Hardrock Race Report

I made my way from our luxury suites in Silverton (the very cool Prospector Motel) to the high school gym around 530 a.m.  I scarfed down a PB&J breakfast of champions and stopped for a picture or two.  I arrived at the gym to check in amid a frenzy of activity: people filling bottles, applying tape or body glide stuff, putting on socks and shoes, and checking their trekking poles for proper balance. 

I found my buddy John, also running and from Grand Junction, and sat down in a corner to take it all in.  I wasn’t nervous; the “race” is too long and I’m all about going out slow to conserve energy.  I got ready all the same, checking my poles, putting on socks and shoes, and getting my pack stashed with food.  Everyone asked me what I was smearing on my feet and I explained it was “old-man a$$ cream,” which is true: Calmoseptine, found in the elderly incontinence aisle of the pharmacy.  It’s also good for baby diaper rash and comes pharmacist approved for many uses. 

After getting ready we took some pictures: one of the three Grand Junction locals running (John Constan and Hardrock legend Kirk Apt) and another with TrailHeads Bean and Liz Bauer.  A few good luck kisses from Karie and outside we went for the great informal start. 

I jogged easily from the start waiting for my legs and lungs to get acquainted to the thin mountain air.  We immediately started up a semi-steep incline to the Shrine road and I could see the leaders, still jogging, up ahead.  It was neat to still see them, but they would soon be out of sight.  I found Kirk and locked onto him.  It was my goal to try and stay with him much of the first half – I mean who better to run with than someone with 17 previous Hardrock finishes?  This proved difficult as he was running faster than I really felt like going, so I held back and enjoyed the wake-up call at 2 miles where we crossed the ridiculously low Mineral Creek. 

The first climb went well, but a little slow for me.  It was difficult to find a nice rhythm and good pace, but this was a long race, so going slow was fine.  Once above treeline I enjoyed the warm sunshine and views from the top.  I found myself trading places occasionally with Blake Wood, another Hardrock veteran with 16 previous finishes.  We descended into the first aid, KT, got a quick bite of food, and pressed on.  I caught John at this point and we set out together.  He was climbing too quickly for me and I just kept to my pace.

My climbing legs felt really slow and lethargic, and I was relinquished to a slow slog up any of the steeper sections, which were plentiful.  I was enjoying the vistas still and some good running on the downhills.  Coming into both Chapman and Telluride I was able to jog most of the downs and even set a good tempo on the less rocky sections. 

I was eating well to this point: lots of solid foods, some gels, and no salt for the first 30 miles to Telluride.  My watch was set at 28 minute countdown intervals whereupon I would eat something no matter how little.  The first few hours went fast and when my watch would beep I would happily eat and reset the timer.  This became increasingly difficult as the watch would beep and I would think, “already, I just ate something…..not again,” after which I would force down something and press on.  Certain foods lost their appeal, like peanuts and peanut butter crackers, but ham and cheese and watermelon were holding up well. 

In Telluride it was great to see family and friends.  I was feeling good, so I resolved to sit, eat, and get back at it.  I picked up a light just in case and headed out again with John.  He moved ahead on the uphill as usual and I resolved my long, slow slog.  I had forgotten about steepness and relentlessness of this section.  There are two level patches: one near some mine buildings, and the other at Mendota saddle/ridge, where the trail dips down (not enough to register on the course profile) on its way to Virginius.  At Krogers canteen I was feeling tired, but some warm broth and Roch Horton’s good spirits motivated us all.  I remember his quote, “You guys got this thing licked!  Just keep eating, drinking, and MOVING.  Now get outta here!”  The top of the Virginius descent is steep, rugged, and has several of these repeating steps that really took a toll on me.  After finally getting to some semblance of a jeep road, I managed a jog/walk until Governers.  I sat quick enough just to get some soup and crackers, then continued on.  After a bit my energy returned and I managed a good pace for several miles down Camp Bird Road to Ouray.

Arriving right at full darkness, I came into the aid, sat down, and immediately was surrounded by a sea of people catering to my needs and asking me questions.  I couldn’t ask for a better crew and friends, including great aid station conversation:

Kevin (my pacer): “You got tights.”

Me: “I’m normally fine with shorts.”

