Idaho

They say anything can happen in the mountains. Beaverhead was my first 100K and I had no idea how to pace myself, or how I would feel. I had never run more than 41 miles in one day. How would the elevation at 8-10K feel? What about the heat?  Bugs? Lightening? Hail? Snow?

Or…how about making that first cutoff?!?

The day before the race, I flew into Idaho Falls and drove 2.5 hours to Salmon to attend the pre-race briefing. I learned that we had 20 hours to complete the race for it to count as a WSER qualifier. That would be nice, I thought. After the briefing, I tried to get some rest at the Stagecoach Inn. By “rest” I mean I tossed and turned for three hours. Then it was time to catch the 2:15 AM shuttle to the start line.  I grabbed a cup of coffee and a bagel and headed to the bus for the hour-ish long ride.

On the shuttle I sat next to a Boise runner who was running the Idaho 208. That’s a 208 kilometer challenge that includes the RONR 108K at the end of June, and the Beaverhead 100K early July. We chatted and she struck me as someone who was probably really fast. This wasn’t her first Beaverhead 100K and she said the tallus field at the end was an opportunity for rest (!) after running hard for 50 miles. She also told me the last 5000 ft decent started with a steep goat track and was not very runnable. Huh. “Have a good race!” she said as she lept out of the shuttle to the start. I never saw her again.

After a beautiful trumpet rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner, we counted down from 10 and off we went!  The first hour was dark and I was trapped in a bit of conga line. I didn’t know if that was good or bad…I was entertained by some running commentary from a few Arkansas runners trying to pace themselves. I wasn’t the only one coming from sea level. Eventually the conga line broke and I ran my own pace in silence.

As the sun came up it revealed views and lifted my mood. It was beautiful on the continental divide!  The trail was very runnable with rolling hills and some side hill traversing.  And did I mention the views? I felt great in this section...but unfortunately it was interrupted by making bathroom stops. My digestive system was not on Mountain Time, and it didn’t kick in until I was a couple hours into the race.  I wondered if the time wasted would come back to haunt me. 

Eventually I got into a groove and slowly started passing people.  I chatted with an ex-Army Ranger who was looking to reaffirm that he still “has it” and can physically do hard things even though his knees were shot from years of military service. I met a lady who ran the race last year and wasn’t worried about the cut off, “we have plenty of time!” but she was a bit tired after running the RONR 108K three weeks ago. I reunited with the men from Arkansas, who I think were struggling a bit with the altitude and doing a lot of walking. Finally, as the day warmed up, I arrived at the 27-mile aid station to get my drop bag and refill my gels at Lemhi Pass.

Lemhi Pass is just under the halfway point.  It feels like it could be the end but it’s not.  It’s actually the start of the 55K. There is a pit toilet, a full aid station, and lots of crew and families cheering.  People were sitting and lounging around with music blaring. I overheard one runner say that she felt great and had a lot left in her tank but she was enjoying the break. I felt anxious and decided not to linger and instead loaded up my pack, refilled my water and started the long climb. I fully expected some of the lounging runners to hurry up and catch me.

It was a never-ending climb. One of the most difficult of the race!  Oddly enough I looked behind me and nobody else was there. I saw the Lemhi Pass aid station in the distance and there were still a ton of people hanging out.  I did the math and realized the first cutoff might be close!  Why weren’t the runners leaving the aid station?  Maybe I was wrong?

As I continued to climb, I kept passing people.  I passed a man who had passed me earlier when I had to make a bathroom stop. I ran the flats and the downhills.  Soon I arrived to the Warm Springs aid station and got the bad news.  “How much time until the cutoff?” I asked.  “An hour and twenty-seven minutes” they said.  “How far away is the cut off? “ I asked. “6.6 miles” (I think it was actually 6.3 miles)  YIKES. The man looked at me with empathy. How did this happen? I should've pushed more at the beginning. Now I was paying for it.

I quickly refilled my water and took off.  My mind raced with several thoughts:  This can’t be the end of my race. I knew I could finish. I didn’t want to REDO Idaho. Chasing cutoffs SUCKS. I came up with a mantra: I have to run like it is the end of my race.  Like this is the last 6 miles. It doesn’t matter if I blow up because if I don’t run like it is the end, then IT WILL BE THE END.  I said that over and over. Just 6ish miles. That’s my short run.

So that is exactly what I did. Fortunately, the miles were rolling. There were a couple climbs that I hiked, but I made up for it on the downhills. I felt there was still a chance.  I passed a few more runners who called out “good luck!” I think they had given up. As I got closer to the aid station I started to see spectators. One lady walking the opposite direction called out, “you have 22 minutes!” I said, “Do you think I’ll make it?” She said, “If you keep running at that speed you’ll make it!  There’s one more climb!”  Ugh…one more climb.  On this last climb I thought to myself, “maybe I should just bag this, but I have to try….keep going!” The downhill came and I felt good again. I asked the next spectator how far and she said “half a block! You have less than a minute!”  I sprinted and called out my number “156!” I said. The aid station volunteers all stared at me, and then ushered me through so it was official. I MADE IT!!!  I was the last one through the cutoff. The race was salvaged!

After that stress, I took a second and caught my breath.  A nice spectator refilled my water and then I started off to the next aid station.  I hiked with a young man and his dad. Unfortunately his dad wasn’t feeling well so the young man hiked with me uphill for a bit. He was impressive. He was only 18 and did the race to support his dad who doing the Idaho 208. He told me he was more of a hiker than runner. He ended up finishing before me.

The following cutoffs were much more forgiving. There’s nothing worse than feeling like you can’t stop in the middle of an ultra.  Kind of like how it feels when you know if you stop you’ll be swarmed by mosquitos so you keep moving. I linked up with a lady from Missoula who made the cutoff 10 minutes before me. We ended up running the rest of the race together. At the last cutoff she convinced me to stop and sit for a few minutes. I did it just because I could.

They say the Beaverhead 100K doesn’t get hard until the last half.  They are right. The terrain gets much more technical; altitude is higher, temperature is warmer (or cooler depending on the year), terrain is rockier and the climbing steeper.  Fortunately chatting with my friend from Missoula made this section go by quicker. We linked up with some other runners and took in the views together. We took lots of group photos. A beautiful sunset! The end felt near!  But it really wasn’t.  One lady was running with a broken wrist. She had fallen at mile 12 and her arm was in a splint. As we trudged through unstable talus I couldn’t believe she only had one usable arm.  If she fell…yikes. But she was hell-bent on finishing and she did. As the sun went down we turned on our headlamps and could smell the finish. We kept moving in the dark.  Smoothies, and river crossings didn’t slow us down. Our goal was to make a Western States qualifying time.

Finally, we crossed the finish line at almost midnight around 19.5 hours. The volunteers greeted us with enthusiasm and a warm meal. It was hard to believe they’d probably been there most of the day. What a day!!  I felt a sense of accomplishment. My first 100K!  And I managed to ward off the DNF, see some amazing scenery, make new friends and enjoy another state.  I felt grateful to the race directors for plotting such an amazing and scenic course and very fortunate that I could complete it.

Maybe I’ll do Beaverhead again next year!