Immunologist and Infectious Diseases Research Scientist by day, ultra runner and mountain adventurer in my spare time. Blogging about whatever comes up in life.
Wow…I just….wtf???? The scene in front of us was beyond words and comprehension, the glaciated massif of Mt Rainier glowed in the early morning light, fields of wildflowers surrounded us on all sides, and not a soul was in sight, this is what we had come for.
Running across the Sourdough Ridge Trail at sunrise, what a start to an epic run.
Mt Rainier National Park was created in 1899, America’s 5th National Park, to protect the glaciers, alpine meadows, roaring waterways and lush forests of the mountain known to the natives at Tahoma (or Tacoma). The last time I had visited Mt Rainier National Park had been in 2004, and on that trip I’d barely scratched the surface of what the park has to offer. This trip was to be a bit different, a whirlwind tour of the North side of the peak, somewhere in the range of 50miles on already tired legs, game on. I’d convinced my friend Ely Gerbin to join me for this epic adventure of stupidity, and what a day we were in for.
Mt Rainier as seen from the aptly named Sunrise parking lot.
We left the Sunrise parking lot at the crack of dawn, just as the pink alpenglow lit up the hulking massive in front of us. As we jogged our way across the Sourdough Ridge trail the views were nothing short of spectacular, and we were only a mile in! Our route consisted of combining two loops; the Northern Loop with the Spray Park Loop. We opted to start by traversing the Southern portion of the loop first along the Wonderland trail, finishing with the Northern section along the Northern trail. As we rolled along the Wonderland trail through fields filled with wildflowers, the mountain loomed above in the sunlight. The trails were buttery smooth, the morning air was cool and the views were ever changing and stunning. Past the toe of the Winthrop Glacier, the clear reflection of Mystic Lake and on to the bridge over the Carbon River and the looming Carbon Glacier (mm13.4, 3:05). As we started the long climb up from the Carbon River the sun began to bake and the flowers were again popping. The creeks in Spray Park were our own private oasis, and we filled our bottles, drank our fill and dunked out heads (mm17.3, 4:37). Even during our brief stop the mosquitoes swarmed, so we couldn’t stop to smell the flowers for too long.
Reflection in Mystic Lake along the Wonderland Trail.
Ely running through fields of flowers with Mt Rainier looming behind us.
Ely cruising up the single track above the Carbon River.
The views were spectacular as we rolled through the high
alpine meadows, then began the slow descent back into the forest and Mowich
Lake. Ely and I rolled past the masses at Mowich Lake (mm22, 5:50) and onward
to Ipsut Pass (mm23.2, 6:06), the halfway point of our big loop. From the top
of Ipsut Pass we stared straight down 2500ft to the Carbon River far below,
time to get those quads working. We cruised down down down, through lush green
forest, along cascading creeks and past towering evergreens, finally crossing
the raging glacial grey Carbon River (mm28.7, 7:21). We took a few minutes to
refill our water and to cool off in a small tributary before the long climb up to
Windy Gap.
Trudging our way up into Spray Park, the flowers were poppin.
More fields of alpine flowers, all is good.
The alpine gardens of Mt Rainier NP, totally worth it.
Looking down from Ipsut Pass toward the Carbon River.
Ely taking pausing for a moment of serene splendor.
We plodded on up through the trees on what seemed like
endless switchbacks, finally breaking out into alpine terrain near the
Yellowstone Cliffs into a massive field of bear grass. It was a spectacular site,
cruising through the green meadow dotted with white puff balls as far as the
eye could see. We continued our trudge up to Windy Gap (mm33, 9:11) and down
the other side on some beautiful single track to Lake James. After a little off
trail wandering we hit the long and steep switchback descent back to the West
Fork of the White River (mm36.7, 10:17). After another water refill we started
our final climb of the day up the Northern Loop Trail. The long miles of the
weekend hit me like a sledgehammer, and the death march was on. Ely was very
patient with me as I slowly trudged up the trail, deep in the pain cave, but
the scenery was too spectacular to be too grumpy (but maybe a little).
Ely crossing the Carbon River on the inbound part of our journey.
Ahhhhh, fields of Bear Grass!!!!
View of Mt Rainier from the final climb up above the West Fork of the White River. My grumpiness faded away pretty quickly.
After what seemed like an eternity, we crested the climb to a spectacular view point of Mt Rainier looming high above the White River (mm39.8, 11:32), glowing in the afternoon light….a perfect moment to remind me of why I was enduring all the fatigue, all the suffering, all the soreness in my legs. I finally gained a little of my strength back as we rolled through the flat open plateau and down to Lodi creek. One last final little climb would take us back to Sunrise, and while it seemed to drag on, ambling along the creek through fields of wildflowers was a pretty spectacular way to end the day. As we neared Frozen Lake I was very ready to be done, and just at that moment Ely and I rounded a corner to a herd of mountain goats lazily grazing with the looming mass of Mt Rainier as the backdrop. The day wasn’t over, and the constant reminders of how spectacular the mountain and it’s surrounding environment was kept slapping us in the face. The final traverse back across the Sourdough Ridge trail was a fitting finish to an unbelievable day. Spectacular views and amazing trails start to finish, we’d been thoroughly brutalized (me more so than Ely) and had come out the other side, beaten but with our souls fully filled with an amazing appreciation for all that Mt Rainier National Park has to offer.
The amazing just didn’t stop, running our way up Lodi Creek to the finish of the loop.
Yeah that happened. A herd of mountain goats casually grazing along the Wonderland Trail in the shadow of Mt Rainier.
In the end our route totaled 46.5mi and 13,500ft, taking us a little over 13:30 (because of my slow death march finish). Without a doubt, my first real adventure in Mt Rainier National Park was a resounding success, and the route had been more than I’d ever have hoped for. For anyone who hasn’t had the pleasure of experiencing Mt Rainier National Park either half of our super loop would be spectacular, or any portion of the Wonderland Trail well worth the effort. I’m incredibly grateful for experiences like this, and for the fact that places like this have been protected for me to enjoy, hopefully for many years to come. Run fast, run healthy, but most importantly run happy.
One of the many amazing views along the Copper Ridge Loop.
The North Cascades are a massive wilderness full of jagged peaks, alpine lakes, towering glaciers and some of the last true wilderness in the lower 48 states. The National Park portion of the North Cascades Complex (which also includes Lake Ross and Lake Chelan National Recreation areas) encompasses a 500,000 acre nearly roadless wilderness. One that can not be experienced from roadways and lookouts, but must be explored on foot (or boat). It seemed only natural to ultra run the park, but the question is what set of trails best represented everything that makes the North Cascades amazing?
After doing some of my own homework and asking several locals with more knowledge than I, one recommendation kept hitting the top of the list…the Copper Ridge Loop. Well, if everyone (even locals) think it’s that amazing, it must be the proper North Cascades experience? So planning was set in motion for an epic weekend in the Washington mountains (also see Mt Rainier Northern Loop). The first weekend in August (8/2/2019) I flew into SeaTac (2h delays), met my friend Jason and we started our drive North towards the Mt Baker Highway and the Nooksack River. After crashing in a rest stop for several hours, we awoke the next morning to light rain, but a forecast that promised clearing skies, so off we went for the trailhead. Jason and I spent the entire drive catching up, as he is still to this day one of the people with whom I’ve logged the most trail time (cumulative in the months!). He was very nervous though, as this was to be his longest run (by almost double) since badly breaking his leg several years ago, but he welcomed the challenged.
Officially entering North Cascades National Park.
When we rolled into the Hannegan Pass trailhead we were greeted by a road closed sign, marking a huge washout that had undermined the last 200ft of the road. So we parked and packed up our gear, in no rush as the drizzle continued to fall. We cruised out of the trailhead at 9:30am, slowly jogging our way up through the forest towards Hannegan Pass. The low clouds and light drizzled continued to swirl around us, but every once and a while we’d get a glimpse of the mountains looming overhead. From the pass (4.3mi) we opted to do the loop CCW, dropping down to the Chilliwack River first, before climbing to the ridge on the return. As we descended to the river we passed through sections of overgrown trail and sections of open forest, and soon we were soaked from the rain drenched leaves.
Jason getting in touch with his inner tree hugger. Colorado just doesn’t have big trees like this <3
Buttery smooth forest single track in the North Cascades is so serene.
The weather was starting to clear, and we could see glimpses of blue sky overhead, we’d momentarily dry out, just to be drenched by another set of wet dense brush. The river trail was mostly smooth running (where we could see our feet) and we soon found ourselves at the first Chilliwack river crossing, the cable car (11mi)!! But I was a bit dismayed to discover the cable car was down for repairs, so we’d be fording the river instead, sad face. So Jason and I linked arms, and slowly shuffled our way across the knee deep rapidly flowing stream, thankfully making it across without incident. We continued our hike/jog on the undulating descent to the second ford (16.2mi), thankfully the water here was far more docile, making for an easy crossing. This was our first moment of full sun all day, so we basked in the warm glow along the rocky shore for a few minutes, treating water and savoring the moment.
Crossing one of the side creeks along the Copper Ridge loop, somewhere deep in the Chilliwack valley.
