Why? Why was I finding myself willingly and just barely able to place one foot painfully in front of the other in the middle of Utah’s high desert mountains, while the rest of the world went on with business as usual? Screw you mother nature! I thought you were supposed to be my awe inspiring friend that opened my mind and heart to deep love and experiencing life at its fullest? My teacher that challenged me to grow. I wanted you to be gentle! Around mile 62, I realized gentle was out of the question, and the learning had only just begun.
About five years ago I was just beginning to “dabble” in the sport of trail running. I hated hills, and rolling my ankles only made my disdain for technical terrain even worse. For whatever reason, I kept finding myself on them. Maybe because it was a new challenge that I was too stubborn to be defeated by. Maybe it was helping me come to the realization that an old relationship needed to come to an end. Whatever “it” was kept me coming back and I soon discovered the trail running community. After developing new friendships over intriguing bowel movement discussions while talking about life’s most trivial challenges, I knew I had found where I belonged. Years later and with many, many trail miles under my belt, ultra distances I had raced, and 100 mile races I had been part of a crew or pacer for, I finally believed I was ready to toe my own 100 mile line. I had chosen the Bryce 100 in the unique desert mountains of Utah. I set my goals and I prepared for this journey with everything I had. I envisioned myself standing confident and stronger than ever at the line right before our race director Matt yelled, “GO!” Instead, the creeping realization made itself quite apparent as I looked around at all of the other runners. Jenn, you idiot.
Days earlier myself, and my badass crew, Jeff (my sig fig) and Moe, had flown into Vegas ready to get the 100 mile party started. Because I was adamant about this trip being EXTREMELY cost effective, we had spent about an hour and a half in a line believing Moe was getting deported, and Jeff was going to jail for punching the foreigner that gave him the wrong look, waiting to pick up our rental car from what appeared to be the DMV from hell. I had booked an economy car, the Toyota Yaris, and quickly realized with one look from Jeff, that I had made a terrible mistake. “We’re going to pop those tires driving on those roads! There’s no way we can fit our luggage and our bodies into that thing! What were you thinking?!” These were a few of the choice words my faithful crew was relaying to me, and before I knew it Jeff had paid for an upgrade to a full size vehicle. In the end, I am beyond grateful he did this, and still stood by my belief the Yaris would have been just finnneee.
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| What happens in Vegas |
We headed out without getting deported or going to jail, and were on our way to the one and only, Circus Circus hotel. Flashy lights, fancy cars, and people of all shapes, sizes, and languages, made for the most entertaining drive in. I checked us in for our stay thinking we would be staying in the main extravagant tower with an incredible view of the strip. Instead we were ushered to the much less glamorous, and somewhat sketchy, building around the block. Ballin on a budget, and this is what you’ll get. We were greeted with a condom lying on the hallway floor that seemed to have lost its owner. Jeff and Moe couldn’t contain themselves and began harassing me again for my choice to do this trip on the cheap. Needless to say we slept great! The next morning we shared more laughs and quivered at the fact the condom hadn’t been magically cleaned, or picked up over night. A quick stop at IHOP, a fake photo of Jeff and I posing in front of a Vegas wedding chapel, and we were headed for Bryce!
We would arrive at our camp four hours later to meet up with my parents who had made the trek up in their vintage 80’s motorhome to cater to our diva needs for the weekend. Just as we pulled in Jeff immediately points out the Polygamous group meandering the grounds. The entertainment and curiosity that this one entailed, was relentless. Mom and dad got us settled in and we headed out for a jaunt to see what we were getting ourselves into at 8,000 feet. Huffing and puffing, I quickly became terrified that I would be running 100 miles here, and about 1,000 feet higher than our current elevation. Focus Jenn, you got this. Your lungs are simply acclimating and adjusting for awesomeness. The mental demons started to sneak in, and I hadn’t even broken a sweat! The next day we rested and headed out for the evenings pre race meeting. Jeff and Moe listened with persistent attention, and as I stood listening to Matt ramble on about this amazing event, my mind was in a fog. Think hamster on a wheel spinning so fast that dust is spewing to cloud the view of everything around it, and this was my brain. I looked around at the audience captivated by Matt’s presentation, and realized I needed to be alone.
