Hardroch - Ouray to Telluride

[The title of this post isn't a typo, and I'll tell you why if you're patient :) which if you're still reading these, you must be already!]

So I was in Ouray, but I wasn't really there. I had an aura of "what the hell just happened?" about me, trying to digest the experiences of the previous section that were so different than last year in every way imaginable. No explanations were coming, so I had to try to move on to the next section. But my brain wasn't shifting gears very quickly at that point.

My crew and I had the basics down - drink the Gookinaid and Ensure, change the socks, put a blister block on my left heel where there was a hot spot, trade trash for more Spiz baggies and TP, ask if I wanted any other food. That last one stumped me. I didn't know how to really answer questions, process anything that wasn't in the normal pattern. I did know that I wanted my microspikes for the next section - I wasn't messing around with the Virginius snow fields, even though I knew it would be light out by the time I got there and possibly with soft-ish snow to work with instead of a dreaded ice slope. Beyond that, I wasn't being much help to the crew.

I know they were trying, we all were trying to figure out exactly what I needed to do, what I needed to take. Bob had my drop bag list out and we repeatedly went through it, but I (maybe we all) had the feeling we might be missing something. But it was 3 a.m. and we were ALL sleep deprived.

John seemed to think that I needed to get up and walk out of the aid station. For once I wasn't sure why. If he had offered a nap, I probably would have taken it (but I didn't think of it). The weirdest thought went through my head - do people ever drop out of Hardrock for having tired legs? Because that's the only thing that seemed to be slowing me down at that point, no major problems and hardly any minor ones either. OK then, I guess I should get up and go, that would be the thing to do. Because one thing I do know, I sure can walk up a road. Good thing, because there was a long one of those ahead of me.

It wasn't until several hours later that I finally realized what I should have written on my drop bag list - sunglasses (I'd given them to my crew at Grouse), more sunscreen, fewer lights...

As it was, I had everything I needed to start the next leg at least, including my iPod. John walked me out the aid station exit and asked if I was carrying it. Maybe I would find it useful during the next few miles up a long dirt road? Heck yeah, great idea! That was the best thing he could have said, a glimmer of hope that we might actually have some brain power in action this early in the a.m. :)

After John kicked me out of Ouray, I followed course markers carefully because this was the one section of the course I had never seen and I wasn't sure what to expect except a tunnel. Up a couple turns and onto the Ouray loop trail, then up these giant steps that at least had a hand rope to help pull myself up along. The tunnel was cool but rather anticlimactic. On the other hand, the footbridge way high over the river was awesome and I look forward to going back to actually see where I was sometime in daylight.

I found the dirt road and turned to start walking and walking. Not far up, a couple headlamps came toward me and I think it might have been a runner and a pacer turning around to go back to Ouray? It seemed like they were both women, but they were talking among themselves so I didn't ask questions. I'm pretty sure I didn't dream that. Looking at the results I think it might have been Betsy K.

I started with my podcasts and blew through 3 of them just like that. Dawn came and went. I drank Spiz. I stopped for a bathroom break. I looked at various spots along the side of the road wondering if I was tired enough that they would be comfortable, but the idea of taking off my pack to make a pillow and moving all those rocks around to find a spot that fit my body didn't seem worth the effort. I saw almost no one, but finally a couple racers passed me while I was taking a bathroom break. Everyone was moving pretty slowly. The scenery was gorgeous again. My feet were dry. I sort of knew where I was but not how much further I had to go. There were even occasional mile markers, but I declined to calculate my pace per mile so as not to embarrass myself any further.

OK, time for some comfort music. I listened to the whole Buffy album and I was partway through Dr. Horrible when I finally, finally! made it to the Governor aid station. Phew!

Governor aid station = 24:57 total time, approx 76th place

I sat and had a bit of soda while filling a Spiz baggie, then rummaged through my med kit to see if I was carrying a needle. My right heel felt a bit sore from a nagging blister and I was hoping to poke it to see if I could relieve any pressure. No needle, and I wasn't quite ready to use a race number pin on it yet. Robert came walking up, commenting how it had taken him 3 whole hours to get up here. Hmm, that actually would have been a good split for me. I guess I better get my butt in gear here.

See ya, folks, thanks for being there! I continued up the road, amazed that we were crossing the creek on a bridge, although I knew my foot dryness was short-lived. Yep, further up there was a shallow but very-wide water crossing, and it only took a couple seconds in the snowmelt for my feet to start going numb. Too bad it took longer than a couple seconds to get across that one!

I started listening to Glee! soundtrack music, and that put some rockin' in my step. It was an absolutely beautiful morning! Snow fields, colorful rocks, blue sky, finally some awesome weather even though it was probably temporary. I should probably put my shades on... oops I guess I should have thought of that back in Ouray. Oh well, at least I have my hat brim.

I climbed up switchbacks, saw Robert following a ways back, started crossing snowfields. The snow was soft enough and there were plenty of runners ahead of me making tracks, so it wasn't too challenging, just steep here and there. Then a long path seemingly straight up the snow - and I wasn't even at the three primary pitches to the pass yet.

So I sat down to put on my micro-spikes, just to try them out. Heck, I was carrying them, I might as well be using them. I tested them in the snow steps - magic! Suddenly I could walk all over the snowfields without concern for foot placement. Less energy lost in little foot slides. I'm sold. The only reason not to put them on so soon was that the path continued to alternate between long patches of snow and long patches of dirt and rock, and I wasn't about to sit and take them off/put them on over and over, so I just walked over the dirt and rocks with them on.

I even walked on a bit of ice just to get a feel for my magic footwear, and that seemed to work pretty well too. Finally I got to the real straight-up section and followed tracks up the first steep, snow-covered pitch. My poles helped for balance, although I couldn't ever plant them too hard in snowfields because they tended to sink when I didn't expect it. I had a song going in my ears with the perfect rhythm for a methodical, not-to-fast, march up the mountain ("Gold Digger", of all things), so I played it again after it ended halfway up. Nice!

Another pitch, this one not quite as bad, although my feet were starting to freeze from all the snow exposure. I found a rock to sit on so I could take a breather and kick some snow off my shoes for a moment. I came over the top of the 2nd pitch to see the Krogers Canteen aid station folks perched high above. You folks are crazy to hang out there all night and day! It was quite a sight. I was so very glad to be there to see it. What a fun morning!

