The Ultra Race Recap: Double Anvil Florida 2018

It seems only fitting that an ultra-distance race requires an

ultra-recap. If you’ve read my race recaps before, you know my

goal is to take you on the course with me. I provide a lot more
detail than you may need or want. Since this is by far the

longest race I’ve ever competed in, it’s only natural the recap
will be the longest I’ve ever written. So grab a beverage, sit
back, get comfy, and enjoy.

I signed up for the Florida Double Anvil back in November because
a former friend asked if I would race with him. I had already been
doing research on this race, and had also considered doing
UltraMan in Florida (slightly different format over 3 days instead

of 36 hours) for a few years. So I wasn’t doing it completely on a whim.
Plus the success I had experienced at my first 100-mile race in
Booneville gave me a small bit of confidence that I could finish in a
somewhat respectable manner.

Although I had been successfully self-coaching myself the past two

years, I was mostly training for running races. I wanted additional

knowledge and perspective for long-course triathlon, so I enlisted

the help of Ebe Boettcher with TCE Multisport. We started

developing a plan in early November: admittedly not the most ideal

time to start, but my run base was good, my swim form is solid, so

we focused on a lot of bike work. 224 miles is a pretty daunting

distance.

I was also familiar with the course, having competed in a sprint

triathlon in the same venue - Lake Louisa State Park - two years

earlier. A big difference this time was the weather. The first time I

raced here it was typical Florida weather for March: temps in the

low 80s and the ever-present humidity. Temps were similar when I

arrived 3 days in advance of the race, but the forecast indicated a

cold front moving through by race day/night. It would turn out to be

worse than anyone expected.

THE SWIM. ALWAYS FUN

Race day morning wasn’t too terrible: temps in the low 50s, and

water temp of around 70 degrees, which meant I could go with my

new sleeveless wetsuit and be comfortable. But the sand was

extremely cold! I was curious to know how I would feel getting out of

the water after a 4.8 mile swim.

At 7:17am, the starting horn went off a bit suddenly and

unceremoniously: most competitors looked around at each other

slightly confused until someone yelled “GO! START SWIMMING!”

So off we went. I expected to be near the front and hoped to draft

off one of the leaders while keeping things steady with good form.

That was my plan. I settled in, got into that steady rhythm, and

somehow by the second buoy, I was in front all by myself. I was

leading a freaking ultra triathlon!

A nice little fog hanging over the
water - nice to help hide the
gators! Yes, they do reside in
this lake, but there were no
sightings of any that day.



Slower swimmers always like to remind us fast ones that “there’s
no medal for being first out of the water,” and I was convinced I
wouldn’t be. But at that moment - leading a race, with beautiful,
calm water in front of me and the sun just starting to rise, doing
a long-distance triathlon again for the first time in over 18

months - it was the happiest I had ever been in a race. “This must

be what the pros feel like,” I thought to myself. That was quickly
followed by another thought: “Enjoy it while you can,” and I just
focused on completing the 12-lap course.

As you complete each lap near the beach, you have to stop and stand up
briefly, look towards the timer’s table, and call out your name and number.
For the first several laps, I was the first one back. I couldn’t believe it. Surely
there was someone better out there who would use the strategy I had
planned on - draft off a leader, save energy until the final lap or two
then kick it up for the finish.

I knew there was someone not far back. I didn’t know who it was, but they

had a neon pink swim cap on, so I nicknamed them Pinky. Pinky always

seemed so be coming to turns just after I completed them. I got a mild

surprise at lap 7 when Pinky came out of the water right after me and

called their name to the timers, and I heard a woman’s voice. Whoever

Pinky was, she was damn good!

Pinky gave good chase the rest of the way, and I kept telling myself I didn’t care

if she passed me. But when I had reached lap 11, I changed my mind and was

determined to lead the swim start to finish. I gave a bit extra on the final lap to

ensure I was first out of the water, and unbelievably, I was. On my way to the

changing area, I confirmed with the co-race director Teri that Pinky had just

finished about 15 seconds behind me. I was glad I had given a little extra - at

the moment.

First out of the water somehow!

There’s a changing area and bathrooms right at the beach, and that’s where I

changed into my bibs and Wendy and Kaitlynn helped me get on the rest of
my gear for the 224 bike ride. I initially thought leggings would be a good idea,

but on my way to the bike I realized I was already pretty comfortable, the

temps would be warming up, so why waste time stopping later to take them

off? When I finally got on Phoenix (my bike's name), I was told that Pinky had
already beaten me to the start of the bike course. I had gotten ‘chicked’
already!

