Leadville Trail 100 Run -- Race Report

The End

Midnight at 11,000 feet above sea level. I’m at mile 80 of 100, listening to the power lines above me buzz in my ears like I’m on nitrous. But I’m not laughing. I’m hiking up Sugarloaf Pass, which might as well be the Cliffs of Despair that I’m trying to climb right now. I can walk about 20 steps before getting so dizzy and out of breath that I’m coughing and I’m stopped again. Now I’m swaying side to side, even though I have trekking poles keeping me upright. Each step feels like I’m walking through waist deep water -- I’m so very slow, yet I’m moving at max speed. My legs don’t hurt, but they’re full of kryptonite, unable to tap any strength despite the fact that I have plenty left. Flippin’ altitude, man.

I say to my pacer, Mark, a friend from high school, ‘I think I’m gonna throw up.’ He tells me to just keep moving forward, one step at a time. Just put one foot in front of the other. But I’m on all fours, retching water and potato skins all over the ground over and over again. My body starts shaking violently and I’m freezing, feverish. Mark starts stripping off the extra pants he’s wearing and rubbing my arms to warm me up. Can we ever thank our pacers enough? I don’t think so.

On the ground in the fetal position, waiting for the spins to stop and my body temperature to steady, with head between my legs, and I’m starting to realize that the altitude sickness symptoms I’ve been struggling with all day are here for good and they’re going to get a lot worse. And I still have 2 miles of steep climbing to the top of the Pass, where there’s even less oxygen, and more importantly, less chance that emergency aid could get to me if my body shuts down completely, if my lungs continue to fill with whatever is causing me to cough whenever I take a gulp of air. I’m not going to make it up there. This is as far as I’m going at Leadville. 80 miles. I’ve pushed my body to its limit on this day, at this altitude, and going forward is not safe.

If this were merely pain, if this were a nutrition or digestive issue, if this were something that could’ve been remedied by giving it time or putting something different into or on my body, I would’ve done it. But my body was rejecting the altitude and shutting down in ways that scared me for my own health and safety.

And that’s ok. I went to Leadville to dig deep into myself, to see what my body and mind could do when tested to the limit. And that’s exactly what I got from the Leadville Trail 100. I didn’t regret my decision to DNF when they cut my timing chip. I didn’t regret my decision the next morning, and I still don’t regret it writing this. I had a great race, maybe even one of my best-executed races ever, and I’d seen beauty unlike anywhere else on earth. That is truly a great race.

Why Leadville?

A cold snap in November 2011, 9 months before Leadville. One month after going sub-3 at the Chicago marathon and setting a PR at the half-marathon. Two months after deciding that I needed a break from triathlons. A couple months after winning my first race overall, a trail half-marathon. All signs said, let’s run.

One fall morning last year, I read that BTer Dick Dime, aka Richard Paradis, who I met at Kansas 70.3, registered for the Leadville Trail 100, just two years after suffering a traumatic brain injury resulting from a bike accident. I was inspired. I thought he’d gotten into Leadville via lottery, but when I looked up the registration process, I realized that I too could sign up for the Race Across the Sky. The bike race is the only race that requires a lottery. So I proposed the idea of running Leadville to Alaina. She laid down a credit card. I told her, ‘This is dumb. We live in the flatlands at 800’ above sea level. Leadville starts at 10,200’ ASL and crosses 4 mountain passes.’ She said, “do it.” So I did.



Over the next few months, I started planning and executing my 2012 trail running season. I wanted to take on challenges that scared me into taking my run training to levels I’d never thought possible, for this might prepare me for Leadville. I started and finished three 50 milers and two (race) 50ks, cracked 110+ miles per week a few times, and discovered some of the most beautiful trails in the northern midwest. I also found all the hills in my area and feasted on them for breakfast and dinner. I was already in love with trails, but this year we moved in together.

The Numbers

Leadville’s altitude was the greatest risk for me for a first 100 miler. The race starts at 10,200’ ASL, and the town is dubbed the Two Mile High City. As a point of reference, pilots pressurize their cabins at 10,000’ ASL as there is only 70% of the oxygen available at sea level up there. The Queen’s stage of the race is the double crossing of Hope Pass, which starts at mile 40 at 9,300’ and rises to 12,600’ over 4 miles. At 12,600’ ASL, there is only 64% of the oxygen available at sea level. Really, not a good idea for this flatlander.



The backside of Hope Pass is steeper, with a 25% average grade and loose rock footing. This side bottoms out at 10,000’ over 2 miles. The Hope Pass section features the highest and lowest points of the course, with the average elevation of the Leadville Trail 100 above 10,000’ ASL. So about half way through the race, you climb and descend this mountain, run a little longer out to mile 50, turn around, and climb the same mountain again, and then run the entire course in reverse.



