg, trying to breathe any last remaining life into it.

I was grumpy – real grumpy. And for this I apologize to Gina, my sweet sister, my noble pacer, who listened to it all and did not judge me. You are a true angel.

I wanted this to be over, but I could not run. So we walked again for 1 hour and 45 minutes. The darkness lifted on the last stretch – morning had arrived for the second time. We both reflected on this moment, how being here at sunrise was something special. How the light was somehow different, magical.

We finally got to the road and took a left over a bridge into town. This was it, the final mile. I did not feel excited – but relieved. This was finally going to be over – I was finally going to be able to stop.

A small crowd stood at the finish, cheering me on. I walked to about 25 yards from the finish line, and then decided to run, a pathetic wobble, teetering on the brink of collapse, over the plane. And that was it. My 100 mile journey had come to an end, sealed by a belt buckle strung around my neck, a pendant of the impossible. 

26:34 Finish Time. 42nd Place of 269.

 

Never before had I pushed myself so hard - to the brink of tears - to the edge of what was possible. Finishing this race was immensely fulfilling. I set out to see what I was made of, and I think I found the answer. The race wasn't really about finishing. It was the adventure I had along the way, the people I met, the wonderful aid station volunteers, my family and friends that cheered and helped me on. It was a community effort - a celebration of life. For this entire experience, I am eternally grateful. I've never felt more tired, beat up and abused. But I've never felt more alive. And I've never felt more free.  

Now time for a nap.