West Highland Way 2016

I wish I could adequately describe how I felt running the West Highland Way this past June.  The physical exertion of running 95 miles, and the sleep deprivation that goes with it, are only part of the experience.  So is the beautiful and austere course.  Even the midges play their beastly role.  

But most important is the feeling of community with crew, volunteers and other runners, all of whom step outside their ordinary lives for a little while to focus on one goal - getting from Milngavie to Fort William.  It is such a special experience, an emotional high that I have never experienced anywhere else.  I feel privileged to have started the race twice.

The Course

Course Profile

My two experiences at West Highland Way could not have been more different, and each one helped me appreciate the other.  Last year, it was raining much of the day.  I made several tactical mistakes, including going off course around mile 51 and running an extra six miles or so, not paying sufficient attention to nutrition, and failing to have the right gear for the cold, wet weather.  I ended up dropping out at 88 miles, at Lundavra, with hypothermia.  This year, the weather was perfect and my race went smoothly.

As strange as it sounds, I would not change one thing about what happened last time.  It was an incredible experience.  That is not to say I would ever want to repeat it.  That's often how life is: an experience is perfect the first time, but trying to repeat it would never work.  It is like going back to school after you've graduated. 

Pre-Race Instructions
12:30 a.m.

So much for the emotional stuff.  Here's the race report:  

I followed a very simply nutrition plan, taking one Gu every half hour.  That alone provides 200 calories per hour.  Add in a bit of Tailwind in the hydration pack, and some ginger beer and Coke at check points, and that was plenty of energy to get me to Fort William.   I had no problems eating, and generally felt good the entire 95 miles.  

Once again, I had an excellent crew: Rhona, Jemma and Patrick. Rhona was my crew chief, and she made sure that everything went smoothly.  Among other things, she provided me with an old mobile phone so that I could call the crew 15 minutes before each check point, a detail I would have ignored but which provided helpful.  

The Start

The race started at 1:00 a.m., in perfect weather, clear and cool. The course begins gently, rolling through the countryside on a mixture of fire roads, single tracks and small country roads.  The sky began to get light shortly after 3:00 a.m.   I took my headlamp off around 4:00 a.m., and only put it on again at the very end of the race.

The first 19 miles of the course are relatively flat and fast.  Even the climb up Conic hill is not too difficult that early in the race, although the run down from Conic toward Loch Lomond is a bit technical for a klutz like me.  I lost a few places at that stage, but felt great coming into Balmaha check point at 19 miles.

The midges came out in full force shortly after Balmaha, and plagued us for about 15 miles. Fortunately, I had used midge spray before the race, and one of the volunteers at Inversaid check point resprayed me.  And, I was running in a long sleeve shirt and gloves for the first 41 miles.  I survived with just a few bites on the ankles. 

Midge Hell

After Balmaha, the course continues along the East side of Loch Lomond for another 22 miles.  The trail becomes more technical, particularly a stretch of about four miles starting after Inversnaid.   

Last year, that technical section knocked me back significantly.  I lost about 20 places in the race, and even so it took a huge amount of energy.  It was difficult year, too, and there were times when I had to walk, and even use my hands.  But even so, there is no comparison with last year.  I lost just a couple of places and felt fine when I left Loch Lomond and headed towards the Beinglas check point at 41 miles.

Leaving Loch Lomond

Beinglas Check Point

My only minor hiccups came in the ten mile stretch after the Beinglas check point.  It was still cool, and I decided that I could get to Auchtertyre with just one water bottle, and no hydration pack.  I also left on my black long-sleeve Lycra shirt.  But the weather warmed up to about to about 70 degrees, and by the time I got to Beinglas I was a bit warm and slightly dehydrated.  I weighed in at about 4kg less than my pre-race weight.  

I also managed to bang the top of my head when passing through the tunnel under the train tracks at around mile 45, despite the fact that there is a very clear warning sign.  The tiny cut on my scalp bled a fair bit, and looked far worse than it felt.  Another running gave me some toilet paper to clean up the mess, and alerted the medical station at Auchtertyre check point to be on the look out for me.