Basking in some of that elusive PNW sunshine after our second crossing of the Chilliwack river.
We knew that what came next would be our physical test of the day, a 4000ft climb straight up to the ridgeline. We settled in for the long haul, switchback after switchback up through the forest, the sun percolating through the slowly thinning trees. As we neared the final switchback below the ridgeline, the trees began to open and the views began to explode behind us. The clouds had finally lifted and the jagged glacier capped peaks of the Cascades loomed across the valley. When we finally reached the top of Copper Ridge the weather was beautiful mostly blue sky, and we were completely awe struck by both the verticality and the depth of the mountains surrounding us on all sides (19.2mi).
Mountain views and wildflowers, welcome to the North Cascades!
So amazing and so runnable we couldn’t help ourselves.
The single track along the ridge was a mix of beautiful flowing dirt and rocky steep climbs/descents. This was the wow factor part of the loop without a doubt. We finally reached Copper Lake, set in a steep walled cirque, it’s blue waters glittering in the sun. Jason’s legs were definitely feeling beat up (this being his longest run in 3 years!), but we put our heads down and trudged our way up to the Copper Ridge lookout tower (24.3mi), the high point of the day. We met up with several groups of backpackers, all of whom were soaking in the expansive vistas, oogling the craggy summits, marveling at the hanging glaciers. In the soft evening light it was truly a spectacular site, the only sounds of civilization being the chatter of our neighbors. Unfortunately we couldn’t linger long as we still had 10miles to go and darkness would soon be descending upon us, so we began the long jog back towards Hannegan Pass.
Some rocky trail running near the Lookout, oh and the views were pretty ok.
As we descended the ridge the clouds began to roll back in, completely enveloping the ridge, then bursting apart to reveal the mountains around (finally including Shuksan, but not Baker). It was truly a surreal experience and some of the most beautiful trail running I’ve ever done (right there with Four Pass loop). After dozens of photos stops we finally made it back to the base of Hannegan Pass, all we had to do was conquer this final 500ft climb and it was a short few miles of downhill back to the car. Thankfully the final uphill was littered with fields of lupine, lilies, columbine and wildflowers of every color, a welcome distraction for the tired minds. After a quick snack atop Hannegan Pass (30.3mi) and one last moment taking in the Chilliwack valley that stretched out below, we scooted our way back down towards the car. I ran ahead a little bit, rounded a bend and stopped dead in my tracks…. A noise off to my right had perked my ears up, and when I paused to assess I was astounded to see two baby black bears clambering up trees not 50ft away. Where babies play, mamma isn’t far away, so I slowly backed off, signaling to Jason to stop and do the same. Mamma came sauntering through the woods, finally coaxing the two babies down and they went crashing off through the brush when she finally caught our scent. Wow, did that really just happen????
Moody weather along the ridgeline, watching the clouds roll back and forth.
Almost back to Hannegan Pass, this place is a trail runner’s paradise!
We rolled back into the parking lot just as the last bit of sunlight was fading out of the sky, tired but our hearts so full from the amazing experiences of the day that instead of worrying about camp or cleaning up, we sat next to the car eating ‘dinner’ and just recapping all the memories of the day. The Copper Ridge loop (or lollipop) had lived up to its reputation; beautiful forest single track, meadows full of wildflowers, crystal blue glacial rivers, and stunning mountain vistas. While the North Cascades have far more to offer, if you only have one day, this loop definitely encompasses what makes the North Cascades so special. I was very fortunate to be able to share this experience with such a good friend, on such an imperfectly perfect day. We may not have gotten the clear blue skies (and thus no views of Mt Baker), but the mist and drizzle giving way to a mix of low clouds and blue sky made for such proper PNW experience. This loop has easily jumped into my top 10 for National Park Ultras (it was my 18th completed NP Ultra) and should be on every ultra runner’s to do list. 34.5miles, 8950ft gain/loss, 10h35min.
Bonus shot of Mt Baker from the Mt Baker Hwy the day after our Copper Ridge run. Sometimes being a tourist is pretty A-Ok.
Mt Shuksan reflected in a small tarn along the Mt Baker Hwy. Just touristing around the day after our Copper Ridge run.
Wind Cave National Park was founded in 1903, the seventh National Park within the system. Even though it was one of the first National Parks, it ranks far down the list of visitations (<700,000), and many have never heard of Wind Cave. Tucked away on the edge of the Black Hills in South Dakota, Wind Cave is the 7th longest cave system in the world (over 150 miles) and new cave is still being discovered every year. Though what makes Wind Cave National Park so special is the intricate boxwork that adorns the cave (found almost no where else in the world) and the wildlife that roams the above ground portions of the park.
Bison are quite large and intimidating animals, keep your distance.
Fresh off my 6h sloppy mud run in Badlands National Park, and with bad weather looming the following day, I opted for a nice back to back National Park ultra combo. I had tickets for a 3pm cave tour along side my friends Ben, Amanda and Kedar, so at first light on 5/26/19 I hit the Wind Cave Canyon trail, jogging along the gravel road into the plains of Wind Cave NP. I soon turned north onto the Highland Creek Trail (3.5mi), traversing across the high plains, past endless herds of bison, several groups of elk and even a few pronghorn. Large sections of the trail were little more than a faint path cairned through the grasslands, and quite a few times I found myself glancing around looking for the path, but overall it was pretty smooth running.
Cruising through plains and along the rivers of Wind Cave National Park.
Smooth cruiser open plains single track in Wind Cave National Park.
Things were going smoothly and I soon found myself at County Road 5 (10.7mi), my lone 1.5mi stretch of road running for the day (dirt). I hit the Centennial trailhead , turned South and headed back into the park. The running continued to be smooth, as I rolled across the never ending plains, finally dropping into Beaver Creek canyon (16.5mi). I cruised up the creek through the narrow but shallow canyon alongside the creek, a nice change of pace to the expansive plains. I hadn’t passed a single person (or car) the entire morning, though I finally started to pass a steady trickle of people as I neared the Lookout Pt trailhead. I exited the canyon, passed through the trailhead and onto the Lookout Pt trail, headed back across the plains again.
Cruising along Beaver Creek in Wind Cave National Park.
Some elk scampering across the plains of Wind Cave National Park.
As I connected back onto the Highland Creek Trail I could feel the fatigue building in my legs from the past two days of running. When I got back onto the Wind Cave trail, I made a quick turn south onto the final leg of my run, an out and back of the East Bison Flats trail (23.3mi). As I slowly climbed my way back up to the high plateau the sun began to beat down on me, and I quickly realized I was running out of water. Onward I slogged, steeply back down into the river canyon, only to immediately climb right back up to Gobbler Pass (26.6mi). I was definitely feeling beat up now, but as I turned around with just under 4miles to go I had really no other choice than to finish up the run. The fatigue and dehydration were taking their toll, so the final miles seemed to drag on in a blur. At last I descended back to Wind Cave Canyon and slowly shuffled my way to the car. I still managed to finish the 30.4mi lollipop in under 6h, not too shabby for a back to back weekend, and in time for the 3pm cave tour!
Boxwork in Wind Cave.
Frost work crystals in Wind Cave.
After chugging a cold soda, tasted so good, I dragged myself over to the Wind Cave visitor center to meet my friends and to catch the 3pm cave tour. I felt a little pathetic, slowly hobbling my way at the back of the tour group (legs were getting stiff), but it gave me an extra chance to photograph some of the cave formations and to take in the smaller intricacies of the cave. Wind Cave is most famous for it’s boxwork formations, a lattice of spiderweb like crosshatching that is found almost no where else in the world. We admired some frostwork (tiny white crystals), spar and a few stalagmites and stalactites. While Wind Cave may not be the most ornately decorated cave, it’s combination of unique features and above ground wildlife make it a special place to visit. For the runners out there the trails are beautifully runnable and very unpopulated (other than the herds of wildlife). So next time you’re in the area (Custer, SD), stop on in to Wind Cave NP and it’s sister Jewel Cave NM right next door, for a little tour of the above and below ground wonders.
It rained 5” last week, oh boy…not what I wanted to hear the
day before I was supposed to run a big loop around Badlands National Park, a
place everyone told me not to go when it rained. As I drove through the park
along the Rim road the early May sunlight began to illuminate the buttes, so I
stopped at the first view point to take in the views of Sage Creek far below. I
was greeted by a couple of grazing bighorn sheep, and a herd of bison. My first
trip to Badlands was off to a pretty good start.
Sunrise over the Sage Creek area of Badlands National Park.
Badlands National Park has very few official trails, so to create a long distance route I pulled from a 22mile off trail backpacking loop with some planned detours and exploration, because that’s what Badlands is really about, a chance to explore, unencumbered. I rolled into the Conata Picnic area just after sunrise on 5/25/19, geared up and strolled off into the meadows. It was immediately apparent I was in for a bit of adversity as the packed dirt meadow turned damp and then into full on swamp. Well, dry feet weren’t going to be an option today. I slopped my way across the valley for 1.5mi, then turned sharply right (North) for the Deer Haven saddle.
Headed up towards Deer Haven, just to the right up the valley.
Looking down the upper reaches of the Sage Creek wash.
