“0.25 miles in and I’m already DFL (dead freaking last),” I thought to myself. It was three minutes into the race and the parade of headlamps that I had started with had already almost vanished into the distance.
There I was, alone, in the woods—or so I had thought. Several minutes later I turned my head in response to the sound of two runners trotting behind me. Alright so I’m not last—until they passed me a minute later and there I was again, convinced I was DFL. It wasn’t until mile 29 that I had learned that there were 6 other runners behind me.
The start of the race was five miles on a very gradual road to meet up with the trailhead. Luckily, I saw a bright red flashing light from someone’s headlamp up a trail to my right. There was a water only aid station set up there and a few arrows that I certainly would have missed had I not noticed the two runners ahead of me.
I meandered steadily through the switchbacks up the mountain to Alma, following the bright green glow sticks that lined the way up closer to the aid station at mile 8. The blue of the sky that peeked through the treetops overhead got progressively lighter as I ventured my way up. I was in the middle of a flat rocky trail that sat in the middle of a vast valley when the sun began to rise and revealed the gigantic mountains surrounding me. The clouds etched streaks of pink, orange, yellow—and all hues at once. “This may be the prettiest sunrise I have ever seen in my entire life,” I thought to myself. “I get to see two sunrises in these beautiful mountains.” I smiled at how lucky I was to be viewing the most incredible sunrise while enduring what I knew would be my life’s biggest adventure so far.
It was crazy to me to notice my state of mind and compare it to how nervous and worried I was before the race. I think that is something about nature—I find it nearly impossible to be worried while in nature. Soaking in the scent of the wildflowers that were scattered alongside the trail, relishing the view of the sunbeams lighting up and showcasing the mountains in the backdrop, and feeling the cool breeze against my skin as it energized me: all elements of worry subsided from my mind.
I ran into Jared, who I had met at the Silverheels training run, up the trail. He and I jog-hiked for a while together. It was nice to have someone to talk to and enjoy the trails with.
We made our way into the first party (aid station). There was old school rap music playing and the volunteers were dressed in Hawaiian shirts with leis. One of the volunteers filled up my hydration pack with water and said, “Kyle’s pacing you right?”
“Yeah, at mile 67 I think.” I replied. “How do you know Kyle?”
“From Boulder Trail Runners, I’m Fred,” he said.
“I didn’t even recognize you! It’s so good to see you,” I exclaimed.
I had met Fred earlier this summer from Kyle while I was living in Boulder for the summer. It was so good to see a familiar face. That got me excited and I was off on my way to the first out and back. Typically I don’t usually like out and backs, however since it was early in the race, I got to see some of the faster runners on their way back as I went out. I saw my friend Lance on his way down and high-fived him and said, “Keep crushing it!”
Further up the trail a tall woman said, “Keep it up, Adrienne.” I thanked her and was instantly boosted with confidence and happiness. At the pre-race meeting, the race director Sherpa John had mentioned that I was the youngest runner entered in the race. I was surprised at the number of people who had remembered my name and had cheered me on along the course. I’ve never felt that much support in my life. I felt like I was the famous underdog. I had to keep going.
I departed the aid station at mile 13 quickly knowing that I would get to see my boyfriend, Darren, in 5 miles at the next aid station. The majority of the way there was on a downhill dirt road. I ran as much as I could, knowing that strategically I had to run as much of the downhills and flats as I could to make up for the two big climbs there were in the middle of the race. My quads were starting to scream at me to slow down as the descent continued on.
Finally, with the aid of a left hand turn, the trail guided me uphill to the aid station. I don’t think I’ve ever been so thankful to have an uphill. Ever. I made my way through a creek crossing that was the first familiar part of the trail. I had been there at mile 3 of the training run and I remembered that the aid station would be just around the corner. As soon as I got there I recognized that we had camped there the night before. And as soon as I passed our camp spot, I saw Darren. I yelled his name and a big smile appeared on my face. He told me that I was an hour and twenty minutes faster than cutoff, which gave me even more confidence. I chugged some tomato juice, scarfed down some potatoes and watermelon, grabbed my trekking poles and got on my way.
