At the Tahoe 200 race registration (left to right: Dr Stanley, Courtney, myself, Shane)

The start of the Tahoe 200

Remarkably those ahead of me are running quite fast. I settled towards the back of the start with my good running friend Dr Andrew Stanley and we agreed to run this thing together. I’d been working hard in the lead up trying to convince Stanley to start as slow as comfortably possible as often he lets his untamed testosterone get ahead of him. As this was my first ever 200 miler, I had no intentions to start fast. Start as you hope to finish. And in reality, I’d be doing well if I was vertical yet alone running in 4 days time! I’d read that the first couple of hours of previous editions of the Tahoe 200 had been bogged down by what became known as a “conga line”. This conga line would be about 10km long as runners bottlenecked from the start onto single trail where passing was difficult. To help prevent this, a fortnight prior, the race organisers decided to add a new 1.5 mile section on the road around the Tramway Loop before hitting the trail to help spread the field out. Though some initially protested the change, I quickly accepted the extra 2.5 km. I figured I’d travelled all this way to America so I might as well get my money’s worth. However, I was determined to stay disciplined and not go too fast along this new very runnable road section. By the time Dr Stanley and I had finished this 2.5km loop in just over 20 minutes, we were in the back half of the pack. We left the cheering crowds behind us and headed up into the single trail. The course (and climbing) began in earnest.

Heading up into single trail after the Tramway Loop

Prior to the race we broke the course down into 3 big sections. The start at Heavenly to Housewife Hill and back (100km), Heavenly to the turnaround point at Tahoe City (approx. 110km), and Tahoe City back to the finish at Heavenly (approx. 110km). The first section was rumoured to be the hardest as it required us to cross over Armstrong Pass twice which was the highest point of the course at approximately 2950 metres. As we climbed out of Heavenly, the field of 250 had spread out quite nicely. The extra 1.5 mile road section at the start had clearly worked as there was no noticeable “conga line”. The first aid station was 26km away at Armstrong Pass which meant we had to be relatively self-sufficient for around 6 hours between aid stations. As I crossed over the trail border from Nevada to California, I was nicely into my grove. Walk the hills, shuffle the straights, and run the downs. I also focused on priming my gut for the next 100 hours ahead. Sip and nibble. Sip and nibble. Small amounts of food and drink consistently to fuel my muscles without overwhelming my gut. After passing the picturesque Star Lake, we encountered increasing remnants of snow as we approached Armstrong Pass. Due to less sunlight on the north-facing slopes, the trail eventually disappeared under thick snow. For the next 2km, we trudged through a makeshift trail in the snow guided by pink ribbon attached to available tree branches. The snow was high enough that it covered tree trunks which meant we had to stay on the firmly packed ice trail. However, in the noon sun, the ice was beginning to melt and it became slippery in sections. A few runners fell around me and I also passed a participant with a broken Leki pole that was a notable early casualty. It made me thankful for my own trusty Black Diamond trekking poles and in hindsight, shoe traction spikes would’ve been helpful. It was hence somewhat of a relief to summit the top as the snow instantly disappeared on the south-facing trail. It was then all downhill to the aid station whilst negotiating a few waterways from snow melt along the way. By the time Dr Stanley and I reached Armstrong Pass aid station, it was around 1.30pm and we were about 1.5 hours ahead of schedule. We didn’t spend too long there. We simply topped up our drinks and I rammed fruit and sandwiches down my mouth as I left. I remember seeing one guy completely relubing his feet 4.5 hours into the race. I had no problems with my feet but it left a lingering thought. Surely that’s too early. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it right?

Heading up and over the course highest point at Armstrong Pass with Dr Stanley

Heading down into Armstrong Pass aid station

The next section to Housewife Hill was ‘enjoyable’. Other than the sharp climb leaving Armstrong Pass aid station and a 2-3km climb past Big Meadow (a rare large clearing not covered by pine trees), the majority of this 27km section was downhill with about 1200m of descent. Any residual snow on the trail was minimal and trail conditions were good for sustained running. Hence, the focus was on a controlled downhill running pace whilst keeping the ego in check. Dr Stanley and I made good time to the turnaround point at Housewife Hill arriving around 6pm just in time for dinner! After snacking on Doritos chips, mixed nuts, lollies, and Stinger mini waffles all day, I was looking forward to some real food and boy did Housewife Hill deliver! On entering the aid station, a young boy around 10 years of age asked what I wanted to eat. “Would you like anything hot to eat?” “Yes please,” I responded. “A burger or quesadilla?”. “Burger please!” I exclaimed. “What would you like with your burger? Cheese, tomato, lettuce, pickle? Any sauce?” “Everything please!” You’d be hard pressed to find anything better than hot food to lift a trail runner’s spirits and for me, a hot burger is the ultimate morale lifter. I was in the middle of nowhere, sitting on a deck chair, 50km into a 200 miler and yet that cheese burger tasted like the best cheese burger I’ve ever had in my life. A long, cold night lay ahead of me but in that short moment, I was happy and content. And when you’re happy and content, there aren’t many life challenges that will phase you.

Heading towards Housewife Hill aid station with Dr Stanley

Dr Stanley and I left Housewife Hill around 6.30pm giving us at least 2 hours of daylight before sunset at 8.30pm. The ascent out of Housewife Hill was a bit technical and rocky so it was good to do this section in daylight. Although we were well ahead of schedule, Dr Stanley seemed determined to ‘attack’ the 6km ascent out of Housewife Hill and I wasn’t sure why. Was he keen to get back to Heavenly ASAP to sleep before sunrise? Did someone put special sauce in his burger? Or was it the petite lady with the French accent ahead of us? I mulled this over for a bit as I tried to keep up with him. Breathing heavily whilst trying to down a quesadilla that I took for the road. When it became dark, our pace naturally slowed. The small group that we ascended with eventually fragmented so it was back to Stanley and I again. I had a few stoppages along the way as my water pack was leaking and I couldn’t figure out why. When we did stop, any stoppage was limited as no amount of insect repellent seemed to deter the bugs that were having a field day around Big Meadow. Eventually, I realised that I would just have to put up with this slow leak. Every so often, I would wring out the tail of my shirt to prevent water leaking down my shorts. This wasn’t ideal during the night but I also didn’t want to ditch my water as we still had a big 1200 metre climb back to Armstrong. We eventually arrived back at Armstrong Pass aid station around 2am. I’d heard in the lead up to Tahoe 200 that the days were hot and the nights were cold and this proved to be accurate. The aid station was freezing! Runners hovered over camp fires whilst others were wrapped up in blankets. I used the break as an opportunity to switch out my 2L water bladder for 500mL water flasks. Although smaller flasks meant I would need to stop more often to change flasks mid run, I couldn’t afford to have chilled water running down my back all night. The cold was such that I was shaking and my hand/finger coordination was challenging. Despite this, I managed to address the problem and sort my life out. After a very quick toilet stop, we both hightailed out of the aid station and started ascending again. The dark smothered us and there didn’t seem to be much star light as we reached the highest point of the course for the second time. We then had to descend the icy makeshift trail we’d ascended earlier which was much harder in the dark. The pink ribbon which was helpful during the day was unsighted in the dark so I was very reliant on my watch for navigation. Various groups of trail runners were on different parts of the snow as we all tried to work out which was the correct trail to follow. The concentration was such that the glucose demand was high which meant refuelling regularly whilst carefully keeping your feet. Life became a bit easier when we reached Star Lake again and it was good to get back on firm trail. Time seemed to pass slowly but eventually the sunrise spilled over Carson Valley. With the sun up, I was keen to getting shuffling again. Make hay while the sun shines so to say. However, for the first time, Dr Stanley protests when I attempt to pick up the pace. “My nausea gets worse if I go too fast!” It was the first time he mentioned it. I didn’t think too much of it at the time. After all, nausea/GI upset is such a common symptom in trail running that I just expected an experienced trail runner like himself to deal with it. Crossing back over from California to Nevada, Stanley maintained a fast walk whilst I held a slower shuffle. We eventually arrived back in Heavenly around 6.30am Saturday with a cumulative time of 21.5 hours over 100km. As we’d expected to get to Heavenly by 10.30am, we were well ahead of schedule. It was hence good to see our two-person support crew (my wife Courtney and my cousin Shane) ready to receive us. Courtney had prepared hashbrowns and Shane offered me chocolate milk. I tucked into the hashbrowns and nervously downed the chocolate milk. I knew I needed all the energy I could get and we had a scheduled two hour sleep stop here. I was a bit unsure about the merits of stopping to sleep at Heavenly. We were never likely to arrive before sunrise and I knew that sleeping after sunrise can be difficult. However, as Heavenly was the first dedicated sleep station and this was our first 200 miler, we decided to be conservative and make the most of the sleep station. The medical team had also recommended that participants start sleeping no later than night 2 and ideally sooner (around 24-40 hours in) so it seemed sensible to stop. After eating our breakfast, we headed into the large communal sleeping area in Heavenly Stage Coach Lodge. Courtney and Shane had reserved two stretcher beds for us. Our sleeping bags, inflatable pillows, eye masks, and ear plugs were laid down ready for us. Courtney then set an alarm for two hours. I stripped down and hopped into my sleeping bag. My feet reeked like something dead so Courtney and Shane hastily left the room as I attempted to close my eyes.