As I climbed away from the low grasslands up onto the butte,
I passed through dense stands of juniper, eventually weaving my way up the
steep hillside, around the cliff bands, and onto the summit of the Deer Haven
plateau. Now for the long winding downhill along the North Fork of Sage Creek.
The route started out pretty pleasant, running through the tall grass, occasionally
hopping the creek, but the footing was pretty good. After a short side trip up
one of the canyons draining The Pinnacles, I continued my descent, things
slowly got muddier and muddier and the creek got deeper and deeper. By the time
I hit the confluence of the North and Middle forks of Sage Creek the muddy misery
had escalated.
Running the plateaus along the North Fork of Sage Creek.
It was like running in peanut butter, yuck.
I cut over the high plateau above the creeks hoping that the
mud would dissipate, but no luck. As I rounded the bluff I dropped onto the
high plateau above the Middle Fork of Sage Creek, a small herd of bison dotted
the plains. Their muddy hoof prints had torn up the grasslands, and it was a
total mud pit. Despite the slipping and sliding, the terrain was fairly easy
and it was really nice to be jogging through the open grasslands and jagged mud
buttes with no one else around. I slow jogged and fast hiked my way up the
Middle Fork, headed towards Sage Creek Pass. As I made my way into the upper
basin the herd of bison had grown into the hundreds, dotting the plains as far
as the eye could see.
Just before reaching Sage Creek Pass I took a detour
slightly NE into some really interesting buttes, hoping to climb one. I
scrambled up the hard mud slope, onto the crumbling ridgeline. As I neared the
summit the slope pitched up to near vertical and the mud stone showed no signs
of solidifying, well that wasn’t going to happen. From my vantage on the
ridgeline I could see down into several of the nearby canyons, watched the
bison trotting around the grasslands and very much enjoyed my isolation deep in
the backcountry of Badlands. I spent anther half hour scrambling around the
canyons of the butte, finding coyote tracks, bighorn droppings and lots of bison
paths. Each canyon was a new adventure, would it be passable, where did it go?
I finally popped out back on the South side of the butte not far from Sage
Creek Pass.
Finding some semi-packed mud to run on!
Bison dotting the Badlands.
Trying to climb some of the mudstone ridges and buttes, not so solid.
The route down from the pass was an enjoyable jog down the
water course right alongside one of the mud stone buttes, alternating between
lovely packed dirt and greasy wet mud. At last I hit the park boundary fence,
hung a left and headed back towards the car across the flat plains that abutted
the mud stone buttes of Badlands. The grasslands seemed to stretch as far as
the eye could see, and as I soon discovered, were completely flooded with an
inch of muddy water. I tried to jog sections, but soon gave in and was relegated
to hiking. After what seemed like an endless slog I got back on the trail near
Deer Haven and jogged back to the car. Tired, covered in mud, and excited to be
back on hard pavement.
Playing in the canyons and plains.
The wide open plains surrounding the Badlands mud buttes and canyons. Endless grasslands (filled with mud this day).
My first trip to the Badlands had been an overall success. Despite the crazy mud and insanely wet conditions, I got to wander through the backcountry all my by lonesome, explore the maze of mudstone buttes and towers, watch the massive herds of bison take over the planes and just be out in an undeveloped part of one of America’s more obscure National Parks. Badlands may not look as dramatic as some of the mountainous national parks, but once you’re lost wandering the backcountry you get to better understand what the park is all about. I look forward to returning to Badlands again, when it’s less muddy and I get more time to just explore all the random canyons (but beware of the rattlesnakes!).
“Welcome to Gressoney, in case you haven’t heard your race is canceled…” -Aid worker “Excuse me, what?” -Me
Shock, disbelief, confusion…. even four days later I’m still trying to process everything that happened at the 2019 Ultra Trail Monte Rosa. But let’s start from the beginning…. May 2019, after losing out on both the Hard Rock and Tor des Geants lotteries I committed to the 2019 Ultra Trail Monte Rosa. A little known 170km run around the Monte Rosa massif in Switzerland. It’s basically UTMB on steroids…170km, 37,000ft of elevation gain, 30h course record, 60h cutoff…
2019 brought unprecedented snow to Colorado, so my first trail race (San Juan Solstice) was canceled, then my replacement run (John Cappis) was shortened. Less than a month out from the race I recieved the unfortunate news that my company was laying off a large number of people, me included… well %*&@. Training hadn’t gone quite as expected, but I guess I’d have a lot of time to train and recover just before the race. After a lot of miles and all kinds of vertical (79,000ft of gain in August alone), I was feeling apprehensively ready to take on the race, though admittedly I was scared.
On August 23rd my friend Ellen and I hopped a series of planes to adventure; Denver-Salt Lake City-Amsterdam-Zurich-Ljubljana. After 10 days of traveling and play time in the Julian Alps and Dolomites (in a later blog) we made our way to Grächen to checkin and prepare for the races. The weather forecast for the races had progressively gotten worse, calling for rain and snow during night 1 and into day 2. We were warned to be prepared for changes and bad weather, ok can do, we had a whole assortment of mandatory gear we were going to get to use.
2019 John Cappis course was too snowy to run the full 50km, so it was shortened to 30km/12500ft gain. And there was still a lot of snow.
A beatiful pre-race day in Grachen, but the storm’s a coming.
‘Tapering’ very poorly in the Dolomites, this place is amazing.
After the usual restless night of sleep the alarm went off at 3am Thursday 9/5 and last minute prep was made. We set off nervously from the start line into the foggy but pleasant and chilly morning. The pace started out fast as we cruised through the first 10km in an 1:15 to the start of the first climb, then up we went, 4300ft in just a few miles. I settled into a steady power hike, working my way up through the fast starters. The first light of day slowly began to percolate through the mist and fog as we neared the top of the climb and rolled into the Europahütte aid station (17.1km, 3:24)
The next stretch was a narrow rolling traverse over to Taschalp. Some really cool single track cut into a steep hillside that had some runners nervous to run, but I found it awesomely fun (see photo). I was continuing to move up through the field, and cruised right through Taschalp (26.4km, 4:51) and on towards Zermatt. This next stretch was a blur as we rolled up and down, finally hitting the cruiser descent into Zermatt.
Running in the fog before Taschalp.
Roped in on the trail to Zermatt.
Runners crossing a bridge along the trail to Zermatt.
I was feeling good rolling into Zermatt (36.8km, 6:06), but had realized how much I’d underestimated the course, and there was a long way to go. At the aid station I calmly went about my business, and rolled on through, all packed up (microspikes included) bound for the Theodule glacier and the high point of the course. As I rolled through town I ran into Clare and Allister, it’s always nice to see friendly faces in random places.
As I started the 1700m climb out of Zermatt I slowly drifted into the pain cave, dehydrated and fuel deficient. I spent the next hour trying to put myself back together and took a few extra minutes at Gangehütte (46.9km, 8:34) taking care of myself. Then I cruised up to the glacier, donned my microspikes and off we went across the ice. The fog dropped in, the temperature dropped and for the first time in 9h I got to use my jacket. We soon found ourselves at the high point of the course, Theodule pass, 3300m high (49.2km, 9:22)!
Looking back on Zermatt from the climb toward Gangehutte.
The rocky abyss near Gangehutte, slow going.
Exiting the glacier (1km long!) and back onto the rock of Theodule pass.
Down down down; note a theme, climb up, yog down? From the pass it was mostly dirt road through a quarry to Lago Cime Bianche (54.9km, 9:55). The fog had begun to lift and the skies were clearing up a little bit, for the first time all day we were actually getting some views! At the aid station I continued my self care, a little lentil soup and some cake, mmm. Then back uphill we went, again, just a short 300m up this time. Then began the long decent to Rifugio Ferraro. I continued to hop my way down the rocky terrain, that felt like a snail’s pace, but turned out to be about average for that section.
My quads were definitely starting to feel the burn, but I was still moving alright, so yogged on. The weather was looking a bit moody, but nothing beyond a few sprinkles. As myself and UK runner Philip Williams rolled into Rufugio Ferraro a steady rain began to fall so we popped on our rain jackets for the first time (67.5km, 12:00). We took a few moments fueling up before the long climb (800m) and even longer descent (1100m) into Gressoney. I had flipped my phone on for the first time, happy to find no texts from the race, onward we go!
Theodule Pass, looking down towards Lago Cime Bianche.
Gran Lago, on the way to Rifugio Ferraro.
High mountain meadows and cows….moooo
As we hiked out of the aid station up the jeep road, another runner and I noticed Philip ahead of us, but on a different flagged track? He checked his GPS and indeed we were on a parallel flagged route that was not the normal race course. So we cut back on course and continued upward towards the pass. The sun came out as we climbed, descended, then climbed steeply again on very rocky trail to the pass (73.9km, 13:27). The views looking down valley towards Gressoney, were spectacular as the clouds drifted around the mountain tops.
The descent was incredibly steep and rocky, but I managed a hop-jog down. Passing several small alpine lakes, through green meadows, around a large herd of sheep and down to the ski hill above Gressoney. As I cruised down the trail and onto the ski road I noticed a Japanese runner coming straight down the road above me, huh? He said he took ‘the other route’, nothing we could do now but keep running I guess? The final downhill into Gressoney was moderately technical and damp from the light rain that was falling again so I took it slowly.