Kevin: “We’re going over 13,000ft at night.”

Me: [shrugging] “I’m ok.”

Wife: “You need tights, anybody got tights, I told you to bring some…..blah, blah [I stopped listening here]”

Marty (another pacer for later): “I got tights, right here” [He indicated he’s wearing them].

Voice from crowd: “Watcha got under there Marty?”

Marty proceeds to whip off his tights much to the delight of the crowd amist whistles and hoots.  It’s all a fog for me, even though I feel ok.  (He had some colorful running shorts underneath). 

I gather my night and cold stuff and Kevin and I head out into the dark.  It was great having Kevin there, especially leaving the maze of Ouray.  He says, “just follow me” and my gaze locks onto my shoes.  He knows how to pace and quickly engages me in one sided conversation, only expecting an occasional grunt or uh-huh as we climb up the Bear Creek trail. 

I was a little disappointed to not see this in daylight, as the drops are spectacular.  I had to settle for the headlight disappearing in the darkness down below and the sound of rushing water rising up out of the impenetrable darkness.  I seemed to climb a bit better here as the steepness wasn’t so severe.  Once about halfway, the trail leveled a bit and I started talking a bit more as I felt better.  We arrived at Engineer, got some broth, and took a look at the monster before us.  Engineer pass, with little lights marching straight up the mountainside to holy glory.  We left the aid and proceeded to slog up through the grass and wildflowers in the dark. 

Once atop the pass we were greeted with the lampkeeper, who makes sure a lit lantern illuminates the top to give you an aiming point in the dark.  He had plenty of beer, whiskey, and other specialties that we passed up, only hoping for a downhill to thicker air.  On the way down I started swerving a bit as I got really sleepy, to which Kevin suggested I eat ANOTHER gel.  I begrudgingly did so knowing a gel was what I really needed but couldn’t have thought of at the time.  We walked most of the rocky downhill to Grouse, and could see the lights from afar but seemed and endless affair. 

Arriving in Grouse early morning before sunup my crew again met me with energized frenzy.  I wasn’t stomaching food so well and Gu packs were now eaten with bitter disdain for the taste and feel.  I picked up Marty as my pacer for the Handies sections, which was truly going to be epic.  On the climb out of Grouse I started having serious concerns of not finishing.  I did not entertain thoughts of outright quitting, but had doubts about actually getting over Handies in my current shape.  We trudged along and after Marty noticed my utter contempt for gels or any other food, he had an idea.  We mixed a gel in about half a bottle of water.  This made them much more palatable to my bitter stomach and helped them go down and stay down easier.  Slowly, with each passing mile, my stomach began to feel better.  The sky started lightening with the early glow of sunrise, and we crested American-Grouse pass to view the awesome eminence of Handies laid out before us.  The sun was hidden directly behind this ominous mountain and we could see tiny figures scaling its south ridge, slowly gaining its summit. 

My spirits were lifted only a bit, as we still had a few miles down just to start the climb.  We pressed on, taking on bits of Gu water every bit to get my strength and energy up.  Quickly we reached the bottom and started up around Sloan lake.  We reached the saddle and started the steeper sections up the ridge.  Now it seems shorter than I expected and with my energy returning we charged the summit at a 1mph (or slower) pace.  On the top we reveled in the achievement of summiting a fourteener (my first and at mile 65!) and took a few pics.  Then we were off down into Grizzly Gulch.

Marty had me short stepping a bit by shortening up my stride on these steeper downhills to help reduce impact and pain in my quads.  It worked well and we made quicker work of the descent than I expected.  Stopping briefly in Burrows for watermelon and a snack, I was feeling better and no longer harbored doubts about finishing, but I knew it would be a long day and part of the night.  We walked most of the road as there wasn’t much downhill as I expected and running really hurt.  At Sherman I bid Marty and his wacky pink/orange/black/whatever other color crazy cool spandex shorts that only he could rock goodbye and picked up my next pacer, Karah. 

Starting up Cataract Gulch, we maintained a nice pace for having gone 73 miles, and Karah was doing well at getting me to drink the Gu cocktail often.  This likely kept my energy from never getting too low and I maintained a nice, even keel through the rest of the race with never any more real lows.  We enjoyed the scenery on the divide and ambled down to Pole Creek aid station.  I got some noodles and broth that went down well and emptied out my shoes. 