The next 15 miles were the same as the training run. I was so thankful that I had gone to the training run and knew what to expect. I seemed to have gotten into a groove and had the perfectly consistent swift hike up, slow jog down routine that made the miles pass by with ease. It was crazy to think about the training run and how I had already been there several weeks before. Somehow it was more beautiful than I had remembered and it was far less painful—probably because I was going at a much slower, smoother pace. How crazy it was though, it didn’t feel like a race. It felt just like a huge adventure the entire time. I realized that I had the biggest smile ever on my face—while I was going uphill. “I am on the greatest expedition ever,” I told myself. “This is literally the most enjoyable race and experience of my life. Trust the trail, and it will guide you Adrienne.”
The first thing I noticed when I saw the road up the Tarrayll aid station was Darren’s car parked on the road. That motivated me. “I get to see Darren,” I thought. “And I get to eat Spaghetti-O’s.” I smiled even greater at that thought and picked up the pace. Darren was in his hammock when I arrived at the aid station. He ran down towards me to greet me. The transition from having only seen two other runners the last 15 miles to seeing 15 people at the aid station was crazy. That aid station was a partyyy.
I ate my Spaghetti-O’s cold although I was still an hour and twenty minutes faster than cutoff pace. I knew that I would need to keep going since those two big climbs would take me forever. As I went out on my way, and started going up to the Gold Dust station, I saw two guys on their way down. At the time, I had no earthly idea what that meant. I thought I had a 5 mile out and back until I would be at Tarryall again. Little did I know that I wouldn’t be back at Tarryall for another 23 miles.
The aid station 2.5 miles past Tarryall was smaller, but just as fantastic. A few runners were still hanging out there and I joined them on the quesadilla-eating feast. I was told that that was the hike in aid station. I knew that Darren would probably be there by the time I did the first 5 mile out and back so I got on my way. On my way out, I had seen the most runners that I had seen in 8 hours. That motivated me. I saw Rebecca, who I had met at the training run, coming down as I was on my way up. “Adrienne!” she exclaimed. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you. Enjoy the views!” I smiled and told her how great it was to see her too. I was so motivated to keep going. Everyone believed in me and was rooting for me, and that made me believe in myself more.
I thought about the second thing she said too, “enjoy the views.” Oh no. That had to mean there was a climb coming up already. It must be the first big needlepoint climb I saw in the elevation profile. Another runner passed me by and I asked how the elevation gain was the rest of the way out. “Not gonna lie to you, it’s pretty hilly,” he said. That was an understatement.
I had gotten to the bottom of a hill so steep that I couldn’t even see the top. I passed a couple runners on their way down. “Thank goodness for poles, right?!” I said to them. I kept trekking along slowly, trying not to pause too much. What had looked like the top when I got there turned left and kept going. “How?!” I thought. “This is just ridiculous…I must have been hiking slower than I’ve ever hiked…I’ve probably already been on this part for an hour and I’m only half way…This is by far harder than the Manitou incline…This is probably the hardest mountain I’ve ever climbed…Why hasn’t anyone passed me yet?”
I saw an orange ribbon tied to the rock about 20 yards again. It looked like there was a plastic bag with playing cards on it for me to pick up and bring to the next aid station as proof that I had done the entire out and back. “Wow that’s so nice of Sherpa John,” I thought. “He’s not even making us go to the very top. How cool.” As I got closer I noticed that it was just the white of the rock that had created the illusion that I so desperately wanted to be reality. I should have known that Sherpa John would never have done something like that. I sat down, ate some Stinger energy chews and then continued my way up to the actual top.
I saw two hikers at the top. “You made it!” one of the men said. “…Barely,” I replied. They laughed and asked how long the race was and I told them 100 miles and they said I must be crazy. “I must be,” I replied. They laughed and I started jogging downhill to make up for the time that I had lost on my way up. It was good to see people. I didn’t see anyone else on my entire way down. No other runners—that worried me. I knew that there were 6 other runners behind me and I started to wonder if all of them had gotten timed out. I wondered if I was close to being timed out. I kept on jogging.
