I'm going to start and end this race report the same way, by thanking my wife Susie for her immeasurable and undying support. She pulled an all nighter the day before we drove down to Texas so she could finish her work and be able to take time off to crew me for this race. After every 25 mile loop on the course she had bacon and mashed potatoes waiting for me. She helped me balance in the shower after the race when I could barely stand up on my own. And she drove the entire 17 hours back to Grand Junction while I sat in the passenger seat often half awake and drowsy. She is the only reason any of my achievements in ultrarunning are possible and I am simply blown away by the fact that she chooses to spend her time helping me reach my goals.
It's pretty rare to do anything in life that's challenging and look back on an accomplishment with absolutely no regrets. The Cactus Rose 150 ended up being a race that for me, was like no other I'd ever finished. Everything went just about perfectly. When I look back on the run itself and my training leading up to it, I feel like there's basically nothing I would change. And I've got to say, it's a satisfying feeling to know that I did my absolute best.
There were a few moments leading up to the race that were somewhat auspicious. Upon arriving in Lubbock, Texas the Wednesday before the race started Friday morning, I found out in an email from Tejas Trails that the race location had been changed from the Hill Country State Natural Area to Camp Eagle. Ironically, my first 100 mile race in 2018 was also the Cactus Rose and it also changed locations to Camp Eagle. So I would be heading to the the same course of my hardest ever 100 miles. It actually somewhat appealed to me in a poetic sense, returning to Camp Eagle to once again push my limits and try out a new distance. But there was one problem: Camp Eagle typically does not allow dogs on its property. The original race location does allow dogs and so of course, we had our pup, Lennon sitting in the back of our car while I read this email. Immediately I was thinking that we were going to end up driving back home without being able to race and having wasted 24 hours driving to and from Lubbock. Thankfully, after calling Camp Eagle they agreed to make an exception to their rules this weekend and we were able to bring Lennon. I am really grateful to the staff for bending their rules in this instance.
Pulling into Camp Eagle on Thursday was an interesting experience for me. My first 100 miler here in 2018 was an absolutely brutal experience. I had no idea how to fuel for a race that long and the Cactus Rose races are unique in that the aid stations do not provide much for runners. Instead you are expected to provide almost all of the food to eat during the race yourself. For my first 100 miles ever, I tried to fuel myself with Clif Bars and bananas. That's literally it. Looking back, I realize I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and though I managed to finish, it was the toughest of tasks to do so. My first 50 in that race took about 10 hours and the second 50 took 21 hours. Rough.
Determined not to make the same mistakes and with many more experiences running long distances under my belt, I was confident my experience at Camp Eagle the second time round would be much improved. Thursday night, Susie and I prepared my drop box with food, Nuun electrolytes, and extra clothes. The course, made up of six consecutive and identical 25 mile loops featured only two aid stations. To be clear, runners visited the aid stations a total of five times per loop, there were just two locations. One was the start and finish where Susie would be waiting for me. The other was further out on the loop and that's where I was sending my drop box. For this race, one of my best fueling decisions was to load up ziploc bags with a mixture of rice, ground beef, and cheese. Waiting for me in my drop box, I often looked forward to snacking on the fatty, wonderful mixture. Susie and I prepared these bags and looked over all of my equipment to make sure it was ready. I ate a quick dinner and called it an early night.
The race started at 7am on Friday, October 22 and I woke up a couple hours prior at 5. After some cups of coffee and a quick walk with the dog, we made our way down to packet pick up which was thankfully just a couple minutes drive from our tent. I dropped off my box for the other aid station and then set about my pre-race routine. I do the same warm up for my races as I would for any other run. Going through some side steps with a band I just tried to think positive thoughts. I think it's generally unwise to think about the overall goal of running 150 miles (or whatever distance honestly) and so I just focused on the first lap.
The race began and off I went. It was still dark so I was running by the light of my headlamp for about 30 minutes. The first 4.5-mile section of the race was not too technical and involved a short climb followed by some long, meandering switchbacks back to the start/finish. Feeling good and strong, I didn’t stop at the aid station and continued my way toward the meat of the course.
Having run at Camp Eagle in 2018, I should have had a better sense of what the trails would be like. Instead, I think my memory convinced me that they would be a little bit easier than they actually were. The unique and most difficult feature of the Camp Eagle course is not the elevation gain, but just how damn technical the trails are. Every single step of every 25-mile loop requires you to pay close attention. It’s always rocky and often the rocks are loose. There is no time to jog and think about other things or you will end up face first in a cactus or on a rock.