Hashbrowns for breakfast at Heavenly aid station

At Heavenly aid station with Courtney

Leaving Heavenly aid station with Dr Stanley

After about an hour and 45 minutes, I had had enough. Dr Stanley was already out of his bed too. I think I slept but it was broken sleep. The door into the lodge kept banging as people came and went but the fatigue seemed to drown out some of the noise. I think I felt a little bit better but there was certainly no miraculous reincarnation. 100km done, 225km to go. I eased out of bed and whilst getting changed, I had a sudden urge to toilet. Oh God, that chocolate milk. I won’t be doing that again. Not to be deterred, I had a second breakfast of pancakes, Dr Pepper, and orange juice. Shane replaced my leaking water bladder which somehow sustained a small incision back at Housewife Hill. He gave me a new bladder filled with ice and it was time to hit the trail again. Dr Stanley and I left Heavenly at 9.30am well ahead of schedule and the cut off time of 3pm. With Courtney and Shane cheering us on, we ascended out of Heavenly again in relatively high spirits. The first section was completed. The next big goal was the turnaround point at Tahoe City (213km), the medium-term goal was Village Green (160km) where we planned to sleep again, and the short-term goal was Spooner Summit aid station which was 30km away. Annoyingly, after a couple of kilometres, I had developed new hot spots on both my heels. As my feet had stunk so much, Courtney had recommended that I change my socks which I eventually agreed to. But now I was getting hot spots on my heels which was atypical for me. I decided best to sort this out early so I told Stanley to keep going whilst I stopped on a rock to relube my feet again. I’d had no problems with my feet until now and it seemed to coincide with changing my socks. I won’t be doing that again. I eventually caught up with Stanley who by now was walking a very runnable downhill section. “My nausea is quite bad. I can’t run,” he confides. “Well, you’re going to have to make nausea your friend!” I respond. “I’m not sure about that!” he responded sharply. Apparently, Courtney had given him anti-nausea tablets at Heavenly and he had felt better after his sleep and breakfast smoothie but now his nausea had returned. “I’ve had this nausea ever since Housewife Hill and it’s not going away,” he tells me. “Well, you’re doing pretty good to get this far with nausea! The cut off at Heavenly was 3pm so we’ve got plenty of time. We just need to get to Village Green for another sleep and hopefully you’ll feel better!” I urge. “Village Green’s a long way away,” he responds. “Well just get to Spooner Summit then!” I counter. “Even Spooner will be tough,” he responds. I sense Stanley is wavering but I don’t know how hard to push him. Desire and motivation must come from within. We’d just stopped for a good 2.5 hours and I wasn’t too keen to stop again. We converse for a while longer until at some point, we mutually agree to part. “Maybe you should lie down for a bit and see if that makes you feel better. Or just keep walking slowly,” I advise. We’d been together for 24 hours. We’d also agreed to complete this race together which made this all the more painful. We gave our reluctant goodbyes and I left Stanley with “I hope to see you again.” I turned around and continued running downhill. Tears welled up in my eyes. One can experience the whole spectrum of human emotion during an ultra-distance race and any feeling is amplified. I couldn’t suppress the hurt. And my tears flowed.

At the top of Spooner Summit with Lake Tahoe in the background

It’s Saturday midday. I’m by myself and it’s hideously hot. I’m carrying 3 litres of water but I’m worried it’s not enough. I’d already accumulated 100km of physiological strain and today was hotter than yesterday. It’s also a slow gradual 900 metre elevation gain to Spooner Summit and each climb is paid with a gulp of water. Water discipline is not easy. I realise that I have to go slower than desired to conserve water. I seek the shade on the trail and avoid running in direct sunlight. I take small sips. I pass others who are experiencing the same but they’ve stopped to rest and I’ve kept going. Slow and steady does it. There is a wooden bench at the top of Spooner Summit which offers a magnificent view of the whole of Lake Tahoe. It’s not too breezy and I’m tempted to stop and enjoy the view but I keep going. When I finally reach the downhill section, I pay back my dehydration and drink more freely. I eventually get to Spooner Summit aid station (130km) around Saturday 4.45pm. Spooner aid station was a no crew access aid station which meant I had to be self-sufficient again. I rehearsed in my mind what I needed to do even before I reached the aid station. I was determined to get in, get what I needed, and get out. On arriving, I went about topping up my water supply. I reapplied sun screen, relubricated my feet, ate a freshly served meatball dinner, put my headlight in an easily accessible place, and toileted before leaving the aid station. On preparing to leave, there was no sight of Dr Stanley. “195 checking out. Thank you!” I advised the aid station crew. I left Spooner by 5.30pm with renewed focus and a big carrot dangling in front of me. The sooner I get to Village Green (30km away), the longer I could sleep!

Heading towards Snow Valley Peak with Marlette Lake (and Lake Tahoe) in the background

Leaving Spooner aid station, I was determined to make the most of the 3 hours of sunlight I had left. It was a pretty lonely 5-6km ascent to Snow Valley Peak and I only saw one other runner accompanied with his pacer. Leaving the shelter of the tree line, there were some pretty strong wind gusts up top. I passed Marlette Lake with Lake Tahoe in the background as the sun was beginning to set. Thankfully, the sun kept me warm enough despite the wind and I was grateful that I wasn’t doing this section in the dark. As I passed Marlette Campground (the half way point of this section) the day had transitioned to night and it was time for headlamps again. The section between Marlette Campground and Tunnel Creek Road was actually quite challenging in the dark. The sandy trail seemed to disappear easily amongst the white rocks and frequent switchbacks so you had to remain focused. The final 6km descent down Tunnel Creek Road into Incline Village wasn’t any easier. The gravel road was particularly hard on your joints and it was a rather painful descent. When I reached the bottom, it was a nerve-racking road crossing across Route 28 negotiating speeding cars and trucks in the night. I then turned into the much quieter Lakeshore Boulevard (also known as ‘Millionaires’ Row’ for its high-end real estate) for the final stretch of road into Village Green. Shuffling along Millionaires’ Row in the dark, it seemed like every normal person had gone to sleep for the night. Determined to make the most of the flat asphalt road so that I could get to the aid station in good time, I picked up my speed. Slightly zoned out and shuffling along, I suddenly came to an abrupt halt. About 5-10 metres ahead of me was a bear! After 100 miles (160km) and more than 36 hours of running, I calmly tried to remember that damn poem. If it’s brown, lay down. If it’s black, fight back. It’s black. F***, this is the last thing I need. I slowly raised my trekking poles above my head so I looked 2.5 metres tall and stared it directly in the face with my bright headlamp. The bear began to cross the road in front of me, alternating between looking ahead to where it was going and then back at me. It didn’t appear to be looking for any trouble as it disappeared into the night. I must’ve interrupted it from crossing the road, I thought. However, fixed to the spot, I was now left with a dilemma. Should I continue shuffling and risk being chased? After a few long seconds, I got my feet shuffling again. After about 30 seconds of bracing for a sudden counterattack, it never eventuated and I began to relax. On a bit of an adrenaline high, I arrived at Village Green aid station at 11.15pm well ahead of my scheduled Sunday 3.45am arrival. I had no idea whether my support crew would be here. Our previous plan was for Courtney and Shane to leave our rental car at Incline Village School near the aid station and Stanley and I would sleep in the back of the car. However, I was more than 4 hours ahead of schedule and Stanley and I had now separated. As I approached the aid station, I couldn’t see Shane or Courtney anywhere. I naturally gravitated towards the warm fire. A kind gentleman asked me if I wanted any hot food such as pizza or quesadilla. A bit out of my mind, I asked for meat lovers pizza to which he responded “We have pepperoni, Hawaiian, or cheese!” I settled for pepperoni pizza and a quesadilla and sat in front of the fire when my cousin Shane suddenly appeared by my side. What a relief! He’d also brought some Chick-fil-A chicken nuggets for me so all of a sudden, I had a smorgasbord in front of me. He then filled me in that Stanley had pulled the pin just after Heavenly due to nausea and an inability to fuel properly. I was disappointed but it did simplify matters. It’s just me now. I was making such good time that we discussed whether I tackle ‘Powerline’ during the night. I could then carry on to Brockway Summit and sleep at the dedicated sleep station there. However, he told me that Courtney was already in bed in preparation to pace me in the morning. So as not to complicate matters, we decided to stick to the original plan. I would go to sleep here and carry on again in the morning. I left the aid station shivering just as a female runner arrived. “I’m going to sleep here for an hour and then carry on,” she advised her support crew. I said some blasphemous words to myself. Somewhere in this car park was a Jeep Compass with an air mattress and sleeping bag in the back with my name on it. Powerline could wait until tomorrow.

