Leadville 100 Mile Run
How a dream became a plan, and the plan turned into a belt buckle
The Dream
Winter 2009, I get my first road bike and enter my first race, the Blitz Duathlon. Instantly, I loved the experience and committed to taking my training seriously over the winter.
My mother sent me a book for Christmas that would transform me (as well as a generation of future runners), Chris McDougall's "Born to Run." In my first blogpost ever, I realize this book has inspired me to push further than I previously believed was possible.
A significant portion of the book describes a rugged, 100 mile footrace high in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. The distance, altitude, terrain, and elevation are completely ridiculous, and yet there is a beautiful story about human beings actually accomplishing this, and according to Chris McDougall, any one of us could as well!
Lance Armstrong, still highly revered by all sports fans, solidifies his return from cancer by entering the 2008 Leadville 100 Mountain Bike race, and coming in 2nd. He then came 3rd at the 2009 Tour De France, and returned to Leadville and won it!
Seeds have now been planted, although at this point I was neither a runner nor a mountain biker, and it would take another 13 years for that seed to break ground.
Just as "Born to Run" triggered a surge in new runners, so too did the COVID-19 pandemic, as many team and indoor activities were canceled overnight, and thousands discovered the safety and freedom of running shoes and nature trails.
For me, this resulted in a switch from road running to trails, and from relatively short, predictable distances to big days in the mountains. I decided to run my first Ultramarathon, and suddenly the thought of running a 100 miler seemed not only achievable, but dare I say, desirable.
First thought went immediately to Leadville, so I tried the lottery, but sadly failed to get a spot.
Ran Sinister7 100 miler instead, and with that going well I plotted how to get into Leadville.
There are several ways to get into Leadville. Besides the general lottery, for which they don't advertise the odds, you can go to a handful of qualifying races and hope to earn a gold coin, either by placing tops in your age group, or via random handouts at the awards ceremonies.
Only one of those qualifying races comes in the fall, AFTER Leadville 100; all the others are in either June or July. The Austin Rattler 50k is also the only qualifying race outside of the Colorado, and looking back at 2022 results, I figured I would have a decent chance of placing well.
So, I signed up and we made the trip back to Texas, picking up my dad, Eric, and his wife Jill from San Antonio, who had offered to crew for me.
The race went great, and I got 4th overall and 1st in my age group, earning me that coveted gold coin, and punching my ticket into Leadville! Start the countdown at 285 days.
The Strategy
With plenty of runway, coach/wife Mel and I could analyze the specific needs of this race and put together a comprehensive build that would front-load speed and running economy, then increasing endurance and strength (thanks coach Bre!) consistently over the coming months. We would switch focus to trails and hills in early summer to work on specific elements of the course.
January/February:
Houston Half. Solid training block, though much of the speed was indoors. Flights were canceled a day before, so did a 10k TT on the treadmill and felt great. Picked up a late entry to Vancouver First Half. Decided to go out at PB pace and see what happens. I saw. It didn't happen. Blew up a bit and suffered in the rain with Mel as we ran it in.
May:
Next up, BMO Marathon. With Kailyn doing the half, Mel's sister Christine and aunt Cathy doing their first fulls, it was a fun opportunity to extend that foot speed and cap it with a race. The training block went well, as I was grateful to spend many miles with good friends such as Tom, Liyang, and Dave. I was matching my PB marathon pace in some hilly workouts, and feeling pretty confident in my fitness. Race day didn't quite pan out, as I found myself out of gas around the mid point. Not from pacing, as I went out quite conservative, but from some lung/heart issues. Nonetheless, the main reason for doing this was to build that speed and fitness in training, and with that accomplished, I was very much still on track.
June/July:
I recovered very quickly from BMO (a positive trend that would continue) and could immediately turn my attention to the trails. We now had 15 weeks to turn my flat road legs into mountainous trail legs!