With about a half a mile left to the bottom, I saw too runners on there way up. I wondered if it could be Darren and Steve (our friend who I knew was coming later in the afternoon). How great it would be to see them, I thought. Well actually—maybe not, the only reason they would come up here is to tell me I’ve already been timed out, right? As I squinted a little harder, I heard them yell my name and I instantly knew that it was them. “Yooo what’s up guys!!” I said, so thrilled to see them.
They informed me that everyone behind me had dropped out at the last aid station and that I was still okay on time. I was relieved to hear that I was still on pace. And I was in disbelief that everyone else had already dropped out. “Wow, that’s crazy,” I told them. “I’m finishing this race, there is no way I’ll let myself drop out.” They cheered me on with excitement from my response and told me that I looked great.
At the aid station, I saw Lance again. He had just finished the 13 mile loop that I was about to start. The second and final skyscraper-of-a-climb was coming up next. He told me that it was shorter that the last one, but still very steep. The aid station workers said that if I kept a 24-minute mile pace, for the next 15 miles I would make it back to Tarryall before the cutoff at 12:30am. That seemed reasonable—I just had to run all of the downhills knowing that the climb would take me forever judging on how long the last one took me.
There I was, alone, in the woods—or so I had thought. Several minutes later I turned my head in response to the sound of two runners trotting behind me. Alright so I’m not last—until they passed me a minute later and there I was again, convinced I was DFL. It wasn’t until mile 29 that I had learned that there were 6 other runners behind me.
The start of the race was five miles on a very gradual road to meet up with the trailhead. Luckily, I saw a bright red flashing light from someone’s headlamp up a trail to my right. There was a water only aid station set up there and a few arrows that I certainly would have missed had I not noticed the two runners ahead of me.
I meandered steadily through the switchbacks up the mountain to Alma, following the bright green glow sticks that lined the way up closer to the aid station at mile 8. The blue of the sky that peeked through the treetops overhead got progressively lighter as I ventured my way up. I was in the middle of a flat rocky trail that sat in the middle of a vast valley when the sun began to rise and revealed the gigantic mountains surrounding me. The clouds etched streaks of pink, orange, yellow—and all hues at once. “This may be the prettiest sunrise I have ever seen in my entire life,” I thought to myself. “I get to see two sunrises in these beautiful mountains.” I smiled at how lucky I was to be viewing the most incredible sunrise while enduring what I knew would be my life’s biggest adventure so far.
It was crazy to me to notice my state of mind and compare it to how nervous and worried I was before the race. I think that is something about nature—I find it nearly impossible to be worried while in nature. Soaking in the scent of the wildflowers that were scattered alongside the trail, relishing the view of the sunbeams lighting up and showcasing the mountains in the backdrop, and feeling the cool breeze against my skin as it energized me: all elements of worry subsided from my mind.
I ran into Jared, who I had met at the Silverheels training run, up the trail. He and I jog-hiked for a while together. It was nice to have someone to talk to and enjoy the trails with.
We made our way into the first party (aid station). There was old school rap music playing and the volunteers were dressed in Hawaiian shirts with leis. One of the volunteers filled up my hydration pack with water and said, “Kyle’s pacing you right?”
“Yeah, at mile 67 I think.” I replied. “How do you know Kyle?”
“From Boulder Trail Runners, I’m Fred,” he said.
“I didn’t even recognize you! It’s so good to see you,” I exclaimed.
I had met Fred earlier this summer from Kyle while I was living in Boulder for the summer. It was so good to see a familiar face. That got me excited and I was off on my way to the first out and back. Typically I don’t usually like out and backs, however since it was early in the race, I got to see some of the faster runners on their way back as I went out. I saw my friend Lance on his way down and high-fived him and said, “Keep crushing it!”
Further up the trail a tall woman said, “Keep it up, Adrienne.” I thanked her and was instantly boosted with confidence and happiness. At the pre-race meeting, the race director Sherpa John had mentioned that I was the youngest runner entered in the race. I was surprised at the number of people who had remembered my name and had cheered me on along the course. I’ve never felt that much support in my life. I felt like I was the famous underdog. I had to keep going.