I couldn't believe my luck when the song "Keep Holding On" came on - "When it gets cold, and feels like the end, there's no place to go, you know I won't give in" - I just about started crying and laughing at the same time. Then the guys up top were giving me directions about climbing the route next to the rope and stashing my poles in my pack, so I turned off the music to concentrate on the important stuff. But the tune stayed in my mind, what a glorious morning.

I took hold of the rope and pulled - and pulled - until it eventually went taut. That was one dynamic rope (compared to the static ones we use for rappelling and ascending). I tried a wrist-wrap technique that I'd played with the year before in the Utah canyons, and that seemed to be good here too. My magic feet made step after step up toward the notch. How high is this thing, anyway? Almost there? No. But I'll get there eventually. For now, I was back to my "this is surreal" phase, which certainly beats out "this is hard" and "this sucks" and "I need a nap".

Near the top I asked if Roch Horton was there. They pointed me up to the man perched on an even higher rock up above. I pointed at him and yelled, "THANK YOU!" I told him I had been trying to get there for a long time so I could specifically thank him, and that I held him responsible for my getting into the race. Roch was automatically qualified to run, having finished this race 10 (!!) times, but this year he decided to let someone else experience it while he managed one of the aid stations - the most difficult one, at that! If not for his selflessness, I may not have been there. I told him that now I had to finish this race, in honor of him and all the other first time runners. He told me that I would finish, and he sounded so matter-of-fact. What a class act.

At the top they found me a seat, amazingly it was sheltered from the wind and there was room for all these people at once. They handed me some chicken noodle soup and I even tried a pierogi which I didn't even know what that was before. One guy sat with me and we chatted about micro-spikes - I told him that I had hauled these things all the way up the road, I was for damned sure going to use them. Have I mentioned how much they rock? I was glad I didn't have to test them in actual icy conditions on that morning, but I look forward to doing more experimentation. The guy also told me to keep them on through the next basin, then I could take them off for the trip down the other side.

They asked how my night had gone, and I told them that it sucked but I was doing much better now. I didn't realize until later that perhaps THEY had had their own challenges up there. I wonder what they go through during lightning storms? Crazy, I tell you. I did mention that I had 4 climbs that day, one down!, and at least this one was in perfect weather. No promises for later.

Oh yeah... Virginius/Kroger's aid station = 26:57 total time, approx 76th place

Time to go - down a bit of scree (it was probably my imagination, but it seemed like the micro-spikes helped on that too), then around the basin going across a few snowfields. I'm not fond of the section near the end that gets a bit exposed, but I focused on my footing and all was fine. Around the corner, where I sat to remove my new-favorite footwear and watch a couple runners below me. There was a bit of steep-ish downhill and then some cross-country travel with course markers who-knows-where (or why) but I aimed for the dirt road that I knew was part of the course, and soon I was heading downhill toward town.

Back to the music, I hummed and sang and ran my way down the long drop. My knees were still doing OK, just a little sore here and there, so I continued to take it easy down the steep stuff for sure. When the song "No Air" came on, I totally had to laugh. I had almost taken it off my playlist for the race, because really, who wants to be at high altitude listening to a song about it being hard to breathe? Happily, I was heading downhill and breathing just fine, another song with perfect timing! "I walked, I ran, I jumped, I flew...!"

Eventually I could see town - almost there! I smiled at a couple tourists, found a dirt road and then the last little trail down to someone's driveway. I even got to say "Hi" to the owner of said driveway, so that was neat.

Then I was on the steep streets of Telluride - hello civilization! I looked all the way to the other end of the street way down by the creek, thought I could see my friends, and raised my poles. Woo hoo! was the answer! Woo hoo, indeed! Good morning everyone!

My crew had been exploring the area, so I figured I'd include a couple photos of their experiences.

The park near the end of town where the mountains close in:

Hey, if I'd seen this I would have been glad I wasn't on a bike for this race!

Gondola through the aspens:

Welcome to the aid station :)

Telluride aid station = 28:30 total time, approx 76th place

I handed over my pack and told my crew that we were going to dump it all out and start over. We took out all the overnight gear (except the rain jacket that I wasn't parting with) and made a note that I had to get it all back at Governor, they filled the bottles and reloaded me with Spiz baggies, then Kathy sprayed me down with sunscreen. I had already taken off my socks and shoes to let my feet dry, any chance I get at this point.

I mentioned the blister again, because it was actually beginning to slow me down somewhat on the downhills. John didn't have a needle either, but he was game to unpin a corner of my race number. But upon poking the blister with the pin, he didn't get any liquid out, so that was that for the moment.

John attempting to reinstall the pack on my torso, at least I hope that's what this looks like:

Rockin' duckies everywhere!

Bob turning blue after inflating the biggest DUCKIE of them all:

My friends took turns signing it, so sweet and wonderful:

My "pit stop" crew in action:

I think they took a picture every time I went to take a drink - hey it's good to stay hydrated :)

It was a longer stop on purpose, surprisingly less than 20 minutes though. Then it was time to go. Ann was coming with me! Awesome for company! The iPod was officially off the clock.

Hardrock - Grouse to Ouray

When I got into Grouse AS, I asked if we could work from inside the tent to stay dry, but when we headed up there it was obviously packed full of runners and folks helping them. I don't even know now if my crew could have joined me, as last year I was allowed in the tent because I was a pacer. So we went back to our chairs where they lifted the tarp off the stuff, and the rain had pretty much stopped and I had a nice dry place to sit. What a great crew! We got so lucky it never rained on us when I was actually with them, and they did a wonderful job handling the weather while waiting for me. Although I am curious what kind of "hold the tarp over Marcy" setup they might have come up with if pressed!

My husband and friends helped me get more clothes on, including tights and a sock change. Ann brought over hot broth and hot chocolate (both were great, I think hot chocolate won out in the showdown). I got my main lights and standard Spiz refill. I think there were more duckies around, but I couldn't tell for sure in the dark.

Seems like I had an idea of what was to come:

John asked (I could tell slightly tentatively) whether I wanted him to accompany me to Ouray, and when I told him I'd be fine without him, he was like "oh thank goodness". Apparently he was dressed for it, underneath a bazzilion other layers - Kathy joked it would have been the slowest Superman change ever. We had already decided that he would be with me on the final section where I was most concerned about the creek crossings. Anything else was just gravy, so no need to risk his later pacing with a little company tonight.

Ready to go, see y'all in a few hours! John walked me up the road for a bit and I assured him that I knew this section and wasn't worried about being by myself tonight. Then the lights and sounds of the aid station faded... slowly... as I continued walking up the road.