Leaving Pole Creek we really took in the views and open space up to the pass.  Some clouds were occasionally blotting out the sun and sprinkled a few drops on us but did not dampen our spirits, yet.  I felt good along this section and down to Maggie.  I got some potato soup this time that was very scrumptious and warmed my body.  I knew this next climb would be tough, with a few steep straight up the mountain sections to 13,200 feet. 

At the top I saw some nasty clouds rolling in and knew we needed to crest the point and get down off Canby mountain before it set in.  We accomplished getting down to Stony Pass in time, but when the bottom fell out it still wasn’t fun.  I remarked to Karah that she was getting a true Hardrock experience out here now!  We met a few others up ahead, and one pacer who was truly scared out of her wits!  The rain and sleet mixture blew sideways, lightening flashed across the open meadow, and thunder roared over our heads.   We were soaked and freezing within minutes, despite having rain jackets.  Ringo, why didn’t I bring a trash bag?  I could have hunkered down under a nice, black, trash bag shelter and been dry.  After a few minutes of huddling together for warmth, which must not work with clothes on anyway, Karah and I decided to go for it.  After a few minutes of thunderless silence, we bounded for the ridge.  I aimed to get up and over quickly and my breathing went from mellow to 100 yard sprint pace.  My heart was jumping through my throat but my legs were cooled from the chilly rain, charged with adrenaline, and bounded up the hill with reckless abandon.  At the crest we traversed a bit, found the cairns, and flew down, stopping and falling along the way as we searched for the next marker in the impenetrable fog.  Luckily, I fell down the trail of fallen grasses a few times and it helped us find the trail.  Within minutes we were below the clouds and could easily pick up the trail.  I gradually thawed and stopped shivering on the descent and continued jogging most of the way where I could.

The downhill to Cunningham is steep and grassy, and me made good time, coming into the aid before dark.  I was still feeling good and warmer than earlier, but I still needed dry clothes.  Karah had done a fantastic job of getting me down in one piece and staying on course!  It was time for her to get some much needed rest.  Check out her pacer report here.  I picked up Rob Pizem for the final trip to Silverton, and after a quick clothes change we were off.  This last climb is brutal: steep and relentless with no level “rest” patches.  I had to stop often and rest my legs for 30 seconds, a minute, whatever it took.  I occasionally looked up and saw headlamps of runners ahead that seemed to climb up to heaven.  It was only slightly discouraging at the great altitude yet to be gained.  Rob was great at encouraging me onward and I tried to just focus on each switchback.  He told me his mental trick was to pretend the switchbacks were level; it didn’t work for me.

We finally reached the top and marveled at seeing headlamps far across the gulch to the top of the previous ridge from which I had come.  We turned off our lights for just a minute and enjoyed the copious amounts of stars and space gases, or maybe those were our gases, who knows.  I resolved to just walk most of the downhill back to town and just enjoy the rest of the race.  I didn’t want to really tear myself up, although in retrospect, it likely would not have mattered much at this point.  The trail going down was neat in the dark and we saw a few mine shafts and prospecting holes along the way.  Rob was great at filling in conversation while I grunted along and focused on moving one foot at a time. 

The dirt road at the bottom felt very long and the beaver trail afterwards was even longer!  Finally, lights from town came into view and we popped out at the ski hut.  I managed a jog when we hit the road, but even a slow jog caused my breathing to accelerate to unsustainable levels.  So we walked some more until the final two blocks home.  I jogged in amidst a sea of woots and cheers, kissed the rock, and enjoyed the finish.  

Then I ate two hamburgers, the thought of which kept me going those last 3 miles.  I had pickles on them and I never thought something simple like having pickles on my burger could exhilarate so.  It’s the simple things that matter: finishing a 100, pickles…….

Thanks to all my crew, pacers, and friends cheering me on.  Had I managed to accomplish this without you (which is very doubtful), it would not have meant so much.  I’m glad I could share this running experience with each and every one of you, no matter how small.

The post-race breakfast and celebration is the best I’ve ever been to.  You’ll have to experience it for yourself, whether you run, crew, cheer, or volunteer, it’s the stuff of champions.