I departed the aid station at mile 13 quickly knowing that I would get to see my boyfriend, Darren, in 5 miles at the next aid station. The majority of the way there was on a downhill dirt road. I ran as much as I could, knowing that strategically I had to run as much of the downhills and flats as I could to make up for the two big climbs there were in the middle of the race. My quads were starting to scream at me to slow down as the descent continued on.
Finally, with the aid of a left hand turn, the trail guided me uphill to the aid station. I don’t think I’ve ever been so thankful to have an uphill. Ever. I made my way through a creek crossing that was the first familiar part of the trail. I had been there at mile 3 of the training run and I remembered that the aid station would be just around the corner. As soon as I got there I recognized that we had camped there the night before. And as soon as I passed our camp spot, I saw Darren. I yelled his name and a big smile appeared on my face. He told me that I was an hour and twenty minutes faster than cutoff, which gave me even more confidence. I chugged some tomato juice, scarfed down some potatoes and watermelon, grabbed my trekking poles and got on my way.
The next 15 miles were the same as the training run. I was so thankful that I had gone to the training run and knew what to expect. I seemed to have gotten into a groove and had the perfectly consistent swift hike up, slow jog down routine that made the miles pass by with ease. It was crazy to think about the training run and how I had already been there several weeks before. Somehow it was more beautiful than I had remembered and it was far less painful—probably because I was going at a much slower, smoother pace. How crazy it was though, it didn’t feel like a race. It felt just like a huge adventure the entire time. I realized that I had the biggest smile ever on my face—while I was going uphill. “I am on the greatest expedition ever,” I told myself. “This is literally the most enjoyable race and experience of my life. Trust the trail, and it will guide you Adrienne.”
The first thing I noticed when I saw the road up the Tarrayll aid station was Darren’s car parked on the road. That motivated me. “I get to see Darren,” I thought. “And I get to eat Spaghetti-O’s.” I smiled even greater at that thought and picked up the pace. Darren was in his hammock when I arrived at the aid station. He ran down towards me to greet me. The transition from having only seen two other runners the last 15 miles to seeing 15 people at the aid station was crazy. That aid station was a partyyy.
I ate my Spaghetti-O’s cold although I was still an hour and twenty minutes faster than cutoff pace. I knew that I would need to keep going since those two big climbs would take me forever. As I went out on my way, and started going up to the Gold Dust station, I saw two guys on their way down. At the time, I had no earthly idea what that meant. I thought I had a 5 mile out and back until I would be at Tarryall again. Little did I know that I wouldn’t be back at Tarryall for another 23 miles.
The aid station 2.5 miles past Tarryall was smaller, but just as fantastic. A few runners were still hanging out there and I joined them on the quesadilla-eating feast. I was told that that was the hike in aid station. I knew that Darren would probably be there by the time I did the first 5 mile out and back so I got on my way. On my way out, I had seen the most runners that I had seen in 8 hours. That motivated me. I saw Rebecca, who I had met at the training run, coming down as I was on my way up. “Adrienne!” she exclaimed. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you. Enjoy the views!” I smiled and told her how great it was to see her too. I was so motivated to keep going. Everyone believed in me and was rooting for me, and that made me believe in myself more.
I thought about the second thing she said too, “enjoy the views.” Oh no. That had to mean there was a climb coming up already. It must be the first big needlepoint climb I saw in the elevation profile. Another runner passed me by and I asked how the elevation gain was the rest of the way out. “Not gonna lie to you, it’s pretty hilly,” he said. That was an understatement.
I had gotten to the bottom of a hill so steep that I couldn’t even see the top. I passed a couple runners on their way down. “Thank goodness for poles, right?!” I said to them. I kept trekking along slowly, trying not to pause too much. What had looked like the top when I got there turned left and kept going. “How?!” I thought. “This is just ridiculous…I must have been hiking slower than I’ve ever hiked…I’ve probably already been on this part for an hour and I’m only half way…This is by far harder than the Manitou incline…This is probably the hardest mountain I’ve ever climbed…Why hasn’t anyone passed me yet?”