For perhaps 20 or 30 minutes it was a wonderful peaceful nighttime walk, and I thought that John would have really enjoyed it. Then it started raining. OK, so much for that. I put up my hood and continued up the dirt road. There were headlamps way ahead and eventually some started popping up behind me too, but mostly I just tried to see the outlines of the mountains around me to get an idea where we were aiming for.

That completely didn't work, especially since I'd forgotten just how far up the road we had to go before the switchbacks would begin. There was a loud rushing creek, forms of trees and hills, headlamps ahead that I couldn't decipher, etc. This road goes a lot faster when you're fresh and pacing Superman downhill. A couple came past me, with one silent person (I guess it was a guy) and a very chipper lady who was unmistakably a pacer. She said a nice hello as they zoomed past.

Quite a while later, past several intersections (with signs and good course markings) I finally did find the start of the switchbacks. That was the good news. The bad news was that it started hailing. And then there was fog - ?? I had to really focus to figure out where the road was going. It wasn't like I was about to walk off of it, but I felt like a robot that was blindly searching for the right way to go while occasionally coming face-to-face with a wall or a drop-off. Turn right or turn left? I had missed "fog" in my list of "Other things to be concerned about"...

So the hail got a bit worse, now coming from one side or the other depending on which direction the switchback was going. The good news was that the fog finally cleared so I didn't have to grope around for the road location any more. The bad news was that it kept getting colder and colder. Such that my standard jacket, buff, and overmitts were just at the limits of being enough, but any colder and I wouldn't be happy about it.

Finally I felt like I was on the final traverse across the top of the switchbacks and I could just about make out the turn in the road up ahead. The hail died down, that was the good news. The bad news was that the wind was now howling something fierce and I was really starting to get cold. I knew that the only solution was to get to the pass and drop down into the next basin and get out of the wind.

A dip in the road, a big rock - finally some landmarks that I knew! I walked the left edge of the road, determined not to miss the marking that would signify the start of the downhill. There's the parking area up ahead, woo hoo! And there was the marker, leading actually more left than I expected, but whatever it takes to get off this road, I'm in.

A couple headlamps came toward me on the road - the runner with chipper pacer lady had missed the turn, bummer. I started down into the basin and then let them by when they caught up to me. It was actually really nice having them just ahead of me, as all 3 of us worked to watch the marking flags and figure out the puzzle of how to get down this hill. They weren't running away from me, I was doing an OK downhill pace, and it was nice to have a little company for a bit.

The good news is that the wind stopped. The bad news is that the footing got really crappy and stayed that way for a while. In the dark it was hard to avoid the really muddy stuff, so we ended up sloshing around here and there. Occasional snowfields punctuated the mud and muck. Then a couple little creek crossings with dang chilly fast-running water. What a mess. The markings took us way around to the right, which seemed a little odd because I thought we had ascended from the middle of the basin last year, but it wasn't something I dwelt on. I had too many other concerns, most related to moving forward and staying on my now-wet and muddy feet.

Yeah, John would not have appreciated this so much. I told him later that there wasn't much he could have helped with, and there was no sense in 2 of us being miserable instead of just 1.

Eventually some lights appeared and there was Engineer aid station, a welcome break from all this work.

Engineer aid station = 18:10 total time, approx 81st place

I didn't stay too long, just enough to refill a Spiz baggie and I think I got some hot chocolate to drink. There was a nice fire, but the smoke was blowing every which way and I wasn't keen on breathing that for too long. There isn't enough oxygen as it is without smoke getting in the way. The folks there were really nice, except for the guy who was obliged to tell everyone that Bear Creek was running higher/faster than normal about a mile down. OK, he was still nice, but my feelings toward him were not kindly ones at that moment. The odd thing is that I don't even remember crossing Bear Creek last year.

I left the aid station, and when I paused for a bathroom break the same runner/pacer couple caught back up to me. She told me to yell if I had any issues with the creek crossing. I appreciated the thought, and worked to stay with them (they were back to moving well again) until we got to the creek. We found the widest/shallowest spot and climbed down the bank. They crossed together and I followed, and I appreciated again that she looked back to check on me.

Now we were on river left, and I knew this could only mean that we'd have to cross back, so I stayed with them until sure enough, there was a 2nd crossing. Same procedure, just being careful and watching out for each other. I thanked them for keeping an eye on me, and was glad to be done with that.

A little ways along, I really had to clear the pebbles out of my shoes, so I paused while they took off for good. Finally I felt like I could relax a bit, at least until the "trail over the cliff" section coming up later. I wasn't cold, well, my feet would warm up again soon, we were back in the trees, no rain or hail, no crazy mud. I think the moon might even have been out. Oh yeah, the moon was out because I saw it earlier during the hailstorm (and I'm pretty sure I'm not making that up).

So I'm puttering along, running some of the downhill, just minding my own business, when another creek appeared before me. Say what? This wasn't even Bear Creek proper, but a SIDE CREEK pouring down the hillside like a madman. I walked up to it, stared up at the gushing waterfalls to the right, and then turning to look left at the continuation of the waterfalls down to Bear Creek. What in the world is this? And what am I supposed to do with it?

Obviously the two ahead of me had crossed no problem, and I had to believe they didn't think it was crazy dangerous or they might have thought to wait for me (not that they had any responsibility toward me, but the thought might have crossed their minds). There was a flat-ish section where the trail crossed, and a course marking taunting me from the other side. I was mostly concerned about the consequences if I happened to slip and start down the drops - would I be able to hang onto those ice-covered logs? Would anyone know that I was in trouble?

I backed up to think about it, and took a few minutes to drink my next serving of Spiz and ponder. Finally I decided to wait for the next person to show up and we could cross together. So I paced back and forth, checking the creek (yep, still raging), looking back up the trail (no lights yet), back and forth until a light finally appeared.

I asked the very-nice man if he would mind us crossing together, even linking arms if that's OK? He was game, and we stepped into the water. It was a bit deep, but the current wasn't crazy or anything and we had no trouble. We both remarked at about the same time that it looked a lot worse that it was. I heard later that I wasn't the only one given pause by that creek crossing. On the other hand, I wondered at the time whether this older gentleman perhaps looked at me as someone who maybe shouldn't be out here on her own, if she can't cross some little creek.

Ah well, I'm probably making that up anyway. I let the man go on ahead until he stopped for something or other and I got to running some of the downhills. I should have asked his name, as I'd sure like to thank him again for his help.