Eating pizza at Village Green aid station

Training to sleep in the back of the car with Dr Stanley

Tucked away in the back of the Jeep for the night at Village Green

I slept in the back of our Jeep from midnight until 4.30am and emerged human again. In true commitment to his support crew role, Shane had slept in the front seat of the car as my dedicated alarm clock whilst my GPS watch was charged overnight. Although it was broken sleep, I felt much better after 4.5 hours of rest. Today hopes that we have learnt something from yesterday so I put my learnings into practice. No chocolate milk for breakfast and no changing of socks! I lubricated my feet and put the same rancid socks on again. I headed back to the aid station for breakfast whilst Shane left to pick up Courtney. The good news was that I was officially half way (160km). The sobering news was that I was only halfway. I was now entering unknown territory beyond my accustomed 100 mile ventures so life was bound to become interesting. By the time I’d finished my pancake breakfast, Courtney had arrived ready for her pacing duties. The next section was to Brockway Summit aid station which was 21km long with 970 metres of elevation gain. ‘Powerline’ was responsible for much of that elevation. Courtney and I left Village Green aid station (cut off Sunday 8.30am) by 5.45am for a cumulative time of 37 hours and 45 mins. Walking along Millionaires’ Row again, Powerline lay heavy on my mind. Powerline is a steep section of trail that follows powerlines. It is the steepest section of the Tahoe 200 course with a 13% gradient over 3.5kms. I’d done it a couple of times prior with fresh legs and it was tough. One can only imagine the sensations after 100 miles. Thankfully, it was still early in the morning so we ascended Powerline completely in the shade. It was great to have Courtney as company and we both enjoyed the spectacular view at the top together. Feeling reasonably strong after my 4.5 hour rest at Village Green, we arrived at Brockway Summit aid station (180km) around Sunday 10.30am. Shane hadn’t arrived yet so Courtney and I found some spare seats in the shade where we could rest and put our feet up. Courtney’s pacing duties ended at Brockway and she wasn’t rostered to join me again until the 265km mark and final 60km of the race. It wasn’t long until Shane arrived running down the road carrying our trusty chilly bin whilst sweating profusely. He pulled out some iced orange juice and Dr Pepper and joined us for a drink. I ordered a “Burger with everything” and relubed my feet again. I hadn’t had any feet problems since Heavenly so this routine seemed to be working. Remarkably, I hadn’t relubed my groin since the start of the race. My new Runderwear also seemed to be doing the trick despite more than 48 hours of use. I’d heard that lube may actually impair the wicking properties of the Runderwear fabric so I avoided lubing this area. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it right? I left Brockway Summit on schedule at Sunday 11.30am. My ‘get to the next aid station’ mindset seemed to be working but I had bigger plans for the next section. My goal was to get back to Brockway Summit again by Monday 1am. That would mean heading out to the Tahoe City turnaround point and then quickly leaving – 60 km in 13.5 hours. If I could get back by Monday 1am, I’d be able to have another 4 hour overnight rest which would put me in good stead to finish as scheduled sometime after Tuesday midnight. I left Brockway Summit determined.

Heading down to Brockway Summit aid station

At Brockway Summit aid station with Courtney and Shane

Courtney concerned about the integrity of the family jewels at Brockway Summit

Brockway Summit to Tahoe City was a 30km stretch. The challenging part was that this section needed to be completed in the heat of the day and you needed enough water for 6-8 hours. Unless you were comfortable drinking treated water from Watson Lake or its tributaries (about 10km in), for most of us, it meant carrying at least 3 litres of water during this leg (which I did for all legs actually). This on top of your snacks and compulsory/recommended warm gear, meant travelling light was difficult during the Tahoe 200. The large 6-8 hour gaps between aid stations also meant that you couldn’t risk being found short or wanting so you tended to leave aid stations well refurbished and (hopefully) prepared for any contingency. Thankfully, other than the heat, I had no real problems on the way to Tahoe City. I maintained a good steady uphill hiking pace and was still able to run the downs. There was another big 6km descent into Tahoe City which was mostly runnable bar a few rocky technical sections. I’m going to have to go up this bastard again. I eventually arrived at Tahoe City at Sunday 5.30pm making such good time that I’d beat my support crew. I spotted another runner with his partner at the aid station who had his shoes off and feet up so I asked if they wouldn’t be offended if I did the same. I sat next to them and was then given a cold coke by one of the volunteers who noticed that I was by myself. About 10-15 minutes later, Courtney and Shane arrived bearing gifts of food and drink. I asked them for ‘something substantial’ to get me through the night and they delivered with baked potato and chicken tenders from the local bar and some iced orange juice. Whilst eating my meal, Courtney suggested that it would be a good idea if she paced me from Brockway Summit (80km to the finish) rather than Village Green (60km to the finish). “That’s a big shift! I advised. “You’ll need to be self sufficient and prepared for more than 24 hours,” I added. She was undeterred so we agreed on the change of plans. Because of this, I reckoned that it was best that Courtney and Shane have the night off tonight. Rather than go to Brockway Summit at some crazy hour after midnight, I suggested that they just meet me there at 5am and get some good rest. I knew crewing could be as tiring as racing. It would also spare them the stress of driving during the night on the right-hand side of unfamiliar roads. Before leaving Tahoe City, Courtney recommended that I brush my teeth (I hadn’t done this since Heavenly) and change my clothes. My last change of socks wasn’t a positive experience so I wasn’t keen on changing anything. Concerned about my level of hygiene she responded, “Well at least change your underwear then!” Another female competitor who had been eavesdropping on our conversation chimed in with “You’ll feel better for it!” Feeling henpecked, I made the reluctant change (I would come to regret this later). By the time I left Tahoe City at 6.30pm, I’d completed 215km for a cumulative time of 56 hours and 30 minutes. Leaving Tahoe City was a huge psychological lift. It meant that I was now heading back towards the start/finish. However, Tahoe City was also the lowest point of the course so climbing out of here wasn’t going to be easy. A bit anxious of what lay ahead, I chugged back a Dr Pepper with a couple of paracetamol/caffeine tablets. Hopefully this would get me through my third night on the course.

At the top of a climb heading towards Tahoe City

Feet up and eating at Tahoe City aid station

Heading back out, it was nice to see a few familiar faces I had seen earlier. The camaraderie of the Tahoe 200 was amazing and probably the best I’ve ever experienced. Everyone was so encouraging of each other and having two out and back sections meant you often saw the same competitors throughout the race. As I slowly headed back up the 6km climb out of Tahoe City, I meet Tia from Canada for the first time. Initially I heard someone making good ground behind me whilst coughing so I moved to the side of the trail. “No, you don’t want me ahead of you with my cough!” she stated. Thinking she would eventually just pass me, I carried on with my slow sustainable pace. “I’ve been coughing for hours and now I’ve got my period.” I heard from behind me. Woah. What the hell. She’d met me for all of a minute and felt comfortable disclosing this information. “That doesn’t sound pleasant,” was my understated response. “You’re the first person I’ve really spoken to during this time,” she replied. For the next couple of hours, Tia from Canada told me all about her life. Her job as a paramedic/firefighter, her husband and two sons, her previous 200 miler experience (this was her second 200 miler), and her preparation for this race. Apparently, she had flown from her home at sea level the day before the race and hence she was not acclimatized to altitude. In addition to her cough and period, she had also been having hallucinations. She told me that she had been avoiding sleep as sleeping made her cough worse. “You know you really need to sleep,” I counselled. Our medical brief had recommended that we sleep 30-60 mins per night “to avoid loss of mental function and avoid hallucinations” and how one could have a medical DNF due to “extreme hallucinations or losing touch with reality”. I didn’t probe Tia about the content of her hallucinations but she seemed very in touch with her current reality. I gave her a short medical ‘Altitude 101’ and concluded that I’d be surprised if she was feeling well after arriving from sea level to altitude the day before competing in a 200 miler. After a while I opened up to Tia. I told her that I had come from New Zealand 5 weeks earlier with my running mate Stanley and how we managed to run the whole course as training before the race. I told her how Stanley and I had hoped to finish this run together but how he discontinued just after Heavenly due to nausea. Tia wasn’t one to fluff around with her words. When I explained what had happened to most other competitors who noticed that I was now running by myself, the general response was “I’m sorry to hear.” Not Tia. “I hate quitters,” was her response. She then told me about how she was involved in the selection of firefighters back home. “We set them difficult but physically achievable tasks. If they show any hint of mental weakness, we pull them.” Interested by this, I probed further. “But do you tell them that? That they have a mental weakness?” “No,” she replied “We just tell them that they weren’t selected.” Thinking back to similar experiences I’d encountered in medicine I added. “It’s a difficult conversation to have isn’t it? No one will ever admit to a mental weakness. In fact, it’s completely the opposite. Patients whom I think may have this issue, generally think they’re strong since they’ve had to endure so much suffering. The tough just seem to find a way. And if there is no way, they just get on with it. Telling anyone that they have a mental weakness is an unpopular conversation. And hence doctors invariably don’t do this as well.” We continued chatting until it was almost dark when suddenly, I had a violent urge to toilet. Shit. I’d overdone the caffeine. I told Tia that I had to go urgently and raced into the bushes. After 3 days of toileting successfully at aid stations, I finally succumbed to my first bush toilet. Having just been humbled by my poor squat endurance, the event’s ‘leave no trace’ principle meant that I now had the honour of taking my caffeine induced crap with me. By the time I emerged from the bush, it was well and truly dark and I was by myself again. In saying that, I didn’t really mind as being by myself meant that I could really tune in to what my body needed to get me through the night. I passed quite a few people during the night though I never saw Tia again. She’d either found a second wind or followed through with her plan of having a ‘dirt nap’ that night. How people were managing to sleep on the trail for any period of time was beyond me. The night was chilly enough and I was moving! Shrouded by night, my pace naturally slowed and time seemed to drag on. The section from the top of the first climb to Watson Lake seemed to go on forever. The next 10km from Watson Lake back to Brookway Summit seemed to take even longer! With less than 5km to go to the aid station, for the first time, I began to experience uncomfortable chafing in my pants. I postulated that this was either due to my change of Runderwear at Tahoe City, a reaction to the wet wipes I’d used during my bush toilet, more than 60 hours of running, or quite possibly, all of the above. It didn’t slow me down but I knew this could be a problem. I eventually arrived at Brockway Summit aid station (245km) around Monday 1.45am which was 45 minutes behind schedule. The aid station was quiet and cold. I had three priorities on arriving. Perform hygiene measures down under, eat some food, and get straight to bed. I managed to find a free tent with 2 stretchers in it and crawled into my sleeping bag. It was so cold! I grabbed all four blankets available in the tent and put them on top of me. I lay on my stretcher eating my quesadilla as I gazed up into the night sky through an opening in the tent ceiling. The time was now 2.30am. I was supposed to set my alarm at 4am for a 5am start but I couldn’t stomach that. I set my alarm for 4.30am and tapped out for the night.