Auchtertyre Check Point

It did not take long for the medic to decide that I was fine. Auchtertyre, about 50 miles into the race, is also where pacers are allowed.  

This year, however, the rules provided that anyone on pace to run under 21 hours cannot have a support runner.  When I arrived I was slightly faster than 21 hour pace, so I waited a couple of minutes so that Rhona could join me for the next section to Glencoe.  In the meantime, I drank lots of water, ginger beer and Coke, and gained back some of the water-weight I had lost.

From Auchtertyre to Fort Williams, the race went smoothly.  Rhona, Jemma and Patrick all took turns pacing and keeping me company. There were times I was frustrated that I was too tired to run on slightly technical downhills sections, but there was never a moment when I was objectively in any trouble.

Subconsciously, however, there was a part of me that thought that something would go wrong, and that I would not finish.  When we got to Lundavra, at mile 88, where I dropped out last year, I started to realize how anxious I had been, but also started realizing that I was in great shape and would actually finish.  I ran through the Lundavra check point without stopping, forcing Rhona and Jemma to run to catch up, and felt great the rest of the way to Fort William.  

It was barely dark when I finished at 11:39 p.m.  Wullie and Davie, who were on my crew last year, where at there, as was Alison.  I was so excited to see them I actually cried; I cannot remember the last time that I was that happy.

Our Team at the Award Giving
Rhona, Me, Jemma, Patrick

I owe thanks to many people.  In somewhat chronological order: Colin, Wullie and Davie crewed me last year, and taught me many lessons I was able to put to good use this year.  Ryan gave me the simple nutrition plan, which even I can follow, and which worked so well.  Marshall, Gwen and Kelley were my main training partners for the first five months of 2016, and helped me get into great shape.  Rhona, Jemma and Patrick crewed and paced this year.  I could not have done it without them.  And finally, Alison, who has been such a good friend for all these years.

Splits

West Highland Way 2015

     The most remarkable thing about my experience at West Highland Way was my crew.  I'd never met Colin before. Nonetheless, he not only agreed to go without sleep for 36 hours, and do all the other crazy things one does when pacing an ultra marathon, he also recruited his friends Wullie and Davie to join us. As a result, I had three great human companions, plus Colin's dog, Dougy, from Milngavie to Kinlochleven.  They made the entire experience possible, and so much fun.  I cannot thank them enough.  

Colin, Davie, Wully and Me: Just before the start

Just before the start: Dougy the dog being camera shy

     The West Highland Way is primarily a hiking trail, and a very popular one at that.  It begins in Milngavie, just North of Glasgow, and ends 95 miles later in Fort William, in the Highlands.  Most hikers cover the trail in four or five days.  

The Course

       The West Highland Way 95 is unlike any of the ultra marathons I have run in the United States.  There are no aid stations, just check points, and the difference is not just one of terminology.  Check points do not provide food.  Rather, runners rely on their crews. That is relatively easy, as there is a good deal of crew access along the course.  My crew knew the course particularly well, and thus was able to meet me at very regular intervals so that I did not have to carry much with me most of the race.

       Similarly, there were no course markings such as flags, ribbons or chalk.  Because the West Highland Way is a well-used hiking trail, however, there are signs at most junctions.  All that being said, the race is very well organized and thought out.  The appropriate safety measures are in place, such as checking runners in and out to make sure no one is missing, and also weighing them three times along the route to make sure they have not gained or lost excessive weight.

      I had the opportunity to talk to many of the runners, staff and volunteers, and found a tight-knit and experienced ultra running community.  Almost everyone I spoke to had at least hiked the course before, and the majority had either run the race or had run the course in sections.  The other runners were friendly, experienced, supportive and welcoming.

      Going into the race, I had no idea what to expect in terms of my own performance.  I told Colin my time could be anywhere from 18 to 26 hours.  And, I had no idea what to expect in terms of the course.  I looked at the pictures on the website, and read some of the descriptions, but still did not have a good feel for how technical the course might be.  

