I've never had much of a poker face. If I'm in pain, or I'm dismayed it will show in my expression. So I think the right picture to start with is the one above. I was just about to head off for the last climb of the race. I'd done a little over 90 miles and all I had left was 10.6 miles with 4,600 feet of climbing.
One of the most inspiring people in the world, Walt Handloser who ran 50 100-mile races in a year, told me in a race that his favorite point is mile 75 because "I've only got one marathon left, and I can always run a marathon." At mile 90 of the Ouray 100 I told myself something similar, "All you've got left is the equivalent of climbing one 14er, and you can always climb one 14er."
The key to finishing any ultra is maintaining a present sense of perspective. The reason people quit around mile 75 or 80 is because although they are done with the great majority of the run, they can't quite get their head around running that next 20 or 25 miles. The thought might be, "Geez, I still have a marathon left." The subtle shift in mindset to one that is confident is of the utmost importance. And so, before heading out for my last climb to Bridge of Heaven, I steeled my nerves and readied my mind for the not-inconsequential pain of the next 10 miles.
Ironically enough, the Ouray 100 is the race I've come the closest to quitting. Right at the start of the run, I felt like something was wrong. My breathing, normally fine at higher elevations, was short and I was really struggling to get a full breath and to catch my breath while on the move. For the first 10 miles or so I told myself it was just nerves and that my lung issues would go away once I got into the rhythm of the mileage. But that didn't happen. I got up Camp Bird Road to the first aid station and then to Silver Basin, which is beautiful, just fine. Then the real trouble started.
After passing through Camp Bird aid station a second time on my way back from the alpine lakes of Silver Basin, I started feeling even worse. I was intermittently nauseous and dizzy and I really thought I was going to puke. Passing through the Richmond aid station just a couple miles later I remarked to the volunteers that "this is not going to plan."
I got out of Richmond to begin what would be, for me, the hardest 10-15 miles of any race I've experienced in my career. We were hiking/running in this beautiful basin with old mining ruins all around us. On my way up to the first of the climbs to be done in this basin, I was feeling sick and tired and was already thinking that maybe this just wasn't my day. I got to the Chicago Tunnel and hole-punched my race bib (the race is made out of a series of out-and-backs at which you must hole punch your race bib to prove that you made it to the top). I stood there for a minute looking around at the natural beauty and feeling just damn miserable. After a few deep breaths I started down the mountain to the intersection of the trail I'd just taken and the Imogene Pass jeep road.
I was lucky in my preparation for this race that I live close enough to the course that I was able to go train on course and prepare myself for many of the climbs. However, I was mentally unprepared for how awful I was feeling heading up to Fort Peabody at the top of Imogene Pass. The climb seemed to go on forever and at one point I stooped over as some jeeps rolled by me and vomited up most of my fluids. I wiped my mouth with my arm and started back up the mountain, feeling no better than before my gut's expulsion. After what felt like quite a long time, I made it to Fort Peabody, another hole-punch locale, and paused once again. The view from the top was incredible but I remember being hardly able to enjoy the expansive panorama.
I started down gingerly and within a few steps was feeling sick again. I stopped to puke a second time and leaned heavily on my trekking poles. At this point, I actually took out my phone and tried to call my wife, Susie. I was planning to tell her that I couldn't go on and would be quitting at the next aid station. Luckily for me, she didn't have signal and so I steeled myself to just make it to Ironton, mile 27 of the race and the first aid station my crew could access. Heading down Imogene Pass was just as bad as going up because my legs didn't feel smooth and the jarring sensation of running downhill hurt my stomach.
I made it back to Richmond Aid Station and surveyed the goodies. My fueling strategy clearly wasn't working, so while I chugged some electrolytes to try to replenish what I'd vomited up, I thought about what to eat. I'm on the keto diet and throughout training I'd never really taken in any sugar for fuel, even on my long runs. I knew though, that Zach Bitter and Mike McKnight, two runners whom after I'd modeled my nutrition, both took in carbs for races. So I selected an orange goo and started away from Richmond and toward Ironton where I would meet my crew. I scarfed down the goo, which was disgusting, and immediately started to feel like I had a bit more energy. So even though goo is gross and it sticks to your fingers, I have to say that I'll probably be planning to include it in my race/long run nutritional strategies in the future.
