Booneville Backroads 100 Mile Ultra: Race Recap

72 hours later I’m sitting here, looking at the results, still dumbfounded.

22 hours, 37 minutes, 46 seconds (average pace: 13:34min/mile)

Total distance: 100 miles. Officially a Booneville Badass.

I’m dumbfounded because I never thought this was possible. As Wendy and I were driving to the race start, she asked why I was so nervous. She couldn’t remember seeing me quite this apprehensive before. I told her my concerns: that for every other endurance event, I had usually done at least 80% or more of the race distance during training. But for this 100-mile foot race, my longest practice had been only 37 miles, almost all of it during daylight. Now I was facing triple the distance, and running well into the night. There was a huge Fear of the Unknown. Wendy did admirably trying to remind me that I had similar feelings before other races, and always came through with a performance within my expectations. While she was 100% right, I was wondering if I had set my expectations too high for this one.

Brian and Ann arrived at the start early to see me and other runners off (they would run the 50k loop one hour after we started). I stood with 35 other bold 100-mile participants, plus another 18 who would be running the first 100k loop (62 miles) with us. We had a bagpipe escort to the start line. There was light conversation and joking from many participants. I was quiet, which anyone who knows me would call that very uncharacteristic. The reason being is that adversary dressed in red who sits on everyone’s left shoulder was whispering ton of negative thoughts to me. “You’ve never ran farther than 37 miles. Your last training run was a disaster. Your dog died exactly one week ago today. Your expectations are way too high.”

All at once the emotions and thoughts came to a head and I started tearing up. I clenched Nessa's collar in my hand looking for strength, but only found more tears. At that exact moment, Brian came over, grabbed me by the shoulders, stared me in the eyes and said “You are ready for this. You’ve trained for this. You’re going to be amazing. OK?” I choked back tears and thanked him. In that brief moment he brought me back to the moment and task at hand.

The race director gave us the command, and we were off.

Now, how the hell do you pace for a 100-mile run? You go out stupid slow. One great piece of advice I read was “if you’re at the front of the pack, you’re going out too hard.” Luckily I was not leading. There were about a half-dozen or so guys that quickly went out to the lead, and I just settled in to what felt casual. I had recognized Brad from an earlier running event, and knowing what his finish time was the previous year, I had already committed to stay at his pace as long as I could.

I stayed behind Brad and a friend he was running with for about 5 miles. After that, I felt it was just a tad too slow, and made a pass. Another runner came with me, and we struck up a conversation. His name was Mike, and he was attempting his first 100-mile race too (although he had completed some 100k races previously). We later would catch up with Phillip, who recognized me from the 50k race last year. After Phil, we picked up Stacie, who said this was her 4th attempt at the 100 mile distance (last year she made a wrong turn late, and ended up with a DNF).

It was great having company. We all reached the 10-mile aid station together. After that, Mike and Phillip dropped off the pace a bit while Stacie and I kept together. We were nearly the same age, and we had a lot in common – particularly our running styles and the way we conducted ourselves on the road: moving as far to the left as possible for cars, acknowledging all of them with a wave as they would pass by, chatting with any other runner we encountered. We were great company for each other. I wouldn’t realize until much later in the race what a tremendous help she would be.

We got to the Mile 23 aid station at the same time. Wendy was there, as she had been at the previous aid station. From the back of the car I chugged a Pepsi with real sugar, wolfed down a handful of Lays potato chips, kissed her goodbye and said I’d see her at the next aid station (mile 30). Stacie and I teamed up again, and congratulated ourselves on doing a marathon in good time (4 hours and 15 minutes). That was just before we encountered the first real test of the day: 4 miles of Class B roads.

For those who aren’t from Iowa, a Class B road is an unmaintained road. While most of the Booneville Backroads Ultra is ran on packed gravel, Class B roads tend to be dirt (and more often than not, mud). Every entrance has a sign posted which reads “Drivers enter at your own risk.” They're surely a nice revenue-generator for local tow truck operators.

The first 2 miles of this stretch of Class B road were rolling hills among trees, with a long descent over the last ¾ of a mile. It was damp, but not super slick. Still, we had to be careful picking our way down to not twist an ankle or suffer injury. It was also at that time we noticed the skies growing dark. Very dark. At one point Stacie asked “Was that just thunder?” My reply was “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

We exited the hills and trees and started the second 2-mile stretch of dirt road, which was flat but out in the wide-open expanse of Iowa farmland. As we began that part of the run, Stacie asked another question. “Did you just see lightning too?” My reply was similar, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that!”