     The first 26.5 miles, to Rowardennan, were perhaps the easiest stretch of any ultra course I personally have run.  It was raining on and off, and there was a bit of mud in places, but the trail was well manicured and mostly flat or gently rolling.  I was running somewhat faster than I wanted, and feeling better than I expected. At that stage, I thought an 18 hour finish was possible.  And, I was mentally writing a blog post in which I referred to the fastest course around.  

      That changed quickly and dramatically in miles 34-40, between Inversnaid and Beinglas Farm.  The entire stretch is more difficult, but more importantly there is about a four mile section of slippery, rocky trail that gave me fits.  Getting through that section, even slowly, cost me a huge amount of energy. Perhaps 20 people passed me.  I passed no one.  Then, just after that section, I followed another runner off course for 200 meters or so, and ended up stepping in mud up to my ankles.

      By the 40 mile check point at Beinglas Farm, I knew that the course was not so fast after all.  I must have looked a bit punch-drunk, as well, when I stumbled into the check point.  I sat down to change my shoes and socks, and almost fell off the log and into a small stream.  My crew was kind enough not to laugh too hard.

      Nevertheless, while I knew a fast time was no longer possible, I was not upset and felt fairly confident that I would finish. Everything was as it should be.  I had my clean shoes and socks on, and was through the worst technical section.

Looking Pretty Ragged

      I had another mishap just after Auchtertyre, about 50 miles into the race.   My crew planned to meet me just 2.2 miles up the road, so I didn't take anything, not even a water bottle, for that short stretch.  Then I managed to get lost.  I thought I was following four other runners who were ahead of me, and I thought I saw them cross a small train station onto a fire road.   Wrong.  Finally, a group of hikers set me straight, and I got back on course, but not until I had run an extra six miles or so.

      My crew had been expecting me to be at the next meeting point in half an hour.  But, because of my detour, it took me about two hours to get there.  They knew something was wrong and went looking for me.  When I finally arrived, Colin was still out searching, but the rest of the crew was there, as were Dave and Alison.  

     The six bonus miles didn't bother me.  I was already headed to a relatively slow finish time, and wasn't too concerned about the additional hour and a half.  Moreover, the extra miles were all on smooth fire roads, nothing even remotely technical, and thus didn't take that much out of me.  Wullie jumped in to pace at 52 miles, and things got a lot better.  I had good company, and I knew I wouldn't get lost again.

     Somewhere out around 75 miles or so, Colin was pacing me and doing his best to keep my mind occupied with stories.  After an interesting lesson in Scottish history, and lively discussion about the recent independence referendum, I got an interesting lesson in Scottish wildlife.  I never knew about this critter before:

Wild Haggis

Unfortunately, we did not see any wild haggis on route, so I had to grab a stock picture off the Internet to include here.  Looks very majestic.  I am sure I will see one next time.

     I felt progressively better after Mile 52, when Colin and Wullie started pacing.  By Mile 81, at Kinlochleven, I felt confident that I would finish in a respectable 26 hours or so.   In fact, I was feeling a bit smug.  I left the Kinlochleven checkpoint at about 11:30pm, with 12.5 hours left to complete the course under the official cut-off.      

Feeling a lot better later in the day
before Glencoe, I think

     Between Mile 81 and 88, the course gets really wet.  We kept crossing small streams, and there was no way to keep my feet dry.  I was dressed just as in the picture above, without a beanie and without a full rain suit (in violation of the race rules).  The rain got a little more steady.  Around Mile 85 I started to feel uncomfortably cold, but there was really not much to do about it, and frankly I wasn't even worried until it was too late.  

      At Mile 88 there was a small unofficial check point, with a race official and a bonfire.  By the time I got there I was starting to go into hypothermia.  A race official put me into an empty van, but did not have the keys to turn on the heat.   Wullie called the rest of the crew, who were there in less than half an hour, but by that time I was still shivering and hyperventilating.  

     The race official strongly urged me to drop out.  I was reluctant to do so.  I had a complete changes of dry clean clothes in the car.  I still had ten hours to cover the last seven miles, and theoretically I could have spent three hours in the back of the car, getting warm, before starting again.  Then I would still have seven hours to go seven miles.

