Cruel Jewel was important to me. Important for a lot of reasons but mostly
important for selfish reasons of redemption.
I needed redemption for last year.
Last year was abysmal, by any running standards. Quad Rock 50 got flooded out and
rescheduled. Then I sprained my ankle
and couldn’t make the reschedule. I ran
San Juan Solstice 50 a month after said sprained ankle and had to walk about 25
miles—it took like 14 hours to finish.
Then I put all of my energy into Nolan’s 14. I didn’t do any more races, I just focused my
energy into scouting and getting the routes down. Both Nolan’s attempts didn’t work out d/t
getting sick beforehand. I was left
w/out a Hardrock qualifier and zero races that I felt good about. I felt like a failure. Was I getting too old for this stuff? Nothing seemed to be working out. You’re only as good as the last thing you
did, or at least that’s what I read somewhere.
Well, I hadn’t done anything. I
needed to finish. I needed a Hardrock
qualifier. I would have crawled across
broken glass infected w/ typhoid to get to this finish line.
I flew out to Georgia early Thursday morning and ran a
shakeout run, shortly after I landed. I
had never climbed 33,000 feet in a day and 108 miles is about 6 or 7 miles further
than I had ever gone—further than I really ever cared to go. I wasn’t nervous. In fact, I was calm. Too calm.
Would I fall flat on my face? Had
I trained hard enough? Too hard? In March and April, I had run lots of 80 mile
weeks, with a few 90’s and 100’s sprinkled in for kicks. In April, I ran the Rockin K 50 miler in
Kansas as a little test. A week later, I
jumped into a 24 hour event (not something I recommend but I’ve been known to
succumb to peer pressure) w/ the intention of running an easy 50-60 miles. At 60 miles, I was in 3rd. My buddy Logan showed up at that point w/
fresh legs and was able to pace me through a fast 10 miles or so. I kept it up until I was in 2nd. I went on to run 102 miles before calling it
a day. I never really pushed hard, just
cruised. Then I basically rested for a
month before Cruel Jewel. I exercised
twice a day but was only logging 30-40 mile weeks most of that month in order
to let the legs heal up. I didn’t feel
100% going into Cruel Jewel but I didn’t feel injured either. I was ready to see what I was (or wasn’t)
made of.
The noon start was something new for me. That gives you just enough time to “try” and
sleep in and just basically have a few anxious hours b/f the race. I made sure I had everything I needed in my
pack and my drop bags. This would also
be my first hundred w/out crew or pacers to help me out. I was going this one alone. The only other person that I knew down there
was my friend Cecilia. I was staying at
her parent’s house. She was running as
well and had run the course last year as well. She was the one that convinced me I needed
this race on my resume. While she
nervously hugged everyone (she knows everyone down there, this is her home
turf) I sat on the sidelines, quietly waiting for noon. In fact, she’s so popular down there, when
people saw me quietly following her around, they assumed I was her pacer. Nope, I’m here to see what’s what.
At noon, we were off.
I felt the nervous energy, felt people going out way too fast, settled
into an easy pace w/ about 10-12 people ahead of me. I tried to keep my heart rate low in the
first 7 miles to tap into the fat burning mode I’d trained my body to do.
A few months b/f the race, I’d taken on a new diet. I’m not one to try fad diets but I needed a
change and knew my body wasn’t happy w/ what I’d been feeding it. I’ve always had a gluten sensitivity. I’d always puked my guts out during
ultras. I’d always had a large capacity
for alcohol and it never seemed to bother me too much. However, I’m always trying to make small,
positive changes. What better way to
start than w/ what I’m putting in my body?
First, I gave up gluten and wheat. I started to feel better. My skin cleared up. Then I increased my fat intake and lowered my
carbohydrates altogether. It was a big
commitment. No bread. No tortillas.
No pasta. No beer. Lots of butter, coconut oil and avocados
until they were coming out my ears. I was
spending lots of money on quality foods and most of my spare time was now spent
in the kitchen, preparing food for the day.
The first few weeks, I felt like crap.
My runs felt like junk. Ten
minute miles seemed to nearly kill me. I
went for runs w/ friends and was just plain embarrassed at my performance. I was slow and tired. I hung in.
I pushed through. No carbs. After a few weeks, I broke through. I crossed the line and my body was now
burning fat rather than carbohydrates and sugar. I didn’t “become faster” after those few
weeks, I just slowly bounced back to feeling normal. Gone were the days of needing a gel every 20
minutes of a run. I’d go for a 20 mile
run w/ only a nut butter. I’d wake up
and have a super fatty bulletproof coffee and run 10 miles and not even be
hungry afterwards. Was it working?
I tested it out in Kansas at the Rockin K 50. The race went well. I ran the whole things w/ 2 gels, 2 nut
butters and a coconut water or two. That’s
it. The good Lord granted me a first
place finish to let me know to stay on the path I was on. Recovery was quick. The next weekend, I jumped into the 24 hour
event. I was only there for time on feet
and sleep deprivation training, w/ Cruel Jewel in the back of my mind. I ended up w/ a 2nd place podium
finish. Then I basically had a month to
recoup b/f Cruel Jewel. I ran some 40
mile weeks. I cross trained a lot. I gave up alcohol altogether. W/out being able to drink beer, I was left w/
liquor or white wine, neither of which is all that great for training
hard. So I gave it up. Now I’m not saying I’ll be sober and carb
free for the rest of my days but right now, it’s working for me. Even after the race, I’ve managed to stay
strong. High fat, low carb, ketogenic,
sober living. Who the hell was I? All the questions went through my head. Did I even want to be this person? I kept it up anyway.