What neither of us could pretend to ignore was the immediate opening of the rain clouds above us. It rained. Hard and relentlessly. It was coming down so hard and the rain drops were so big, it felt like we were in a hail storm. The dirt road was now a muddy, sloppy track, so much so that there was no way to ‘run’ through it as much as we were navigating the safest and least-deep trench. We passed a gentleman who had traveled from New Jersey to do this race, and he was not at all pleased with the conditions. “If this keeps up, I’m pulling from the race,” he muttered to us as we slopped on by him. Stacie and I remained in good spirits though - we were already completely soaked with mud caked on up to our shins, so we made the best of it and laughed our way through the slop and curtains of rain.

As luck would have it, the rain stopped immediately once we left the dirt (mud) road and arrived at the Mile 30 aid station. Despite having muddy and wet shoes, I didn’t change even though Wendy had spares of both in the car. I told her I’d take them on at Mile 42 instead, knowing there was another Class B road ahead. Why trade out for clean shoes now if they'd only get muddy again in a few miles?

Stacie and I left within moments of each other, and Mike caught back up to us as well. I tried to get a picture of all 3 of us, but my phone had been giving me issues all morning trying to complete a software update. In retrospect, it’s just as well since it could have been more of a distraction, but I did get in at least one picture of us marching up a hill. It also cooperated long enough to deliver a text from Wendy, saying she had to get home to check on Kaitlynn, but had left my shoes and other goodies in a drop bag at the Mile 42 aid station. That was such great thinking on her part. She was the best race sherpa all day and night!

Mike, Stacie and I would all trade setting the pace for each other, and I ended up in front for the next class B road. Luckily it wasn’t as tough to navigate as the first. It wasn’t anywhere near as muddy, which was fortunate since it was mostly uphill for about a mile. Unfortunately at this point, I realized I had made a critical error and didn’t refill my hydration backpack at the last aid station, and was nearly out of water. Despite cool temperatures (helped by the monsoon), I didn’t want to overheat myself and work up a thirst. I told Mike and Stacie I was going to drop back a bit to conserve some strength as they passed me. Yet they were always close enough to look back and make that I was still there and still doing OK. What great competitors they both are!

(In case you're wondering why they didn't offer me any of their water, the rules clearly state this is a self-supported race. Even if they would have offered, I would have refused unless I was in a state of emergency, which I wasn't. Plus I knew I could make it to the aid station without, as long as I was smart.)

As I came into the Mile 42 aid station, Stacie had arrived just a minute before me and Mike was on his way out. I waved, told him to keep up his great pace, and while I would see him a few more times in passing, I wouldn’t be running alongside him the rest of the race. He would continue on to have an incredible race, finishing in 2nd place, over 3 hours ahead of me.

The volunteers at Mile 42 were nothing short of superstars. They had my hydration backpack off and refilled it without me even asking. They sat me down, grabbed the drop bag Wendy had left behind, and they went to work on my shoes like an Indycar pit crew! Two of them took off my muddy shoes and socks, wiped them down, dried them off, and got on my next pair while another volunteer grabbed whatever food or drink I asked for. They were so great, I almost hated to leave! But my legs were still feeling good at that point, the weather was great, so back out I went.

At this point, the course doubled back on itself a bit so you could see who was within a mile of you coming in to the aid station. I saw no one close to me. Looking ahead, though, I did see Stacie, and she was nice enough to wait for me at an uphill portion of the next stretch. We tag-teamed through the next 10 miles, exchanging stories and just generally keeping our minds off the task at hand. She also lent me her phone so I could call Wendy and give her an update on when I would be done with the first loop.

After we hit the aid station at mile 53, Stacie began to pull ahead. I thanked her for being such a great help for the first half of the race, and she expressed the same gratitude towards me. I really can’t emphasize how much of a help she was for those 40-plus miles we ran together. Sometimes you can feel pretty lonely during just a training run, so to have someone to talk with for nearly 7 hours (!) is pretty rare.

It was just about 4pm. That was the time a week prior that I had to put down our family dog, Nessa. I had been carrying her collar with me all day. I was watching the clock, and at 4pm I stopped running and took a slow walk, talking to her as if she were still with me (and I know she is). That moment gave me a boost geting back to the finish area of the first loop. As I came back, I was amazed at the time it had taken me: 11 hours and 45 minutes. I was averaging a seemingly-impossible 11:22 minutes per mile after 62 miles. I was hoping to do 13 minutes!