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| Moe with parting words of advice for me |
What’s sleep? After packing up every last detail for crew and myself, I realized it didn’t matter how early or late I was in bed. Sleep wasn’t in the cards. I lay there looking up at the blank wooden ceiling that my dad had stripped the old flower wall paper from, thinking to myself, well... you’re here now. I closed my eyes only to open them almost immediately up to the sound of my alarm. I hit snooze thinking I could steal eight minutes of sleep. I took a few deep breaths, flipped on the coffee pot, and stepped outside to feel the morning air. It was so quiet, so still, and it welcomed me. Alright kiddo, buckle up. We poured out of the RV and into the car. Jeff handed me his ipod and encouraged me to listen to anything that would relax me and put me in the zone. “Life is Hard,” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros drowned out the buzz happening all around me, and allowed me to make peace with my intentions as we headed to the start. WAIT! I forgot my bib number! Flip the car back to base camp, grab the bib I had ever so neatly folded into my jeans pocket from the night before, and we were right back to the line. This is it, don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Quit freaking out. You’re freaking out! Smile for the pictures, tell Jeff I love him, receive Moe’s parting advice, hug my parents, join the rest of my kind at the line. Again, Matt addressed the crowd with his excitement and brief intro while my brain silenced him out. The only sound I heard was the lub dub, lub dub, lub dub, beating hard against my chest. I took in one last, honest glimpse of the scenery around me knowing I would see it again within the next 36 hours. “GET OUTTA HERE!” Just like that, we were free. A complete sense of calm rushed over me as I could hear my crew hollering yips and yaps as they watched me race away down the road. Now the magic begins. I warn you, if you don’t want to listen to a 25 year old youngin’ talk to you experienced folk about life lessons and values, you should probably step away now. For it is here where I will get on my soap box to tell you I have it all figured out. Kidding! Or am I? =)
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| Here we go! Starting up Coyote Hollow trail. |
My plan was simple. Run an extremely conservative first half of the race, gain valuable insight into the course since it was an out and back, and DESTROY the back half. A fool proof plan I say! How hard could that be? That’s the 25 year old, “this is my first time!” thought process. I wore Jeff’s Suunto Ambit 3 watch to keep track of my pace, and to keep myself running smart. It actually made a huge difference in my ability to contain my fresh off taper legs that wanted to go.
From zero to 1st aid-10.5 miles: The first two miles is a meandering dirt road until you hit trail. I watched the fast guys take off with reckless abandonment as the rest of us sat back and settled into our melodic movement. Approaching the Coyote Hollow trailhead, I was relieved to be off the road and excited to check out this insanely beautiful course I had only seen photos of. The hoodoos are a geological phenomenon that I couldn’t comprehend even being right in front, alongside, and behind them. These first miles melted by, and about a half a mile from the aid station a group of women had caught up to me, we exchanged names, and began notorious giggling as we rolled in to grab a snack. Oh look! I have cell service. Better alert the crew that I’m through the first aid station feelin’ great! This would be the last time I even considered pulling out my phone.
10.5 to Proctor aid station-mile 19: Ok, what’s going on with my two big toenails. They’re achy and not making good friends with the front of my toe box. Whatever, they’ll figure themselves out. Eight more miles to my crew. Seven more. Six more. This weather is amazing! Why is everybody and their mother hiking the slightest of inclines? Crap, do they know something I don’t know? Four miles to crew. The suunto was reading that my pace was staying between 10:30-12:00 min/miles and I couldn’t be happier at how easy it felt to maintain this. I was now running with my new friend Amy who rocked rainbow knee high compression socks. I was beyond thrilled to have her in front of me providing such a colorful distraction. We talked about our plan for the rest of the race, her recent adventures, and then we separated as I pulled ahead on the final climbs to Proctor. I could hear my wild banshees yipping at me with even more excitement than at the start. Moe was all business as he checked in with me and filled my pack. I was so excited to hug Jeff and have my friend Ian show up unexpectedly to be an amazing, positive addition to the crew. My mom snapped as many photos as she could without me wanting to chuck the phone into oblivion, I gave Moe a solid thumbs up, a slap on the toosh from Jeff, and off I went. Realizing I wouldn’t see them again until around mile 42 made my heart a little heavier this time around. It became even heavier with the death climb into the next aid.
Proctor to Blubber Creek- mile 28: Plateau, plateau, plateau to the plateau I go! It was rugged, it was steep, it was technical, it was awesome! I was now at the “office,” and working hard to maintain steady breathing and power myself up this relentless madness. I was alone for the entire nine mile climb into this aid station, that is until a small group of enthusiastic racers passed me in the final push. The respect I was developing for this course began to take root as I pressed my palms deep into my quads for an extra push up the ascent. Finally, I was atop this plateau and thrilled to see the white point of the aid station tent come into view. This aid stop was much quieter, mostly due to its remote location, but the spirits of the runners coming in around me were high. A few orange slices, some ginger ale, and a nutella tortilla down the hatch and it was time to tie some more single track together.