Atop the pass, beginning the long descent into Gressoney.
Gressoney dead ahead! Weather looking good, ready to roll.
The trail dumped us onto the dirt road, <1km to the aid, SWEET! I began to take a mental tally of what I needed to do in Gressoney; eat a meal, hydrate, put on tights and overall just prepare myself for what appeared to be a long, cold, damp, dark night ahead. I rolled through town, hopped through the aid station door (79.8km, 14:27) with a smile on my face (I was feeling a bit spunkier), ready to keep rolling, that’s when it happened….
“Welcome to Gressoney, in case you haven’t heard your race is canceled…” -Aid worker “Excuse me, what?” -Me
I was stunned and completely dumbfounded. I’d only used my rain jacket for a total of 45min, I was sweating and the weather wasn’t bad at all, wtf was going on???? I spent the next half hour trying to understand what was going, then pleading for them to let us continue, then trying to convince them to let us continue in the morning with the other races (Friday’s 100km and stage race hadn’t been canceled…yet). As those of us in the aid station commiserated, we watched the face of each new arrival go from excitement to disbelief to sadness. We were all still having trouble processing the news.
After much deliberation those of us waiting in the aid station decided to throw in the towel and catch the 9pm bus back to the start line in Grächen as there was a good chance they weren’t going to let people run from Gressoney on Friday morning either. We were trying to lighten the mood as much as possible, but it was evident how depressed many of us were that our race was so suddenly cut short, but the adventure didn’t end there…
Gressoney is the furthest point on the course from Grächen, 5h by bus, and our 9p departure, turned into 10:15p. Oh, and there was only one bus (48 seats) for the 80 something runners, meaning half the crew would be spending the night in the aid station on the benches and dozen mattresses available. The first priority was based on arrival time, and thankfully I fell squarely within that group. I dozed intermittently on the bus, and we finally arrived back in Grächen at 3:10a, to light rain. I quickly showered and went straight to bed.
Fresh dusting of snow on the mountains Friday morning after our race had been cancelled.
I awoke the following morning to steady rain and a fresh coat of snow on the
mountains above. As I chatted with other runners more stories began to trickle
in; many were stopped at Gangehütte (47km) due to white out and snow. I then
got a message from Ellen that there race was delayed until noon, then that a
bus was coming to move runners to Macugnaga?, then the 100km was outright
canceled!!! WTF was going on??? It took Ellen, Dana and a few other 100km runners
until 4pm to get back to Grächen, all of them understandably frustrated and mad
they hadn’t run a single step!
The 2019 UTMR event (all races) was a bit of a mess, not because of bad
weather, but because of how it was handled (in my opinion). The weather was a
known factor coming into the race (cold, wet, possible snow), but it was
evident the race committee hadn’t laid out a definitive alternative plan in
case of bad weather. When I asked the aid workers if the 170km runners would be
allowed to continue if they started the 100km race the following day (a delay,
not outright cancellation) they were surprised, because apparently no one had
thought of that scenario??? Really???? When the 100km race was told the
mountain passes weren’t safe so they’d just have to go home and NOT RUN A
SINGLE STEP, how is it acceptable that no alternative was planned out ahead of
time?
European races make runner safety a big priority; mandatory gear list,
runner tracking, experience requirements (we all had to prove we’d run mountain
100k/100mi races before), but when it comes to actually putting runners in a
situation where they’d need this gear….then it’s not safe? Anyone who’s spent
time hiking/climbing/running in the mountains has been rained on, snowed on,
had to escape storms….but this year at UTMR we were told that we couldn’t
handle what POSSIBLY might happen. When they stopped the 170km race it was warm
(60F/15C), partly cloudy, with a few showers around….but there was a forecast
storm that night, so we had to be protected from the potential weather that
might come?
I’m not saying that we should have been sent over the high passes with the impending forecast (yes it did snow), but with known bad weather coming in, how was there NO contingency plan created? How was the only option to pull the plug, throw in the towel and tell runners, sorry you trained so hard, spent all this time and money on this race, but bye??? That’s mostly what left a bad taste in my mouth, the lack of commitment to making the event the best it could be, even despite the poor weather. This is what frustrates me the most and many other runners as well (I know because I’ve spoken with dozens of them, even if they haven’t shared their stories/opinions yet). While UTMR seems like it might be a wonderful event, the handing of this year’s weather situation and cancellation has me doubting if I’ll ever come back. I’ve helped organize/put on races, volunteered at dozens more, and run numerous race course ‘reroutes’ because of bad weather/snow. But in all those previous circumstances I felt like the race organization did their best to not only look out for runner’s safety, but to make the race/run the best experience possible for it’s participants. I have no doubt the UTMR race committee had runners safety in mind when they cancelled, but the commitment to the latter was not apparent. In the end many of us jumped into the 20km race on Saturday 9/7 (also with a rerouted course, we didn’t touch a single drop of snow) just to get some sort of running in. This definitely helped to lighten the mood around town, as most of us were a bit run-gry from sitting around for 24-36h doing nothing (instead of running).
Runners ascending through the clouds during Saturday’s 20km race.
Clouds parting to mountain views, briefly, during the 20km race.
So now this leaves me (and several hundred other runners) in a very strange place. We’re fit and tapered with no where to go? I personally have a strong interest in personal unsupported, self-created adventure runs, so the wheels are already turning for how to use this untapped fitness. Others are stressing to find ways to cap off a season’s worth of training with something fulfilling and meaningful. In the end it’s just running, and any day you can come back from the mountains safely is a win, but most of the time we prefer to also enjoy some sort of adventure or experience as part of that process. Here’s to always moving forward, dreaming of the next big adventure, and not dwelling too much on the past that can not be changed. Huge thanks to all the volunteers who did everything they could to helped us run what we did, made every aid station stop I had a fantastic experience, and who really did try to help us navigate the mire of confusing messages and constantly changing news. My Strava track for the route I ran. I’m still working on a video from the 80km I ran on the course, so hopefully will have that put together by next week.
Squish, splash, splosh….what had started out as such a beautifully promising trail had quickly descended into a horse trodden mud bog….would the whole run be this way? The Maple Springs Trail had started out as beautifully cruiser crushed gravel meandering through the lush green forest, but as soon as I turned onto the Mill Branch Trail I found out what the ranger had warned me about, the horse trails were muddy….
Lush green forests and muddy trails of Kentucky along the Mill Branch trail in Mammoth Cave NP.
Mammoth Cave National Park is best known because its currently (May 2019) the world’s longest cave system at over 406miles of passageway with more still being discovered. The cave system has a long history of human exploration and exploitation along with a hugely diverse ecosystem inside and out. While the cave itself may be the best known feature of the park, the park also has a beautiful trail system, covering over 70miles, exposing one to the surface geology and weather that makes the formation of the cave possible (more on the caves at the end).
My run set off from the Maple Springs Trailhead cruising the beautiful crushed gravel paths through some of the greenest forest I’ve ever run through. Several days of rain had really brought everything to life…. including the mud. As I transitioned onto the duel use horse trails, the smooth path turned into a chopped up muddy mess. I sloshed my way around the North edge of the park on the Mill Branch and Blair Springs trails, both of which consisted largely of ankle deep mud…bleh. I got a short reprieve as I passed the First Creek TH (7.6mi, 1:30) and climbed the ridgeline high above Second Creek. The foliage briefly transitioned to pines and hemlock, before returning back to the dense hardwood forest.
My starting point at the Maple Springs TH in Mammoth Cave NP.
One of many cascades along the trail in Mammoth Cave NP.
When the trails weren’t a mud bog they really were beautiful…rolling
single track, swooping through the neon green forest and limestone rock
formations randomly jutting out of the hillside. As I made a turn to parallel the
Nolin River the trail transitioned back to the horrid mud bog, and I splashed
my way passed First Creek Lake (nice campsites) and then up the steep hill to
Temple Hill (14.3mi, 3:00).
First Creek Lake, several lovely campsites.
Most of the terrain had been incredibly runnable to this point, so it was nice to have some hiking grade to break up the pace. I passed a few hikers on this stretch, the first people I’d seen all day! After a short but abrupt descent down the McCoy Hollow trail, the grade mellowed and the trail weaved in and out of various river drainages before descending to the Wet Prong of Buffalo Creek (20.4mi, 4:20). Another short steep ascent up to Collie Ridge before the trail plummeted straight down to the Dry Prong of Buffalo Creek. When I finally turned onto the Sal Hollow Trail (24.4mi, 5:25, final trail of the day) I was pretty ecstatic to see find it was a non-horse trail, meaning it was the most beautiful section of trail I’d been on all day.
Limestone formations and lots of greenery await you on the trails of Mammoth Cave NP.
Soaking my legs in Sal Hollow to wash off a little mud and cool the feet.
