Idaho

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. My longest race prior was 40 miles.  How would the elevation being between 8-10K feet affect me? What about the heat?  Bugs? Lightening? Hail? 

Little did I know my fate would be determined by one cut off! 

The day before the race, I flew into Idaho Falls and drove to Salmon.  After the 2.5-hour drive, I checked into the Stagecoach Inn, went to the park for the pre-race briefing, and then attempted to get some rest.  By “rest” I mean I tossed and turned for three hours in bed. Then it was time to catch the 2:15 AM shuttle to the start.  I grabbed a cup of coffee and a bagel and headed to the bus for the hour-ish long ride to the startline.

After a beautiful Trumpet rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner, we counted down from 10 and off we went!  The first hour or so was dark and I was trapped in a bit of conga line. I didn’t know if this was good or bad…eventually it broke and everyone settled into their own pace.  

As the sun came up it revealed the views and my mood lifted. It was beautiful up on the continental divide trail!  The trail was easily runnable with a decent amount of rolling hills and some side hill traversing.  And did I mention the views? I felt great on this section...with the exception of my stomach. Unfortunately, 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 bathroom stops would come back to haunt me later on. 

Eventually I got into a groove and started slowly passing people.  I chatted with an ex-Army Ranger who was looking to prove to himself that he still “has it” and can physically do hard things. I met a lady who had run the race last year and wasn’t worried about the cut off, but she was a bit tired after running another large race two weeks ago.  I passed some men from Arkansas who I think were struggling a bit with the altitude and doing a lot of walking. Finally, as the day heated up, I arrived at the 27-mile aid station to get my drop bag and refill my pack.

Lemhi Pass is just under the halfway point.  It feels like it could be the end but it’s not.  There is a pit toilet, full aid stations, and lots of crew and families cheering.  People were sitting and lounging around. I overheard one runner say that she felt great and had a lot left in her tank but she was enjoying the break. I decided not to linger and instead loaded up my pack, refilled my water and off I went to start the long climb. 

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

As I continued to climb, I continued to pass a few people.  I passed a man who had passed me earlier. 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 cut off?” I asked.  “An hour and twenty-seven minutes”.  “How far away is the cut off? “ I asked. “6.6 miles”.  YIKES. The man looked at me with empathy. How did this happen?

I quickly refilled my water and took off.  My mind raced with several thoughts:  I should have paid more attention to the time.  I should have run faster. I came up with a mantra: I have to run like it is the end of my race.  Because if I don’t run like it is the end, then IT WILL BE THE END.  I said that over and over. I don’t want to DNF.  I don’t want it to be the end. What a waste of time and money to fly out to Idaho and not finish a race that I knew I could finish.  I have to TRY AND RUN AS FAST AS I CAN WITHOUT KILLING MYSELF.  

So that is exactly what I did. Fortunately, the miles were mostly 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 several more people who called out “good luck!”.  As I got closer to the aid station I started to see spectators. One lady was walking the opposite direction and called out, “you have 22 minutes!  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 my best….” 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 I MADE IT!!!  I was the last one through the cut-off!! The aid station workers shooed me along.

After that stress, I took a second and caught my breath.  A nice lady refilled my water and then I started off to the next aid station.  The following two cut-offs were much more forgiving. There’s nothing worse than feeling like you can’t stop in the middle of an ultra-race.  I’d never felt that before and I don’t want to feel it again! 

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 and climbing steeper.  Fortunately I made a friend from Missoula, and she and I kept each other moving.  We finally got to the ridge line and were in awe of the views!  The end felt near!  But it really wasn’t.  Then we met a lady who was racing with a broken wrist!  She had fallen at mile 12 and her arm was in a splint. We still had four miles trudging through unstable talus and another 5 miles straight down a mountain 5000 feet.  I couldn’t believe she was doing all of that with one arm.  As the sun went down, our headlamps came out and we could smell the finish. We kept moving in the dark.  Knowing the Western States Qualifying time needed to be under 20 hours.

Finally, we crossed the finish line at almost midnight around 19.5 hours. The volunteers that had been there all day, still treated us with enthusiasm. 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. 

Maybe I’ll do Beaverhead again next year!