Blubber Creek to Kanab- mile 37: These miles tested my patience. I was beginning to fatigue without any great reason. In hindsight, running between 8-9,000 feet was probably reason enough. More people began to catch me and there wasn’t much I could do about it. They were laughing, and making ridiculous statements about who knows what. Why was I frustrated? The weather was still holding out beautifully, and I was getting that much closer to seeing my crew again. My thoughts became quiet, and I continued to press on in hopes this mood would pass. Immediately upon descending, my spirits lifted immensely! Apparently, Jenn gets altitude grumpy, and yes, that’s a thing!
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| Leaving Straight Canyon Aid- Mile 42 |
Kanab to Crawford pass- Halfway there! Mile 52: From Kanab to my crew at the straight canyon aid station was only five miles. Phew! I could knock this out no problem. It was a gentle down the entire length, all I had to do was surrender to gravity. “SUPERFREAK! AHHHH! HERE SHE COMES!!!” Thanks for the never ending enthusiasm Mom, but you’re kind of freaking me out. Mom ran behind me yelling with joy until I arrived at the rest of the crew. I could see quite clearly Moe was readying for the next time I’d see him where he would pick me up as my first pacer. “This is hard.” I made the statement very clearly to Jeff with a smile still on my face. “The climbs are no joke, Ian, your mountains are insanely ridiculous!” Ian lives in Utah and was thrilled I was getting to see her in her finest hour. I made a brief mention of my ankles starting to flare, but in the same breath acknowledged the problem would more than likely work itself out. Silly me. I was much more encouraged leaving my people this time knowing the next time meant I would officially not be running alone, and in fact, in the company of my favorites. Off I went.
Beautiful meadows, darkening skies, and an electric energy that filled my body for the next big climb into Pink Cliffs aid station. Then it happened. A flash, and the loudest crack followed by a BOOM, my eardrums had ever experienced. A rock concert had nothing on what mother nature had in store. The rains came, and soon enough turned to hail that pierced my cold skin with each strike. YEAH! OUCH. SHIT. Seriously?? Ok, we’re done. STOP! Is that all you got?! I was on an emotional rollercoaster at this point, and then the chill set in to my bones. GREAT! I knew my base layers and warm gear was sitting neatly folded in my bag with my crew. Don’t slow down, you’ll get colder. Flash, crack, BOOM. This was madness, and I’m no specialist, but I’m pretty sure they tell you NOT to be headed for the highest, most exposed point on a mountain during lightning storms? I burst into laughter at this realization and it was this humor that carried me up into the aid station. It was a battlefield here. People huddled around space heaters, blue lips, cups of broth to warm up the hands, violent trembling all around, blank stares, and everything else that encompassed an individual looking entirely defeated. I knew I needed to get warm, but I couldn’t let the scene I was witnessing get to me so I needed to get warm, get food, and get out. The skies parted and I was off. My ankles were really talking to me now and the downhill wasn’t going to be my friend for the next few miles. On my way down I saw my friend Zac who was already on his way home from the turnaround point, and we exchanged a quick hug where he expressed he was having one hell of a day. Seeing your friends on any course is a comforting familiarity that I tend to fully embrace with the support it provides. I was almost there. I convinced myself I was so close I could even smell my moms overwhelming scent of perfume. The downhill had become a flowing river of slick red clay, and it was with my greatest effort not to slip and fall into this slop. I heard yelling.
Rolling into Crawford, Moe was dressed in his standard neon green running vest with hydration pack, and bottle belt around his waist. He was ready to churn some serious dirt. Whenever I was coming into the aid stations their smiles were infectious. Mom rubbed my back as I grabbed quesadillas, chips, and downed ginger ale. I was impressed that my stomach had held strong for so long as I’m normally one to experience unpleasant issues in this department. Jeff and Ian began to attach a dream catcher to my pack, and would add another for every aid station I saw them at until the finish. “These will let the bad thoughts through and hold onto the good.” I was on track for a sub 24 hour finish at this point, but as we set out to begin the trek home, I knew time was slowly escaping me and I was going to have to be ok with it.
Crawford to Straight Canyon- Mile 62: The storm had cleared out, and Moe got a mouthful of what the experience was like for me. I tried to keep my ankle pain a secret, and eventually had to give up the intel. Moe was encouraging and was persistent in keeping me moving forward, physically and mentally. I was power hiking, huffing, and insisting on walk breaks as we made our way back up to Pink Cliffs aid. I worried that the river the course had turned into would be awful coming down the back technical section of this portion. To my amazement, the dryness properties of the high desert remedied this issue quite well and just as we were through the aid station, we were down the backside with no wreckage. I should mention this part of the race being the most emotionally captivating, and breathtaking with the formation of the pink cliffs, I’d ever experienced in my life. It brought me to tears as Moe snapped a photo just before it was out of view. Onward and forward, Jeff was up next.