      The problem, as Colin gently explained, was that there is no crew access the final seven miles of the course.  And, it was still raining.  Had I continued, and had I gone back into hypothermia a few miles down the road, there would be no way for the crew to get me out safely.  So I dropped out with just seven miles to go.

     Part of me will never accept a DNF in any race, for any reason. But these days, that part of me is pretty small.  I realize it would have been stupid to continue: risk to myself, rude to my crew and rude to the race (a rescue attempt is costly and could harm the chances of getting a permit next year).  The wise and appropriate thing to do was to drop, so I did.

      West Highland Way was an incredible experience.  As with most of my ultra running adventures, it was not what I expected and it had a bit more drama than was needed (see my last post about Marshall's Santa Barbara 100 for an example of a drama-free ultra).  Even so, it was my adventure, and it was full of kind and generous people.  I wouldn't trade it for anything.

     This blog is primarily about running, but I'll sneak in a few pictures from the trip I took after the race.  In chronological order:

Smoo Cave, Scotland

Near Handa Island, Scotland

Breakfast in Inverness: Alison, Paul, Aiden and me

Somewhere in Lofoten, Norway

Nyksund, Norway

Kabelvog, Norway

Lofoten (for John)

Lofoten

Lake Sonoma 50M

The Lake Sonoma 50M is a classic ultra running event, with first class race organization and a first class field.  The beautiful course may not have any major climbs, but neither does it have any flat ground.  Instead, it rolls up and down, around the lake, for 50 miles.  I rate the course about an hour slower than the Avalon 50M course.

I had a tough day at Lake Sonoma.  I finished in 10:38, more than two and one half hours slower than I ran in Avalon this January. Nevertheless, that performance was probably as good as I could have done on that day. 

I will take home two lessons from Lake Sonoma.  First, my stress level is the most important factor in how I perform on race day.  I have been dealing with some stressful stuff recently; hopefully, it is finally going to end soon, and I will not have another race like this. Of course, there will always be stress in my life, and I have to work harder to address how I react to it.

Second, it is ok to have days like that.  I got myself out there, and ran as best as I could under the circumstances, even though I felt lousy and would have rather stayed home.  I need to learn to accept that, and not worry so much about my times.  The next race, West Highland Way, will be much better.

The Finish Line: It's good to have a friend on a tough day

Avalon 50M 2015

      On October 11, 2014, I ran 10:06 for 50 miles at Dick Collins Fire Trails.  I gave it my all that day.  I did not go out too fast, forget to eat, nor make any other obvious mistakes.  That was just the best I was able to do on that particular day this past October. On January 10, 2015, I ran 8:06:45 at the Avalon 50, a new personal best.  

       I wish I could fully explain how I improved my time by two hour, in just three months.  The main factor was probably stress. I've been able to reduce my stress level progressively over the past six months or so, and stress is apparently a major factor in how my heart performs. Less stress equals better heart performance equals better running performance.  It is difficult to believe a drop in stress levels could make that much difference, but I have no other explanation for the bulk of that improvement.

      I also ran a smart race.  Last year at Avalon, I didn't have much training behind me, went out too fast and got in trouble around 35 miles.  I distinctly remember walking on several miles of flat ground around mile 40. One of my main goals this year was to be strong enough to take advantage of all that runnable ground late in the race.  

     This year, I made a concerted effort to control the pace early on. I walked the uphills every time I felt like I was straining, and I made sure I was taking full advantage of all the downhills.  I'm used to passing other runners on the uphills, only to watch them pass me back on the downs.  This was the first time I can remember being passed by other runners on the uphills, then passing them going down.  

      I also stuck to a simple nutrition plan, taking a plain Gu every half an hour, and drinking a few cups of Coke or ginger ale at every aid station.  Thank you Ryan for the plan; thank you to David for pushing me to get a nutrition plan and follow it.
   
      My patience paid off.  Last year, it took me 5:13 to get to the Little Harbor Aid Station at mile 33.2, and I was in 13th place overall.  I finished at 8:22, 25th place.  In other words, I lost 12 spots in 16.8 miles.  Not so great.    