Within a week I was increasing vertical and slow trail running, as well as reintroducing the bike for some recovery and low impact mileage.
The build would continue with some peak weekends that included:
- a mini training camp in Vernon
- 2 back-to-back weekends
- first weekend had a big climbing day Saturday, followed by a faster trail running day Sunday
- following weekend had faster running day Saturday, followed by a big vertical day Sunday, followed by another long fast day on Thursday (anniversary marathon!)
This week gave me the confidence in my trail speed as I set the course record around Elbow loop, then sent me to the brink of exhaustion and electrolyte depletion by summiting Prairie Mountain 4 times, then gave me the confidence in my recovery as I was able to run with Mel around Rundle fast enough to earn her the FKT (fastest known time).
- Sinister7 50 miler
- Treating this very much like a peak long training run, I needed to ensure a very conservative early pace. Given my fear of Leadville, I took this approach very seriously, knowing I'd only have 5 weeks in between. This would serve as a perfect dress rehearsal for the big show. I felt really strong through most of the race, coming from dead last (forgot my water flasks right before the start, d'oh!) and advancing all the way up to first by the half way point of the race. I then struggled a fair bit with motivation (went off course for a bit) and cramping. This coincided with the biggest climb of the race, which had me in survival mode for a few hours, losing 2 positions in the overall. Managed to fuel and recover enough to finish strong, squeaking in under 10 hours (my course infraction would cost me a 30 minute relegation to 4th). I would recover from this race very quickly too.
- Final training weeks
- Mt Bourgeau and Moose Mountain. I felt pretty sick in the weeks before Leadville, and these runs both had me experiencing nausea and cramping. But I got 'er dun.
Interventions
In addition to the strength and training strategy, we also employed various interventions in order to best prepare for the challenge.
Altitude
The scariest thing about Leadville is the altitude. The race starts at over 10,200 ft (3,100m), and tops out at 12,600 ft (3850m). Compare that with 1000m we are at in Calgary, and the impact of this caused me a fair amount of anxiety!
To help with this, I aimed to spend as much time in the Kananaskis and Bow Valley altitudes, at least raising my baseline to around 1400-1500m. Mt Bourgeau tops at 2900m, getting me around the lowest point of the race!
I also committed to 1-2 weekly workouts in the altitude chamber at TCR. Here they've simulated the conditions of high altitude (10,000-12,000ft) by restricting the percentage of oxygen in the room. These workouts consisted of neuromuscular intervals of 60-90 seconds, as well as prolonged power hiking efforts at 15% gradient. I felt strong at these sessions and they served as my only speed work in the final month.
Additionally, The Run Lounge invested in an Altitude Tent, which we installed in our bedroom for about 4 weeks prior to the race. This serves to get your body used to increasingly higher elevations in a controlled* ramp up. This would help prevent common altitude-related symptoms such as nausea and sleeplessness.
* one snafu with this was during the 2nd week, our dog Kip must have brushed the dial up to the max setting without us noticing.
We had a terrible sleep, and subsequently both got quite sick. The effective altitude had jumped from about 5,000 ft to 12,000!
We also planned to arrive at higher elevation around a week early.
For heat management (and overall performance benefit), I also employed a robust heat protocol, utilizing the infrared sauna, steam shower, and active heat training. This would serve me well at Sinister7, where the temperature averaged 29C and peaked at 34C!
For supplements, I relied on Iron, Creatine, Protein, and in the final weeks, Magnesium.
#Vanlife
The last piece of the puzzle was physically getting to Leadville. After contemplating it for a few years, Mel and I pulled the trigger on a new camper van, and drove from Calgary to Colorado, via Butte Montana and Salt Lake City. We enjoyed each other's calm, quiet company as we traversed americana, then met up with my crew, Eric and Jill in a small campground just outside of Vail, for a few days of no cell service and that sweet mountain air.