I was able to acclimate for two weeks in Colorado, the first week in Boulder (thanks to TriOK aka Robyn) and second week in Buena Vista before the race, and I’d hoped that would be enough. But I had my doubts. A few years ago, I camped up at 8,000’ and woke up in the middle of the night with altitude sickness, suffering nausea and the spin-zies without the fun of getting drunk beforehand. The Leadville 100 is so high that runners risk high altitude pulmonary and cerebral edema. That’s some bad ass shit that can kill you. Add that on top of the usual risks of ultrarunning: hyponatremia, hypothermia, severe cramping, blisters, dehydration, renal failure, etc. and this race becomes a really bad idea.

But that’s what I wanted to do this year. To take on a race that no matter how well I trained, no matter how smart I was on race day, I still might not finish. I’d likely find myself in a position where pushing myself even a step further would result in a trip to the emergency room or the morgue. Sure, I wasn’t climbing Everest, where hikers pass the frozen bodies of those who failed before them, but with a yearly average finishing rate of ~50%, I was willing joining the start line with hundreds of those who wouldn’t finish the race.

The Race

The Starting Line -- Race Morning

At 4am on a 35 degree Saturday morning in August, after camping out of my Element the night before, I found myself at the start line of Leadville hearing the race mantra over the loudspeaker: “You are better than you think you are. You can do more than you think you can. Dig deep.” I glanced up at the front of the race and saw Anton Krupicka join Nick Clark and Thomas Lorblanchet. The elites were ready. Around me were hundreds of runners tweaking their gear one last time, hoping we were ready too.

Start to May Queen: 12.5 miles (mile 0 - 12.5)

The shotgun blast startled me as I leapt into the mass of runners heading into darkness, down to The Boulevard, a dirt road with some rocky sections, and then onto the trail around Turquoise Lake. The race I’d been building toward all year was finally here, and I was as ready as I was going to be. Trying to hold back and not go out too hard, I was doing 8:30s and everyone around me was flying forward even faster down The Boulevard. Friends chatted with each other as they ran, catching up on the latest news like retirees at the barber shop. I enjoyed running with the packs and trying to settle into the easiest running pace I could maintain.

As we headed onto a super steep, short section of Turquoise Lake trail, I reminded myself that with 800 runners starting this race, there would be bottlenecks, so I tried to pick up a few places and get around runners going my speed. I found a chain of runners that were doing well, until we hit any kind of rocky or hilly sections, where some runners could’ve used a better headlamp. I was following this one guy with Hoka bon bon shoes, which look like moon boots and always give me a good chuckle. The dude behind me sounded like the big bad wolf, huffing down my neck the entire time and I almost turned on my music really early, but I wanted to remain focused on running for as long as I could so that I’d remember the experience. Thankfully, wolfman jack fell back after a few miles.

The sun began to rise and Turquoise Lake woke with all its beauty, mist on the water and I was finding my running groove. This section is mostly flat so I could regulate my breathing and heart rate easily and the miles ticked by nice and fast. I’d asked Alaina to bring the Assos lube to May Queen so I could toss that magic stuff on my junk before I chaffed to a leprous pulp, and she was right there waiting for me like an angel!. A mention of gear: I wore tight fitting lycra shorts, a tech tee, buff around my head + ears, arm sleeves, gloves, super thin wicking socks, and Brooks Cascadias, especially for their rock plate. Perfect choices all around.

May Queen to Fish Hatchery: 10 miles (mile 12.5 - 22.5)

Grabbed a couple salted golden potatoes at May Queen aid station from my drop bag, Alaina filled my hydration pack, and I started out on the road to the trail section. I found a guy from Ohio to chat with, and both of us were doing our first 100s. I power hiked well through the steep parts and ran easy on the flats. I was draining my hydration pack at a steady pace, taking my salt tabs on time, and mixing up the foods, from GU Chomps to potatoes to gels at regular intervals. One long buffet, just a day picnic in the mountains, right?

When I hit Hagerman, a dirt road leading up to Sugarloaf Pass, I felt my first pangs of altitude suffering. The road climbs gradually but I couldn’t run very long because my breath would catch hard in my lungs, like someone was giving me a nice long gentle bear hug from behind. The views were stunning up there, looking back toward Turquoise Lake and around to the other peaks. Took my mind off the inability to tap the strength in my legs for a while.

I mostly pow hiked up the Sugarloaf climb since running not only would’ve wasted my legs but I knew how easy it would be to spike my lungs over the threshold and get to where I couldn’t suck in enough oxygen. The descent down powerline was a fantastic three-ish miles of fun running, and I met a guy to run with for a while who has done this section in training several times. He said it was his favorite part too. weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Fish Hatchery to Half Pipe: 5.6 miles (mile 22.5 - 28.1)

My parents and Alaina’s parents and Alaina were waiting for me at Fish Hatchery and it was awesome to see them. I only get to see my parents a few times a year since we live so far, which makes having them as my crew that much more special. I could push on through pain and weakness because I knew they were just a few miles away, waiting and cheering for me. At the aid station, they were working so hard and fast for me, getting what I needed ready and getting me out the “door” again that I rode the high of their encouragement for miles.