Leaving Tahoe City aid station with Shane

The start of the long climb out of Tahoe City

I had another restless and broken sleep. The night was so, so cold. I could feel the cold air like a fan was blowing cold air upwards either side of my thermal mat. I had a visitor during the night who took the spare stretcher next to me. Sometime after that, others would poke their head torches in looking for any spare beds. Eventually the noise of zips and talking reached such a crescendo that I realised it was time to leave. It sounded like a big group of runners had just arrived and they were all looking for a place to sleep. When I rolled over, I noticed that someone had taken the blankets that had once covered me. They say that a DNF occurs when the effort required exceeds the desire to continue. Throughout most of this race, I had maintained a manageable effort. But now in this tent, my desire was pretty low. My wife had told me in no uncertain terms that she had expected me to finish. I had travelled to the USA weeks before the race in order to train. I had left my wife by herself to look after our two kids (and anxious dog) for 4 weeks. I had missed my 10-year-old daughter’s birthday for this (apparently double-digit birthdays are a big thing). I was financially and emotionally invested in this race. The problem being, desire doesn’t always get you out of bed. It was cold outside, I was tired, and I felt like shit. When desire is low, one needs to fall back to discipline. So, lying in my sleeping bag I said out loud the words that my brain needed to hear. “Discipline doesn’t care how you feel” and I got out of bed.

Early Monday morning at Brockway Summit aid station with Courtney

It’s 4.45am on a chilly Monday at Brockway Summit, Lake Tahoe. I’m sitting by the camp fire next to Shane and Courtney sipping my hot chocolate whilst forcing shredded potato down me for breakfast. I hear someone ask for the weather forecast but its blatantly obvious. Hot days and cold nights. Enter John (aka the South African who moved to Canada for a better life whom I ran with earlier) who has just arrived into the aid station and joins us by the camp fire. “Does anybody have any ideas for real bad chafing?” he loudly broadcasts. “Right IN THERE” he adds with that passionate South African accent. I’d noticed that he didn’t look too flash as he walked in so now it all made sense. It was hard to know who he was asking but he appeared to be looking directly at me so I answered “Mate, good hygiene, frequent lube, and good underpants.” “I’ve tried that,” he countered. “I’ve been carrying lube in my pockets and applying it every 15 minutes but it isn’t working. I don’t think I can keep doing this for another 80km. There must be another way. I’m desperate!” he exclaims. I presume someone who is the medic gives his 2 cents worth until John interrupts with the unspeakable words “Can I put tape up there?” and now he is in full flight. “Surely someone must have had this problem before. There must be some kind of tape. I can check on Reddit!” he continues. I turn my gaze to those around me who all appear to be listening intently like this is a completely normal topic to discuss around breakfast. I presume it is the medic again who mentions the possibility of Kinesio or K-tape though he would need to shave this area first. I felt for John. I was experiencing chafing symptoms myself but this seemed like pretty drastic measures. My concern was, what if the tape didn’t work? Or, what if the tape causes other problems? Regardless, John was desperate and last I saw, he was walking away with his partner to get his balls shaved. I never saw John again. Though amazingly, he managed to finish.

Leaving Brockway Summit aid station for the last time

By 5am on my fourth morning, I’m back on the trail with Courtney. I’d done 245 km and for the first time, my wheels are starting to come off. It’s cold and I’m stiff in all the wrong places. My first kilometre had taken me more than 30 minutes. I’m sore and grumpy and I’m trying to warm up, but I just can’t find my grove. I’m hesitant to take pain relief as I wanted to save this for later when I really needed it. However, I eventually realise that I really need it now so I succumb to more paracetamol. As I ascend Brockway Summit, my body starts to feel better but now the chafing kicks in. And it ain’t pleasant. I press on hoping it will ‘warm up’ like yesterday but it just seems to be getting worse. It hurts to walk and it hurts to run. I realise that this is now a major problem and could stop me from finishing the race so I’m taking my frustration out on my poor wife. What followed was a stop start period of mayhem. I would put lube on. Courtney would put lube on. Underwear off. Underwear back on. Wedgy. No wedgy. Underwear off again. The only thing that seemed to work was if I forcibly held my butt cheeks apart with my hands. But this was impossible to do for any significant period of time whilst moving. Eventually, I realised that I had exhausted all options bar one. Suck it up buttercup. I had an idea that I could try at the next aid station but I would need to get there first. I knew that the mind magnifies any problem it thinks about so I made a concerted effort to think of anything other than my perineum pain. Not long after all this carnage, someone had managed to catch up to us and asked “Do you mind if I join you two?” To my surprise it is Tia again! I sense Courtney is a bit unsettled that I’m familiar with this blonde woman of reproductive age who is easy on the eye so I try de-escalate the situation. “Courtney this is Tia. Tia this is my wife. I met Tia last night coming out of Tahoe City.” I elaborated. “Yeah” Tia replied. “He told me everything I did wrong!” So much for the altitude education, I thought. Before long, they seemed to be engaging in small talk which for Tia translated as “I’m bleeding from my nose and vagina.” As they began to converse, I started to warp into my own world. We managed a slow and steady ascent up Brockway Summit. Through pine forest, wild flowers, and under clear blue sky. I tried to connect with the environment to help distract me from my own suffering. As nice as it was to be accompanied by Courtney, I also took some comfort in being accompanied by a fellow sufferer. I’d always known that a 200 mile was more than physical. Yes, you needed physical fitness. But this was also hugely mental with a deep survival component. It was also about who could suffer the most. And right now, Tia and I were in the thick of the suffering. When we neared the top of the climb, Tia goaded “I’m looking forward to seeing this running of yours.” I’d told her whilst climbing out of Tahoe City that I’d managed to maintain a reasonable pace as I’d been running all the downhills. I’ve prided myself over the years in somehow managing to keep my running legs whilst everyone around me was losing theirs. So I gave her my own ‘shuffling 101’ as we began to course over the top. “Don’t force it. Just start as slow as you need to. Just keep cycling your legs underneath you. You shouldn’t be breathless. Hold this for long enough and eventually you’ve got momentum.” We managed to all hold a reasonable shuffle going down. It wasn’t very fast but its real value lay in being faster than a walk for not that much more effort. “Running 250km into a 200 miler. This is bad ass!” I heard Tia say from behind me. “Just move with the downhill,” I added. “Zig zag as you need so you don’t burn out your quads.” We managed to run for most of the way until we reached ‘Powerline’ again. Unlike yesterday morning when I ascended Powerline in the shade, it was now late morning so the sun bathed the whole slope. By now, most of the participants had gone up and down Powerline so it was dusty with a lot of loose rock. If I thought going up Powerline was tough, going down it was worse! The gradient was steep and the loose soil meant that you were only one mistake away from a perilous fall. We managed a slow 30min/km descent down Powerline. By the time we reached the road, we’d sustained no significant injuries but my quads were burnt. I’d also never heard Tia complain but now she came pretty close to it. She’d always stated her symptoms so matter of factly but this time she shouted out “And now I’ve got blisters on my feet!” Any thoughts that this would stop her were soon cast aside when she surmised “Well, looks like this is me for the rest of the run!” We agreed to fast walk the downhill road section towards Incline Village and we continued this fast walk along Millionaires’ Row. In the daylight, we could see all the huge villas with their exorbitant entranceways. Some even had life sized wooden sculptures of animals (including a bear) which reminded me of my last encounter along this road. Courtney maintained a pretty fast walk along this stretch and I managed to keep up for a few kilometres until I asked her to slow down a bit. The sun was beating down on us and the heat and continuous toil was starting to take its toll. We finally arrived at Village Green aid station (265km) around Monday 11.15am. I’d been going for more than 74 hours now and under the baking sun, I was toast. I was in bad need of a rest.