2014 Partial Results

        This year, it took me 5:27 to get to Little Harbor, so 14 minutes behind last year, and I was in about 25th place.  But, this year, I ran the final 16.8 miles 28 minutes faster, picking up about seven spots and finishing 18th overall in 8:06:45.  I was able to run almost all of the flat ground, and most of the uphills in the last ten miles of the race.

2015 Final Results

      Obviously, I am thrilled with the result.  It was worlds better than Dick Collins three months ago, and substantially better than Avalon last year.  

       But, as those who know me can easily predict, my next question is: How much faster can I run?  Time to get to work on that.  



________________________________________________

John came along with me to Avalon.  He woke up before the 5am start to get this video of the start:

And he waited around the finish line to get this one at the finish line:

      Here are a few more photos from the weekend (can't recall who took which ones):

Naomi, Amy, Anton and Me

Avalon Harbor

One More Shot of Avalon Harbor

Hood to Coast 2014

I've been wanting to run the Hood to Coast Relay for years.   It is the oldest relay of its kind, and very popular; 3,000 teams apply for 1,050 spots in the race.  I had no plans to go this year but was lucky enough to be invited to join a team that already had an entry, when one of their runners had to cancel.  

As the name suggests, the race starts on Mt. Hood and winds nearly 200 miles down to the coast at Seaside, Oregon, passing through downtown Portland at about the half way point.  

The Starting Line at 6:30 am

The race is divided into 36 legs,  most of which are about six miles long.  Teams consist of anywhere from eight to 12 runners.  Our team had nine runners, so we each ran four legs about five or six hours apart.

I ran legs 2, 11, 20 and 29.  My first leg was all downhill, nearly at the top of Mt. Hood, starting around 8:30 on Friday morning.  My second leg was in the heat of the day, and my third was in the dark of night.  My final leg began in the dark, around 5am, and ended in the early morning light.

David and Natalie

Andrew

Hood to Coast is madhouse.  A thousand teams participating means that 2,000 vans and approximately 10,000 runners crowd onto the two lane roads leading down from Mt. Hood towards Seaside, Oregon.  Exchange points can be very crowded.  In fact, the traffic leading into exchange point 24 was so bad that it took us well over an hour to drive the final mile, and our runner had to wait for us to arrive. 

Most of the teams come up with creative names and decorate their vans.  Some also run in costumes.

Where's Waldo Theme Van

Cereal Killers Van

Every Van from Seattle to Medford Gets Rented for HTC
Hertz Knows What Happens to those Vans

 Start times for the race are staggered, with the slower teams starting as early as 6:00am and the fastest teams starting in the afternoon.  But either way, all of the teams run through the night.  And, for most teams, the race takes more than 24 hours.  So, that means lots of sleeping, eating and changing dirty clothes in the vans.

Dan Getting Some Much Need Sleep

College Women Sacked Out at Exchange Point 28

The long day and the close quarters are part of what makes Hood to Coast so much fun.  I had a great time with my teammates, and also met quite a few other runners along the route.

One thing I would change, however, is the walkers.  The walkers start their event in Portland.  When they joined in, the roads became even more crowded.  And, for the most part, the walkers have little in common with the runners.  It would be nice if they could hold the walking event on a different day.

Our team finished in 27:31, 185th place out of 1,050 teams.  I was happy with the way I ran.  I've been quite tired since the Bryce 100, but I felt much better this past weekend.  It was also good to run relatively fast.  Ultras involve a lot of shuffling and a lot of walking. Hood to Coast has some of the endurance aspects of an ultra, such as staying up all night, but it also allows runners to move faster.

The Finish Line

Me and John at Seaside, After the Race

Overall, it was a great weekend.  I am still not quite ready to start hard training again, although I will slowly work my way back into that.  Next race is still TBA.

Bryce 100

In March 2010, my father, who had been healthy and active, had 20 hours of emergency surgery and nearly died after his aorta dissected.   He survived and is doing well, but the incident had a lasting effect on me.  Here is a man who shares half of my DNA, and who had taken as good care of himself as can reasonably be expected.  Yet, without warning, he was nearly dead at age 77.  I was 47, and began thinking about my own life, and how I want to live my remaining years, however many they may be. 