The Plan (aka the spreadsheet)
This section will be very short, despite the elaborate spreadsheet I had put together. All that prep work serves to get you well prepared (how many gels do I need to bring? when will I need my headlight?), but it does nothing for me during the race.
I had drawn out scenarios that had me finish in 22hrs, plus or minus 2 hours.
My crew had it, they knew where and when to go. Coach/wife/pacer Mel had it, and knew what she had to do.
All I had to do was remember to go. Out. Slow.
The Race
4 AM Start! Ouch. That means 2:30 AM alarm. Mel dropped me off at the start at 3:45, and I waltzed over and lined up near the front. ~800 runners condensed into single city block, with a dozen drones flying overhead in the dark and influencers filming themselves or being filmed... it was wild!
The gun goes off (literally, a loaded rifle!), and we dart down 6th Street for a mile before entering a long dirt road.
The first 8km are wide roads, with plenty of room to pass or be passed, and my easy start meant there was no shortage of guys gunning past me right away.
At the first uphill, I'm caught by good friend Ailsa, and she skirts up the hill and out of sight.
The next 10km are a beautiful single track trail around Turquoise Lake. Thankfully, at this point the race has spread out, and I'm leading a small pack of guys through the trees in the darkness. Flagging isn't great, and the terrain is a little tricky with roots and rocks. Not a big deal now when I'm fresh, but how will this feel on my way back (Leadville is a pure out and back course).
Coming out of the trail, we get to the first aid station, Mayqueen. There is no crew allowed here the first time, nor do I need to refill my bottles yet, but I do need a toilet! My first of several bathroom breaks was here (also a common theme at this high altitude race.)
From Mayqueen, you first run along a rooty, technical climb for several kms, then continue climbing on a long, dirt road up to the top of the infamous "Powerline". The sun was starting to come out and I could put my headlamp away. It felt more isolated now, as I leap frogged a couple guys up and down Sugarloaf mountain. One guy had very low flight and kept bumping his feet on things and made a loud, scuffling sound as he ran. This was starting to drive me nuts, so I was a bit surgy in this section to try to distance the two of us. As I descended down Powerline, I regretted not having packed my sunglasses yet, finding myself squinting and worrying about missing a trail marker and going off course. Thankfully, it's just straight down, and before I knew it, I ran into the next aid station, Outward Bound.
For anyone that's watched any documentary about Leadville, you'll see the insanity that are Outward Bound and Twin Lakes aid stations. With it being an out and back course, 800 racers, each with about 5 people crewing/pacing, and tons of volunteers, it's not an exaggeration to say there were probably 4000-5000 people waiting in a big open field, strewn with massive tents, lined up to form a tunnel from one end to the other.
Thankfully Melissa was waiting at the start of the tunnel, and could lead me over to the chair where Eric had my stuff. Think, running through Costco at Christmas time, but where everyone stops and moves out of the way for you, while screaming in celebration.
At this point I was feeling great. My pace was solid, roughly 10km/hour, even with nearly 700m of climbing, in the dark. I had been fueling well, and had now completed the first quarter of the race. I stopped only long enough to replace my flasks and nutrition, ditch my headlight and jacket, grab my shades, switch my hat, and off I went!
The next number of miles go relatively unremarkable, as you start with a paved road, followed by a dirt road.
It's all at a gentle false-flat hill, so the pace seems slower than it should be. I kept my legs moving, though I was starting to feel a bit nauseous and was grateful for the next aid station, Half Pipe. More specifically, grateful for the porta-potty.
People were starting to show signs of battle at this point. Guys walking on flats or stopping, then surging past to make up the time lost.
One girl performed a textbook puke and rally. Repeatedly emptying her stomach contents in an exorcistic manner, then proceeding to fly past me (ultimately finishing 3rd female!)
From HP, you continue climbing up Mt. Elbert, then you're rewarded with a flowy, gorgeous, fast descent into Twin Lakes aid station.