The damp single track weaved around trees and rocky limestone outcroppings, passing springs flowing out of caves and sink holes where the water was most likely draining into the cave system below. I even took a short break to crawl into one of the cave springs for 20-30ft, opting not to delve too deep on my own though. I splashed through a puddle now and again, but overall the footing was stellar, and my tired legs were glad for the reprieve from the mud bogs of earlier. This was the trail I’d been hoping to find all day, and despite being a tired and a little grumpy I was thoroughly enjoying the cruise through the forest, listen to the birds singing and the water cascading out of every hollow. It was on this stretch that the clouds finally broke and the first rays of sun shown through the foliage, dotting the green underbrush with its yellow glow. If only all of the trail system had been this lovely….After 33.1mi and 7:17 I popped out of the forest and back onto the Maple Springs Rd, what a day it had been. National Park Ultramarathon #15 complete.
One of several cave springs along the trail in Mammoth Cave…where did the water come from?
Riding the Green River vehicle ferry across, and me without my floaties.
This trip had been my first real exploration of Kentucky, and it further confirmed my belief that every single state has something beautiful and unique to offer. The rolling green hardwood forests are so unlike anything we have in the West it was a nice change of pace. While I could have done with a little less mud, I’ve never minded getting a little dirty on the run, sometimes you don’t get the perfect conditions, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have an amazing experience. The forests of Kentucky may not have the altitude or expansive views of some of the Western parks, but the beauty lies in much more subtle things. The millipedes crossing the trail, a heron flying across First Lake, unexpected caves dotting the hillsides or simply the ability to get lost in the forest for hours and only see a handful of people.
Sunlight trickling through the leaves of Mammoth Cave NP.
Now on to what brings most people to central Kentucky, the underground labyrinth that is Mammoth Cave….and it sure is mammoth! With a history dating back 1000s of years (to early Native Americans), Mammoth Cave was a known entity long before the Europeans arrived to exploit it. It wasn’t until the mid 1800s that people really began to explore the cave (Stephen Bishop) and cave tourism began to form. Mammoth Cave became a National Park in 1941, and now to visit the caves most people must participate in one of many organized cave tours. While I was not fortunate enough to get on one of the ‘Wild Cave tours’ (reserve early!, includes crawling and scrambling) I did get onto three different tours into very different parts of the cave. In the following paragraph I’ll describe the three tours I took and what I liked/disliked about them. Cave tour reservations can be made here.
The first tour I got on was the ‘Domes and Dripstones tour’ that enters through the New Entrance, which is essentially a dynamite blasted hole into the cave. From this entrance one descends straight into the heart of the cave down a very steep narrow set of stairs. You get a sense of the size of the size of the massive domes where water seeps into the cave and underground rivers. The tour then winds through a variety of passages ending at the Frozen Niagara formation, one of the few formations in this section of the cave. While interesting and beautiful, it was my least favorite tour as it’s a very large group and moves pretty fast, giving one less time to enjoy sections of the cave.
Descending the steep stairs down from the New Entrance deep into Mammoth Cave.
The Frozen Niagara formation in Mammoth Cave.
The second cave tour I took was the ‘Historic Tour’, this one enters through the original historic entrance in the center of the park. The initial passageways are massive, quickly letting one understand why people call it ‘Mammoth’. You then learn a good bit about the history of the cave, from early Native Americans to the salt peter mining and tourism of the 1800s. The walking tour then crosses the Bottomless Pit and into Fat Man’s Misery, a narrow section of passageway (all walkable, with a slight crouch). I found the Historic Tour more interesting than the Domes and Dripstones, partially because of the history, but also because you got a much better sense of the size and variety the cave offers.
The main hallway in Mammoth Cave is pretty darn big.
Looking up one of the giant silos in Mammoth Cave.
The last tour I took was the ‘Great Onyx Cave’ tour, part of the Flint Ridge cave system that as of this writing does not connect with the rest of Mammoth Cave (but is believed to). As we passed through the damp entrance, careful not to step on the cave salamanders (cool!) we quickly emerged into a room adorned with cave formations (drapes, columns, stalagmites/stalagtites, flow stone). As our small group of 20 slowly made our way deeper into the cave by lantern light the cave slowly dried out and the formation disappeared. Replacing the flow stone formations were delicate gypsum crystals, some of them assembled into the most beautiful gypsum flowers I’ve ever seen. While we didn’t cover as much cave passage on this tour I found that the time allotted allowed us to better appreciate the cave and the formations, as did the smaller group size. This was by far my favorite tour of the day.
Wandering Great Onyx Cave by lantern light.
Delicate gypsum flower formations in Great Onyx Cave.
It may be becoming cliché, but my National Parks project is taking me to areas of the country I otherwise may have never visited and explored. The rolling green hills of Kentucky and the always fascinating underground world of the cave truly exceeded my expectations. The US National Park system is not just a collection of big mountain landscapes or desert canyons, though those get most of the attention. Mammoth Cave is definitely worth exploring, both above ground and below. Because it’s the world above (the rain, the rocks, the ecosystem) that make the caves what they are. As always, special thanks to Vfuel for powering all my crazy ideas and adventures and to our National Park System for preserving such amazing places for all to see and experience in a responsible manner. Next up….Badlands National Park and Wind Cave National Park!
Saguaro cacti, cholla, barrel cacti, prickly pear cacti, ocotillo, catclaw, yucca….there are a long list of things in the desert that are just looking to stab, scratch and tear at you. Our lesson learned, just don’t touch anything and you should be good.
The winter of 2018/2019 has been great for skiing, but it’s also seen most of the trails in my home town of Boulder covered with snow/ice and temperatures just cold enough that things have never quite thawed out (which they normally do). In need of a little desert therapy I booked a quick weekend get away to Phoenix/Tucson. This would also give me a chance to knock out another one of my National Park ultra marathons, Saguaro National Park, which borders right up to the city of Tucson. As I started researching routes in the park I was astounded to realize that the park covered a huge diversity of ecosystems; from the desert lowlands covered in its namesake Saguaro cacti, through pinyon and juniper forests to the summit of 8666ft tall Mica Mountain complete with snow and ponderosa pines. Thanks to a little local insight from trail guru Benedict Dugger and the Tucson Trail Runners group I mapped out what looked to be a spectacular 38mile Figure-8 loop that covered a large portion of Saguaro East. A last minute surprise found me able to convince fellow Colorado runner Helen Cospolich to join me for the adventure.
Hiking our way up Picacho Peak, there are a few cabled scramble sections, but the conditions were phenomenal.
I flew out to Phoenix first thing Saturday morning and hit the ground running…literally. I grabbed Helen from her hotel and we headed straight for Picacho Peak State Park for a little warmup jog. The park was crowded, but we were in for a very special treat, as the winter’s unusually high precipitation had turned the park into a carpet of golden poppies and lavender lupine. We spent almost as much time taking photos as hiking and running. When the desert blooms it’s a truly spectacular sight, as the entirety of the landscape turns a vibrant green and wildflowers mingle with spiny succulents. After our morning tour I couldn’t help but head out for an afternoon run up Wasson Peak in West Saguaro National Park. It felt soooo good to simply run on trails again. The colors in the park weren’t peaking to the same level as Picacho Peak, but beautiful displays of wildflowers and smooth flowing single track made for a wonderful loop. Then it was back to the hotel to plot and scheme for the big adventure the following morning.
Desert bursting with life, lupine and poppies carpeting Picacho Peak State Park, 3/19/19.
Helen cruising around the Nature Trail in Picacho Peak SP, how can you not be giddy with trails like this, 3/9/19.
Trail running along the Sendero Esperanza in Saguaro National Park West, 3/9/19.
Sunday morning (3/10/19) Helen and I set out from the Broadway trailhead in the NW corner of the park, cruising our way through a network of trails, surrounded by giant Saguaro, crossing flowing washes (water!) and just ambling our way up to the Carillo and Three Tanks trails (3.2mi). Then the climbing started, up into the foothills of Saguaro we went. The trails were beautifully runnable, lined with an assortment of desert succulents and fields of greenery surrounding the babbling creek that was filling the desert with life. As we made our way up the Three Tanks trail and onto Douglas Springs the cacti gave way to rolling grasslands dotted with pinyon and juniper, slowly transitioning to ponderosa pine forest as we passed the Douglas Springs campground (10.2mi +1mi of detours).
Helen running up the Carillo trail in Saguaro National Park, 3/20/19.
Water flowing in the desert making everything super green this year, 3/10/19.
The Douglas Springs trail, out of the Saguaro zone and into the grasslands, juniper and pinyon, 3/10/19.
Here’s where the real climb began, 1400ft over the next few miles on a somewhat overgrown trail covered in manzanita and catclaw (ouch!) to the 6100ft Cowhead Saddle. This would be the middle of the Figure-8, and the next section was all business. The trail grinds its way up through ponderosa pine forest, passing jagged rock out croppings, and expansive views of the Sonora desert surrounding the mountains on all sides. The wind was really starting to whip through the trees, and boy was it chilly. Helen, opted to turn back and cut it a bit shorter (the trip was promising to run longer than the mapped 38miles). Around 7500ft the snow began, just a few small patches at first, but as I neared the summit of Mica Mountain I found myself more often on snow than not. Thankfully the tracks were easy to follow and the snow held my weight, soon I found myself atop 8666ft Mica Mountain (17.3mi +1.9mi of detours). There weren’t any views to speak of unfortunately as the summit was densely wooded, so I jogged on down the Mica Mountain trail toward Manning Camp.