Straight Canyon to Proctor- Mile 84: Jeff didn’t know it, and neither did I, but we both had our work cut out for us at this point. His excitement when he picked me up made the pain of my ankles vanish if only for a moment. I downloaded the miles with Moe to him, how my ankles were wrong, and how I was operating mentally. He took the wheel from here, and I knew his support going into the night was exactly the kind I was going to be in need of. He made jokes and told me how the day had been panning out with my parents, the other runners, and how much he was enjoying himself. His words were soft pillows providing cushion for the pain I was trying to mentally override with each footstep. His energy oozed from his pores and into mine, and my spirits were lifted. Yes we were moving slow, but neither of us cared, we knew there was something bigger happening than a fast finishing time.
Darkness fell and my thoughts were void. All I had were physical sensations of pain giving me feedback. Jeff would look back to check on me, and the first time he saw the suffering in my face, he dropped his pants for a full moon. I just about died. Finally a thought crept into my mind. I’m the luckiest woman alive to be out here with this man. Again, tears poured down my cold face. I was quickly being stripped down to nothing but the ability to move one foot in front of the other. No thinking, no eating, no nothing. Just moving forward, and that was the only job I was capable of doing. Jeff literally had to force feed me when I began to sleep walk. “You have to eat!” “NO!” He would then tear open a gu, or uncap Expedition Espresso Trail Butter, and force it down. I hated, and loved him for this. “We’ll get to the next aid station and you can sit down and have some coffee. You have to eat more. Just know that rest is coming.” I set small goals from tree to tree to move myself along. Jeff let me call the shots for when we ran, and gave me an, “atta girl!” when I moved faster than usual. Blubber Creek aid station provided warmth and brief refuge from the drizzle that kept us damp for the night. I saw familiar faces, said my hellos with brief acknowledgement for our current status, and kept quiet. “I’m going to puke.” I walked outside to take care of this and realized it wasn’t puke that was about to happen. As I sat on a log in plain sight to anyone passing by, I thought to myself, “I don’t even give a shit.” Pardon the language. All I hoped for was that Jeff wouldn’t emerge from the tent during this low point I was finding myself in.
Finishing up, we left Blubber Creek and were Proctor bound. We had to move efficiently to warm ourselves up into the chilled night air. The mountains are unforgiving when you’re unprepared, and our lack of warm attire made us just that. There were 9.5 technical downhill miles ahead of us. My ankles were sending out so many pain signals to my brain, that I knew it wouldn’t get much worse. We hiked down, one excruciating step at a time. I knew that I didn’t have to think, I just had to execute my mission. I was finishing this beautiful asshole if it was the last thing I did. Again, apologies for my vulgarity. Down, and down we went, until it was up, and up, and up. “This is a joke,” I would say out loud to myself. Jeff even began cursing the course for its level of difficulty at this point. I was happy at his recognition, for it made me feel like I was truly accomplishing something great. “This meadow means we’re almost there!” I could have sworn it. Nope. “This meadow is definitely it though,” I would say as we passed another one. I was wrong every time. Dawn began to break, and Jeff looked back at me to exclaim, “Look Love, you made it!” I saw the white tipped point of the tent and immediately panicked as I realized this meant I would be saying goodbye to my best friend who had just endured with me so much of what I didn’t even understand yet. “I don’t want you to leave me,” was all I could mutter. We were both crying, emotional wrecks.
Proctor Aid to Finish- Mile 102: I sat. I ate pancakes. I peeled injini socks off of each toe where every toenail was a bloody mess of cohesion to the fabric. I was completely numb, but I could smell home. Auto pilot had been activated. I looked at Jeff who was watching my attempts to rid myself of these socks, with tears streaming down his face. I couldn’t handle this, but in the same breath, seeing him emotionally vulnerable like this didn’t happen very often, if ever. I welcomed his tears as something extremely positive that gave me a profound reason to cross the finish line. He sobbed into my shoulder as we said our goodbyes. Just like that, Moe and I were homeward bound. He positioned himself right behind me, and we stayed quiet with the climb out of the aid station. “You doing ok?” The silence caught me off guard as he wasn’t his chatterbox self. “I’m good Superfreak, just let me know what you need. You’re doing great.” I knew he hadn’t slept a blink for the time I was out on course. He was as invested in this race, and emotionally spent as I was. I choked back tears as I realized this. After spending many miles with Moe during our training runs together, and pacing him for his 100’s, there was no one more appropriate to cross my first 100 finish line with. I let him know we’d mostly be walking, but there would be periods when I could bust out my trail “shuffle.” To do this, simply swing your arms as hard as you can, and hope your legs follow suit. There was a period after taking some advil where the pain was masked enough to let me “shuffle” for about three minutes that felt more like thirty. We caught someone. No thinking, just moving. Keep watching Moe’s feet. When did his calves get so muscular? I’d be lost without that red bandana. I couldn’t believe he was toughing this out with me. Tears. Dammit Jenn, when did you become such a cry baby? From the cellular perspective of my body, I could tell my biochemistry was totally off balance with my ever changing wave of emotions. As we came into the final aid station with 7 miles to go, I forced some french toast down, and asked Moe to send a text out to the crew letting them know we were coming home.