The trail became more familiar, reaching the spot where folks normally do trail work to reinforce a steep bank. It looks like someone has done an awesome job of reinforcement this time, I was impressed with that section. The trail continued higher above the roaring creek, making its way along with some cuts into the cliff. This is the part where you have to be careful with your foot placements, I don't care how fast or nimble you are. It's a (mostly) wide trail but you don't want to test the edges of it.

This is also one of the first places John took me when I started wondering if I could run Hardrock. Here I was, back in the same place actually running Hardrock. Again, surreal. I had been here before, I had spent a whole day on the side of these cliffs doing trail work, I was plenty awake and moving fine, I could certainly get through this again.

That doesn't mean it wasn't still scary, though.

Another landmark, a little bridge over a side ravine. Hey, that one looks way better too, like they put in a whole new awesome bridge. So many things to report to John about. Focus, climb some rocks, around another corner, another trail work spot. Finally I found the new cut-over trail that we had build last year, and it was still there, yay! A couple less feet of elevation gain, mission accomplished.

Some headlamps appeared behind me and eventually a guy named Mike joined me as we rounded the corner and started down the "broken glass" shale (?)-covered switchbacks above Ouray. Mike remembered me from 2009, so we got to talking a bit. Crossing above the road tunnel (which I have to say is one of the coolest trail ideas), I made a brief pit stop and told Mike to go on ahead.

I saw a guy waiting at the road and mistook him for Doug with the radio on his vest - hi Doug! Oops, it was still Mike. That was the first of many mis-identifications I made the rest of the race. I guess I was getting tired. Yep, definitely getting tired. I didn't make up a Spiz because it seemed we were so close to Ouray.

Except that this trail goes on for frickin-ever (those might have been Mike's words, but I'd like to borrow them please). Steep downhill, back uphill, back downhill right next to where we went uphill (why??), more ups and downs than I can count, and I thought we were just looking at the town lights and now it's completely dark again. The only comfort I had was that the race used to cross this creek that was hauling butt right next to me. That would have really been a challenge.

So we were pretty tired by the time we finally did get to town. Mike checked every intersection looking for course markings, and then we saw folks waiting in the darkness up ahead. It was so good to see my peeps!!

Scott raced (I mean really ran!) on ahead to let everyone know we were coming, and I walked with John and told him he should be really glad he got to drive around that section!

I made it, hip hip Ouray!

Ouray aid station = 21:11 total time, approx 81st place still

Hardrock - Sherman to Grouse

I'll try not to go on and on about the awesomeness of the Sherman aid station... It started when one guy was assigned just to me - he found me a seat in the shade and asked what I wanted. I started with a cup of water and a trip to the bathroom (the best bathroom on the course, thank you). Then we sat together so he could take my order. My drop bag was already laid out on the table, including my little note to myself tucked in front where I could see it. These folks are professionals.

He filled my bottles and brought the promised fruit smoothie (yes, yum!) and some banana and watermelon. I put my backup headlamp in my bag (because I was doing OK but not on supersonic pace), plus my waterproof jacket and a couple pieces of warmer clothing. John had convinced me not to carry my jacket from the start, but I wasn't giving it up from now on. I changed socks for the first time, ahh how nice. Dry feet were in the forecast for the near future and I looked forward to that.

The aid station guy (I should have asked his name) asked what else I needed, and I started trying to explain the Spiz baggie and decided just to ask him to bring a pitcher of water so he could fill the baggie while I held it. That worked, and I was pretty much ready to go. Transitions would be a bit longer from here on, but there were too many important things to prepare for so I just tried to be efficient about it.

I looked across the way and saw Steve and Mark hanging out, plus I got to chat with Rick T. who was walking around talking to and helping people, so that was cool. Steve told me I was on a 39-hour pace or something, to which I replied that was only leeway for later. Right before I left, another runner staggered in and was about to be seating at my table. He told the lady that he was feeling the effects of altitude and preferred a quiet corner in case he got sick - OK then, I'll be walking outta here. I did appreciate his manners even when he wasn't feeling well.

One other story, then I really need to get going. At the medical check-in on Wednesday, the guy asked my age. Um, ... 41? This isn't something I keep close track of, obviously. His assistant asked when I was born, and we determined that I'm actually 42, heh. Then they asked where I'm from, another tough question. New York? Texas? I made up my mind to really know these answers in case I got grilled by medical personnel on the course.

So when a woman stopped by my table at Sherman and asked how old I was (her excuse was that "you look much younger!") - I made sure to check the info on my wristband before answering. I then noted that my super-helper was wearing an "EMT" shirt too. I think I had enough mental proficiency to actually use the phrase "mental proficiency" with him, so he let me continue...

And now it really is time to get going. After 15 super-useful minutes, I started walking/jogging down the dirt road. One short/steep trail climb and I was up on the jeep road toward the Handies trailhead. As much as I appreciated the gentle grade, occasional shade, dry feet, and beautiful day, I wasn't excited about this section. 4WD vehicles kept passing us in both directions, mostly driven by considerate folks but they couldn't keep all the dust and noise away. I was glad for some wind that swept most of it away fairly quickly and made it bearable.

One lady stopped to ask if we were related to the big tent on the other side of the mountain and were we doing a race? I think so and yes - she wished me luck, that was nice. A crew car passed me heading back over (one of the biggest reasons I wish runners would ask their crew NOT to come over to Sherman), then I saw it stop next to the runner up ahead of me. Eventually the car moved on, and I caught up to the guy. He asked me if they had offered me a ride - what? No, and that's weird. They told him "no one will ever know" (well, except me who would have seen him get in). He speculated that he must look in worse shape than me. I should have replied (my typical week-late rejoinder) that he must look a lot more attractive than me, actually. So that was strange.

I walked/ran up the road and was pleasantly surprised to reach the trailhead fairly quickly. A woman tried to direct me to the trail, but I ran by her to the restrooms for a quick break, nice timing. Then over the bridge to the stash of water jugs so I could refill my bottles before the long climb up the mountain. Steve and Mark passed me approximately here.

Time for a long climb - this one starts steep, but at least we were back in the woods mostly. My legs were getting tired, which seemed a little early to me but what do I know really? A couple guys passed me moving well, and I even got to help one of them get his backpack zipped back up. When I could eventually see the top of Handies Peak there were blue skies and sunshine above it. I remarked to myself that it would have been really nice to be there right now - not so much to get the climb over, but because it was perfect weather for being up high. All I could do was what I could do to get there and hope for the best from the skies.