Ponderosa forests high on Mica Mt, and a little bit of snow, 3/10/19.
I followed the beautifully clear Chimenea creek down the mountain (refilled water) through now slushy snow to the cabin at Manning Camp, then on down down down the Manning Camp trail to Grass Shack Camp (23.6mi +1.9mi of detours). Trail was fun and technical as it zig zagged its way down the steep hillside back into more arid desert terrain. I washed off in the creek at Grass Shack camp and started the climb back up to Cowhead Saddle and Tanque Verde Peak. The temps were cool and the trail pleasant, but the miles and elevation were starting to take their toll, my poor road legs definitely weren’t in shape for this. The first stage of the climb to Cowhead Saddle went by quickly, but the rolling climb up to the summit of the Tanque Verde ridge was a grind. I felt like I was moving in slow motion but, finally I hit Tanque Verde peak (28.1mi +1.9mi of detours), a bit exhausted, but excited that I was done with most of the uphill, downhill running has always been my thing.
Looking over at Tanque Verde Peak from the Manning trail, oy that’s far away, 3/10/19.
Summit of Tanque Verde Peak, happy to finally be going downhill, 3/10/19.
The descent down Tanque Verde peak was long and far more technical than I’d expected, rocky enough to slow the pace, many sharp turns that took one out of any rhythm, and the ever present sharp pointy desert flora threatening to impale one if you happened to stray from the trail even just a little bit. The miles were starting to drag on, but Tucson was slowly getting closer. Past Juniper Camp, and back into the desert, which was bursting with greenery and life, at last I saw the parking lot marking the 5mile to go point of the run (36.7mi +1.9mi of detours). Back down in the desert the afternoon sunlight cast beautiful shadows across the landscape, ocotillo were blooming and the massive Saguaro towered all around. I set out to run every step of that final 5miles across the Cactus Forest trail. Even though I was moving pretty well, the miles seemed to move by sooo slowly. When I finally hit the 2mi to go road crossing I pushed my legs a bit, crushing some 8:30 miles (ha!), and collapsing back at the trailhead 10h59min after we’d set out that morning. Total stats were 43.75mi (1.9m of detours), 9300ft of elevation gain, high point 8666ft, low point 2713ft, lots of cacti seen and my 14th National Park Ultramarathon completed.
The gauntlet of sharp pointy things on the way down the Tanque Verde ridge, 3/10/19.
The desert was bursting with life this spring after some heavier than normal winter rains, 3/10/19.
Back in the Sonoran desert, blooming ocotillo and Saguaro cacti everywhere, 3/10/19.
My run through Saguaro National park perfectly encapsulates why I started my National Park Ultra Project. It was a park I knew very little about other than it had giant Saguaro cacti and was a desert. I never expected to be climbing to the summit of a snow capped mountain, crossing numerous streams and rivers, get startled by white tale deer crashing through the brush, or taking photos of blooming poppies, lupine, prairie clover, evening primrose and globemallow. Our National Park system as a whole covers a huge array of beautiful places with unique ecosystems, but within a single park there is often so much more than its name sake implies for those willing to take their adventure beyond the visitor centers and paved nature trails. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to explore the trails of Tucson and Phoenix, but I will definitely be back. It’s a perfect escape for those of us living in snowy winter climates, because who doesn’t need a little desert therapy once and a while (and good Mexican food!). Special thanks to Helen Cospolich for enduring my slightly longer than advertised run and keeping me company for many miles, Benedict and the Tucson Trail Runners for all the advice. To Vfuel for keeping me energized through all these long unsupported adventures, Adam Engel at Waldron’s Peak for helping fix my arm (still a work in progress) and Myriam Desrosiers massage for taking care of my aching muscles. Next up the Boston Marathon in April and Mammoth Caves National Park in early May! The adventure continues….
The Saguaro are very big, and I am very small. Approx 100year old cacti.
I’m writing this blog to detail the accident and recovery process from my dislocated elbow back in December. When I tried to find information on the recovery process and return to sports/activity, I found very little information, so hopefully this will be useful to someone in the future.
2018 ended on a little bit of a rough note as I took a fall while running down my home town trail of Gregory Canyon (on Green Mountain Boulder), smacking my elbow just right (or wrong) fully dislocating the elbow. Oh boy did that hurt like hell. I sat in the middle of the trail, taking very controlled deep breathes for what seemed like 5-10min (but could have been much longer), trying to figure out exactly what had happened. I initially thought I’d broken something, but as I probed the bones of the upper and lower arm, nothing distal hurt, and the hand, while it tingled was not numb. As we rolled up my sleeve my friend Andrea and I noticed my elbow appeared hollow, yep dislocated, and holy hell did it hurt.
One gnarly looking Xray of a text book elbow dislocation without fractures. I dislocated the elbow in flexion because of major trauma to the humerus during the fall.
Jake and Andrea used two jackets to sling my left arm to stabilize it so I could walk myself out. The final 1/2mi to the TH seemed to take forever, but with the help of a few friends I was able to slowly trudge my way out to the trailhead. For better or worse, the OSMP rangers had been alerted to my fall, so they met me at the trailhead and asked me to wait for the first responders to arrive. The firetruck pulled up, they interviewed me as I sat shivering in the cold, and once they determined I was ‘stable’ they allowed me to forgo the ambulance ride and to arrange my own ride to medical care.
Andrea was kind enough to drive me over to Urgent Care where we were hoping to get my elbow fixed, though when I described the injury the nurse said ‘nope, you need to go to the ER, because you’ll need to be sedated, given muscle relaxers, and it’s a violent procedure to relocate an elbow’….well ok then. We walked into the ER, second in line and I was soon taken back into the operating room. After some very painful X-rays (involving moving my still dislocated elbow around), I was sedated and next thing I knew I awoke, asking when they’d reset my elbow, glanced down and it was already done. They put me in a half cast, wrapped me up and sent me home with some Percocet.
I done broke myself again…argh.
Over the next week all I could do was rest the arm (in a sling) and learn to do everything else one handed. Opening pill bottles with my feet, typing with one hand, showering with a bag over my left arm, getting dressed was a fun adventure. After a week I went in for my first visit with Orthopedist, who gave me the good news that nothing was broken and nothing was completely torn (ie no surgery!). So they took the cast off and told me to move the arm around but NOT to lift anything heavier than a coffee cup. Let the rehabbing begin.
After only a week, the cast comes off, and the elbow/arm looks all kinds of nasty.
Over the next several weeks I gently used the arm for some limited activity; picking up items, typing, showering, but still very minimal weight/pressure. My range of motion had been reduced to 45-90 degrees, pretty pathetic, so I was tasked with moving the arm around and slowly working the ROM back, the most important thing to focus on in the first few weeks. After about three weeks the elbow finally began to feel stable enough so I started some easy jogging and pushing the ROM a little further. After four weeks I began some very light band work (5lb resistance), to try and reengage the atrophied bicep, tricep and forearm. By the new year I was running uninhibited, but still limited to 8lb of resistance in the left arm, so of course I did 60-100 reps of each exercise to compensate….cause that’s what you’re supposed to do right? Working not only on the bicep, tricep and forearm, but all the shoulder, back and chest muscles that had been neglected as the arm recovered. Rehab isn’t very sexy when you’ve got a 5lb weight in your hand.
Working on getting stronger however I can.
Back on the sticks finally, feels good to be out even in a limited capacity
At my 5week post-accident appointment my Dr took some additional Xrays, did some stress tests on the elbow, measured my ROM and declared me healthy enough to start weighted rehab and to increase activity. I was permitted to ski (YEAH), carefully, but to stay away from any activity that would put impact on the arm directly (volleyball and climbing) for at least another 3 weeks. So that brings me to the present day (1/16/19), where I’m now up to 12lb weights for my left arm, I’ve skied, done some wall pushups, a few assisted pullups and have increased my ROM to 10-115 degrees (a dramatic improvement). I’ve still got a lot of work to get back to full strength (still at less than 50%), but I’m getting there. The most important thing at this stage (6weeks out) is to regain the final bit of extension in my arm to straighten it, easier said than done, but with daily stretching and strengthening I’m getting there.
Weighted stretching of the elbow, trying to regain ROM 6weeks after the accident. Getting closer.
Update 1/30/19:
Now just over 8weeks out from the injury and my strength is coming back quickly. I can do assisted pull-ups without pain, push-ups on my knees (albeit with a hitch in my elbow), and even started doing some very easy bouldering. The weight and stretching actually feels good on the elbow. I’m still not at full range of motion as there is some stiffness/tightness in the joint so I’m stuck at 5degrees (not full extension) and I’m almost back to normal on the flexion side. Progress…
Update 5/14/19:
Just over 5 months after my accident I’m ‘fully’ healed, but still dealing with some lingering joint stiffness and I don’t have the last 3-5degrees of extension in my elbow, which may never come back. I’ve been back at full unhindered activity, but still rehabbing the strength and flexibility deficits. I started hitting heavier weights in late March and climbing regularly as well to help stretch the joint and strength the tricep and bicep on the left side. It’s been a slow process, but overall I no longer feel hindered, but it still feels like there’s a block in my left elbow preventing me from fully straightening the arm.