This section is short and flat, but you’re running along the paved road and the sun is blazing and there’s no shade along the ranch-lined road. I thought I’d be able to zip through this stretch, but instead I started to suffer a bit mentally from all the sameness, same pounding on my legs, same heat on my shoulders, same view the whole way. My lungs wouldn’t allow me to run any faster either, which was frustrating, so I had to do a run/walk strategy already so early in the race. That kinda got me down, and I struggled to stay positive.

There’s no crew access at Half Pipe either, so I wouldn’t see my family until Twin Lakes. Time to get to work then and knock these miles out. I listened to a few All Songs Considered podcasts to take my mind off this mental lag, and that was a good move. I decided that if something isn’t working, change it now, try a new approach.

Half Pipe to Twin Lakes: 10.4 miles. (mile 28.1 - 38.5)

Here I found another first time 100 runner to talk with, this guy from the Pacific Northwest with a rock climbing background. He was in good spirits and a very good uphill runner, so I liked staying with him and behind him to keep me moving quickly but not blowing up on the climbs. I was moving better on the flats now, so eventually I was alone again in one of the most Michigan-like sections of the trail, gentle rollers, soft pine ground, and energizing smells of the forest. On the return inbound, I’d realize that I was running gradually downhill most of the time on the back half of this section, and maybe that’s why my legs and lungs were responding better.

There’s one last, very steep pitch down to Twin Lakes which was punishing on the quads, but the roar of the crowds at the aid station was a major boost. I saw my dad right away, and he grabbed my pack to fill it while I grabbed a couple goodies from the aid.

The steep part into Twin Lakes aid

Changed shoes here from Cascadias into Peregrines because they drain water well and a water crossing was coming up, plus they’re a little lighter for going over Hope Pass. I grabbed the trekking poles and took off, ready to tackle the hardest part of the course, the double crossing of Hope Pass. But in all my excitement I forgot to grab more GU gels, so I only had a Larabar a potato, and one gel with me until I got to Hopeless Aid station at the top of Hope Pass.

Twin Lakes to Winfield: 12.5 miles (mile 38.5 - 51)

Flat trail from Twin Lakes AS to the start of Hope Pass climb

The start of this section is dead flat, with the mountains rising before you saying, ‘come on, show us what you’ve got.’ I started up the single track, planted my poles in the ground, and quickly realized that I didn’t have very much. I’ve been running hills as steep (but nowhere near as long) as this and I at least started out strong, but here I had nothing. Every time I tried to pick up the pace my lungs squeezed and my heart strained against the altitude. Of course I had more in the legs, but my body was rejecting the altitude again.

So I found a pace that I could maintain, as pathetic as it was. I pushed out the thought ‘this is not the hill runner I am’ from my mind and watched the creek fall below me to the right. I stepped over numerous piles of steaming bear scat and recognized that if a bear came upon me I was lunch.

The views became even more beautiful than I could imagine and the trail steeper than anything I’d ever hiked on, whether it be Zion, Rocky Mountain Nat’l Park, Sequoia, Yellowstone, Appalachains, man, everything I’d ever been on. Every step was steep and my heels didn’t touch the ground.



After hours of going back and forth with a couple other sufferers, we made it up to Hopeless Aid station, still a few hundred feet in elevation below the summit. I was climbing with a few other people, and at the aid, three teenagers loudly discussed who would take each “hiker.” One kid refilled my pack while I downed a couple GU gels, and then kept moving. I smiled at the llamas that brought this race saving aid up to 12,000+ feet.

I’ll always, for all my life, remember the views from the top of Hope Pass on this journey. The mountains stood solemnly, majestically, as we passed by, and after crossing the pass, I saw the bottom of the earth drop out from under my feet. I’d made it to the top, and all I needed to do was maintain a good pace downhill.



As I reached the top, Anton Krupicka and his pacer Dakota Jones passed by and I called out their first names as if I’d known them my whole life. Two of my ultra heros just ran right in front of me. Behind them by a few minutes were Thomas Lorblanchet from Salomon (and eventual race winner), with pacer and ultra studette, Anna Frost. Following them a little ways back was Brit and personal favorite ultrarunner, Nick Clark with his pacer. How friggin cool that they were running right by me, as I pulled a bit off the singletrack to let them pass. My heros within hi-five distance.

The rest of the way down I rode the fanboy high, that is until I realized how much the course change lengthened the course -- this a change that the RD made just Tuesday before the race! -- to run on this trail and not the usual Winfield road route.  By the time I’d reached Winfield I was at mile 51-ish, which meant this would be a 102+ mile trek by journey’s end.  I was not really happy about the change.