I passed Steve who seemed to be having some kind of stomach issue, but the only thing we talked about was "3000 feet" - how much more climb remained before getting to the top. That actually turned out to the really useful (and not demoralizing) info for me. I converted it to meters and calculated that I might be able to get to the top by 7:30 pm. That should work for getting to Grouse not too much after 9 pm.

I was now moving slower than I had originally estimated, but this was actually a somewhat calculated move to try to let my legs recover a bit. I started to worry that I would run out of climbing power, like at Jemez last year which had been my first race at altitude for the summer. Not being able to climb would be a huge challenge in finishing Hardrock, so I needed to give up a bit of time to try to keep that from happening.

Eventually I made it above treeline, amusing myself by watching runners way ahead making their way up the slopes. I noted a group going straight up a snowfield, and others going up rocks to the right. That should be interesting. The trail started crossing little creeks and muddy spots, nothing too bad. I ended up with one wet shoe, but at least I could use the same shoe to get wet each time.

I came to the creek crossing where I wanted to fill a bottle - John and I had scouted it out and used it last year. The alternate creek didn't look nearly as orange this year, I imagine due to all the rushing snowmelt. But I still liked this creek the best. So I paused, moved water around and filled a bottle, dropped in a Micro-pur tablet, and was getting my stuff back together when another runner walked up to chat. We ended up taking turns following each other up the next section, neither moving particularly fast but both of us working as methodically as we could.

He was also wearing headphones, so he didn't say much (not that I was talking either), but at times I would turn around and he would smile at me so I'd smile back. That was so refreshing - most people were so focused or in a daze that I didn't see any reaction. I liked this guy's smile. He turned out to be Doug from Hawaii, very nice to meet you.

Up near the snowfield I paused to check the course markings. A couple years ago John and I had looked for an alternative to the snowfield in case either of us ever came upon it frozen over in the middle of the night. He helped me find an alternate way down some rocks and a bit of scree. And this year the course was actually using the "Marcy Reroute" - so, cool! I followed markers straight up the dirt slope. OK, this reroute was more intended in the downhill direction in my mind - uphill is kind of rough going straight up.

Almost to the ridge, a group of hikers were coming down and they seemed a bit excited, hopping down the mountain while singing "Come Sail Away" - the sane guy in front kind of apologized and I told him they may have some altitude loopiness going on (I'm quite familiar with this myself). No matter, the "music" was fun and they were considerate in passing me on their descent.

The wind picked up and the clouds started looking a bit ominous. No time to rest. Except I did stop to put on my jacket, buff, and overmitts. By the way, these overmitt things ROCK! Our friend Jeff suggested them for winter running, and I just happened to see them while packing for Colorado. They weigh almost nothing (1 oz per pair), so I even threw them in my running pack. It turns out they are da bomb for keeping hands warm. I put them on over my bike gloves whenever my hands got a bit chilly, and they kept my hands completely toasty and dry even in rain and wind and hail. Big and easy to use, worked fine with my poles, and my only concern was not letting them blow away when I took them off. Jeff had emphasized how you're stuck not being able to do anything if your hands are too frozen to function, and I took it to heart and boy did it work! (eVENT rain mitts from Mountain Laurel Designs, hope you don't mind a little plug here and there for the gear that helped me the most)

So I was warm enough heading uphill in the wind, but ohmygosh is it ever steep getting up to the top. Doug was following me now, smiling at me whenever I paused for a breather and looked back to see how he was doing. I couldn't help thinking of the talking dog, rephrasing it to "His name is Dug, I have just met him, and I like him." Deep breathing, a few more steps, choose a trail among the options through the loose stuff, breathe, step, breathe step. I started adding a slight pause after each step, just enough to mostly keep moving even though it was really slow.

Finally, finally, we made it to the top of the last steep pitch! I turned around to watch Doug clamber up so we could high five, yay! Wow, Handies had sure kicked my butt. We hustled over to the actual top of Handies and I took Doug's picture with his camera. It had started to rain, not sure how well the photo came out, but at least we tried. Dark clouds loomed, but at least there was no lightning, and it was even not quite 7:30 pm yet.

We started down the other side, which normally is rather bare but made easier by the rain packing down some of the loose dirt. I was ready to get lower where there was more oxygen and some shelter from the wind. I looked over to American Basin - holy cannoli, look at all that snow! It was as white as I'd ever seen it (in my limited experience here).

I ran carefully down the switchbacks, so thankful not to have any lightning issues up here. Some folks not long later were not so lucky, yikes, but everyone made it without another Lightning Bob incident this year. Further down I found a rock to squat behind, and further still I found a place to stop and mix a Spiz. There was still some work to do before Grouse.

Doug and I started across the traverse, which this year entailed many snow patches, lots of mud, very little actual "trail" (such as it is anyway), and more than a few challenges. I think Doug had the first busted trekking pole in the race that I saw, bummer. We post-holed a couple times, gave up trying to keep our feet dry, and focused instead on just keeping our feet under us. I was glad to know this section and be aware that it can take a while in the best of conditions.

At least it didn't rain much, that I remember anyway, and it was still light out. We made it around to the last steep climb out of the basin, phew, and started down the long valley toward Grouse. Doug had a radio strapped to the front of his pack and he began trying to reach his support folks at the aid station. I suspected it would still be a while before we'd be in range right above them.

Darkness gained on us, but I was still moving fine without a headlamp. We picked up the pace when we saw lightning and heard some thunder. More running, more lightning. I wasn't worried much about it, more not looking forward to the rainstorm that appeared to be heading in our direction. Running, lightning, thunder. Finally we stopped to get out our headlamps right as the rain seemed to be just on top of us. Yep, there it goes!

We got quite a drenching, slipping and sliding down the trail and trying to see ahead of us with the rain obscuring some of the light and making sparkles in front of my eyes that I sometimes mistook for lightning. I prefer a handheld light, but I wasn't giving up either pole in order to do that. The poles were really what was keeping me from falling on my butt, several times in this section.

The thunder got louder and closer, as we got lower and lower (thank goodness for that), and the rain kept coming down. Finally I could see the aid station lights below us, then a few easy switchbacks to the bottom, yay! Jason was there - Marcy? It's Marcy! It was great to see everyone. My crew whisked me away and Doug went a different direction - it was great travelling with you for a while, see ya!