Coming up to the end of the first loop and start of the second, I saw Wendy along with a host of other friends. Brooke, Shawn, Brian, Ann, and Dave were all there. On my brief phone call with Wendy, she had mentioned Dave wanted to pace me for the second loop. So there they all were, cheering me on as I came in and crossed the timing mat for Loop 1.

Before heading out for Loop 2 (which is 31 miles), I stopped by the car with Wendy and my cheering section. They were full of praise, optimism, and encouragement. But suddenly, without warning, my mind went to a very dark place. Everyone I had talked to who had completed similar distances all said it would happen, but I didn’t think this was when or where it would hit me. Here’s my crew and wife pampering me and telling me what a great job I’m doing, but my mind isn’t processing it. I had to turn my back and hide my face for a moment, just to quiet that damn voice. Shawn tried cooling me down with ice packs, Wendy got me a cooler to sit on, everyone else grabbed food or drink for me. After I sat down for a few minutes, my focus finally came back thanks to all my friends. They never stopped talking me up, and helped chase the dark thoughts away.

I ditched my heart rate strap (it was annoying, chafing my chest, and I was well within my threshold anyway) and was ready to get back out on the course. I told Dave how I felt and what my goal was for the second loop (a lot of walking) and he said whatever I felt like, that’s how it was going to go. After a few more hugs and cheers from my friends and Wendy, Dave and I went out to take on Loop 2.

We went out easy at first. I let a lot of the food I had at that 10 minute-plus pit stop settle in before we started jogging. Dave told me how he had just decided over lunch that day that he wanted to come pace me, and read up all the rules in about one hour! As helpful as Stacie was to me on the first loop, Dave was to me on the second.

The sun was setting on us as we hit the Mile 72 aid station, where Wendy was waiting at the tent. I had another brief sit-down (only a few minutes) and jokingly asked the volunteer if he had any beer. He did, and he gave me one! I didn’t think it was a good idea to drink it right then and there, but he let me keep it for later. As we set out again, Dave kept looking back and noticed there was finally another runner closing in on me.

That other runner’s name was Scott, and he would catch and pass us just after nightfall around Mile 76. But later on up the road he stopped to talk to his wife, and we passed him again, then he caught us again around Mile 80. From that point, we all stuck together. It was smart: 3 lit-up runners with 3 bright headlamps and safety vests would be very visible to any late-night traffic (not that there was much on rural Iowa gravel roads). It helped that Scott and I seemed to be at the same place pace-wise. I suspect he burnt more energy than he anticipated trying to catch up to us, but if the situation had been reversed I probably would have done the same thing.

Regardless, we had a good pace and good conversation. Dave kept reminding me to get in a bit of a run during every mile. Even though my pace was slowing, at one point we ran a 9:51 split! Most of the others would be around 13 minutes, give or take. We reached the Mile 83 station together, and I took a seat while deciding what food I should try to get in my stomach. The aid station was well-stocked, not to mention well-decorated with an inflatable palm tree and Christmas lights. They also had mylar blankets, and I took one since I was starting to shiver due to the night chill. Wendy gave me one of my running jackets, then another. I can’t say enough how wonderful she was, chasing me around all day and night. Scott reminded me not to sit too long, and Dave reminded me to keep eating anything I could. Such great support. I think the baby dill pickles saved the day for me. They were delicious!

I knew I shouldn’t stay at this aid station very long, because there was another runner who had been in front of us all day, now wrapped up in both a mylar sheet and a sleeping bag. He didn’t look well. He was conscious, thankfully, but clearly exhausted. The volunteers were keeping good tabs on him, so knowing he was not in serious condition, we headed back out on the road.

At this point, I felt I was mentally sharp. Physically, I was feeling mild pain and discomfort, but nothing that I couldn’t manage. The worst was my knees whenever we’d try to take “free speed” and run downhill. The impact was too much for me to take for very long. So we would only run on flats and slight downhills. Keep in mind it’s pitch black in rural Iowa with nothing to light the way but our headlamps, so it was hard to predict exactly how long or far those bursts of speed would be. We ran as much as possible - or as Stacie had called it earlier, the "ultra shuffle" - keeping nearly all of our splits under 15 minutes. I couldn’t believe we were doing it. Dave was an incredible force of positivity and encouragement, reminding both me and Scott to drink every time we walked, and to eat whenever we could.