2014 started on a very somber note for the Boulder trail running community, our friend and fellow runner Marcy Servita had just been diagnosed with late stage pancreatic cancer….a diagnosis which is never good. The community rallied around her, those closest to her gave everything they could; time, energy, food, love….but on March 16th, 2014 we lost Marcy. It was a tremendous loss for the community, and obviously hit those closest to her very hard, including my friend and fellow ultra runner Greg Salvesen. Greg and Marcy had been ultra running friends (and training partners) through the Boulder Banditos running group (where we’d also met). To honor what Marcy loved (running) and as a way to cope with the loss, Greg decided to run a 100mile+ race every month in 2014…..so the story begins.
On March 16th, 2014 we lost Marcy Servitas to her battle with Pancreatic cancer.
As 2014 rolled on Greg was ticking off 100mile races as if they were 5k’s; HURT, Rocky Racoon, Antelope Island, Zion, Peak 200, Bighorn, Vermont, Fatdog…… After a hiccup with the cancellation of Mogollon Monster due to weather, Greg decided to still finish up the year’s races….though there was one issue, there were no 100mile race in December? Thanks to good friends Ryan Smith and Nick Pedatella a 100mile route was drawn up to circumnavigate Boulder, and a crew was recruited to support the run. In December 2014, supported by a crew of his friends, and joined by Ryan, Nick and a few others, they completed what became the first Boulder Badass 100 run. Since that time the Boulder Badass has become an annual event, focused on community, comradery and just doing crazy things. Fast-forward to 2018, in June I received a group message welcoming me to the 2018 version of the Boulder Badass as one of 8 participants….oh damn, I’d have only four weeks after the Grindstone 100 to recover and run yet another 100mile event.
The original Boulder Badass crew in 2014. A bunch of Dodos.
After a summer full of adventure culminating in a sub-24hour run at the Grindstone 100 (see previous post), I had four weeks to get my legs to a place where I could yet again run 100miles, by far the quickest turnaround I’d ever attempted. At 10pm on Friday Nov 2nd to the melodic reverberations of the Fart Blaster, seven of us pranced out my front door into the rainy night with only one goal…to survive the 100mile circumnavigation of Boulder before work on Monday morning. We ran head first into the cold driving rain, mud from the trails sticking to our shoes and rain threatening to soak through our jackets. Thankfully by the time we reached Dowdy Draw the rain tapered off and the stars began to break through the clouds. We fought our way around the South Boulder trails, 30-40mph winds intermittently whipping across the grasslands, just the seven of us joking around in the dark night.
A crew of dedicated friends had volunteered to crew us through the cold dark night, and were always an energetic and welcoming site for the seven of us. As we jogged our way through Walker Ranch daylight finally percolated through the cloud layer and we were able to switch off our headlamps. By the time we reached the Walker Ranch TH we were 38miles and 10hours into the Boulder Badass, but had a long way to go. The crew was ready and waiting at Walker Ranch, and we were happy to see them. We refueled, joked around then packed up and dragged our first set of pacers off onto the Meyers Gulch trail with us. We dropped down into a snow storm on Magnolia road, where Hurculean Paul ran into a dead tree at full speed knocking the 20ft tall trunk in Colleen’s direction with a huge crash, narrowly missing her. We all had a good laugh at Colleen’s near death experience, and spirits stayed high as we pounded down Magnolia road to the next crew point.
Party at the Walker Ranch Aid Station.
The gang cruising along the aquaduct toward Magnolia rd.
We arrived to quite an entourage at the base of Magnolia road, there was lots of stoke and despite having 43miles on our legs we were all moving pretty well. Next up was a little jaunt through Betasso with a whole new crew of friends hitching along for the ride. We jogged, laughed, screwed around a fair bit but kept a slow and steady pace forward. The continual stream of fresh faces joining us for Sanitas, the Hogback, Boulder Valley Ranch and finally the long haul along the bike paths back into town kept us distracted. Each time we rolled into an aid station the crowd seemed to grow, the noise decibel increased and a handful of fresh meat would join us for some miles.
The whole gang still together in Betasso. Photo by Flannery Davis.
Road side madness in Sunshine Canyon. Photo by Brendan Davis.
70miles and 20hours in we reached the Cottonwood trailhead on the East side of Boulder. I picked up Adam who was to join me for the rest of the fun filled night ahead. We had broken up into runner/pacer teams now, though none of us were far apart and I spent the boring bike trail miles leap frogging with Colleen, Paul and Doug. We all had a good laugh at the ridiculousness of our situations, the pain we were willingly enduring and as always at Doug’s endless stream of entertaining word vomit. When I rolled into Eben G Fine just after 8pm there was a serious party going on, it was a bit overwhelming for my tired brain, but I did feed off the energy a bit.
Summit of Mt Sanitas party!
Arriving at the Foothills TH to quite a welcome.
All business, or were we…..Photo by Brendan Davis
After Eben G Fine the fun began, a proper skyline traverse, with a full descent between most of the peaks to maximize elevation gain. Chapman Dr was a slog, and the mindset of most of the runners was slowly deteriorating into ultra-mush. After a little bit of confusion that had all of us taking different lines down off Flagstaff Mountain, we hit the last aid station at the Gregory TH, staggered 5-10min apart. This was our last refuel point before the long haul up and over Green, Bear and SoBo, so each of us took an extra few minutes to get our shit together. As I stood up to leave Ryan informed me that in proper Badass tradition we’d be running down Baseline Rd to Chautauqua then BACK to Amphitheater (which was currently 200ft away). In a moment of childish frustration I picked up a handful of cheese and threw it at Ryan before jogging off down the road with Adam.
Sunset from the Res, damn those peaks are far away.
I hit the climb up Amphitheater with reinvigorated legs, but just after the ladder that energy soon faded and the death march was on. Doug soon caught back up to us, greeted us with a ‘Hello Assholes’ and we commiserated our way to the summit of Green, two more summits to go. Doug and his entourage of three took off just ahead of us down Green. Fern turned out to be the slog we were all dreading. Colleen caught up to Adam and I about half way up as I drunk stumbled my way up the steep stairs, half awake, but half in a glazed over stupor. We rolled over Bear Peak and to the summit of South Boulder Peak, bypassing the crew at the saddle until the return trip. Once back at the SoBo saddle we all had only one thing on our mind, getting this shit done. I chugged a little redbull,thanked the badass volunteers who had trekked all the way up there at midnight and began the painful rock hop down shadow canyon.
“Hello Assholes”, Doug says the skyline is hard. Photo by Adam Chapman.
My feet ached with every step, the tendons in my ankles were stiff, my knees sore and my mind foggy, but with only 5miles to go it was time to get this shit done. I limped my way slowly down shadow, finally exiting the canyon only to see Jeff and Colleen’s lights coming back from the wrong direction? I made a joke to them and Colleen’s only response was something to the effect of “we went the wrong @$%* way…” and she ran off, woman was on a mission. The final few miles went by slowly, as my drive to push had faded and I was happy to power hike my way to the finish and just enjoy the cool night air. Adam and I arrived back at my house 31h54min36sec after departing on Friday night. It had been a long couple days, lots of highs and lows, lots of banter, lots of non-sense shared, and laughs had. In the end six of the seven starters had completed the entire 100mile+ course. It also turned out that the Badass was my 10th 100mile event finish, my ‘1000mile buckle’ in a sense.
Gwen overwhelmed with emotion after becoming the first finisher of the 2018 Boulder Badass. Photo Ryan Smith.
As we all lay crumpled on the floor of my living room, the only thought that came to our minds was how happy we were to be done. We were sore, exhausted, a bit delirious, but all really happy with our efforts over the past several days. The Badass had never been about beating anyone or breaking a time goal, it had been about the shared experience, the comradery and the community. While the seven of us may have been the centers of attention, the event was about bringing the local ultra community together. To support and be supported, to show that running is just running, but what makes these crazy long events so special is the community surrounding it and the friendships they foster. The Badass was created as a way to commemorate someone who left a whole in our community’s heart, but in its place was born an event that, even after five years, still emanates the love and good vibes that makes Ultrarunning so unique and amazing. This is why, even after 12years of running these things, I’m still not ready to throw in the towel, because of the support and the community that is ultrarunning.
The 2019 Boulder Badass planning has already begun. Eli is the first new participant welcomed to run.
Enjoying my 2nd 100mile burger in 4weeks. 2000 Calories of greasy goodness, thanks Southern Sun.
Finisher plaques for completing the 2018 Boulder Badass. Sweet Dodo bird fossil molds, with custom inscription. Thanks Julia & Silke!
Special thanks to all of the Rocky Mountain Runners for keeping such an awesome tradition alive and supporting us through this huge undertaking. To my fellow runners; Gwen, Colleen, Paul, Dan, Doug and Guy for sharing so many miles and all the laughs along the way. To the Godfather Greg Salvesen and the Mastermind Ryan Smith for inspiring this event (yes it’s your faults). To my pacers Nick, Josh, Derek, Mike, Aiden, Ginna and Adam…it really does take a village to raise an Idiot, and we’re especially big idiots. Lastly thanks to Vfuel for keeping me energized through this brutally exhausting two month stretch and my massage therapist Myriam Desrosiers for keeping my legs functional after all the beating they’ve taken.