Some daytime shots from Grouse aid station:

The trail comes down the side of this hill:

Runner-watchers:

Still dry!

Happily, the rain started letting up by the time I arrived!

Grouse aid station = 15:20 total time, approx 84th place

Hardrock - Cunningham to Sherman

From the Cunningham aid station, I started up the trail on the other side. At that moment I was pretty happy to be going around the course in the counter-clockwise direction... I didn't have to go UP what we had just come down, and I also don't enjoy going DOWN the stuff we were now heading up. I wasn't sure if I wouldn't appreciate the course direction as much later in the race, but for now I was enjoying it.

I heard a crowd of folks on the road below yell, "GO JOE!" and I thought to myself, huh, I guess Joe is up here somewhere. Then I heard "GO MARCY!" which made me laugh. Joe P. turned around right above me to say "hey I know you" - which made me laugh again. Joe has taught us so much about Hardrock and we owe him a lot in the grand scheme of the whole experience. It was great to get to see him actually on the course now.

He seemed to be climbing well and doing good. He's a real downhill specialist, so when he let me go ahead of him I figured I would see him again on the other side of the mountain. I passed a few more guys on the way up the hill, and I got to start liking that. I passed the spot where I had sat to watch John zoom up the opposite hillside in the race last year. That made me smile.

I had one brief moment where I questioned the course direction, but it seemed like we needed to go up the steep nose and sure enough there was a flag up above. More than once (many times, actually), I really appreciated having seen the course before. One less thing to worry about, one more little bit of confidence here and there. Huge thanks to Charlie for all the trail marking parties!

Into a bit of a valley, the trail finally leveled off for a short distance. That was a nice relief. I knew the worst was ahead - steep grunt climbs off-trail straight up the side of the hill. Repeat. And then once more up the biggest bear to the top. There was a bit of snow at the bottom, then just walking up the tundra and putting one foot in front of the other for a while. I even switchbacked it slightly (I think I just verbed a noun) to make it slightly less intense.

I got to say "Guten Morgan" to a racer I believed (hoped) was German - he was, so that went well. Climb, climb - finally at the top, phew. A couple of spectators told me that they hadn't seen many women in front of me. Well, there were only 15 of us and I had already passed 5 of them (actually 6, as I didn't know yet that I had also passed Deb somewhere but didn't see her). I told them that the problem was most of the rest were really fast so it didn't matter much. And in fact, I didn't see another woman racer from Cunningham to the end.

A bit of snow down to a dirt road crossing, then up the other side. I saw Marty waiting for someone, sitting on a rock. There was more snow along the next trail but nothing I wasn't used to after climbing 14ers recently. As long as the sun has been on the snow for a while, the main potential problem is post-holing, and we didn't have too much of that here.

Near the top I saw a guy we know named John who was out running around the course (not a racer) just checking it out, so that was cool. I managed a quick potty break in a sheltered spot before the next guy came around the corner, then a bit more climbing to the next ridge.

From there I could see a couple runners trying to figure out how to get down a huge overhanging snowfield in the distance. That seemed odd in a couple ways, so I paused to try to understand it. I noticed a course marker off to the right of where I was standing, so I moved over to check it out. From there it was obvious that I needed to drop down immediately and not continue on the ridge like those runners. It wasn't an easy turn to catch, so I was glad to hit it the first time.

The downhill into Maggie's aid station is a bit rough, although again I was glad not to be going in the other direction here. Plenty of mud, wet grass, snow, not really a trail, just follow the markers wherever they wander. I hung with a couple guys, not really pushing down the hill but not going gingerly about it either.

Then the trail markers led to an actual creek that we had to wade across - what? I totally don't remember that part. I need to ask John about that. So my feet were back to being wet, but what do I expect really?

Maggie aid station = 5:28 total time, approx 100th place

(It is rather astonishing to note that only 4 people who came into this aid station after me also finished the race, considering that I felt like I was no longer at the very back of the pack)

At the aid station they helped me fill a Spiz baggie with water and I grabbed a bit of watermelon, yum! I walked out with a couple other guys, one who I think was named Dennis. He had some interesting foot placements, very flexible and seemingly able to step on anything in just about any direction. It was a bit strange following him, because I certainly can't do that, and I'm used to walking in my teammates' footsteps that work more like mine.

A group of us crested the short climb to the Continental Divide. It was neat thinking about the Tour Divide bike race a couple of our friends were in the process of finishing (go Sheilas!) and how at least they would not have had to come over this pass on their bikes. More snow now, a lot more than in 2010, but I hear last year was drier than normal. A bit of sneaker-skiing, running, jumping over the edge of the snow field to try to keep from thunking down in the softest stuff.

I was just running along when hey there's Ryan! He showed up out of nowhere, and it was great to say Hi! He turned around with his camera and snapped my picture, too funny!

I would have been happy to chat for a bit, but he stepped aside and told me I was moving quicker than he thought he needed to at that point. In fact, I wondered if I was the one now moving too quickly, as I was feeling great and still passing people and having a grand ole' time. On one hand, this could blow up on me later for sure. On the other hand, John had always stressed that moving faster usually increases your odds out here. Weather-related crap can always happen, and the further you are on the course when it does, the better off you'll be.

While I was pondering all this, I got a bit ahead of Ryan. I saw some guys in the willows across the way, then noticed a flag going to the left at a small creek crossing. I yelled to them that they were on the wrong trail, so they cut over to me. Turns out their trail was in better shape than the one I was one, sorry 'bout that :) I turned around to motion to Ryan to watch for flagging at the creek, but he couldn't hear me over the water noise so hopefully I didn't confuse him too much. I was just causing more trouble trying to do good!

Mud, water, willows, mud, water, field, a bit of a dry stretch, then a real muddy spot that was even wet last year so at least I knew it was coming. There was thunder in the distance, then all of a sudden it started hailing. The good thing is that it was coming from our backs. The back of my legs and neck didn't appreciate this upside. Ouch, ouch. I checked my watch and decided I didn't need to try to stay dry this time - plenty of drying time available this afternoon.

The storm eventually blew over, thank goodness. Side-of-the-hill running, I was just running when I felt good and walking when I wanted. I had an idea when I might come into the next aid station based on the fast end of my estimated splits, and I pretty much hit that right on, so that was nice.