THE BIKE. 224 MILES OF EXCITEMENT

No matter. I had my race plan to execute. I never expected to be first out of

the water anyway, and I always expect to be passed on the bike. Surprisingly,

I caught Pinky within 3 laps of the 6 mile out-and-back course, and at this point

she had changed into what looked to me to be a brown-colored jersey. So of

course, now her nickname was Brownie!

Heading out for 224 miles of fun!

When I did get the lead back, it was only briefly. The eventual winner passed

me not long after, and about an hour after that the eventual second place

finisher also passed me. Around this time, everyone had finished the swim

which meant there were over 30 competitors on a short course, and everyone

was making stops for different reasons at different times. Some were for food

and drink, some were for comfort, some were for mechanical, and some were

for… let’s say ‘biological necessities.' That was where I had one advantage: I

didn’t get off my bike for those, I just did it while coasting when no one else

was around. I know it sounds gross to some, but when you’re riding for over

14 hours, you save time whenever and however you can.

The rest of the breaks/pit stops happen where both the bike and run courses

loop around at the start and finish area. It’s 2 rows of tents called the AnVillage

(clever). All competitors have an area assigned to them for their gear, food,

and support crew. The nice thing about this is you come back to your crew

every 20 to 30 minutes depending on your speed. I was next to another racer

from Iowa, which was great because on one side there was his crew and on

our other side was Kory and his wife Deanna. All of them would prove

later to be just as helpful to my success as anyone else.

The problem with all the breaks happening at different times is it’s difficult to

know where you are relative to everyone else unless you’re paying really close

attention. And with 3 miles out and 3 miles back on a rather technical course,

your mind is usually focused elsewhere. Also know that there is a ‘Single Anvil’

race going on simultaneously (what most would categorize as traditional long-

distance, being 2.4 miles swim, 112 mile bike ride, and 26 mile run). So combine

different race distances with different racing strategies and different pit stops

happening along the way, even if someone passes you, you don’t know

exactly where you are relative to them.

So just like the swim, I found my comfort zone and settled in. My plan was to go

at least 56 miles before making a pit stop for solid foods. There was a bit of wind,

and it never seemed to be favorable! But I reminded myself that the conditions

were equal for everyone. I was told that chatting with other racers made

the day go by faster, so I did whenever I could. I got to know several racers

that way, and I learned that Pinky/Brownie was named Jaclyn. She was from

Long Island, racing with her teammate Kenny. I would try to chat with some of

the participants from other countries, but the language barrier was sometimes

too much to overcome when you only have a short time to chat.

I made my first stop as planned, and decided that those brief stops would be
good if I had them more often (I had originally only planned on three). I was
also giving my body a break: my neck was hurting, as was my left arm and
shoulder. Deanna, at the table next to us, happened to be a personal trainer
and they were far more prepared than we were! Deanna had all manners of
quick therapy, including a foam roller. She correctly diagnosed it was my lat
that was giving me issues, and invited me to try and roll it out. Holy hell, what
PAIN! But it was helpful.

Even though the foam roller helped, and Wendy had put KT tape on my neck
with some remote instruction from Ebe, the pain was still persistent enough
that I decided to take two ibuprofen around 2pm. There’s risks associated with
it on endurance events, primarily kidney failure. But I was doing a great job
staying hydrated, so it was a calculated risk.

Added together, all my stops on the bike - there were at least 5- would add a
total of 1 hour and 20 minutes to my bike time. But they were necessary: I
needed to re-apply some chamois balm, switch to a different pair of bike shorts
with thicker padding, switch lenses on my helmet,put on warmer (and drier!)
socks, plus add another layer and swap out a headlight when the sun went
down.

Ah yes, the sun going down. That brought some incredibly drastic temperature
changes. Once the sun went down, the temps followed and fast. I was still
somewhat comfortable, but it wouldn’t last much longer. I did not want to put
the leggings on until I was close to finishing the ride because, you know…
‘biological necessities’ were a time-saver and I didn’t want to ruin my leggings
before starting the run! I remember Sara Cooper saying when she did Race
Across America that her strategy was to sleep and nap less than everyone
else. I was going to try and do the same: eliminate unnecessary stops as much
as possible.

Our Florida friends Cris and Cristine Rowe showed up with their oldest
daughter Riley around 7pm to support and help crew so Wendy and Kailynn
could take a break. When I made a long-ish stop to change into dry socks and
tape up my bike shoes to keep some air out, Cris suggested that I put on his
boots to warm up my toes. It sounded crazy, but I’ll tell you what - it was the
most ingenious thought anyone came up with that night!