Warped into my own world surrounded by pine forest and wild flowers

Heading down ‘powerline’ with Courtney and Tia

Cometh the hour. Cometh the man. Shane was a champion at Village Green. With Courtney pacing, he was now our lone support crew. He was rushing around getting everything for us whilst we sprawled out on the grass near the aid station. I also asked if he could look after Tia as well. She had no one supporting her so I figured we’d adopt her. Shane gave us lots of iced drinks and a popsicle each. He ordered my burrito for me and prepared to top up my drinks for the next leg. I hadn’t planned to sleep at Village Green but I was so exhausted that I asked Shane to get my sleeping gear. He laid out my air mattress and sleeping bag on the shady grass. Next to my inflatable pillow was my sleep mask, ear plugs, and lubricant eye drops. He did the same for Tia. Apparently, I was out like a light. When I woke up, it felt like the best day time nap I’d ever had in my life! I was remarkably reenergised! It felt good to be resting in the shade and I was tempted to stay longer. Unsure of what to do, I asked another competitor who had arrived into the aid station around the same time as us if he was staying or heading off again. “I couldn’t handle another night!” he exclaimed. I want to get this thing finished!” Although it was very tempting to ride out the heat of the day in the shade, deep down I knew that it was best to get going again. As I started to mobilise, I became more aware of my rattly chest and cough. I first noticed these respiratory symptoms back at Brockway Summit and like then, my cough was also worse after waking up from a sleep. If I thought I was bad, then I had nothing on Tia. She was now getting breathing problems on top of her purulent sounding cough. I was becoming more familiar with this so called ‘ultra cough’ which is reportedly due to increased ventilation in conjunction with dust, dry air, and allergens. However, I hadn’t really fully appreciated what other competitors called ‘Tahoe lung’ which may have been the progression from the ultra-cough. I was amazed to hear that other competitors had a plan to keep on top of Tahoe lung including running with a buff over their mouth, saline nasal sprays, throat lozenges, Mucinex, anti-histamines, and even inhalers. Next to me I hear Tia shout out “Has anybody got any Mucinex!” A volunteer eventually arrives with a small bottle of gold coloured syrup. “Sorry we don’t have any Mucinex but we have this,” and they handed over a small bottle to both of us. “Guaranteed to expel all the contents of your lung!” they concluded. I’m a bit nervous so I look at the bottle whilst trying to read the ingredients. “Ok, but will it also expel my bowel motions?” I calmy ask. The volunteer chuckles away. “I can’t guarantee that. You’ll need to read the fine print!” he replies. After 265km, I decided to trust those in the know and swigged the contents back. After dealing with my lungs, I now had to deal with this chafing issue. I couldn’t believe that I’d said the unspeakable words but I just did. “Shane, can you ask the medics if they have any K-tape?” I explained to Shane that I wanted to try taping my butt cheeks apart to help separate the opposed skin edges of my inflamed perineum. He eventually returned with some K-tape and quipped “The lady said she had never heard of it used for that purpose before!” Now that I had the tape, Courtney, Shane, and I just looked at each other in silence. I broke the silence with “I can’t do this myself!” Shane just burst out laughing and said a single word “Courtney!” Courtney and I then sheepishly walked towards a secluded and empty tent and proceeded with caution. I lay myself prone on the ground and calmly said “You need to tape my cheeks apart. Upwards and outwards.” I heard Courtney gasping for air. I could only imagine the flora and fauna that had developed there after more than 74 hours of running. After a few adjustments, I had tape from each cheek anchored to the front of my hip bones. The effect was noticeable. I could still feel symptoms but this was now much more manageable. I decided that it would be best if I applied my own lube so I thanked Courtney for her selfless sacrifice. If I thought I was bad, I had nothing on Tia. In the distance I could hear Tia shout out “Does anybody have a pad!” There is a pause and then a lady in an American accent shouts back “Yeah! What kind?”. She then goes on to list the variety of female sanitary options available whilst I walk away to get more food. When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Sleeping in the shade at Village Green aid station

About to leave Village Green aid station with Courtney and Tia

Courtney, Tia, and I left Village Green aid station at 1.15pm. We had 30km to get to Spooner Summit aid station and 60km to the finish. The climb out of Incline Village up Tunnel Creek Road was brutal. The sun continued to beat down on us. We stopped briefly to share a cold Dr Pepper but otherwise we moved slowly upwards. We managed to pass a couple of athletes who had withered away on the side of the trail and were taking dirt naps. As we passed, I questioned why they didn’t just stay longer at the aid station. I can’t recall many details during this section other than it was hot and punishing. It was a relief to get to Marlette campground as I knew that this marked the halfway point to the next aid station. They say that the second half of a marathon is more than just a half marathon and exponentially harder than the first half. One can apply a similar logic to the second 100 miles of a 200 miler. Whereas earlier, I’d be arriving into aid stations ‘reasonably fresh’. Now, moving from aid station to aid station was a monumental effort and I’d arrive absolutely finished. If I was a carcass, I’m sure even the vultures would’ve bypassed me. It was a pretty tough climb up Snow Valley Peak and our efforts were rewarded with a freezingly cold wind up top. Though the sun was up, it provided no appreciable warmth. It was hard to believe that not that long ago, I’d been too hot and now I was cold again. To avoid freezing up the top, we tried to move through this section as quick as possible. With Courtney in the lead, we scrambled along the ridge line. Wild like the wind. We eventually reached the tree line which marked the beginning of the downward descent into Spooner. Thankfully, I still had my shuffling legs. However, I still had to remain disciplined and ran a manageable effort. There was no point red lining it now and compromising my ability to finish. As we approached Spooner aid station, it was starting to get dark again. To our surprise, Shane and Dr Stanley of all people had walked up the Tahoe Rim Trail to greet us. However, there wasn’t much they could do for us as Spooner was a no crew access station. I expressed my condolences to Stanley. However, I was also a mixture of envy and anger knowing that he had spent 2 extra nights in a warm bed and I was preparing for my fourth night ahead of me. I longed for them to give me my sleeping bag but we all decided against it so as not to break any race rules. Shane and Stanely eventually wished us the best of luck for the night ahead and told us they’d meet us at the finish line. In fading light, I then somehow managed to sprint across the 6 lane Highway 50 and avoid being road kill enroute to the aid station. We arrived at Spooner aid station (295km) around Monday 9pm for a cumulative race time of 84 hours. I knew there was no way that I’d make my original scheduled finishing time of Tuesday 1.30am so I had to re orientate. A long night lay ahead of us and the last 30km wasn’t going to be easy. The finish line cut off time also wasn’t until Tuesday 6pm so there was still lots of time. I just had to play my cards sensibly now.

Battling the heat heading up Tunnel Creek Road

Wild like the wind past Marlette Lake again

The support crew at Spooner were incredible (in fact I reckon that the Tahoe 200 aid stations were the best I’d come across in regards to support and care). I was rushed to a seat and my ‘burger with everything’ was delivered quickly. I told Courtney and Tia that I needed to rest before venturing out into the night again. I was in no rush to leave. It made sense for us to finish shortly after sunrise rather than in the early hours of death o’clock when no one would be at the finish anyway. The focus was on preparing ourselves in the best way possible so we could get through the night and my preference was to avoid dirt naps. Although Spooner Summit wasn’t a dedicated sleep station, there were a few spare incline seats which the volunteers manoeuvred flat for me so that I could attempt to sleep. Apparently, I nodded off easily enough though I was under the impression that I didn’t sleep at all. Sometime after 11.30pm, I began to rouse (I must’ve slept) and I started getting ready for the last 30km to the finish. Courtney and Tia began to do the same. I could hear Tia coughing quite badly in the background and in between her gasping breaths, she had now also developed an audible wheeze. “You know you should at least get your oxygen sats checked,” I said. “You may have HAPE (high altitude pulmonary oedema).” “Yes, but then I’d know I have a problem,” she responded. Fair enough. I understood what she meant. She was in this till the bitter end. We all toileted (hopefully for the last time) before leaving and left the wonderful crew at Spooner aid station around midnight. I knew the course profile well from here. A long climb out of Spooner, a few undulations in the middle but mostly a downhill gradient, and a sharp climb back to the finish line. The three of us moved well through the night and passed enough people during the climb. It got increasingly cold up top but I urged us to keep moving. We passed the wooden ‘bench’ for the final time. It was mostly a fast walk in the dark and for most of the night, we were alone. Tia voiced that she was struggling to stay awake so we began to talk more. When the conversation died, Courtney put on some fast-paced music which we sung along to. For hours we moved together. Urging the sun to rise. Until eventually we turned the night into day. As is typical when the sun rises, Courtney had a sudden urge to toilet. Tia followed. Not feeling the need, I sat on a log on the side of the trail. In my peripheral vision I could see both women spaced about 5 metres apart whilst I munched away happily on my Doritos. I’m sure that it would’ve been the most bizarre sight had anyone seen us! As the sun rose, I noticed my shadow and realised that I looked like a waddling duck. Holy shit. I’ve modified my gait without knowing it. It’s around this same time that I also begin to feel an increasing tension around my ring piece. Fearing that I’d add an anal fissure to my inventory list, I asked Courtney to remove the ‘butt tape’. I could feel the tension instantly release but now my chafing pain returned with a vengeance. I had 1-2 hours remaining. I can handle this. The final ascent into Heavenly was nasty. A 9% gradient over 3.5km. Although nothing too concerning on fresh legs. After 320km, it had morphed into a mountain. I had rehearsed this final climb during training so I knew exactly what lay around the corner. I expected suffering. And I duly received it. Remarkably, the closer I got to the finish line, the more ailments I developed. My knee started to hurt for the first time. My gut that had behaved so well was now starting to churn. It was like my brain was slowly lowering its defences. All those descending inhibitory pain signals were being withdrawn. My brain was clocking out. I felt grateful for my company and the shared suffering. Courtney had remarkably paced me for the last 80km of the race. Overall, she had paced and supported me for 100km over a 30 hour period. It ain’t easy sticking to someone’s else pace for such a long time so I was thankful. I finally crossed the finish line with Courtney just after Tuesday 8am. It was the ultimate surrender. I’d been going for more than 95 hours so the overwhelming sensation was one of sheer exhaustion. Shane, Stanley, and a few other pacers and their crew who had finished earlier were there to cheer us on. Tia crossed not long after and I saw her eyes start to well up. After holding it together for so long, she too appeared to be letting down her defences. I received my finisher’s mug and selected my finisher’s belt buckle. I said my thank yous and good byes and lumbered towards our trusty Jeep. As I sat down, I could feel my body slowly shutting down. During the journey back, the rigor mortis started to kick in. When we arrived back at our rental house, I felt like curling up into a ball in some distant corner. And that’s exactly what I did. I was too tired to shower. When I woke up a few hours later. I still didn’t feel I could safely shower so I pulled out my sleeping mat and slept on the floor until dinner. 165 people finished the Tahoe 200. 100 did not. It took me two weeks before I stopped dreaming that I was running through the night. I had to reach out and touch my bedside cabinet to help reassure myself that I was in my own bed. Many times during and immediately after the race, I said I would never do a 200 miler again. A few weeks have since passed and my feelings have changed. I reckon I’d definitely consider doing it again. It’s funny how running’s like that. Running is medicine.