I saw an orange ribbon tied to the rock about 20 yards again. It looked like there was a plastic bag with playing cards on it for me to pick up and bring to the next aid station as proof that I had done the entire out and back. “Wow that’s so nice of Sherpa John,” I thought. “He’s not even making us go to the very top. How cool.” As I got closer I noticed that it was just the white of the rock that had created the illusion that I so desperately wanted to be reality. I should have known that Sherpa John would never have done something like that. I sat down, ate some Stinger energy chews and then continued my way up to the actual top.
I saw two hikers at the top. “You made it!” one of the men said. “…Barely,” I replied. They laughed and asked how long the race was and I told them 100 miles and they said I must be crazy. “I must be,” I replied. They laughed and I started jogging downhill to make up for the time that I had lost on my way up. It was good to see people. I didn’t see anyone else on my entire way down. No other runners—that worried me. I knew that there were 6 other runners behind me and I started to wonder if all of them had gotten timed out. I wondered if I was close to being timed out. I kept on jogging.
With about a half a mile left to the bottom, I saw too runners on there way up. I wondered if it could be Darren and Steve (our friend who I knew was coming later in the afternoon). How great it would be to see them, I thought. Well actually—maybe not, the only reason they would come up here is to tell me I’ve already been timed out, right? As I squinted a little harder, I heard them yell my name and I instantly knew that it was them. “Yooo what’s up guys!!” I said, so thrilled to see them.
They informed me that everyone behind me had dropped out at the last aid station and that I was still okay on time. I was relieved to hear that I was still on pace. And I was in disbelief that everyone else had already dropped out. “Wow, that’s crazy,” I told them. “I’m finishing this race, there is no way I’ll let myself drop out.” They cheered me on with excitement from my response and told me that I looked great.
At the aid station, I saw Lance again. He had just finished the 13 mile loop that I was about to start. The second and final skyscraper-of-a-climb was coming up next. He told me that it was shorter that the last one, but still very steep. The aid station workers said that if I kept a 24-minute mile pace, for the next 15 miles I would make it back to Tarryall before the cutoff at 12:30am. That seemed reasonable—I just had to run all of the downhills knowing that the climb would take me forever judging on how long the last one took me.
The course continued two miles up the trail and turned left onto the road. A car driving ahead in the distance came to a halt and the driver got out and starting sprinting towards me. A little perplexed, I kept jogging. I soon realized that it was the event photographer. “Hold up!” he said. “The lighting is hitting you perfectly right now.” Once again I felt famous. With sweaty-frizzy hair and a salty complexion, it was a glamorous moment. “The aid station is a quarter mile up around the corner,” he said. “The two aid station workers will run down to get you what you need once they see you. You’re doing awesome. They’re looking forward to seeing you!” I thanked him and starting jogging despite the slight gradual uphill. Everyone I’ve encountered all day was so nice and encouraging
“Goodness, I love this sport,” I thought. “I love being a part of this culture.” Sure enough the men ran down the hill to greet me just as the cameraman had said. I fueled up on watermelon and their encouragement and started my way up the last super hard climb of the race. Luckily, the switchbacks seemed to help a lot and it wasn’t nearly as bad as the mountain I had climbed several hours before. I achieved my goal of making it up and down before sunset. The man at the aid station told me that Sherpa John had came by and that I had just missed him. He also told me that Sherpa John said that I was going to finish. Wow, that was by far the most motivating thing I had heard all day. For Sherpa John to believe in me was huge.
As I jogged downhill to finish the loop, I saw a dusty green pick up truck driving towards me. It reminded me of Kyle’s truck and that got me excited to see him later in the race when he was going to pace me. As they got closer, I realized that it was Kyle and his girlfriend Airy. They blasted their music and told me to keep it up for 3 miles until the next aid station. “Wooooo!” I shouted to them. “You bet I will! It’s so good to see you guys! I love you guys!!” I pumped my trekking poles up in the air and started dancing to their music as they drove away. They are awesome. I felt so lucky to have so many friends at the race supporting me.