My original A-goal for the run was to finish in 36 hours. I realized quickly that this was simply not going to be possible. So much of the course, even if it was flat, is just not in the traditional sense, runnable. For instance, the last section of each 25-mile loop is 6.5 miles that brings you back to the start/finish. The first couple miles are all downhill and most of it is fairly gradual. It sounds like an area runners would often be traveling rather quickly across. But it was a grassy slope, and that grass hides fist to head sized rocks beneath its blades that made it practically impossible to move across with much grace or speed. So much of the course was like this and so even though the elevation gain statistics for the course do not seem particularly impressive, the area presented its own unique challenge in the ruggedness of the trails. With this in mind, I decided to forget about time and just make sure I gave an effort of which I could be proud.
The most runnable part of the course was the second section leading you from the start/finish through the forest to a hilltop on which the Windmill Aid Station awaited. This was a section that I was able to run every single lap without fail and that always went by pretty quickly. I looked forward to it every loop and often found myself enjoying the running despite the pain I was going through. The only negative to this section was that once finished, the most challenging part of the course loomed large.
Leaving from the Windmill Aid Station for the first time, a 5.5-mile section of super-technical, heavily forested, and extremely steep terrain followed. The descent, although relatively short, off the Windmill hilltop meandered down large car sized boulders, with trees overhanging that would be easy to hit your head on. I found myself wishing that I could split my vision so one eye could watch my footing and the other look after my noggin. Descending in anyway that even resembled being smooth required serious concentration. Even on the first lap, I was happy to have my trekking poles and gave my thanks too that the trails were dry. A slip here could have resulted in serious injury. This section gave me trouble every time I did it and by the middle of the race I found myself dreading it.
In fact, during what ended up being the hardest lap of my race, number three, an aid station volunteer heard me say something negative about the last 5 miles. I think I said something like, “I f***ing hate that section,” under my breath as I rummaged through my drop box. The next time I saw him he said something like “Isn’t this why you signed up, because it’s challenging?” I’m not sure he knew how much that would help my mindset, but on later laps I kind of grew to love this section because it was part of what made this course so unique and challenging.
After the 5.5-mile love/hate section, runners completed a 4-mile loop that once again brought you back to the Windmill Aid Station. This was a section I enjoyed because it contained the two biggest climbs of the race. Personally, I like going uphill and always feel like it’s a good excuse to walk and take your time. I don’t think most other people agree with me because this is where I saw other runners struggle the most. One of the best parts about competing in a race is being inspired by your fellow competitors. To see the faces of suffering as people push themselves to and past their limits is always special.
After dusting off the climbs and meandering back to the Windmill for the last time (this loop), I made my way down the aforementioned grass covered, extremely rocky slope to a dry creek bed. The creek bed was another section of the race that on an elevation profile would look runnable but was decidedly not. It was made up of wide, flat benches of water-eroded rock that required big, awkward steps to navigate. After a slow mile or so, the course turned right, making long switchbacks up a hill and then down the other side. After some meandering painfully close to the start/finish, the trail pops out of the forest and runners make their way across a grassy field, past some beach volleyball courts, and to the Pavilion that was the start/finish.
After lap one, Susie greeted me with warm mashed potatoes and bacon that I scarfed up while she refilled my Ultraspire bladder with a new flavor of Nuun electrolytes. I soon set on my way with the intention to slow my pace for lap number two. The next 25 miles went by without a hitch and I arrived back at the Pavilion about 6.5 hours later to another helping of potatoes and bacon and yet another new flavor. Leaving for lap three, I made sure to grab my headlamp for the sun would set over the next 7 hours of running.
Lap three ended up being my hardest for some reason. I allowed myself to think about the fact that upon finishing the lap and reaching mile 75, I’d only be halfway done. It’s not good to let one’s mind focus on how much further you have to go and there were times I felt a little overwhelmed by what I’d signed myself up for. I got back to Susie in a still-respectable split for the 25 miles and took a bit of time at the aid station to try to get myself out of this low. I foam rolled my feet and massage gunned my legs and switched from my Altra Lone Peaks to their more cushioned trail shoe, the Olympus. A combination of these factors and a slightly longer break led to an incredible resurgence in my strength over the first 4.5 miles of loop four. I pulled back into Pavilion before heading to windmill with a smile on my face and the satisfaction that comes with riding out a low and reaching a high.