I saw a lot of creative things during the race. Michal Ortiz had to ride with a
portable charger taped to his aero bars because his Garmin started to die on
him. Another one rode with at least two headlights that I could see because he
wasn’t sure if one would last the night. I should have borrowed that idea,
because sure enough - at around 10pm, in the pitch black of this state park with
no streetlights and no moonlight, my headlight died. There was no one around
me to ‘borrow’ light from either. I ended up riding over a mile with blinding
oncoming lights from other racers, but had nothing except the white line at the
side of the road to guide me. Finally near the turnaround, I caught Karen - the
oldest woman to have completed a double Anvil race - and stayed safe behind
her until someone a little faster came along, then I got behind them and finally
back to the AnVillage to swap a new, fully-charged headlight. That dark part
was a bit scary, I’m not gonna lie.

Not long after that, my bike computer said it had a low battery. CRAP! All these
issues! So I made another unscheduled pit stop, and Cris hooked up my
portable charger, putting both it and my computer in my back jersey pocket.
The only downside was I didn’t have any data for how fast I was going or how
much power I was pushing, but I was already past 150 miles and was mostly
dialed in at that point.

After 10 hours on the bike and darkness settling in, one way I kept my mind
engaged was keeping track of how the runners were doing. Remember,
there’s a shorter race going on at the same time, so all of those racers were
off their bikes before the sun went down. I gave thumbs-up and a smile each
time to all of them, including Will who is turning 60 this year and doing 60 Iron-
distance races in 12 months Talk about amazing! I was also giving huge props
to Tanya, who we met at the pre-race dinner the night before. She said she
was a runner first and foremost, and she wasn’t kidding! Holy cow, she was
flying on the run and looking great! She would race all the way up to second
place overall in the Single Anvil - what a competitor!

Eventually there came a point when all the single Anvil competitors were
finished, and there were only double participants on the course. That made it
easier to tell where I was overall, since we all started at the same time. I saw
one, then two people on the run course. At that point I figured I was at least
two hours behind the leader, and one hour behind second place. But just like
with all triathlons, anything can happen on the run. You never know. First
things first, though - I had to finish this bike ride.

Before the race started, I had a best-case scenario of being off the bike before
midnight with a solid swim and bike. With 4 laps to go, I realized that I had
made too many stops, and that wasn’t going to happen. But I was close: I
would get off the bike around 12:20am Saturday morning, becoming the third
participant to get on the run course.

THE RUN. THE LONG, PAINFUL RUN.

My feet were freezing after riding for 6 hours in the night chill, even with my
bike shoes taped up and hopping into Cris’s boots earlier. I got into the SUV
we rented, cranked up the heat, and let my feet thaw out to the point when I
could feel my toes again. It took longer than I wanted, but now... NOW I was
ready to run!

Damn it felt good to be running. Again, I had a plan, and that was to run the
first 26 miles, then wait for the inevitable slowing to occur on the next 26. When
I started out, my pacing felt good and right where I hoped to be, averaging
around 10 minute miles. Perfect. But I wasn’t totally physically comfortable.
I was sacrificing comfort for speed, and that would prove to be a big mistake
later on.

Bundled up and ready to run!

When I stopped after 12 miles, I tried making some wardrobe changes to
address the comfort. They didn’t work. In fact they made me feel much worse
and slowed me down. I had to walk most of the next two laps - each lap being
1 mile out and 1 mile back - giving my legs a break until I could find a pace I
could maintain again. I got back into it around mile 15, and I kept it for a while,
but each lap was getting slower.

After the 24th mile, I switched shoes to my more comfortable but worn Altra
Escalantes. Oh. My. GAWD. They made all the difference in the world! Even
though 10 minute miles weren’t going to happen again, I found a pace that
worked that was in the 11’s. But running straight through to the finish wasn’t
an option anymore either.

I tried chatting again with other competitors. It was a bit of a challenge in the
dark, you couldn’t always see the face of the person you were talking to due
to their headlamp. And sometimes you couldn’t recognize someone until you
were right up on them. This made for some struggles with the competitors
from other countries who knew minimal English. But I did have a lot of
conversations with Michelle from Guatamala, Rob from Palm Beach, and every
time I saw Jacklyn (aka Pinky/Brownie) and her teammate Kenny - both from
from Long Island - we’d always have a fun exchange. Kenny had a fantastic
attitude the entire race and kept things as light-hearted as possible. Eric from
Fort Collins was a fantastic motivator for everyone, pairing up with anyone who
wanted company and conversation.

Still, everyone was fighting both the cold as well as the physical toll. My feet
hurt, along with my ankles, calves, and knees. Mentally I was still focused
and my nutrition was going very well, but the discomfort was getting to me.
I wanted to take more ibuprofen, but knew there was a real danger of doing
kidney damage if I took too much. I asked Deanna what she had heard about
the dangers of ibuprofen and endurance athletes, and she confirmed what I had
heard: don’t take it unless you have to. So I sucked it up and motored on.