The last section of the course is the most visually stimulating with Hoodoo formations, ridgelines that provided 360 degree views of the beauty you were surrounded in, and larger than life boulders that framed the scenery. Shuffle, walk, huff, moan in pain, shuffle some more. I kept Moe in view just ahead of me instead of looking down at my pathetic feet as they attempted something like flexion. This is is Jenn. You’re doing it. We passed a familiar set of boulders that I thought had meant we were about four miles out. Of course these were the wrong set of boulders that I had in mind, and realized this thirty minutes later where the real boulders we were now passing about four miles from the finish, were. The last two miles tested every ounce of my strength and dignity. We were seeing the exact same geological formations that made us believe we were at the finish, around every single turn. “This one is it!” We both had a sense of false hope, and I began to enter into the mental breakdown. The physical state that my body was in with the ankles was horrifying. Reality was setting in that there may not even be a finish line, and we’d just be doomed to walk these desert mountains for the rest of eternity. Darkness surrounded me as I was bathed in sunshine. Moe grabbed my hand and began dragging me up the last climbs. My head hung, and the fact he was here with me while I was like this made my heart cry. “We’re never going to get there.” “Shutup freak, we will!” A mountain biker told us we were close, and twenty minutes later when we still hadn’t arrived, I was contemplating putting up WANTED signs with a bounty on his head. Then it happened. Racers who had finished were hanging out on the course hollering we had no more than 200 yards to go. Straight up were those remaining yards where Moe pulled me up with my heart in his hand. “You’ll cross this finish line on your own.” “NO! You have to cross with me. I wouldn’t be crossing without you.” “You’re on your own Superfreak, and it has to be that way. You did this.” That stubborn ass! Why was he abandoning me when I couldn’t bare the thought of him letting go of my hand? Then the finish line came into sight, and with every last fighting breath I began my shuffle to my first 100 mile finish. Moe let me go and ran to Jeff who was waiting alongside as I ran by. They yelled, they cheered, and just like that, I was done. That was it. What the hell just happened? Before I had a moment to think I was scooped up in the embrace of Moe, Jeff, and Ian. 29 hours and 53 minutes later, now it was my turn to sob into Jeff’s shoulders.
Mom and Dad may have accidentally slept through seeing me at the finish line, but I couldn’t have held it against them too long. This was their first time experiencing an ultra event to this extent. It was okay. I welcomed their hugs when they arrived as I sat speechless on a log. The road to recovery was underway.
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| Their support meant the world. |
Finishing: Before this race, I was under the impression I had completed life events that challenged my spirit and gave me the most valuable lessons one would ever need to succeed the game of life. Only life is not a game. It’s this complex network of connection to something greater. The connection with ourselves to this earth we walk every damn day we wake up and take a breath. The connection to our families, our friends, our mind, body, and spirit. This race chewed me up and tried with all of its might, to spit me out. It presented me with physical pains I didn’t know possible, and showed me the pain was my friend. The pain forced me to be completely present in the midst of chaos. My mind gave me the unknown ability to transcend the pain and find complete happiness in the sounds of my breath. I wouldn’t call this event a race for me. I would call it surviving. By surviving, I realized that food, water, pain, relentless passion for doing what makes you happy, and the support of community, was how I achieved my connection to life at its purest. Everything is so much more beautiful when one is removed from their natural state of comfort. When one is forced to survive. Being at my lowest points during the Bryce 100, I was alive. I am alive!
To Jeff, Moe, Mom, Dad, Ian, and those of you who supported and followed along, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, your support carried me through and gave me reason. I may have crossed the finish line physically alone, but I carried with me each and every one of you who has supported, harassed, and shared laughs with me through the years leading up to this, with me. Now get yourself to a trail and bust some ankles! Until next time.
-Jenn
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| Bryce 100, we did it! Now can I please sit down? |