Twin Lakes was incredible. All of the crews moved camp from Outward Bound and the entire town was lined up about a kilometre long. It felt more like a circus!
I stepped into the first tent and ate. Yes, real food. Noodles and broth. I shocked myself that I wanted and COULD take this down. That never happens in ultras!
I then meandered through town and the encampment that reminded me of watching the Tour De France, when riders climb Mont Ventoux with fans screaming from both sides.
I have no idea where my crew is, but I keep walking/jogging to the very end and find Eric and Barry (Ailsa's husband/crew chief).
Melissa, they tell me, isn't there because she had to go back to get my rain vest. Barry generously lends me his, as the next time I'll see my team will be 7+ hours and 2 mountain passes away. I grab my Twin Lakes aid bag, poles, and off I go!
From Twin Lakes, you tread through a deep marsh, at first soiling your shoes in mud, and then entering a thigh deep river crossing to wash off the previously acquired mud.
The river was cold and refreshing, and another runner and I both looked forward to the NEXT time we would run back through this river.
That's because right afterwards, you climb. And climb. And climb. Gaining 1000m over 7km, to the top of Hope Pass.
You start in dense forest and push upwards until you get to the meadow in the sky, Hopeless Aid station.
As the air got thinner, my lungs struggled to refill, and my legs could barely manage a slow walk to the aid station.
My head was aching and my stomach was frail.
I drank everything I had on that climb, but made it to the aid station and was well taken care of.
This stop is a bit surreal, as the field is occupied by llamas, which are used to haul supplies up (and presumably bodies, down) the mountain, as well as the friendliest volunteers I've ever met. They restocked me and reminded me to keep moving. The sooner you can get down to lower elevation, the sooner you'll feel better. That sounded great, except after the aid station, you still have 200m more to climb over the top of the peak! Nevertheless, by then you can see it, and you can slowly crest and head down.
David Roche passed me the other direction right at the summit, and it would be a long time before I saw everyone else.
The descent on the backside of Hope Pass is very steep and rather technical, including loose, sandy dirt, then roots and sharp drops. Near the bottom I crossed paths with Reid Burrows, hearing from our short exchange that he was having a rough day but was determined to finish. A few kms later I crossed with Ailsa, who was 2nd female at this point, but also expressed feeling quite rough.
I wasn't feeling too strong myself, and really was just looking forward to getting to the turnaround, Winfield Aid station. The temperature was rising, and I had run out of water on the descent. I began to worry that I would not have enough to get back up the mountain! Just near the end, there was a random table setup by locals, where they were handing out free water bottles. Wow, just what I needed.
Arriving here, I had been duly warned to not get TOO comfortable. This is the site of many a DNF, as the prospect of climbing back up Hope can be overwhelming. I sat down for 5 seconds, then smacked myself to get up, grab water and fuel, and set off.
I spied a beautiful creek about 200m from the aid station, and decided I'd rather spend my aid station time soaking in the creek, as opposed to hanging around the zombies in the aid tent!
I removed my pack and fully submerged myself in the cold mountain water, then got up and walked up the road, savoring my coke and banana. Meeting another racer, he acknowledged the goal, keep the core temperature down and just get back over this b**ch.
After setting off, I felt great. My stomach was happy, and I began shuffling on the ups, running on the flats, but with no concern for urgency. According to the results, there were 499 people I then crossed paths with during my ascent back up Hope Pass. Many of those crossings were on tight single track, but instead of getting irritated by this, I forced myself to see it as a positive. Each time someone would approach, I would step aside and give myself a 5 second break. Sure, this costed me a few minutes when all added up, but it gave me a short respite, and focusing on that made my return a lot more pleasurable.
At least until the grade got REALLY steep. Again, the air got thinner and now, even more than before, my legs could barely keep moving up this brutal climb. Step, step, breathe. Repeat. That section took forever, but eventually I saw, then crested the very summit, 12,532 feet above sea level.