Another fun part came upon us: what I called “The Muddy Mile” from the previous year’s 50k race (the 50k loop is Loop 2 of the 100-mile course). I told Dave and Scott how soon it was arriving, and somehow managed to navigate it well enough to exit that stretch about a minute ahead of them. It was still wet, slippery and sloppy from the thunderstorm earlier. We all had about 5 pounds of Class B road mud on each shoe at the end!

Wendy was waiting with Scott’s wife at the exit, which was an unmanned aid station. We cleaned off our shoes and grabbed a few more bites to eat. I knew from there it was just under 6 miles to the end of Loop 2. After that, it was a small 10k loop to finish the day.

Scott and I were both hurting from fatigue. Dave pushed us as often as we would allow him. At that point I had already done the math in my head, knowing I could walk the rest of the way and still finish under 24 hours, which was my original goal. Scott had told us earlier in the night that his goal was to finish in less than 26 hours. There was a lot of comfort knowing at that point we would both easily surpass our expectations. All we had to do was keep moving.

As we arrived at the end of Loop 2, I saw Stacie as she was just starting her final 10k lap. We exchanged words of encouragement and thanks as we passed each other one last time. At the start/finish area, Wendy, Ann, and Brian were waiting, along with Scott’s wife (who had apparently fallen asleep in their car, but can you blame her? It was 2:40am)! I checked in at the timing mat, and went back to where Brian was waiting to pace me for the final 6.2 miles. I thanked Dave immensely as he got ready to go get some Hurtz Donuts before heading home. I was so appreciative, I would have bought him the whole store. Scott was still searching for some things in his car, and at that point I just wanted to hurry up and get the race over with. So Brian and I set out to finish.

It was the perfect way to end this race. I reminded him that it was he and Ann who convinced me to sign up for this race, prior to the price increase back on New Year’s Eve. Brian laughed and correctly pointed out that if I was going to assign them blame, they also deserved credit. And they both deserve it. Throughout my training they were not only great sounding boards, but full of consistent encouragement and belief. They believed in me more than I believed in myself.

Brian was as great of a pacer as Dave, continually reminding me to drink (eating at this late in the game wouldn’t have done anything to improve my performance, but I tried). We walked the most during this stretch, which I was fine with. I had already done the math, knowing I could walk the entire final 6 miles and still finish well under my goal. As we got near the end, I said, “Hey Brian. I’m going to finish my first 100-miler in under 23 hours and it’s all your fault.” Of course right after I said that, that’s when my Garmin watch died. With about 1 mile to go! Go figure!

Luckily my Garmin wasn’t the official race clock, and I would cross the finish line a few minutes later. Steve Cannon, the race director, welcomed me with a big bear hug. He brought over my finisher’s medal and belt buckle. I looked at the results display, and saw that I had come in 5th overall. Stacie had beaten me to the finish by only 12 minutes, but had just left the finish area. At that point I wish I had ran faster on the final loop to see her at the finish to thank her and congratulate her one last time. She ended up beating the previous women's course record by nearly 3 hours!

I sat down near the campfire Steve had going for the late-night/early morning finishers. Ann and Brain tried to help me get comfortable while Wendy brought the car closer so I wouldn’t have to walk far. Pictures were taken. Laughs, congratulations, hugs and gratitude were exchanged. Scott crossed the line just a few minutes after I did. He thanked me and also expressed his thanks for Dave being out there for him as well. I hope he knows I didn't purposefully leave him alone for the last 10k, I was just anxious to get it over and done with.

Shortly after that, Wendy drove me home. I took a soak in an epson salt bath, then tried to sleep, but couldn’t for longer than 2 hours. I couldn’t relax or unwind. My mind was still trying to absorb it all. That little jerk in red, who had been sitting on my shoulder only 24 hours earlier filling my head full of doubt had long been chased away. I don’t think I’m going to be hearing from him anytime soon. In fact, I might not ever hear from him again. Because here are some of the things I learned from those 100 miles.

• When you put in the training, and follow the plan, it’s almost certainly going to get you to your goal. Just make sure to do the first two: you won’t get to your goal without training and a plan.
• Friends are there when you need them. Sometimes they appear out of nowhere.
• Your brain is more powerful than your body. Always.

So of course, everyone wants to know what the next crazy thing is that I’m going to attempt. Right now, I honestly don’t know. What I do know, is that I’m owning this race. Sometimes in the past I’ve downplayed some of my achievements. Not this one. And everyone who was out there with me that day - Wendy, Brian, Ann, Shawn, Brooke, Stacie, Mike, Phillip, Scott, Dave, Brad, the aid station volunteers, the race organizers and Steve Cannon - they own a part of my finish too.