Making my way to the top of Richmond Pass, the thought that I would be coming down this same trail later that night crossed my mind. Richmond is a "jeep road" technically, but it's fairly technical being made up of small to medium sized loose talus. I pushed the thought of what was ahead of me to the back of my mind. I always tell myself, "that's a future Kilian problem," and this present version of me was only concerned with making it to Ironton.
Feeling better because of the goo, I made reasonably good time up the pass and down the other side to the Ironton Aid Station. Having already abandoned my original, no-carb fueling strategy, I greedily picked up some cheesy potatoes from the aid station and headed to where my crew was parked. After eating some potatoes I had some eggs and bacon that Susie had whipped up for me. 27 miles into the race, I was feeling better than at any point in the previous 7 hours. Thoughts of quitting had left my brain and I was ready to tackle the Ironton loops, a beautiful 8 mile loop on the course that you run once counter-clockwise and then again clockwise. The nice thing about the Ironton loops aside from the beauty, is that they are relatively easy (only climbing 2600 feet in the 8 miles) compared to many of the other climbs in the race.
I started off on my first loop feeling pretty solid. The hiking was easy and time started to go by fast as I entered a flow state. There are many beautiful points on the Ouray 100 course, but I would put the top of the Red Mountains among the very best. I love the aesthetic of the San Juans and I was really enjoying myself as I made good time over the 8 miles of my first loop.
About 2 hours and 15 minutes after seeing them, I made it back to my crew at Ironton to find that my brother and my parents had arrived. By this point it was raining about as hard as it is possible to rain. Deluge is the word that comes to mind. As it thundered overhead, many runners were crowded under the tent of the Ironton Aid Station and as I went back for more cheesy potatoes, one of the volunteers commented that the conditions were making this even tougher. I, for one, was loving the rain. I wanted the entire Ouray 100 experience and that includes torrential rain, hail, and little did I know, mudslides. Adverse conditions only invigorate me and that showed as I started up the second loop.
Even though my second journey around the Red Mountains included wading through mid-calf deep, soupy mudslides, I still managed to finish it about 10 minutes faster than my first loop. I leapfrogged a bit with a runner named Shane, who was exquisitely fast and smooth on downhills but was just a little slower than me on the climbing before we made it back to Ironton just minutes apart. We were 4th and 5th in the race and I rushed out of the Ironton Aid Station to try to gain a little time advantage on him, solidifying myself as the 4th placed runner.
Now arrived what I would call one of the cruxes of the Ouray 100 course. The climb back to the top of Richmond Pass from Highway 550 is steep and long. After making great time on the Ironton loops, a runner is forced to confront what will be the reality of the next 50+ miles. Everything is steep and most everything is technical. On my way up I passed a runner named Ben who looked to be struggling. We gave each other our best and a fist bump as I wandered past his resting place next to the trail. I made it to the top of the Pass just as it got dark and donned my headlamp.
Now I confronted the descent down to the Richmond Aid station on the talus-ridden jeep road. It had rained hard here too, as evidenced by the many new streams that flowed down the mountainside. I told myself to take my time and that it would be stupid to end your race by slipping and breaking an ankle on the rocks of Richmond. And I did just that. I was going painfully slowly but ultimately safely down the technical jeep road, wishing desperately for the end of what was some real mental torture. It required a lot of focus from a tired mind not to slip on the smooth, wet, loose talus.
But I got back to the Richmond Aid Station once more, commiserated with the awesome volunteer manning the aid station about how awful that descent was, and then headed on down to Camp Bird Road for some easy running to mile 53.7 where I was to meet my pacer and start on the famously difficult second half of the race. I pulled into Weehawken Aid Station feeling solid, grabbed a few cups of electrolytes and started up the path to another hole punch, pacer in tow.
It was great to meet up with my brother, Konrad, and at least have someone to suffer with for the upcoming big climbs. The first section we did together was smooth and went by fast. I got back to Weehawken, had a bite to eat and then we set off together for what I knew would be an extremely challenging section of trail: Hayden Pass.