It had been over 3 years since my last 100mile race (2015 UTMB), and with family now in the Durham region it gave me a little extra incentive to try my hand at an East Coast 100. If you know me you know I like things with lots of climbing and the more technical the better, so the Grindstone 100 seemed to fit the bill. I spent my summer doing my usual thing of running around the mountains and just playing, though I threw in some long runnable mountainous terrain, knowing that Grindstone had a lot of runnable vertical and my legs would need to be in shape for the grinds.
On the summit of Castle Peak, with the rest of the Elks over my shoulder, it was a long journey.
Maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate training, but on September 9th I completed a 31hour solo ‘run’ of the Elks 14er traverse. The 55mile, 24000ft vertical, class 3-5 felt good and I had faith that if all else failed I could slog out Grindstone. So all that was left was a few maintenance runs and a solid taper. Well I kind of failed on the taper part, throwing in a few flatiron tempo run/scrambles and the week before Grindstone a 26mile pacing gig at the Bear 100, but hey, they were all tons of fun 🙂
Scrambling up Fi Fun the week before Grindstone (I’m third), its hard to taper with cool shit like this in the backyard. Photo by Todd Straka.
Pacing Bailee at the Bear 100, we were twins! Photo by Lori Burlison.
Taper jog with the nephews and sister. Next time the older one will be pacing me!
The week before I spent a few days relaxing with family, slowly adapting to the steamy humidity of the East Coast. The race was shaping up to be a warm and humid affair (60s-70s). As I packed my drop bags I felt as though I was missing something, was I really not going to need any warm clothing? I arrived at Camp Shenandoah just in time for 2pm check-in, met up with fellow Coloradans Nick and Andrew and settled in for a quick race briefing before laying down to try and catch a few hours of napping in the steamy afternoon sun. I laid in the car for a few hours, not really sleeping, but getting some pre-race rest none the less.
Race kit, ready to rock and roll.
Pre-race briefing madness all crammed into the dining hall.
I roused around 5pm, did my last minute race prep, then made my way over to the start line. Runners were nervously wandering every which way and a crowd was gathering near the start line, it was almost go time. Pre-race I always try to keep my distance from too much of the madness, just trying to relax the nerves and the anxious energy, Grindstone was no different. A few minutes before 6pm on Oct 5th the mass of runners assembled behind the banner in the field, all of us hoping that in less than 38hours we’d be crossing back under that banner in one piece. I took my place about 3-4 rows back, hoping to start out more casually and to stick to my strategy of just cruising the first 51miles, then seeing what would happen after that. The count down was on, and off we went, at a hot 7min pace, no surprise there. I dialed it back quickly to an 8:30, much more comfortable and reasonable. You see, 100milers are, well, 100miles long, so hitting it hard the first few miles never does you any good.
All lined up at the start, 70F and humid, its gonna be a warm one.
The first several miles alternated between single track, open double track road and rocky creek beds. The pace was quick as we all pushed to squeeze in as much daylight running as possible. I blew through the first aid station at mile 5 (as planned) and just kept on jogging toward the first major climb of the race to Elliot Knob. The initial part of the climb was fairly runnable, save for some really wet and rocky sections along the creek. As we made our way up through the trees another runner asked if anyone had checked the dew point….why would that matter, what a silly question, or was it??? When we hit the fire road that leads to the summit of Elliot Knob I was sooo excited to be in steep hiking territory, that’s where I excel (at least more so than running). I settled in to a nice strong power hike, slowly picking off people as we climbed up and up.
As we climbed higher the fog started to descend upon us, so that’s why he was asking about the dew point! Soon we were fully enveloped in a dense mist, our headlamps reflecting every way but to the ground, moisture building up on my eye lashes, this was going to complicate things for sure. Elliot Knob was full on zero vis, so I pulled off my headlamp and held it in my hand as I ran down the hill, catching up to Andrew as we made our way over to Dry Branch Gap (2:53). I eased off the gas a little bit on the rolling downhill and settled in for the long night ahead. The section from Dry Branch Gap through Dowell Draft, Lookout and into North River Gap was a misty blur. I settled into my own head and just let the miles flow by.
I jogged into North River Gap (7:30) at mile 37 feeling ok, the course had been very runnable to this point, definitely not my strength, but I was looking forward to the long climb to Little Bald Knob. I took a few minutes to refuel at North River Gap and started jogging up the rolling climb before settling back into a power hike. The fog dropped back in, and I was once again isolated, just me and my headlamp. After cresting the endless climb the terrain mellowed out and it was back to shuffling along the muddy double track (I gave up dodging puddles and just ran through everything), through the Little Bald AS up Reddish Knob, and finally on to the pavement that led to the Turn Around.
My legs were feeling a bit tight so I opened up the stride on the road, it felt good to just run downhill. I even flipped off my headlamp for a few minutes, and to my excitement saw the stars breaking through the fog overhead. After a fairly quick stop at the Turn Around (11:20) I settled into a brisk power hike back up the road. When I crested the uphill near Reddish Knob and began running down the muddy road everything just felt good, so I started pushing the legs a little faster, then a little faster. I ran all the gentle uphills and cruised back into Little Bald Knob AS with a new fire, now I was racing. I jogged most of the rolling uphill back to Little Bald Knob as the first rays of sun light streamed through the fog. It was game time, and I opened up the pace hammering the downhill, passing 6 more runners on the steep terrain (including Andrew and Nick) moving up into 8th place.
After a long 12hours in the dark the sun breaks through the fog and day is here.
My legs felt really good and I rolled back into North River Gap (14:18) almost an hour ahead of schedule, so early that my friends Tressa and Doug weren’t expecting me. I quickly dumped all my night time gear in my drop bag, grabbed a handful of gels, some gummy bears and started running up the road toward the Lookout AS. I was determined to keep pushing as long and as hard as I could. Tressa’s friend Doug joined me for this section and it was nice to have company for a bit, since I’d run almost all night alone. As we hiked and jogged our way up toward the Lookout AS I could feel the after effects of pushing hard the past 20miles catching up with me. We rolled into Lookout and took a few minutes to try and recharge, I’d put myself into a hole that I now had to dig out of.
Not a bad place to slog out a few miles in some lovely hardwood forest.
The final 28miles was a brutal slog in proper 100miler fashion. My energy levels alternated between peppy and zombie, but my legs were totally shelled and I had no oompf uphill. Though I can’t say I ran well those final 20+ miles, I just kept on grinding. My legs were stiff, my muscles were exhausted, I smelled terrible (according to Tressa), but we were still able to share many laughs and stories in those final miles. We rolled into the final aid station and I told my sister (who was going to pace me) that we had 1:27 to go 5.3mi to make it in under 24hours, I didn’t know if my legs had it in them, but I sure as heck was gonna give it a shot.
Nick and I being entertained by Frank, Dave Horton and crew at Dowell’s Draft. Even when hurting you can still have fun.
I may have felt like crap, but its only running after all.
I put my head down and slow shuffled the flats, power hiked the ups and tried to let the legs roll on the downs. The miles slowly ticked away, and I just kept grinding. We finally reached the edge of the Boy Scout camp with 27min to go and 1.5miles, for the first time in the last 20miles I felt confident we were gonna make it under 24hours! We jogged through the trees and around the lake, the stiffness was still there, but the pain had temporarily gone numb as the adrenaline of the finish line surged. We ran across the field, I crossed the finish line in 23:51:27 (16th overall) and crumpled to the ground, thoroughly wasted. A high five from my nephew, hugs from my sister and friend Tressa and the satisfaction of knowing I’d given the race all I had, it had beaten me down, but I’d persevered regardless.
My sister and I joyously crossing the finish line in under 24hours.
The race had many ups and downs, for 20miles I’d felt nearly invincible, only to come crashing back down again. Despite all that it was great to share those final 20miles with first my friend Tressa and then my sister. 100 mile races are often very solitary adventures for me, as I end up running alone for countless hours, but it’s always great to share some of those miles with good people. Grindstone was an amazing adventure in brand new terrain. The race had lived up to its billing as a tough and unrelenting East Coast mountain run. The night was long and hard, the trails were a mix of runnable terrain and brutal climbs, the damp fog and mud added a whole new dimension to an already tough course. I would highly recommend Grindstone to anyone looking for a challenging but really well run and well supported 100miler. Thanks to both Andrew and Nick for sharing some of those miles and a few laughs along the course. To Doug, Tressa and Kirsten for slogging out those final 35miles with me, Vfuel Endurance for keeping me powered up to reaching my ‘A’ goal despite the ups and downs. 100milers are never easy, but they are always an adventure, looking forward to the next one on Nov 2nd (?!?!)….stay tuned.
This is what 100miles of wet and muddy feet without a shoe change will do.
Post-race recovery tour of Shanendoah NP.
The infamous 100mile burger, >2000calories of greasy amazing.