Heading down the finish line with Courtney

At the finish line with Dr Stanley, Courtney, and Shane

At the finish line with Tia

Before and after 200 miles

At race registration

At the start of the 5km with Courtney, Millie, and Poppi

Fireworks at the marathon start

It’s a dark and coolish Florida winter morning and I’m surrounded by so many people! Like in the 3 days prior, I’m running with my wife Courtney. Our kids joined us for the 5km run but weren’t quite Dopey enough to join us for the longer distances. We run out of Epcot Theme Park to lots of noise and so much energy! If you don’t like exercising and prefer being distracted whilst exercising, then this is the perfect race for you! Within a couple of kilometres, runners start peeling off to take a photo with Doug and Kevin from Up. Further ahead, there’s a huge line of people waiting to take a photo. Not keen to stop this early on in run, we keep running until we reach the front of the cue revealing that the culprit is Stitch dressed as Elvis. Every few kilometres there is Disney theme music pumping from speakers and Disney movies playing on big screens. In the last three days, I’ve seen so many Disney characters out on course – Micky & Minnie, Goofy, Snow White, Dopey, Peter Pan, the Mad Hatter, Chip & Dale, Cinderella, Clarabelle Cow, Mary Poppins, Pinocchio, Thumper, Jiminy Cricket, Donald & Daisy Duck, Hercules, The Incredibles, Robin Hood, Merlin, Aladdin, Marie from The Aristocats, Baloo from The Jungle Book, Kerchak from Tarzan, and Flik from A Bug’s Life, and many more. Courtney and I never stopped for character photos mid run as we had our fair share of character photos with the kids whilst in the theme parks. However, that didn’t stop hundreds of people cueing up to take a photo with their childhood favourites. Some runners also took their costumes very seriously and I can remember passing a Cinderella who cried out “It’s hard to run with one shoe!” Even a toilet stop had music (‘Let’s Get Together’ from The Parent Trap movie) playing in the background. A participant who was aiming to complete the marathon carrying a large USA flag said “If you’re aiming for a PR (Personal Record), then you’re doing it wrong and probably shouldn’t be doing Disney”. He was spot on! The Disney World Marathon Weekend is all about having fun whilst keeping active!

Running the 5km with the kids and Courtney

Finishing the 5km with Millie and Poppi

Courtney and I reach Magic Kingdom Theme Park just after 8 miles (13km). Thankfully, it still feels like I’ve got some magic in my legs! Micky & Minnie Mouse (dressed in their finest attire) wave down at us as we enter Magic Kingdom. When we get inside, Main Street USA is absolutely pumping! It was like a supercharged street party with a blur of supporters cheering and waving. If your legs were tiring, then surely this electrifying atmosphere would have kick started them again! As we veer off Main Street, we pass some of the more iconic theme rides in Magic Kingdom – Space Mountain, Tomorrowland Speedway, Seven Dwarfs Mine Train, and the Prince Charming Regal Carrousel. We eventually run through Cinderella Castle which is beautifully lit up in purple and blue hues. There’s a bit of jostling between participants for that perfect photo of them with the castle in the background and Courtney tries her darndest to nail it! We then head out via Liberty Square, through Frontierland past the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, and then exit the park through Adventureland. Wow, that was a lot of stimulation (and potentially my limit for a run)!

Mickey & Minnie Mouse welcoming runners into the Magic Kingdom

Running down Main Street USA with Cinderella Castle ahead

Courtney with Cinderella Castle in the background

Running through Magic Kingdom

Fresh out of Magic Kingdom, the next theme park is Disney’s Animal Kingdom which is about 5 miles (8km) away. The next section of the course (16-24km) is like the honeymoon period of the Walt Disney World Marathon. You’re still buzzing from the Magic Kingdom and feel rejuvenated. You’ve got a few kilometres under your belt, your legs are still fresh, and you’re almost halfway. You’re feeding off everyone’s positive energy and you’re wondering where Disney has been your whole life. In fact, it even begins to rain but you’re not going to let the weather rain on your parade. For the first time, you see participants ahead of you (still looking relatively fresh) coming back from Animal Kingdom and there’s cheering and high fives for Africa. When we arrive at Animal Kingdom, we run past the iconic Tree of Life (a spectacular 45 metre artificial tree in the centre of the park) and head through ‘Asia’ towards ‘Expedition Everest – Legend of the Forbidden Mountain’. Expedition Everest is an adrenaline pumping roller coaster with speeds of up to 80km/hour and is themed around a Yeti protecting the Forbidden Mountain next to Mount Everest. We’d been running for 24km and I could feel that my gait was becoming less fluid. It was also around 9am so the theme park was open – Open to rides. “Runners through the Lightning Lane if you’d like a ride” an event marshal shouted. “Do you want to go on Everest?” Courtney asked me. Thinking my legs could do with a bit of a break, I responded “Sure” and veered left without hesitation. To the looks of bewildered park visitors, a steady stream of runners moved through the Lightning Lane and to the front of the line within a couple of minutes. Before we knew it, Courtney and I were at the VERY FRONT of the roller coaster and ARRRGGGGHHHH! After 3 minutes of nerve trembling ascents, breath taking descents, heart pounding twists, and pulsating turns, the roller coaster finally came to an abrupt stop and we were directed (or rather spat out) back onto the marathon course. It’s hard to describe how I felt after Everest. I must confess, I’ve never done drugs in my life. But I reckon doing Expedition Everest whilst under the physiological strain of running a marathon is probably as close as I’ll ever get to the real thing. Jaded, lightheaded and stunned, I started jogging out of the park.

Running through Disney’s Animal Kingdom with Expedition Everest in the background

Waiting for the Expedition Everest ride

Front of the roller coaster at Expedition Everest

At some point, the magic starts to wear thin. At some point the balance between physiological strain and stimulation is upset. Joy vanishes. For most of us doing a marathon, it’s usually around 30km. For those doing the Dopey Challenge, you’d be lucky if you were still feeling fresh at 21km. In saying that, I reckon that a Disney run buys you at least 10 free kilometres such is all the excitement and stimulation. But at some point, a marathon ALWAYS gets hard. Disney or not. Hard began from Animal Kingdom onwards. There is this particularly challenging part of the marathon around Disney’s Blizzard Beach Water Park. The park is closed (as its winter season) so it’s completely empty. Your 19 miles (30km) in. And you’ve got to run around this huge vacant car park to make up the miles. When I get to the 30km mark of a marathon, I know this is the pointy end of the run. The business end. A time to go to work. Though it’s tough from 30km onwards, I love the challenge. On the road leading to Animal Kingdom, a particular quote on a sign caught my attention. The quote came from Walt Disney’s movie, Mulan and are words of wisdom to a young girl from the emperor of China. It read “The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful”. As hard as it is, how you approach the last 12km of a marathon defines you and is where all the ‘good stuff’ comes from. Though the magic may wear thin, it is always within you. Your job in the last 12km is to find it. It usually requires looking inwards. It usually involves digging deep. And it’s YOUR responsibility to find it. If your struggling, just channel the Seven Dwarfs and keep working. If it helps, starts singing Heigh-Ho.

Stopping for a photo in front of The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror at Disney’s Hollywood Studios

Running along the Boardwalk approaching Epcot

Running past China inside Epcot

The “big ball” near the finish at Epcot

It’s always a bit harder running a marathon when the distance markers are in miles rather than kilometres. When we reach Disney’s Hollywood Studios, we’d done 23 of 26 miles. Being able to work with small numbers (1 mile = 1.6km) meant that I could covert 3 miles to 4.8km. Anyone can run 5km. In fact, Millie (8 years old) and Poppi (5 years old) did it 3 days ago so why can’t I? Hollywood Studios is much busier than Animal Kingdom with many more park visitors. We run past the dreaded ‘Tower of Terror’ ride (not open to participants) but pose for a quick photo and move on. Sometimes the last 5km can feel like it goes on forever but there’s enough supporters holding signs to keep me engaged. The first sign is simple but powerful – ‘Believe’. Others I find entertaining – ‘The almost there mile’, ‘Toe nails are overrated’, ‘You need a therapist’, ‘If marathons were easy they’d be called your mum. If they were hard they’d be called your dad’. What?! Was that a kid holding up that sign? With experience you just get good at digging deep and Heigh-Hoing it. Or if you need more Disney inspiration, it’s time to stop mousin around, go to infinity and beyond, or just follow Elsa and “Let it go”. Holding a good pace, Courtney and I reach the Boardwalk near Epcot before passing all the countries that make up Epcot’s World Showcase. As we get closer to the heart of Epcot, the iconic “big ball” comes into view and we know that we’re near the end. We pass a choir singing “We are the Champions” before swinging round the final corner with a full view of the finish line ahead. Micky & Minnie Mouse are waving as all the runners approach and “Do You Believe in Magic” by The Lovin’ Spoonful is playing in the background. Courtney and I cross the finish together and are given some Mickey Mouse finisher’s ears and our amazing finisher’s medals – A Mickey Mouse medal for the marathon, a Goofy medal for the half and full marathon double, and a Dopey medal for our 5km/10km/half/full marathon quartet. It makes you feel happy like an old time movie and you feel like a kid again. There really were magic in those miles! Running is medicine.