Winfield to Twin Lakes: 12.5 miles (mile 51 - 63.5)



Alaina, in very high spirits here, picked me up and improved my pissy mood from the course change and general weariness and suckitude regarding running. But her relentless positivity was a real boon, as she wished every single other runner that came toward us a “good job” or “way to go” or “looking great”. How could I not help but smile at her grace.

I know she was stunned by the beauty and difficulty of this climb. I struggled to maintain any kind of decent pace here on the 25% grade of narrow singletrack with hundreds of foot dropoffs to the side, but I kept going at relentless forward progress.

Eventually we made Hope Pass again and I saw down to Twin Lakes. My lungs, body, legs were aching now, suffering the altitude most of all, and when we reached the Hopeless aid station, I knew this was going to get really really hard. Alaina grabbed some cheese sticks, which she absolutely lurves, and admired the llamas, and then we headed downhill.

A guy from Ohio caught up to us, asked Alaina how old she was because he said her legs looked like she was 16, which was weird but kinda normal talk for running 55+ miles, and then he took off downhill, but we saw him again at the bottom on the flats. I went through the river crossing like it was a puddle, and started running across the fields.

Twin Lakes from aid station

Twin Lakes, with my parents and Alaina’s parents, was another blessing. It felt so good to see family at this point, knowing how long we had to go but how much we’d been through so far. I changed to a new pair of Cascadias and Alaina decided to go with me to the crew access point at Half Pipe.

Twin Lakes to Half Pipe: 10.4 miles (mile 63.5 - 73.9)

Alaina paces me through an ultra-big crowd at Twin Lakes

Alaina was feeling pretty good, so she stayed with me out of Twin Lakes. I told her there was some rise on this section for a mile and then it would flatten out. But that was my optimistic memory talking. It’s a 1500ish feet climb, over several miles, and although I started out hiking well, my mind and lungs started to give out post-Hope Pass. I couldn’t catch my breath even when the trail was lovely, buffed out, and flatter at the top. I was reduced to a walk on all but the downhills where I could jog, and even when other runners came by and I desperately wanted to run, I seemed to have no way of getting enough oxygen to go.

This was a really dark time, mentally, in my race, and if Alaina weren’t there with me, encouraging me and calming me down, I’m sure it would’ve been a void from which there is no return. Darkness came, and with it a kind of calm, settling into what I knew would be the grind of the race since you can’t see the gorgeous mountains or the forest.

The only thing I could do to keep moving was to turn on the power hike, which is a 13-14 m/m long stride, and with that, we made it to Half Pipe aid station where the tent was lined with ghostly runners eating broth and snacks or limp with head between legs. I ate some ramen and we got out of there before I became one of the spectres. .

Half Pipe to Fish Hatchery: 5.6 miles (mile 73.9 - 79.5)

In about a mile we reached the crew access point, where my crew was waiting with unflagging optimism, hot soup, and everything else I could possibly need. I thanked them, dropped my hydration pack off because my shoulders were destroyed at this point, and went with just the handheld for this flat, road section.

I actually started moving really well here, running for longer stretches and regaining some positivity despite the fact that this section was one of my lowest points on the outbound.

Fish Hatchery to DNF:  2-ish miles (mile 79.5 - 81.5)

My whole crew plus my pacer, Mark, were at Fish Hatchery, surprised to see me come in under expected time for this section, and that made me happy. Getting to this point was a great feeling, for I knew that historically, most people drop at this aid station, so we needed to get out of here, pronto. I was eager to see if my body had anything left to get over Sugarloaf Pass.

Mark and I headed down the road, albeit slowly, and caught up on life and races and such. He’d just done the Warrior Dash with another friend of ours, and I enjoyed hearing all the dirty details of that race. We started climbing Sugarloaf and my lungs and heart were struggling out of the gate but we were actually moving upward pretty well considering. Mark graciously took my hydration pack when I slowed, and told me to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I leaned into my trekking poles and could only walk about 20 feet before stopping. My heart rate was sky high and would not come down. We continued making progress until the wheels fell off, my stomach exploded, and my lungs wouldn’t allow me to breathe. It was time to call it a day. We walked back downhill, every step lower in elevation made me feel better, and we met up with my family at the road as I curled up on the ground.

They gave me plenty of time to change my mind as I sat there, and I was way under the cutoff time-wise but my body wouldn’t allow me to continue. There was no way I was going to make it over Sugarloaf in my condition. It was finis at Leadville, so they drove me back to Fish Hatchery to have my wristband cut.

I’ll get that 100 mile buckle yet, for I know I have it in me to finish 100 miles, but not here, not on this day. I took on Leadville to challenge myself to limits previously untested, and I got all that and them some. No regrets!