The first aid station was at 7 miles. I’d been following a conga line of runners
and as they all stopped for food and water, I cruised right on by. At mile 7, I was on my own. There were runners ahead but who knew how
many. Run your own race. I felt great.
The Duncan Ridge Trail, known as the Dragon’s Spine awaited us. It was relentless. In Colorado, we are used to monster climbs
and technical trails much worse than this.
We are used to 3,000-4,000 foot climbs and trails so technical, you can
barely run at all. But in Georgia, most
of the climbs were 500-800 feet. There
are a few bigger ones but since I was running on (only) 3,000-4,000 foot
mountains, it didn’t seem that taxing to me.
In Colorado, we run up 8,000-14,000 foot peaks on the weekly. I ran by myself for a long time. In and out of aid stations, up and down
mountains, sun shining down w/ nothing but blue skies above me. I saw Cecilia’s folks at mile 30 (the only
time I would see them throughout the race—after all, they were there for her,
not me) and was able to switch shoes. They
let me know my GPS tracker wasn’t working and they messed w/ it while I ate a
couple strips of bacon. There were a
couple of guys I’d been leapfrogging w/ for miles and we were kind of pacing
off of each other. Nightfall came and we
ran into the 50 mile turnaround a few hours later. I was tired, sore etc. but not done. Still moving well. I changed shirts, ate some nut butter and
drank coconut water and headed back out by myself for more punishment. I went deep, deep into the night and into
myself. I wasn’t puking my guts
out. I wasn’t going through super high
highs or low lows. I was just
cruising. Instead of dreading eating a
gel every 20 minutes and making myself sick, I was eating every 8-10 miles and
looking forward to it. Never hungry,
just feeling “normal”. Sure, it was
tough. Sure, my legs were toast. Sure, my feet would turn into burger b/f long. But I wasn’t sick and I was able to take food
in w/out it being a complete nightmare. I
put in headphones and listened to an audiobook.
Eventually, the sun came up. I
had about 30 miles to go. I’d power hike
the ups and shuffle along on the downs.
There were no flats. It was
either up or down. I wasn’t necessarily
moving fast but no one else must have been either b/c as slow as things seemed
to be going, I was on my own and no one was passing me. Everyone was suffering by now. My lowest point came at mile 75. I was tired.
Wrecked. At the 80 miles aid
station, I tried to eat some beef jerky.
Too dry. I tried to drink a Red
Bull. Blah. Fail, fail.
Is there anything you need? / the aid station volunteers
offered.
Nope—I’d better just get back out there / I replied
indignantly. The last 25 miles weren’t going
to run themselves. The Dragon’s Spine
still awaited me, along w/ a finish line—somewhere out there. I was pretty destroyed but still moving. I made it to 100 miles. Only 8 miles to go. Those 8 miles seemed impossible. There were one or two more climbs. I didn’t want to do it. I wondered if I could hitch a ride w/ some
southern boy who would be willing to drop me off a half mile from the
finish. I could run in and claim I’d
made it. God, would that be easier than
this. I shuffled along for 30 minutes
and looked at my watch. I’d only moved ¾
of a mile! What? This is stupid! Help!
Get me off of this course! Eventually
I made it to “the bridge” and I knew I only had 3 miles to go. I got it in my head that no one would pass me
w/in the last 3 miles and I’d give it all I had. I moaned in pain w/ every step. I knew the finish was close. I could smell it. W/ about ¾ of a mile to go, I saw someone
behind me, moving fast. He was trying to
overtake me. Nope. Not happening. Not on my watch. I didn’t know what place I was in and didn’t
care. This gentleman was not going to
take anything away from me. I just “turned
it on”. I don’t know where the reserves
came from but I dropped a 7 min / mile and ran it all the way into the finish,
pain every step. 108 miles. 33,000 feet.
I crossed the finish line, elated.
28 hours and 41 minutes. No one
to hug. No one to celebrate w/. I had done it alone. Not just the race but the entire journey that
had started months ago. No one to
encourage me. No one to push me. I had found a strength and confidence w/in myself
that was quite literally priceless. They
told me I was in the top 10 finishers. I
felt like I had found a new me.
I like who I am when my back is against the wall and
everything is against me. I like who I am
when the pressure is on and I’m tired and want to go home. These are the moments I live for. These are the moments when I find out what I’m
really all about. These are just a few
of the memories I will remember on my deathbed.
I’m definitely not perfect and I would never suggest
modeling your life after mine. I’ve made
every mistake in the book and it sometimes seems I only do the right thing when
there’s no wrong things left to do. I’m
not special, gifted or even all that athletic.
I’m just a messed up guy, looking for my own peace of mind. The trails are just one of the things that
help me to be a better person. Running
100 miles isn’t healthy. It’s pretty
tough on your body. But there’s
something special about finding a strength deep, deep w/in yourself that you
KNOW everyone has. Most people will
never tap into it though. I say—open that
door. See what’s on the other side. Go deep.
You only live once. Be the most
authentic you that you can. Be YOU on level
10. You don’t have to do it every day. Do it once in a while. Prove to yourself that you are something
special and carry that around w/ you, silently.
Bukowski said it best. “You will
ride life straight to perfect laughter.
It’s the only good fight there is.”