Then a quick drop back to the Hopeless Aid station for a refill on a couple bottles, more noodles, then onward and downward!
Leaving Hope Pass, again my stomach was not happy, but I knew I needed to get to lower ground. I began to run. For the first time since the morning, I felt good, and improving, the more I ran. My quads felt fresh and the terrain was not too steep nor technical. I caught a few people on the descent and started to get excited. I knew Mel would be waiting at the next aid station, ready to pace me all the way to the finish, and she was nervous about running at night. The faster I completed this, the less night running SHE would have to do.
I bolted down the mountain, through the river crossing and swamp, and back into Twin Lakes!
At Twin Lakes, in front of the classic dance hall, I find my crew, Mel, Ailsa and Barry. (Ailsa is not feeling well and has been sitting, trying to recuperate.)
I am feeling stoked now. I've made it over the nastiest of climbs, twice, have 100km completed, and am going to be able to run with my favorite person in the world.
I make a quick shoe/sock change, down some noodles, restock fuel and GO! This is my longest time at aid station, roughly 10 minutes (compared with about 45 mins at Sin7 last year!)
Right out of the gate from Twin Lakes, we start to climb. It's about 4km long and 400m of elevation, but it feels like another mountain 12er. I can only walk/hike the climbs, but with Mel's encouragement I shuffle across the flats.
I'm feeling optimistic and tell Mel I think I can PB my 100mi (23:08). Then she tells me some devastating news; I've lost a bunch of time on my target pace, and getting a PB will only happen if I can claw back some of that time. I'm still having constant bouts of nausea and don't see how I can go any faster.
Then she tells me, in order to still get the big, gold buckle for coming in under 25 hours, I'll need to finish at a speed of 5:30/km. I can't believe it. How have I lost so much time? I passed the half way mark at 10 hours flat. I know I was REALLY slow up Hope Pass on the way back, but now I find myself having to pick up the pace on the return FASTER than what I ran it out at?
"I don't think I can do that, baby" I tell her, woefully. What little air I had left in my lungs begins to deflate.
My head turns to acceptance of just finishing under the 30 hour time limit. I guess that's ok. At least, I will finish. I did not come all this way to not finish.
About 20 minutes later, Mel realizes that I misinterpreted her statement.
She said 5.5 kilometers PER hour, not 5.5mins/km! The light bulb begins to brighten as I acknowledge what is happening here. You mean, I'm back in it?? Yes, she assures me, sub 25 hours is TOTALLY doable, then proceeds to "show her math," which at this point is going way over my head, but the light is back, and the burden lifts as my heart gets renewed vigor to push.
As we crest and start descending, again my legs feel better and better. Descending seems to recharge them. What a different experience than sin7 100 miler, where my toes and quads were not my allies.
We catch about 3 or 4 racer-pacer pairs en route to the next aid station, Half Pipe.
Stopping brings back a bit of nausea and yet another bathroom break, but leaving HP as the night fully engulfs us, with our headlamps out, we continue down the dirt and then paved roads. Our pace is slow and steady. No more walk breaks unless the pitch goes up to "moderately steep" , which thankfully, is rare now.
Melissa's encouragement grows, as she probably realizes it's not going to be 30 hour day! My confidence grows each time she exclaims being impressed with how I'm running.
We roll into Outward Bound, which is a much more subdued version of its previous incarnation, with nearly half the field already surrendered.
Eric and Jill refill our bottles, and I press on, relying on Mel to insure we're loaded up on gels to get us through the next leg.
Leaving Outward Bound, we continue on a long, uphill paved road which is pretty uneventful, other than the shot of Bud Light being offered (and received) on the side of the road. It actually sat really well in my stomach, offsetting the dread of the infamous Powerline climb approaching.
I had been dreading this climb more than Hope Pass. It comes at km 130, is about 5km long and gains almost 500m of elevation.
It's ridiculously steep at the start, then contains a few short descents throughout, giving you either false hope or a short reprieve, depending on whether you're an optimist, or running a 100 miler.