Hayden Pass from Camp Bird Road is described as "the ball-bearing section" in the race description on the Ouray 100 website. It more than lives up to its name, climbing steeply up loose, gravely switchbacks. I was breathing hard, but was encouraged by the fact that my brother who was relatively fresh, was also panting going up the steepest sections of Hayden. When we finally made it to the ridge, I warned him that the climbing was not quite finished and we turned right toward a long traverse on an uneven trail. My ankles and feet did not enjoy the angle of the trail as we ran/hiked along the side of the mountain but finally, we started downhill toward the Crystal Lake Aid Station.
One of the nice things about Ouray being made of a bunch of out-and-backs is that you get to see other runners on the course fairly frequently. Anthony Lee, who had been leading since the first step of the race, passed by us pretty soon after we started the downhill. He looked great and I felt inspired by how he was truly tearing up the course.
The downhill toward Crystal Lake was smooth and enjoyable but it was impossible to escape the thought that we would be coming up this immediately after stopping at the aid station. More positively, as we arrived at Crystal Lake, we saw the second placed runner ahead of me leaving. I was gaining on him fairly rapidly and that filled me with motivation to make this a quick stop.
We were going a little faster than expected, so we knocked on the window of my Buick and woke up Susie from a quick nap she'd managed. At this point it was early Saturday morning and I made sure to thank her for all the work she puts in. I'm amazed she still supports me doing these types of adventures because it definitely puts pressure on her. I'm eternally grateful that she is willing to do so and not a day goes by that I don't count myself as lucky to have found her.
Starting up toward the top of Hayden Pass a second time, albeit from the other side, Konrad and I lamented how difficult the climbing was. Though the side of Hayden Pass from Highway 550 is about a mile shorter, it's just as steep and difficult. I motivated myself by thinking about the second place runner ahead of me and at some point we found ourselves back on the ridge for the long traverse over to the downhill. I was feeling pretty sleepy and so took time on the flats to walk and drink copious amounts of the caffeinated Nuun that we'd put in my pack. It was a smart move, because I would need all the focus I could manage to make it safely down the ball-bearing section to Camp Bird Road.
Overall, the downhill on Hayden wasn't as bad as I expected it to be. I kept my feet moving fast and though I slipped a few times, never hit the ground. My quads were screaming at me, but our pace down Hayden was acceptable and we soon found ourselves on Camp Bird Road once again. I was feeling proud of my effort so far and I was excited to be arriving at Fellin Park back in Ouray as dawn hit. With about 30 miles to go, I had no question in my mind as to whether I would finish, but I was a little nervous about how much suffering that would entail.
I dropped my brother off in Fellin Park and picked up my friend Blake who would pace me for the next ~17 miles. Blake was an awesome addition to my crew and at one point even helped me change gaiters and had to touch my super stinky, sweaty feet. So thank you for that!
One of the things I believe that helped me finish 3rd in the race was my fast transitions at aid stations. Whenever I arrived, someone would set a 5 minute timer and I was often out before the timer went off. At Fellin Park, I was efficient and managed to exit the aid station before the second place runner. Starting off to Twin Peaks, I was in second but I certainly wasn't feeling my best.
The climb to the top of Twin Peaks is steep and difficult and I felt bad that I was going so slow. Blake was great as a distraction and even though I was not the most talkative, he continued to tell me stories and to be encouraging. The next 5-7 miles are kind of a blur for me. I was definitely in a flow state but not one that was overly pleasant. Flow states, however, are not about feeling something positive, but about feeling whatever is happening in the present. On the climb up Twin Peaks and then the climb back from the Silvershield Aid Station, I was in a flow state made up entirely of the sensation of pain. My downhill muscles were absolutely trashed (something I still need to work on apparently) and pretty much every step involved a lot of discomfort. Even so, because I was feeling flow and I was not distracted, time continued to pass by swiftly. The only real negative in this section was that as I made my way from Silvershield, I passed by the new third place runner, Kent, who looked fresh as a daisy and was gaining on me.
Going back down the Old Twin Peaks Trail was painful due to the large steps installed on the mountainside. Every drop down was tough and I was really leaning on my trekking poles for support. We got back to Fellin Park once again, set the 5-minute timer, and then I was off for what I was hoping would be an easy section to the Chief Ouray Mine.
While the terrain up to the mine may not be the most challenging, my physical state was such that it felt difficult. I just didn't want to take any breaks and Blake was once again encouraging as I plodded up the switchbacks. Just as we made it across to the mine, Kent caught up with me. He ran by looking light on his feet and I just accepted it. I was in no state to try to catch back up with him on any of these late-race sections and in my head I congratulated him. Clearly his game plan was working whereas mine was, well, working but questionable.