It was tough for everyone at this point, racers and crew and staff alike. The
USA Ultra Triathlon staff was doing a great job staying upbeat, but crews
were having a tougher go. It's easy to understand why: their athlete would
come through every 25 to 40 minutes. Crews are freezing. Just about the time
they get warm and comfy, their athlete comes through again needing something.
And of course the crew isn't exercising non-stop like the athletes. If it had been
warmer, they would have all been just tired. But add cold to that, and it makes
things miserable. Every single crew member deserves huge props for
staying through the night!

Crew trying to stay warm and awake.

Another expectation I had going in was to do the run in under 11 hours, which
would have me finish somewhere around 28 hours or less.. When the daylight
finally started returning around 6am, I knew that wasn’t likely. So I re-evaluated.
My new goal was to try and finish in under 29 hours. That would be an amazing
achievement for my first ultra triathlon. Barring anything catastrophic happening,
that should be good enough for third place.

Easier said than done, though. Even though I didn’t show it, I was in great
discomfort. But I knew everyone else was too. What was really amazing was
that even after all this time, nearly all the competitors were still out there. At a
certain point, you’re not even competing against anyone else anymore: you’re
competing against yourself. How much do you want it? How much discomfort -
how much pain - can you tolerate? How much can you convince your body to
keep moving forward when rest is so welcome? I had to frequently play in my
mind the song that I adopted as my theme song for this race, "Whatever It
Takes" by Imagine Dragons. Specifically the line "I was born to run, I was
born for this."

At this point the pain was just a constant that I internalized. I kept reminding

myself that good form leads to faster, easier splits with less wear. It must have
worked, because nearly every person who saw me commented on how good I
was still looking (I told many of them to go get their eyes checked!). When I had
less than 10 miles to go I knew I could come close to staying under 29 hours. I
just had to minimize the breaks for water and walking. With 6 miles to go I
started ignoring my watch and just ran (ok, more like lightly jogged/shuffled) as
comfortably as I could. With 3 miles to go I knew I was going to do it. I was
going to finish a freaking ultra-triathlon.

One of the great things about smaller races like this is they encourage family
and crew to share the finish with you. I was lucky enough to have been
welcomed by Simon’s crew when he finished his UltraMan. I had not only
Wendy and Kaitlynn, but The Rowes had returned and were waiting for me at
the finish as well. As I started the final lap, I asked all of them who was going to
cross the line with me. I let them figure it out while I ran the last 2 miles.

When I came around the last turn and into view of the finish chute, I saw them
all waiting for me and they started cheering. Kaitlynn was waiting to hand me
the American flag, and it all brought tears to my eyes. As I got closer they
started playing the national anthem, as they do for all finishers. I would later
learn I was the first American to finish - talk about a sense of patriotic pride!
Kaitlynn handed me the flag, and she and Wendy ran alongside me the last
100 yards or so to the finish. I could have floated at that point.

Finishing with Wendy & Kaitlynn.

The whole USA Ultra Triathlon crew was on hand to see me across the line,
taking video and photos. The race director Steve Kirby came over and gave
me an engraved hammer to hit the ceremonial anvil with - twice, since I had
finished the double. The two rings from my strikes may have been the
sweetest sounds I had heard in a long time.

After that, a lot of sweaty hugs. Kenny and Jaclyn happened to come through
the area not long after, and I was able to give them both hugs of appreciation.
I was disappointed they would not be able to attend the luncheon the next day,
they unknowingly were pushing me most of the run and I wanted more time to
thank them both for that. They still had a few more laps to go, though. I wish
I had been able to stay around and see them and everyone else finish. But
once you’re done, you just want to go somewhere and relax.

As I sit here thinking back to the finish, about what the entire experience meant
to me, I’m overcome with emotion again. I said it at the luncheon the following
day and could barely get out the words - at least typing them out I only have to
squint through tears of appreciation:

I’ve always considered myself a lucky guy. I’m lucky because of my beautiful,
wonderful, supportive family in Wendy and Kaitlynn. I’m lucky to have great
support from my coaches and teammates in the TCE Multisport Team. I’m
lucky to live a life that allows me the time to balance training for events like this
along with work and family. That’s a lot of luck right there.

This past week, if it were possible, I became luckier still.

I lucked out talking to people who had gone through it before and helped
prepare me. I lucked out being surrounded by great crews on both sides
and meeting Kory and Deanna. I lucked out having Jacklyn push me throughout
the race. Most of all, I lucked out signing up for a race that had - top to
bottom - the nicest, most supportive people both on the course, on the
sidelines, and behind the scenes.

How did one guy deserve to be so damn lucky?

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.