This process is the hardest part about ultrarunning to explain to people. How could you believe without experiencing it yourself that it is possible at mile 80 to feel as good as you felt at mile 10 and better than you felt at mile 60? Something about the fact that this happens just doesn’t objectively make sense, but I wasn’t asking questions and I reveled in my energy as I steamed up the path toward the Windmill Aid.
I began to look at the most difficult 5.5 miles as a fun part of the course not in spite of but because it was so challenging. Lap four was a blast and I reached the start/finish still filled with energy and with 100 miles under my belt. At this point it gave me great pleasure to think about my first 100 here that took 31 hours. Not only did I beat my previous time by five hours, but I still had 50 miles to go. My 26.5 hour 100 miles this time was just a split on my way to completing 150. That felt pretty cool.
Lap five was just about as challenging as lap three, but I managed to stay in a much more positive mindset. In this 25 miles though, the heat was a factor. The sun had risen again sometime in the middle of lap four, but during number five the heat became intense. I don’t know exactly how hot it was but there were times where I felt like my brain was melting. I could barely drink enough fluid to keep up with my hydration needs and my mind was beginning to wilt from the combination of heat-induced haze and sleep deprivation. Susie would agree that when I finished lap five it was the most out of it and loopy I seemed during the entire race. I took thirty minutes at the aid station to rehydrate and refuel which turned out to be an excellent decision.
I set out for my sixth and final 25 miles with renewed enthusiasm and feeling pretty good for being 125 miles in. Honestly, I pretty much enjoyed my entire sixth lap. I knew that I wouldn’t have to run any of these sections again and it felt like I was saying goodbye to them one by one. I made pretty good time and everything went by quickly. Notably though, my mind was all over the place. I think sleep deprivation was getting to me because at one point I was having conversations in my head with a German baker trying to figure out how to order a croissant. Many times I stopped myself in the middle of a train of thought just totally puzzled by what the hell was going on in my brain. But onward I continued and the finish line soon presented itself. I ran across the finish much faster than I would have figured would be the case after 150 miles and finished in 41 hours and 37 minutes.
The elation that came with finishing was heightened by the fact that I’d won! My first race win in my career felt hugely rewarding. I hobbled my way to the bathroom to change clothes and then sat at the finish line and thanked many of the volunteers for their hard work. Tejas Trails is an awesome organization filled with great people. They put on an excellent event. Furthermore, their course marking is far and away the best I’ve experienced. It would be easy to go astray on some of the more technical and treed parts of the course, but their reflectors are extremely well placed to guide one’s path. I am always amazed at the effort of volunteers for these races, but Tejas Trails went above and beyond, especially considering that they had to mark the original course, then take all those markings down and do it all over again at the new location. The race director told us that they finished at 3:30am the day of the race. If that’s not dedication I don’t know what is and I’m so thankful they put in such an impressive effort to hold this event.
I don’t know exactly what I learned during the 150 miles at Camp Eagle. I normally wait a little longer to write my race reports so I can ruminate, but I wanted to strike the iron while it was fresh this time. It was my most successful race and I think that I nailed so many aspects of it. I’m proud of how my mind handled adversity. My fueling strategy was spot on. So I’m not sure what I will improve on to take forward with me, but it is immensely satisfying to know that I’ve got many of the most important factors for running ultras somewhat figured out. Every race I’ve finished prior to this one, there have been really obvious things I did wrong during the run. But this time I am looking back fondly at the way I handled most of the challenges that come with running 150 miles.
Next year I’ll be attempting the Cocodona 250 (actually 255 miles) in May. I don’t have a race on the calendar till then and the next couple months are going to act as my off-season. Right now, I’m tired and I’m happy to have some time off to rest and relax. But come January 1, I am confident I’ll be ready to dive back into training for the next challenge. I’m really satisfied with my performance in the Cactus Rose 150 and I am going to take some time to revel in this feeling. Once again, I’d like to thank Susie and anyone else who has encouraged me and believed in me the past few years. Support from friends and family is crucial and I’m not sure I’d be able to get through the hardest moments without it.
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