I sat down for a minute where I hole punched my bib and got some rocks out of one of my shoes. Blake looked at me, and held up two different options for something to eat. He presented a bag of nuts and a Payday candy bar. The choice was easy at this point and I was desperate so I grabbed the Payday and hastily shoved about half of it into my mouth, washing it down with some water. We started back down the trail and I gained some momentum as we went down the switchbacks. I was happy to see that Shane, the runner I'd been chatting with a bit around Ironton, was in fourth but was still a ways back. I certainly didn't run fast down from Chief Ouray Mine, but at the very least I felt pretty smooth.
As we came back down to Fellin Park, I told Blake to run ahead and get some gatorade and potatoes ready for me to eat before my last climb of the day. Blake and Konrad again exchanged places and eager to get started up to Bridge of Heaven, Konrad and I walked out of Fellin Park knowing that the next time we arrived here it would all be over.
Bridge of Heaven is a long, winding, beautiful climb. In training, I'd enjoyed the hike/run immensely and hadn't thought it overly difficult. At mile 90, it felt a bit more tedious and rough but I maintained a steady pace on the way up, stopping only to pee and to eat some more of the Payday Blake had graciously bestowed upon me. I asked Konrad to let me know if he heard news about the fourth place runner and he told me that I was being caught. "He's less than thirty minutes behind you," he said. I managed to quicken my pace as the thought of losing my spot on the podium made me want to hurl. Only later did I find out that he had no idea where the fourth placed runner was and was just keeping me motivated. I appreciate that.
We clawed our way to the top of Bridge of Heaven, passing Anthony and Kent separately on their way down, congratulating each other on our achievements. Making it to the top of the last climb felt so good, but I knew the downhill was ahead of me so I wasted no time in punching my bib and starting off down the hill. Using my trekking poles for support, I managed to keep up a decent pace on the way down and soon I was thinking about the finish line. Happily for me, we passed Shane in fourth place about a mile and a half from the top of the climb and I began to feel secure in my podium finish.
The downhill took forever and once I got a glimpse of Ouray, for some time it didn't seem to be getting any closer. Of course though, if you are putting one foot in front of the other you are making progress and eventually we emerged from the forest onto the highway and had 3 tenths of a mile to go. I jogged around the curve of the road and down into Fellin Park for the last time, crossing the finish line in 34 hours and 30 minutes.
It's amazing when you cross the finish line and immediately feel like you can't take another step. I collapsed into a chair and let the euphoria wash over me. Now, you might think the euphoria is because of the achievement, but let me tell you that the greatest feeling when finishing an ultra is simply that you don't have to run anymore. I could sit down free from the feeling that any time spent sitting was time wasted. It was glorious after 34 hours on my feet.
I spent some time at the finish line talking to Anthony and Kent and enjoying the sensation of sitting. After waiting for Shane to finish in fourth and congratulating him, it was time to head home. My brother scooped me up from my chair and leaning on his shoulder and the shoulder of another friend made during the race, Codi, hobbled to my car. As Susie drove us home I tried to eat and rehydrate but my appetite was basically nonexistent, a weird but common side effect of these long endurance efforts.
More than a week later, I'm still not fully recovered from the race but I am feeling pretty much normal again. It's crazy what we put our bodies through and what our muscles, tendons, and ligaments can manage. Looking back on Ouray I am proud of my effort and the result but I also feel capable of more. That's a really positive feeling to be taking away from a race in which I finished third after coming pretty close to a DNF.
The Ouray 100 was an exceptional experience and I am thankful to all of the volunteers who worked the aid stations, marked the course, and set up the logistics. Thank you to my crew and my pacers for sacrificing their time to help me succeed. And thank you to all the runners for putting yourself through suffering, inspiring me when we crossed paths, and ultimately helping to create a community of which it is a pleasure to be a part. Ultrarunning is a sport filled with interesting people and everyone I met in Ouray gave me a kernel of inspiration and positivity that helped push me through the difficult times in the race.
I have no doubt I will return to Ouray at some point in the future, but now I am looking ahead to the Cactus Rose 150. Running 150 miles makes me nervous and that's what life is all about: pushing limits and realizing that they don't really exist.
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