About a mile later, I saw the aid station worker from the last one pull over and run over towards me. “Mind if I join you for a while?” he said, speed walking as I jogged downhill. He pulled down the orange flags that we passed for a while on our way down while keeping me company. I was happy to have someone with me as the sky was beginning to turn to dusk. In the distance, we saw someone running towards us with a flashlight. An unfamiliar voice yelled my name. It was the aid station worker for the station up ahead. I ran with her as the other aid station worker turned around to head back to his car. “Darren is gonna run with you!” she said. “Really?!” I said. That was the most excited I had been all day.
I was thrilled to hear that I wouldn’t have to wait 7 more miles to see him again and also to hear that he was with Kyle and Airy. The three of them were all in Kyle’s truck and approached us on the road. Darren got out and Kyle started blasting music again all the way until we got to the aid station. It was a party to the aid station and a party once again at the aid station. I saw Sherpa John once I got to the aid station and greeted him with a big smile and told him that I felt great.
There I made my best effort to make a dent in some ramen noodles. It was difficult to eat a lot, and difficult to eat fast. Once I stood up my legs felt the worst that they had felt all day. I instantly knew that I had sat down for too long; but knew that if I kept jogging, I’d get my legs warmed up and I’d feel much better.
Darren walked next to me as I pumped my arms in my slow running motion. We were on a downhill dirt road for what felt like forever. With the combination of having sat down for too long and the accumulation of 17 hours on my feet, my legs were begging to soon be off the road and back on soft trail. I focused in on the cool nighttime breeze and the brightly lit stars that polka-dotted the sky to subside the pain. Having grown up in Leesburg, Virginia I had never seen stars nearly that bright. And for the first time, I saw the Milky Way.
We continued on the road until suddenly we both noticed something we didn’t want to see. “Wait, is that my car?” Darren said. “Yes… where are we?” I said. “Maybe Steve moved it.” Darren reached in his pocket and felt the keys. He had parked at Tarryall and we soon noticed the lights and commotion of the Tarryall aid station up ahead. He was just as confused and worried as I was. The aid station workers at Tarryall cheered and greeted me and I paused them. “Wait, we’re really confused,” I told them. “We didn’t get to the aid station before this. Where was the turn?” The aid station workers said that there was a right hand turn from the road about a mile ago. I couldn’t understand how we could have missed the turn. What was I supposed to do? The aid station workers called Sherpa John and asked what I could do. At this point it was about 11:00pm and we all knew that with the time lost from the wrong turn, it would be extremely difficult to make it back to Tarryall by 12:30am.
I barely remembered the positivity that had been fueling me the entire day. I had made it so far and now the chance of finishing basically vanished from my grasp. I was starting to get tired from lack of sleep and at this point I didn’t even know if I wanted to finish. What was the point? Was there a point? Darren said that either I could stop there if I didn’t feel like I could keep going or we could go back to the turn that we had missed to try to see if we could finish the loop that we missed before 12:30. I couldn’t end such an incredible day right there, just giving up at the mishap at Tarryall. The least I could do was try to finish the loop before the cutoff. So we turned around and went back out on the trail.
When we had gotten to the turn that had overlooked, we couldn’t comprehend how we had missed it. I had gotten some of my positivity back from my decision to go back and attempt to get back on track. However, that quickly diminished as soon I realized I was starving. We figured the aid station that we missed would be much sooner than is way and so I held off on eating the Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Larabar that I had in my pack in hopes of soon having a real meal—and hopefully more quesadillas.
It was about 12:45am when we had gotten to the aid station to discover that they had already closed. I sat down in the fold up chair that still remained there and began to eat my Larabar. It tasted awful. I had way too many bars today; I felt like a chocolate chip. And I was not happy about it. One of the aid station workers who was camped up there heard us and came out of his tent. “Are you guys in the race?” he said, very confused. Darren told him that I was and told him my name and explained what had happened. The man told us that they had figured I had gotten timed out but commended us for not quitting at the last aid station. Darren and I made our way down the 3 mile trail to head back to Tarryall. It was the longest 3 miles of my life. Each switchback I thought was the last switchback since they all appeared the same through the light of my headlamp.