I plodded along at a baby snail pace, until I had my first hallucination.
On the side of the trail, I saw a woman and a dog, supposedly sitting down cheering for runners. I said hello and thanked her for being out here.
Then I realized I was talking to a rock.
Finally reaching the summit, we came across an aid station that is only there at night. There were disco lights, rave music, and a bunch of drunk frat dudes!
I pleaded with Mel to let us stay and party for a bit but she gave a firm, No. I let her fill my flasks while I walked through, grabbing the last two slices of watermelon on my way. (I'd been craving fruit, especially watermelon, all afternoon. I was asking at all aid stations along the way, however they had long since run out, so this discovery was like finding chocolate eggs on Easter morning)
After the mountain disco, walking along the top of the ridge, Mel says to me, "there's no way we're walking all the way back when you're feeling ok," and she was right. I didn't feel that bad after Powerline, and began to shuffle. The shuffle turned into a jog, the jog turned into a run, the run turned into FULL SEND!
Still not sure what happened, but descending the backside of Powerline, I got into such a beautiful flow, it felt like I was flying. My quads felt fresh as daisies, and my eyes were able to see all the lines through the random rocks and faults in the dirt road.
Mel was behind me, hollering, and we passed a number of people. That was the strongest I had run all day!
After the dirt road, we hit a very technical trail descent, which slowed us down but did not hamper our spirits. We kept it more chill as roots and stones protruded between the shadows from our headlamps, and before long we found ourselves at the final aid station, Mayqueen.
Mayqueen was a really quick exchange. Eric and Jill were there, and replaced my flask, although with one much smaller. Apparently something went wrong with the 500ml flask, and they only had a 200ml mini flask to give me. I should have just refilled my old one, as well as my water flask, which was about 75% full, but I was determined to buzz through here quickly and finish this off. I had my sights on sub 23 hour now, and didn't want to waste a second.
Thankfully, Mel filled up her flasks and ran back up to me as we entered the trail to loop around Turquoise lake.
This section took a lot longer than I desired. My headlamp died out and I had to swap with my backup. It wasn't as bright, and this trail had a solid mix of rocks and roots, some sections smooth and runnable, other sections forcing you to come to a complete stop and clamber down a boulder. I was still running a hot core temperature and finished all my flasks quite quickly. Mel saved me by first cracking a mini coke, and later giving me her flask of gatorade (in addition to several gels).
Finally leaving Turquoise lake, I knew we had it in the bag. My body felt okay and I could still jog at a decent pace. Hitting the road at 8km to go, we starting reeling in so many people that were reduced to walking.
The final 5k of Leadville throw another 150m of vertical at you, which serves to give one the sense of a moving target. A headlamp behind me triggered the last spark that I needed to keep moving. Finally, after a long, quiet slog in the dark, we turned left on McWethy Drive, right on 6th street (it did have a Boston Marathon feel to it).
Going up that final climb to the finish, we caught another 3 runners, and kept the pace going until 20 meters before the finish, where I told Mel, let's slow it down and take it in!
We fucking did it!
My watch died at 150k so I don't have all the stats, but I went from 35th to 28th, crossing the finish line in 22 hours, 16 minutes, 59 seconds.
Bested my previous 100 mile by nearly an hour, and coming in over 2.5 hours below the 25 hour big buckle time.
I am filled with gratitude, for Eric and Jill, for making a vacation / road trip out of this, and then pulling an all-nighter to help crew for me.
For my friends and training partners that encouraged and pushed me all season.
For the volunteers and race organizers, delivering on the promise of an event that will truly transform who you are.
And of course, for my wife/coach/pacer/psychologist/everything, Mel. Words will never match how much gratitude I have for what she's sacrificed for me in this journey, and our bond was strengthened even further in our 8.5 hours together in the dark, high-altitude Coloradan Rockies.