2024 Walt Disney World Dopey Challenge

5km – 50:14

10km – 1:03:57

Half marathon (modified to 7.1 miles due to weather) – 1:13:59

Marathon – 4:59:40

Crossing the marathon finish line and completing the Dopey Challenge

The 2024 Dopey Challenge finisher’s medals

Main street in Leadville (10 152 feet / 3 094 metres)

As I walked towards the start line at 6^th and Harrison just before 4am, it’s fresh but not chillingly cold. I say goodbye to my wife and wish Dr Stanley the best of luck. Today, we would be running our own races. He heads to the front of the group and I settle in towards the back. I’ve got 30 hours to complete this. No point getting caught up in the fast-paced energy at the start of the pack. Shuffling around towards the back of the pack, I take a moment to reflect. The pre-race briefing we had yesterday at the high school football field is still fresh in my mind. “Motivation will get you to the start line. But only total commitment will get you to the finish. Dig Deep. Commit. Don’t quit. Inside each and everyone of you is this inexhaustible well of grit, guts, and determination. You’re better than you think you are! You can do more than you think you can! At 4am tomorrow, you will meet the truth.” It’s not long to go before the start and they’re playing The Star-Spangled Banner. I tighten up my shoe laces and then look beyond the start line. Time to stare truth in the face. This is it. Am I good enough? There was the customary starter’s gun but also a final gun that sounded at the finish line at 30hr:00min:00sec. After this, no additional runners officially finished the race. The race was over, done, caput. Between the bang (shot gun blast) and the buckle (sub-30-hour finisher’s belt buckle), it really was up to me. I knew I needed the perfect race. I had a plan. I had a strategy. Thirty hours of continuous effort. One hit. No sleep. I took a slow deep breath of the thinnest air of the land and on the sound of the old double 12-gauge shotgun, I crossed the start line with 700 other runners.

At the Leadville 100 start line with Dr Andrew Stanley (right)

After the initial excitement of the start line, the atmosphere becomes serious as runners focus on the task ahead. It’s dark and I’m running down a dirt road called The Boulevard. In its pomp, The Boulevard was a well-manicured route heading west of Leadville to Soda Springs (apparently ‘no road was smoother than The Boulevard’). But nowadays, The Boulevard is the ultra runner’s devil in disguise. Being dead straight and still relatively smooth, The Boulevard has a generous downhill gradient that is inappreciable in the dark and hence it is very easy to run 6min/km and TOO FAST this early in the run. I hold back my pace and restrain the ego. Let them pass. You will pass them later. My goal for Leadville was simply to finish. My plan was to take this race as deep as I needed to. Instead of ‘dig deep’ as per the famed race motto, my intention was to ‘fight deep’. For me the Leadville 100 was akin to a boxing heavy weight KO specialist and I was the aspiring underdog hoping to take on the storied champion in his own back yard. The Leadville 100 had a historical ‘knock out / DNF’ rate of 50% and had KO’ed far more reputable and cardiovascular gifted athletes than myself. If Leadville was the champion, then the altitude it fought on was king. The partial pressure of oxygen in the air at Leadville was between 97 and 110 mmHg (it’s 159 mmHg at sea level and 48 mmHg at Mt Everest) i.e. there’s significantly less oxygen in the air at Leadville than at sea level. I had to respect altitude physiology and know my own cardiovascular limitations. Know thyself. Know thy enemy. My understanding was that one of the reasons for the high DNF rate was that runners went out too fast too early to keep within the hard cut off times – going for the early KO as such. It seems that when you hit the wall at altitude, it’s a lot more significant and takes a lot longer to recover from compared to hitting the wall at sea level (potentially it’s even terminal). My altitude physiology had taught me that at 3000 metres above sea level, I was unlikely to replicate my sea level 100 miler personal best time of 27 hr 18 min. Not impossible, but realistically if I were to equal my sea level PB performance, then that would be considered an exceptional effort rather than the norm. I therefore realised that I needed to be comfortable with being close to the cut off times. Cut offs were to serve as a motivator but were not to be feared. Also, the “big silver buckle” finish of sub 25 hours was not even considered. Potentially this could be a goal for the future. But at my first attempt at Leadville, a sub-25-hour finish would surely have been a suicide mission. One where I would’ve probably won the early rounds only to be swiftly dismantled in the middle to late sections of the race. Therefore, sub 30 hours was my goal. Under 30 hours was achievable. Nothing more would suffice. If I had to take it to 29:59:59, then so be it. A finish was a finish. So I intended to dig deep. Fight deep. I needed to go toe to toe for the full 12 rounds against one of the biggest, baddest, toughest knock out artists out there if I was to stand any chance. Employ my lengthiest and busiest jab ever to keep the “Dreadville slugger” at bay. Run within myself whilst still run within the hard cut off times. Don’t stop when I’m tired. Stop when 12 rounds are finished. That was my plan. Skirting around Turquoise Lake, the sun begins to rise and I’m feeling good. I leave the first aid station at Mayqueen in 2hr 34 mins. Exactly where I want to be. Twenty kilometres with minimal exertion. One hour and 10 mins ahead of the cut off time. First round to Molloy. I quickly top up my water and walk out with a handful of food. The road out of Mayqueen is a runnable gradual incline but at this stage its more important to get my calorie count up for the fight ahead rather than run. I switch gears to walking and leave Mayqueen with my mouth and hands full of food.

Heading down West 6th Street after an early 4am start

In Leadville, you need a few gears. You need a running gear for the undulating technical, a running gear for the flat roads, a walking/hiking gear for the ups, and a downhill scrambling gear for the descents. You also need to transition reasonably well between gears and it pays to have a ‘shuffle’ for the latter part of the race. After running exclusively for most of 2.5 hours, it was nice to transition into a purposeful walk (not a stroll, a purposeful walk – at least 11min/km an hour). Heading into the Colorado Trail you encounter the gushing white of rivers and the green hues of the forest. It’s quite rocky underfoot but this is nature. It’s nice to take the trail less travelled at times. True nature is raw and unaccommodating and I like that. Coming onto Hagerman Pass Road, we’re back onto runnable dirt road again. Some start to run but I resist the urge. The road’s incline gradient is not worth the return at this point of the race. I keep a steady walking pace and keep eating whilst I can. We then turn off Hagerman Pass Road and onto a steeper jeep road which marks the first significant climb of the Leadville 100 – going up Sugarloaf Pass. After about 60 minutes of continuous up, it’s a rather steep and jarring descent down the pass along prominent powerlines (hence this tortuous climb during the inbound section is affectionally known as ‘Powerline’). I’m careful not to push too hard in order to save my quads. But I also want to work with gravity to keep pace with the cut offs. After a good portion of downhill running, its back onto undulating road again. If you want to finish a race like Leadville, anything that is reasonably flat and runnable HAS to be run. I maintain a good honest running pace along the road with a few purposeful walks for the sharp inclines. I manage to get through the next aid station at Outward Bound in a cumulative time of 5 hrs and 5 mins, 55 mins ahead of the cut off time. Another round to Molloy. There are large marquees everywhere and the aid station is bustling with runners and their crew. The music is pumping and it feels a bit like a party atmosphere. However, not having any crew here (or any innate desire to party), I grab some more food and box on. I know Courtney is 5.5km away at an unofficial crew location called Pipeline so that keeps me focused. And that’s where I head.