Pole Creek aid station = 6:38 total time, approx 93rd place

The aid station folks again were great, very helpful. They even had a whole beautiful spread of options across a card table, all organized and easy to choose from. I told them I was impressed - it's not easy for the remote aid stations to set up something that nice. Believe me, I've tried!

I got moving after about 3 minutes, heading down to another creek crossing. I could see runners on the trail ahead of me as I crossed the easy creek. A bit of a steep section, and then back and forth over and in another little creek. John and I had tried to divert a side creek from flowing over the trail during trail marking last year, but obviously those efforts were completely fruitless.

Coming out into a big valley, I recalled the wonderful calm morning I had had last year while pacing John. Good memories, putting me in a good mood. In fact, it hit me that being there was rather surreal - this is a feeling I had several times during the race. Having been on the course in various ways over the past 3 years, now being there actually DOING THE RACE, it was hard to understand sometimes.

Then another storm blew in, breaking my reverie and this time dropping rain in such a fashion that I decided to get covered up. Before it hit I stopped to drink Spiz, dump rocks from my shoes, and then again to get out my little poncho to ward off some of the rain.

A couple guys passed me, but eventually the pack got rather spread out across the valley. It was probably good there wasn't anyone near me, as my plastic poncho was blowing all around and making a tremendous racket in my ears. Or maybe that's why no one was near me. Or maybe it only sounded loud to me. These were the things I pondered.

I was also hoping not to have to deal with lightning over the next Divide crossing, but I figured it was still a ways ahead and by then the sun would be back. That's pretty much what happened. Top of the climb, yay! Sunshine again, yay!

I passed a group of folks and one of them mentioned that I was an adventure racer - I wonder if that was Robert but I didn't stick around to chat. I was feeling good again and having a fine time along the high meadows. I passed "Marmot Rock" but didn't see or hear any of the furry creatures. Down to the willow bog, a brief question about the trail crossing the creek, then I found markers again going around a rock pile.

It was nice getting into the woods for a while, and I wondered how warm the afternoon would get. I was also getting low on water, having misunderestimated just a bit at the previous aid station. I was too low on the mountain to be real excited about pulling water from the creek, and also uninspired to stop to treat it. I figured I could handle it for the downhill run.

So I probably would have felt a little better on this downhill if I had been better hydrated, but as it was it seemed to go on a bit longer than was comfortable. I guess it was going to stop being all fun and games sometime :)

A guy I believe is named Chris came bombing past me on the downhill, not sure how he got behind me for that matter. Switchbacks, nice trail, enjoyable afternoon, making plans for the next aid station because I need to pee and I need some water...

Finally there was the trail register - almost there! The Sherman aid station, I knew, absolutely rocks. They started with menu signs posted on trees so you can work up your order on the way in. Fruit smoothies - gotta try me one of those!

I crossed a beautiful bridge and there was the aid station, awesome.

Sherman aid station = 9:15 total time, approx 89th place

Hardrock - start to Cunningham

Race morning!

I wish I could have slept a little better, but I stuck with my decaf morning coffee because I figured I would be awake soon enough, and I would really appreciate the caffeine jolt a whole lot more the following day. Standard race prep - dress, sunscreen and lube, banana, pre-race Spiz, make sure I have everything in my pack. Catch a ride a couple blocks to the start, isn't that funny? :)

Gotta check in by 5:45 am, check. No last-minute drama this year, from me or anyone else.

Kathy helped me set up a Twitter account for the race, thanks Kath! One last "tweet" before I head out and my crew takes over, captured on film for posterity. Also note the amazing miner-themed crew hat that Kathy and Bob found for John - wow, is all I can say, just wow, I about fell on the floor when they came home with it the day before:

Hanging out with Steve:

Greg is ready to go:

Me and Ryan, hoping for a great race for both of us:

Lined up and ready:

Wow, people are really running:

I started way in the back - no sense in getting overly excited about this just yet:

Can't resist including this gem:

I took it easy along the first trail, just getting my feet under me and taking the time to avoid mud and puddles and finding easy but not-to-wet ways across the little creeks. I was completely aware that my feet would soon be wet from the first creek crossing, but I wanted to give my feet as much of a break as I could early on.

I hung out with a few folks at the back, letting one guy go by so I could stop for a potty break. I was officially in last place, cool!

As I got warmed up and running a bit, I started passing a couple folks here and there. Nothing that took much energy - there was plenty of jeep road and steep uphill in the near future. I briefly saw Kathy, plus Kristina whom I'd met in the parade. I chatted a bit with Allan who had just got in the race from the wait list.

The first creek crossing was simple (calf deep?) but dang chilly. Wooo! Time to walk uphill and warm up the toes. I focused on my poles and posture and got to work. Along the way up the road I passed a couple people here and there, enjoying the chance to meet new folks and greet people I knew and smile and say good morning. My arm warmers were perfect, keeping me warm in the shade and then hanging out around my wrists if I got a bit hot.

Up on the singletrack trail I briefly started across a snow bank until I noticed the word "NO" written into it. That's a word that will get your attention (especially if you've ever trained dogs). I looked around and saw an arrow written in the snow pointing left. OK then. Other runners were a ways above me, but I had not seen how they got up there. I followed the arrow, found a trail, and eventually found a race marker. I looked below and saw that going forward would have taken me to a pretty lake - another time, I guess.

More uphill work, listening to my breathing and feeling OK with it. I tried to breathe deeply and stay relaxed, not let my heart rate get too high. This first climb was just a test for me, and so far everything seemed to be working. And here's the top! I chatted with a couple more ladies along the top of the ridge, Jennifer and a woman I don't know.

I was pleasantly surprised to see a clear trail along the sometimes-snow covered and sketchy traverse. I had heard from a racer named Jeff that it shouldn't be too bad, and it was so easy I started to wonder if all the trail condition reports (snow, snow melt, mud, wetness, high creeks) had been exaggerated. OK, I knew they had not been, but it was fun to hope for a short time.

Downhill time! And it's a steep one. I eased downward, using the poles, still going faster than a few people but not trying to. I was patient and most folks got out of the way when they saw me coming. It was a bit too technical for my tastes up top, but eventually it turned into a nice trail that I could run here and there when I wasn't climbing over random rocks.

What a beautiful morning - gorgeous Colorado splendor. Waterfalls, snow patches, blue sky, green hills. Right here, right now, there is no other place I'd rather be. It was about as close to "in the moment" as I have come, no problems, no worries, just being there on that hillside. So lovely.