The four years since my dad's heart incident have been difficult for me in many respects.  I've questioned myself, and pretty much every aspect of my life and relationships to others.  My dad's incident had opened up all sorts of emotions that had been dormant for decades.

The Bryce 100 ripped into that emotional opening.  It was by far the hardest thing I have ever done, an intensely personal experience that helped me remember who I am, and that, in the end, I must answer to and rely upon myself.  It's a lesson I learned long ago, but somehow forgot these past few years.

The Bryce 100 is challenging, even for a 100 miler.  The entire course is above 7,000 feet, with a high of 9,400 feet, and a total of 19,000 of climbing and descending.  It includes a mixture of rocky, sandy and smooth trails and fire roads.  But, the race also has a very generous 36 hour time limit.  The trick to ultra running is to go really slow; that applies double at Bryce.  

As with most ultra running events, the day did not go anything like it was planned.  I had planned on running the entire 100 miles with Jack, who was attempting the distance for the third time.  I did not expect him to push me, and was anticipating a pleasant, if rather long, social event in beautiful Bryce Canyon.  I assumed that Jack and I would do much more hiking than running, and finish between 30 and 36 hours.  

My only concern going into the race was my right heel.  About four weeks before race day, I bruised my heel running down the Upper Luna trail.  I was on crutches for three days.  It was just a few days before the race by the time I could run again.  On race day, I was no longer in pain, but was concerned that my heel would not tolerate 100 miles of trails.  I took an extra dose of Meloxicam, an anti-inflammatory, and carried a bottle of ibuprofen as well.

On the Shuttle from Ruby's Inn to the Starting Line
Note the Peruvian Beanie 

We started off at 6am, in a parking lot a few miles outside of the town of Bryce.  As we jogged down the fire road towards the trails, a small family of three ungulates (Deer?  Elk? Someone said they were Antelope) bounded into the forest a few hundred yards ahead. 

After two miles of fire road, the course turned right onto the Thunder Mountain trail.

Mile 2

Around Mile 7

                            

We started off gently, enjoying the scenery with the other runners, many of whom were also stopping frequently to take pictures. Nevertheless, quite early on, it became clear to me that Jack was in trouble, as we were moving slower and slower.  This gave me time to take pictures, and to chat with other runners and aid station volunteers.  

Blubber Aid station, Mile 27

Ed the Jester
If you don't see Ed, it probably isn't a 100 miler

We arrived at the Straight Canyon Aid Station, at Mile 40, the first spot with crew access, late in the day and I was already thinking about cut-off times.  But I was also feeling strong.  The only difficulty was my heel, which was beginning to hurt.  I decided to change into my new Hokas, extra padded shoes, even though I had never run in them before.  I figured we were walking anyway, and I could change back into my Inov8 295s at the 50 mile marker, if need be.

A friendly runner named Nick joined us for the next leg, a five mile climb to the Pink Cliffs Aid Station, the highest point on the course.

It was slow going up the hill, and it was clear that Jack would not complete the course that day.  At Mile 45, at Pink Cliffs, he told me has dropping out.  I did not argue with him and instead asked permission to be released to finish the race alone.  He immediately agreed.  The real adventure started at that moment.

I was still feeling fresh, but concerned about the fact that I was near the cut-off times.  I said goodbye to Jack and Nick, and ran fairly hard to the Crawford Pass Aid Station, the 50 mile marker and the turn around point for the Bryce 100.  It was just getting dark when I came into the camp ground and gave my number to the volunteer at the entrance to the aid station.

And I couldn't find my crew.  I looked all throughout the aid station area, at the fire, and even into the parking lot.  I called out. Nothing.  No crew, and thus no warm night gear.  I tried the cell phone but there was no reception.  I asked the aid station volunteers, but they could not help me.  

My crew had assumed that I would stay on the same pace that Jack and I had been walking, so I had arrived an hour or so earlier than they had anticipated, and they were sitting in the car to stay warm. I hadn't seen or recognized the car in the dark, and they had the windows rolled up, so they did not hear me.  

