Quicksilver 100k Race Report

There are things I was expecting to have to deal with during my first 100k race (blisters, pain, high highs and really low lows), and then there are things you just can't foresee (pack strap breaking 20 minutes in, starting my period at mile 44, getting Mmm Bop stuck in my head).

Oh, and the RD saying something about how the day before a mountain lion had chased a guy on a bike. 

The 62 miles in front of me were brand new and completely unknown.

I carried this with me with projected times of arrival so I didn't have to do any math. I kept my watch showing only the time because I didn't want to think about mileage. It was a no math/no mileage strategy. 

I warmed up in the first twelve miles enjoying the distraction of the dark and following the line of runners in front of me. The course took us on a few brief little loops and out and backs up and down hills, inside a mine, and around a cemetery surrounded by a white picket fence. Inside the mine, we had to run to the back and touch a gate before turning around. It was very Indiana Jones. It was also very hot and steamy, which I was not expecting. My camera lens, along with people's glasses fogged over...see blurry video below in which you can hear a guy say "ARGH MY GLASSES ARE STEAMING UP" for reference:

The way up Bald Mountain. Photo: I-Tao Tsai

The little loop around the top of Bald Mountain. Photo: I-Tao Tsai

I was feeling pretty fantastic until I hit the climb up to the next aid station and got a taste of the long and the steep that this course was going to offer up. Reaching the top, it was a five mile downhill to Lexington, where I had a drop bag.

Around mile 22 on the descent. Smiling. Dreaming of my drop bag. Photo: Matt Guthaus

My plan at Lexington was to load up with calories to get me through the next climb. Many others seemed to have this same strategy...props to the guy that was eating sushi at Lexington- one, for eating sushi at mile 24.8, but also, for offering some to another guy who saw him eating it and asked, "you had that? In your drop bag?" "Yeah, want one?" He took one. 

And so began the toughest climb of the day. Six and a half miles up to get me to the halfway point in the race. Dogmeat. The Kennedy Rollers. I'd read about it and studied it and was ready to kick ass.

It sucked. So bad. It was so stupid and steep, and at the top, the "rollers" were even stupider.

These are the stupid Kennedy Rollers. 

Finally. Kennedy Aid Station. Seven and a half hours in and right on schedule. I was so ready to bomb back down to Hicks and get to Hacienda at mile 39.8 where my wife was waiting for me. I ran in feeling like a champ with great news to report to her: feet are fine! legs are good! that tail bone hip thing flares up on the downhills but is manageable! nutrition is solid! I'm drinking! I'm peeing! Everything's going great!

She soaked my hat, the bandanna around my neck and the buff around my wrist in ice water before I took off on the three miles to Mockingbird where she'd meet me again. I hadn't gone more than a half mile out of Hacienda before that high I'd been riding vanished leaving behind a very angry person. Nothing actually went wrong, but very abruptly everything changed. I lost some time but not nearly as much time as I'd felt I'd lost. Still an hour ahead of the cutoff and on pace for a 16 hour day, I got to Mockingbird a completely different person that was kind of on the verge of falling apart.

I hate everything right now. These guys do too. Photo: Jenny Sweeney

On top of that, the Mockingbird aid station was actually the finish line for the 50k, so when I got there and tried to regroup, I was surrounded by 50k runners happily sitting around wearing their medals drinking beer. GeNene gave me words of encouragement before just getting me out of there and on my way. I couldn't afford to think too much or else I'd end up in tears or giving somebody the middle finger.

The four mile climb up to Bull Run is kind of a blur to me now. I know I was moving because I did eventually get there. Basically miles 40-47 were the absolute worst. I got through them. I wasn't fighting or having any Eye of the Tiger moments; I just kept moving and said the f word a lot.

At Bull Run everything changed again. It was 5pm. There was a 6:30pm cutoff at the next aid station. Shit got real, and I took off down the hill.

I'd never had to race the cutoffs before and hadn't been intending to in this race. Now, I was fighting.

I watched the minutes tick by as I ran. I reached an intersection where a volunteer was standing to direct runners. I asked him how far to Tina's Den. "About a mile and a half. Down the road and then there's a climb." Shit. I looked at my watch. 6:18. I'm not going to make it. I'm done. RUN. 

My watch hit 6:30 on the climb. I thought I had to be getting close, so I pushed on. And then people were walking back down the hill toward me. People wearing race numbers. People that got to the aid station after the cutoff and who were now walking back to the parking lot to wait for someone to come pick them up. That was the only time I cried a little.

The man with the clipboard at Tina's Den looked at me as I approached him, "So, unfortunately you're past the cutoff."
"I know."
"So are you ready to drop?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Well, you're just past the cutoff, but I'm kind of a softie. Can you make it to the finish in three hours?"
"Yes I can." (I didn't really know if I could)
"You really think so? There are some big climbs left..."

"I have to try."

"Ok. you're not going to let me down?"

"No."

At that point, the other man at the aid station gave me a big smile and a big "YEAH GET GOING!" I could hear their cheers all the way down the hill as I ran. From that point on I was on autopilot. Run. Move. Go. 

Enriquita aid station. Run down the hill. There's a hole punch at the bottom. Punch a hole in your bib and come back up.

Because of the loop, I got to see the handful of us that were out there on that hole punch loop at mile 56 all within a couple minutes of each other. We smiled big and cheered as we passed each other. We high fived. It was just us out there fighting to finish the race before the cutoff and not let clipboard man down (he was a softie because he let a few more through after me). To not let ourselves down.

I got to the next aid station as it was getting dark not entirely sure what it was or where I was, but someone said 3.4 to the finish. I had no idea I had reached the last aid station. This was the last time everything would abruptly change. This time, I was brand new.

Those last three miles were my favorite miles that I have ever run in my entire life. I was in total darkness except for the round circle of light on the trail from my headlamp. I was following glow sticks marking the turns. It was quiet except for my feet on the trail and the sound of my breathing. I flew in the dark. 

One last turn and I saw a headlamp pointed at me ahead on the trail. A woman stood there clapping.

How far to the finish? 

Not far, you're done. 

Finish time 16:37.  23 minutes ahead of the final cutoff. Photo: Chasqui Runner

My first buckle.