Eventually I could see over the edge down to the aid station so I waved my poles in case anyone could see me. There was lots of cheering as most the field passed through the aid station ahead of me. Out of the sunshine into still-morning shadow, across one more switchback. I tripped slightly and caught my pole on my right leg, nothing that would have stayed with me except a) I felt silly stumbling in front of the biggest crowd of the race and b) it put a small mark on my leg. A battle scar! The last time I had one of those I had an excellent race (and at least this one wasn't bleeding). Things were looking up :)

My chair awaiting my arrival - with some new "rockin'" duckies - sweet!

People watching for runners:

Kathy or Bob took this beautiful shot - I love it. Our trail came down to the right of the waterfalls:

Not blazing fast but I'll get there:

Kathy was waiting for me at the creek crossing, and she mentioned that it was a bit deep and fast. Good to know - I got focused and worked my way across carefully. Another creek crossing down, so far nothing out of the ordinary.

My crew went to work like it was a pit stop in a car race! Before I knew it, both bottles were filled, I had a resupply of Spiz packed, I drank my Gookinaid and Ensure, and I was ready to go again. That was fast! Too fast for the duckies to hang on to their perches, they were flying everywhere:

John walked out with me and I told him I was feeling great. And Hi Jim! (the guy with the vest and clipboard):

It was a very nice start to a long race. Time to get back up high for a while.

Cunningham aid station = 2:57 total time, approx 122nd place (of 140 starters)

Hardrock 100 - preamble

Yes, folks, this is a long one! So long that it needs its own preamble (pre-amble, hmm... I didn't do that on purpose, I swear). You may have heard that I finished one of the biggest races of my life, certainly the hardest solo race I've done, although it wasn't without lots of help. So it's only fitting that I have a ton to express in my race report. As with many races, this blog stems from a selfish effort, but if we're lucky a couple other people will get a little something out of it too.

I had heard of the Hardrock 100 mile ultrarunning race many years ago. It sounded extremely difficult, but maybe if I finished a bunch of other 100's first I would be able to determine if I should try it someday. It also sounded a bit crazy. 100 miles at 8,000 to 14,000 ft elevation, up and down steep trails (and off trails), 33,000+ feet of climb, in occasionally dangerous conditions. Yeah...right.

So I went and ran several 100's, learning a lot from each and especially from the one I didn't finish. I also gained valuable experience with gear, clothing, training, and endurance in 50-milers and 100k's, 24-hour rogaines and adventure races, plus a few expedition adventure races and two journeys on foot from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean Sea (successfully the 2nd time).

In an expedition race in the San Juan Mountains in the early 2000's, our team was on the last section of the race with a walk down Bridal Veil Basin toward a rappel at the falls. We saw a runner coming toward us - running UPHILL - we learned he was training for Hardrock. That left us stunned and amazed (and in all fairness, our mental state was generally stunned and amazed at that point in the race, but since the impression remained after the race I have to believe it was real). It turns out that you don't HAVE to be quite so superhuman to finish Hardrock, i.e. running up the hills is not required. But it doesn't hurt.

Me = not superhuman. So instead I worked on being prepared. John gained entry into the race in 2008 and 2010, so I joined him for trail marking, trail work, crewing, and managing Putnam Aid Station in 2009. In 2010 I was so grateful to get to pace him from Ouray to Cunningham during his most amazing Hardrock performance; we both look back on that race and smile. In the past 3 years I had done basically everything except actually run the race myself.

February 2011. I got in. I got in?? I got in!!!

Time to get serious! I climbed the equivalent of the 33k+ elevation gain every 4-5 weeks, getting to know various Catskills trails and mountains. Also two 50-mile races and the Massanutten 100 (MMT100) - it was a lucky lottery year for me! - and a 24-hour orienteering event. I learned something with every race, made adjustments, planned, strategized.

My list of "things to watch" (concerns? worries? things to work on?):

Altitude - Obviously not something I could do anything about from New York state, although I did research altitude sleeping tents briefly. I used all my vacation to head to Colorado two weeks before the race and climb 14ers with John. I hoped my previous Colorado summers would speed up acclimation (seemed to!). I took iron pills and ate spinach, in case that might help. Otherwise I tried not to fret as spring passed at sea level.

Feet - Blister issues in the last miles of MMT100 caused some concern. Hardrock isn't as rocky overall, but I knew I would have wet feet for up to 48 hours - great input from John. I went after my feet with pumice and a conditioner concoction, I started doing all my long runs with wet feet, and I ended up with pretty much brand new skin and zero callouses. Still... you never know.

Knees - Downhill knee pain at the Bull Run Run resulted from bombing down everything right from the start. I stopped doing that (duh - except I love doing that). I also learned I had to get out of the stairwell - I was using the 4 flights at work for stair climbing repeats (36 times up and down for 2000 feet of climb) which worked great in the winter but didn't translate to downhill fitness. I restarted my knee strengthening exercises and taking glucosamine. I had learned a lot about knees in the Grande Traversee des Alpes, and I again put it all to bear.

Climbing - I'm not a strong climber by nature, but I've learned that my body will adapt if I focus on it. Lots of uphills, weekly hill repeats (multiple 100-foot climbs, anyone?), 8-10 hours on weekends doing long repeats in the Catskills. This isn't the Rockies, but still I had to be thankful I wasn't trying this in central Texas. Climbing 14ers for a week was a nice flourish at the end.

Throat? - This one showed up the week before the race and scared me a bit. The day before I left New York a coworker mentioned he might have strep. WHAT? What are you doing at work? I was so glad that didn't pass over to me, but my throat was scratchy off and on leading up to the race. I hoped like heck that it was just a side effect from the dry air (not one I normally have, but you never know).

Other - Lightning, hail, pouring rain, freezing cold, blazing sun, snow, ice, bears, mountain lions, moose, scree, cliffs, rocks, mud, Virginius, Bear Creek, Grant Swamp, sunburn, cracked lips, ankle injuries, stomach problems, getting lost, lack of sleep, and last but certainly not least the high water creek crossings... (sign here)

On my side: John, Kathy, Bob, Ann, Scott, Jason, Shauna, Kelly, Ryan (a fellow runner - go Ryan!); a huge number of runners we know along with their crew and pacers; folks like Jim and Sue who were helping run the race; countless friends and family watching online and rooting for me. With all that positive energy, I knew I had a fighting chance.

(John is a lot of great things, but we figured out early on that he wasn't cut out to be our official race photographer)

Howdy from Silverton, CO! Let's get this thing started :)