After about five minutes I gave up looking for help from others and decided to do what I needed to finish the race.  It was getting cold and I was wearing only a sweaty technical shirt and running shorts but I took off, still moving fast, towards the 55 mile marker back at Pink Cliffs.

It was 9:41 p.m. and dark when I left Crawford Pass.  When I saw Jack at about Mile 48, he told me that he had spoken to our crew and they were indeed at Crawford Pass.  He promised to talk to them, and make sure that they met me at Straight Canyon with my night gear.

I felt fine when I passed Pink Cliffs.  About half way between Pink Cliffs and Straight Canyon, however, I began to feel slightly woozy.  It did not occur to me right away, but by the time I was within a mile of Straight Canyon I knew I was in the beginning stages of hypothermia.  It turns out it was about 32 degrees outside. I was cold, and none too pleased.  

I began hyperventilating at or about the time I sat down at the fire. And things went down hill from there.  I started thinking that I would not be able to finish, and for the third time in my life, had a panic attack, which manifested in more hyperventilating.   All I wanted to do was finish, and it seemed that that was in doubt.

I spent an hour in the car, with the heater and seat-heater on full blast, blankets and warm clothes.  It was at about that time that I had my first hallucination.    David handed me my black beanie, but what I saw was the Peruvian beanie, pictured above.  I even asked David how the Peruvian beanie had gotten into the car, as I knew he had taken it back to the hotel room after the race began. 

It was 2am when I got out of the car and got back on the course. No, it was not a wise move.  There were 40 more miles of trails, and no more crew access.  I knew I had a heart condition, albeit one that is under control.  I wish I had had a coach to rely on to make the decision for me.  

I thought about my high school coach, Richard Kampmann, and what he would have said if he had been there.  I knew that he would have told me to call it a day, and that I would have accepted it coming from him.  Coach K is a kind and wise man, and I love and trust him.  But Coach was not there.

In the end, I made my own decision.  And I decided to finish if I possibly could.  I had worked too hard and invested too much to simply give up.  I was going to finish the course, and beat the cut-off time, if at all possible.  That was the goal I set for myself when I started, and that was the goal I had in mind at 2am.

Maybe it is a good thing that Coach was not there.  I had asked to run with Jack, which turned out to be a bad decision.  I had asked for my crew to bring my night gear, and that had not worked well either.  Perhaps it is a good thing that, instead of relying on someone else, I made my own decision for my own reasons.

I slogged it out through the night, walking the uphills and shuffling the downhills and most of the flat ground.  David did his usual great job of pacing, urging me along and trying to get me to eat, which I didn't want to do.  I had mild hallucinations the remainder of the run.  For example, I thought a charred log was a black bear cub, and was concerned because I couldn't see it's mother.   After a while I questioned much of what I saw on the course.

We reached Blubber Aid Station at Mile 73 after sunrise, but it was still too cold to remove all the cold weather clothing I'd put on back at Straight Canyon.  At the Mile 82 aid station a volunteer made me an impromptu drop bag and I finally stripped back to just the technical shirt and shorts in which I'd started the race. 

At Mile 90 we still had six hours left before the cut off and I finally felt confident that I'd finish.  I started to let off a bit, as my feet were badly blistered from the Hokas.  We saw ultra running legend Tim Olson around Mile 95.  He smiled and cheered me on, which made me feel really good.

I finally dragged myself across the finish line at 3:39pm, 33 hours and 39 minutes after I'd set out the day before.  It's a truly embarrassing time, in some respects, but I'm proud of myself.  It was a very tough run, in various respects, and things did not go as planned. Yet I stuck to my goal.  Maybe I whined a bit at times, and there was certainly some unnecessary drama at Straight Canyon, but in the end I did not give up or make excuses.

It's difficult to put into words the emotional aspect of a run like Bryce.   Some combination of the physical effort and exhaustion, and the emotional turmoil, create an altered mental state that seems to last several days.  I feel like my personality has been permanently altered, and I'm on to the next stage of my life.

Surprisingly, my body seems to have come through Bryce quite well. I'm tired quite a bit, but not a single muscle strain or other bodily injury other than some nasty blisters.  Now it's time to rest up and get ready for the next adventure.