It was 2:00am when we made it back to Tarryall. I had done 61 miles in 22 hours (exceeding my mileage PR by 11 miles and my time-on-feet PR by 9 hours). It felt good to return to Tarryall having given my best effort to continue on. For me, going back out while being almost positive that there was no way that I would return before cutoff provided me with closure. I had been timed out and was proud that I didn’t quit when I could have.
There’s something about not finishing a race that makes you stronger, I think. There’s an immense feeling that comes with it, showcasing all that you’ve done before that. Memories of the day become more vivid and are portrayed before you so bare with honesty—allowing you to fully know the effort given. The ambiguity that struck me when we had first gotten to Tarrayll, realizing that we had missed the turn, faded away. I remember sitting there in the chair that first time, unable to know what outcome I wanted for the day or even to know whether I had made my best effort. Returning to Tarrayll, I walked proudly and stronger. I knew that I had indeed given the race the best possible effort that I could and that I had done everything I could to try to continue and finish.
There’s something about being DFL for 8 hours that makes you stronger; that I know for sure. Being the last one with the opportunity to either continue on or not to, while being on the brim of the cutoff. And when you know that you can keep going, and will not let yourself stop, you find strength in yourself that you never realized you had. With the outcome of my race, a huge vast window of potential was opened right in front of me. I’ve fallen in love with the sport of ultrarunning even more. I’ve fallen in love with the goal of completing an 100 mile race even more.
It’s amazing the amount of detail that is engrained in my mind from the race. I remember everything entirely. And how grand and great every moment truly was. The amount of support I received throughout the day still enraptures my soul, and I think it will continue to stay with me. It was a day that I’ll never forget. It was the best day of my life. And I cannot wait until the day that I return, and finish Silverheels 100.
As I jogged downhill to finish the loop, I saw a dusty green pick up truck driving towards me. It reminded me of Kyle’s truck and that got me excited to see him later in the race when he was going to pace me. As they got closer, I realized that it was Kyle and his girlfriend Airy. They blasted their music and told me to keep it up for 3 miles until the next aid station. “Wooooo!” I shouted to them. “You bet I will! It’s so good to see you guys! I love you guys!!” I pumped my trekking poles up in the air and started dancing to their music as they drove away. They are awesome. I felt so lucky to have so many friends at the race supporting me.
About a mile later, I saw the aid station worker from the last one pull over and run over towards me. “Mind if I join you for a while?” he said, speed walking as I jogged downhill. He pulled down the orange flags that we passed for a while on our way down while keeping me company. I was happy to have someone with me as the sky was beginning to turn to dusk. In the distance, we saw someone running towards us with a flashlight. An unfamiliar voice yelled my name. It was the aid station worker for the station up ahead. I ran with her as the other aid station worker turned around to head back to his car. “Darren is gonna run with you!” she said. “Really?!” I said. That was the most excited I had been all day.
I was thrilled to hear that I wouldn’t have to wait 7 more miles to see him again and also to hear that he was with Kyle and Airy. The three of them were all in Kyle’s truck and approached us on the road. Darren got out and Kyle started blasting music again all the way until we got to the aid station. It was a party to the aid station and a party once again at the aid station. I saw Sherpa John once I got to the aid station and greeted him with a big smile and told him that I felt great.
There I made my best effort to make a dent in some ramen noodles. It was difficult to eat a lot, and difficult to eat fast. Once I stood up my legs felt the worst that they had felt all day. I instantly knew that I had sat down for too long; but knew that if I kept jogging, I’d get my legs warmed up and I’d feel much better.
Darren walked next to me as I pumped my arms in my slow running motion. We were on a downhill dirt road for what felt like forever. With the combination of having sat down for too long and the accumulation of 17 hours on my feet, my legs were begging to soon be off the road and back on soft trail. I focused in on the cool nighttime breeze and the brightly lit stars that polka-dotted the sky to subside the pain. Having grown up in Leesburg, Virginia I had never seen stars nearly that bright. And for the first time, I saw the Milky Way.
We continued on the road until suddenly we both noticed something we didn’t want to see. “Wait, is that my car?” Darren said. “Yes… where are we?” I said. “Maybe Steve moved it.” Darren reached in his pocket and felt the keys. He had parked at Tarryall and we soon noticed the lights and commotion of the Tarryall aid station up ahead. He was just as confused and worried as I was. The aid station workers at Tarryall cheered and greeted me and I paused them. “Wait, we’re really confused,” I told them. “We didn’t get to the aid station before this. Where was the turn?” The aid station workers said that there was a right hand turn from the road about a mile ago. I couldn’t understand how we could have missed the turn. What was I supposed to do? The aid station workers called Sherpa John and asked what I could do. At this point it was about 11:00pm and we all knew that with the time lost from the wrong turn, it would be extremely difficult to make it back to Tarryall by 12:30am.
I barely remembered the positivity that had been fueling me the entire day. I had made it so far and now the chance of finishing basically vanished from my grasp. I was starting to get tired from lack of sleep and at this point I didn’t even know if I wanted to finish. What was the point? Was there a point? Darren said that either I could stop there if I didn’t feel like I could keep going or we could go back to the turn that we had missed to try to see if we could finish the loop that we missed before 12:30. I couldn’t end such an incredible day right there, just giving up at the mishap at Tarryall. The least I could do was try to finish the loop before the cutoff. So we turned around and went back out on the trail.
When we had gotten to the turn that had overlooked, we couldn’t comprehend how we had missed it. I had gotten some of my positivity back from my decision to go back and attempt to get back on track. However, that quickly diminished as soon I realized I was starving. We figured the aid station that we missed would be much sooner than is way and so I held off on eating the Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Larabar that I had in my pack in hopes of soon having a real meal—and hopefully more quesadillas.
It was about 12:45am when we had gotten to the aid station to discover that they had already closed. I sat down in the fold up chair that still remained there and began to eat my Larabar. It tasted awful. I had way too many bars today; I felt like a chocolate chip. And I was not happy about it. One of the aid station workers who was camped up there heard us and came out of his tent. “Are you guys in the race?” he said, very confused. Darren told him that I was and told him my name and explained what had happened. The man told us that they had figured I had gotten timed out but commended us for not quitting at the last aid station. Darren and I made our way down the 3 mile trail to head back to Tarryall. It was the longest 3 miles of my life. Each switchback I thought was the last switchback since they all appeared the same through the light of my headlamp.
It was 2:00am when we made it back to Tarryall. I had done 61 miles in 22 hours (exceeding my mileage PR by 11 miles and my time-on-feet PR by 9 hours). It felt good to return to Tarryall having given my best effort to continue on. For me, going back out while being almost positive that there was no way that I would return before cutoff provided me with closure. I had been timed out and was proud that I didn’t quit when I could have.
There’s something about not finishing a race that makes you stronger, I think. There’s an immense feeling that comes with it, showcasing all that you’ve done before that. Memories of the day become more vivid and are portrayed before you so bare with honesty—allowing you to fully know the effort given. The ambiguity that struck me when we had first gotten to Tarrayll, realizing that we had missed the turn, faded away. I remember sitting there in the chair that first time, unable to know what outcome I wanted for the day or even to know whether I had made my best effort. Returning to Tarrayll, I walked proudly and stronger. I knew that I had indeed given the race the best possible effort that I could and that I had done everything I could to try to continue and finish.
There’s something about being DFL for 8 hours that makes you stronger; that I know for sure. Being the last one with the opportunity to either continue on or not to, while being on the brim of the cutoff. And when you know that you can keep going, and will not let yourself stop, you find strength in yourself that you never realized you had. With the outcome of my race, a huge vast window of potential was opened right in front of me. I’ve fallen in love with the sport of ultrarunning even more. I’ve fallen in love with the goal of completing an 100 mile race even more.
It’s amazing the amount of detail that is engrained in my mind from the race. I remember everything entirely. And how grand and great every moment truly was. The amount of support I received throughout the day still enraptures my soul, and I think it will continue to stay with me. It was a day that I’ll never forget. It was the best day of my life. And I cannot wait until the day that I return, and finish Silverheels 100.