Some of the scenery near the Mayqueen trailhead

To finish the Leadville 100 in under 30 hours, this requires a 11min/km pace. However, what some fail to consider in their plans is that there are 13 aid stations on the course. If you spend a paltry 5 minutes at each aid station, that is about an hour of time. An hour which none of the pace calculators factor for! Though others with larger cardiorespiratory engines could afford to spend more time at aid stations, I could ill afford to dwindle an hour. If I wished to finish, I needed to ‘go through’ the vast majority of aid stations and be very efficient at the aid stations I’d preselected to stop at. I’d essentially ‘gone through’ Mayqueen and Outward Bound. The next section of the course after Outward Bound could be very exposed to the sun and it was approaching 10am. Being 3000 metres above sea level meant that you were closer to the sun, so the sun had greater potential to cause havoc. Though it was currently overcast and the weather forecast was predicting an 80% chance of rainfall (and thunderstorms) by midday, I refused to chance it. Heat was my enemy. Not controlling for heat often leads to an increased heart rate (and ensuing rate of perceived exertion) and more blood being directed to your peripheries (to cool) rather than to your muscles to run. My next stop at Pipeline was therefore a dedicated ‘cooling stop’ with the primary focus being getting fresh ice-cold drinks to help manage the heat of the day. When I caught up with Courtney at Pipeline, I allowed myself 2 minutes to do what I needed to do. Courtney was rather chipper but it didn’t take her long to realise I wasn’t as jovial. I guess running 42km under pressure can do that. “Let’s go. I want to get in and out of here” I barked. I dropped off my head lamp, picked up some ice-cold Tailwind and water, stuffed some lollies into my pack, popped on my sunglasses, and I was out of there. “I’ll see you later around 1am” I said as I started running again. Though I thanked Courtney as I left, I imagine she may have been quite dissatisfied with the experience. Here she is waiting for ‘hours’ to ensure she doesn’t miss me and I show up and leave within 2 minutes whilst imparting my grumpiness. Would she even come back? Something tells me that I’m unlikely to be a box of birds, God’s gift to women, or any other equivalent in another 15 hours. She did mention that she heard some runners had pulled out at Outward Bound or were struggling to make the cut off time there. I struggled to comprehend that this early in the race. It felt like I had sacrificed so much to get here. How could people be so off their pacing this early in the piece? How could anyone throw in the towel this early into a 100 miler? Maybe it was because I sacrificed so much family time, work time, and finances that I had so much riding on this? Maybe the ‘months’ of training and preparation were driving me? In a 100 miler, if you fail to prepare, you prepare to fail. I’d done all the preparation possible. I just had to keep going deeper into the fight.

Arriving into Twin Lakes aid station (60km)

I ran the majority to the next aid station at Half Pipe (47km). Another points victory to Molloy. I briefly filled up my water and pushed through again. As I walked out of the aid station, I forced another chocolate bar down me. I’d been on my feet for more than 6 hours now and was one hour and 25 minutes ahead of the cut off time and well placed. It was somewhere in the section between Half Pipe and Twin Lakes outbound that the course started to throw a few punches of its own. In ultra running, if it’s going well, be prepared as things can quickly change. Somewhere around the 50km mark whilst climbing up Mt Elbert, I started to feel the cumulative effects of my concerted efforts. For the first time in a while, people started passing me. I tried to cling on to people as they passed me but to no avail. I had entered Struggleville. After winning the early rounds, it was like I had poked the bear and Leadville was swinging. I began to feel a bit flustered, hot, and light headed. The good thing about being a doctor is that more often than not, you can reassure yourself that feeling terrible doesn’t correspond with an underlying medical emergency. I knew this ‘low’ was just a normal phase of long distance running. I sometimes wonder how much of this is psychologically mediated with the mind priming the body for the bigger fight ahead. The Hope Pass double is coming up. Do you really want to go through with this? I’m going to slow you down so you can carefully consider your options. Like any life phase, you just got to hang in there. Roll with the punches as such. Sip and nibble. Slow down a bit. Nibble and sip. By the time I managed to get to the top of the climb (recognisable by a grove of Aspen trees), it was a matter of letting gravity do the work for you on the downhill and things seemed to get better. Despite being a little worse for wear, I arrived into the Twin Lakes aid station in reasonable spirits. The support was really uplifting. Gazebos lined the streets and cheers rang through the town. For a moment I forget about all my struggles. I chose not to stay long at Twin Lakes. Just topped up my drinks again, picked up my head lamp in preparation for the dark, and walked out eating a cup of mashed potatoes and potato chips. I left Twin Lakes at 12.30pm, one hour ahead of the cut off time. It wasn’t long before everything became quiet and I was listening to my own breathing again. Looking out into the distance I could see Hope Pass. The saddle between two mountain peaks. It just stared at me. The truth. Its brow frowned like a street smart slugger. “You want it, come and get it!” it taunted. Was that lightening I saw in the background? The forecast rain and thunderstorms had yet to arrive. I don’t know. Onward.

A multitude of support crew at Twin Lakes Village

Leaving Twin Lakes and heading outbound towards Hope Pass in the distance

Hope Pass has been described as the heart and soul of Leadville. The pinnacle of the Leadville 100. It’s nearly 1000 metres to the top hitting the course high point of 3820m. Runners reach the summit not only once, but TWICE on an out and back trek. One can expect to be gasping for breath, light headed +/- have a headache, and nauseous +/- vomiting. It could be sunny and peaceful up top or equally blowing a gale with rain/hail and a small risk of death by lightening. During the inaugural running of the event in 1983, the medical director at the time declared “someone may die in this race” due to the extreme altitude. Though this may not be palatable for some, acceptance of the above appears to be a prerequisite to finishing the Leadville 100. As I cross the shin high river crossing heading towards Hope Pass, this signals the end of any comfort for my foreseeable future. Going up Hope Pass is a slow and steady process. It’s an average 15-degree incline gradient over 6 km so you’re climbing for a couple of hours. As much as I try to enjoy the lush forest around me, I’m really reduced to concentrating on my breathing. Breathe in through the nose. Gasp. And out through the mouth. The hypoxic struggle also gives you the opportunity to channel your inner Miyagi. Sun is warm. Grass is green John san. There are some athletes with some massive engines on display as they power hike past me but I’m unperturbed. The fact I’m ahead of them at this stage of the race tells me I must be doing something right. I maintain a slow and steady pace throughout such that I don’t need to stop. As I pass the ‘Hopeless aid station’ about a kilometre from the top of the pass, it’s tempting to join the llamas (who have hauled all the supplies to this aid station) resting in the field. But I know I need to keeping boxing on to maintain momentum. I grab a cup of noodles and push onwards whilst attempting to eat on the move. A collection of multi coloured prayer flags marks the top of Hope Pass. The light drizzle which started above the tree line has cleared so it is remarkably sunny and quite still at the top. However, I’m feeling quite breathless and my head feels vacant so I’m not too keen to stick around in this thin air. I roll over the top and let my momentum and gravity take me most of the way down the other side. Just before Winfield, I come across Dr Stanley running behind a small train of runners heading back inbound. To tired to talk, we give each other a high five as we pass each other. The pressure is still on and we know we’re in the thick of the fight now. I arrive at Winfield at 4.40pm which is the same time I was hoping to leave so I’m a touch behind schedule. Winfield is the turn around point and marks the half way stage of the race. Although I’ve tried to keep as much fuel in the tank as possible, Hope Pass has really taken it out of me. After 80km of nonstop relentless forward momentum, I feel compelled to plonk my sorry carcass onto a chair for the first time. F*** that was hard. Now I have to turn around and do it all over again! I know I need a pick me up of some type so I grab a cup of chips and pretzels as I sink deeper into the chair. Suffice to say, I’m feeling pretty buggered and the sensation of discomfort is increasing. As I try to gather my thoughts, the words of Ken Chlouber (Leadville 100 co-creator) come into my mind. “You’re going to be dealing with a lot of pain. Make pain your fuel! Make pain your friend and you’ll never be alone!” Bugger that. I pop a couple of paracetamols. It’s too early to embrace pain. Ding ding ding. I can hear a bell ringing in the distance. I swallow a Leppin Squeezy and pick myself up off the canvas. I leave Winfield at 4.50pm with a cumulative time of 12 hours and 50 mins. One hour and 10 minutes ahead of the cut off time. Ready to battle with Hope Pass again.

Just leaving Hopeless aid station and heading towards the top of Hope Pass

Prayer flags on top of Hope Pass

Leaving Winfield, a face can portray a thousand words and a story. It’s during this part of the run that I pass a lot of competitors heading outbound to Winfield as I head inbound back towards Twin Lakes. At some point you do the maths in your head and you realise that there’s no way these outbound runners are going to make the 14-hour cut off at Winfield. I’ve been running out of Winfield for 50 mins now. You won’t make the cut off in 20 mins. It’s like a slow transition of faces from calm, focussed, determined, pressured, hurried, and desperate eventually ending in disbelief, anger, sadness, and then acceptance. No words are spoken or required. Some put on a braver face than others but their body language reveals the truth. A lot of races ended in that short single trail heading out to Winfield. When you run, sensations are amplified. You feel more. Though you may try to ignore these sensations or shield yourself, the reality is that we are all connected somewhat on the trail. You can feel ‘disappointment’. You can sympathise with hopes shattered. At some point the run becomes bigger than just you. At some point you realise that you HAVE to complete this thing. Not just for you, but for others. For those that can’t or won’t. For those who don’t have the opportunity. For all those whose race has ended prematurely. You begin to appreciate that you have more people vouching for you in your corner than you can ever imagine. And for that reason, you have to keep fighting.

Admiring the llamas who have hauled all the supplies to the Hopeless aid station

Got to finish before the final gun sounds at the finish at 30 hours

The inbound climb of Hope Pass is much harder. Having negotiated an average 15-degree incline gradient over 6 km outbound, the inbound climb has an average 20-degree incline gradient over 4km. Although shorter in distance, it is much more taxing and arguably the hardest section of the race. An approach that seems to work well for me in ultra running is “It’s better to be consistently good than occasionally great”. I just shift into my slow and steady pace which doesn’t require me to stop. I’ll always see people race ahead of me only to stop in a few hundred metres to catch their breath and then be passed again. I just like to grind away. Inch my way forwards and be consistently good. Stopping is not negotiable. Everything that can be done on the move should be done on the move. If you need to stop to breathe then you’re going too fast for your ability. At this point of the race, it’s a common sight to see athletes horizontal and keeled over their trekking poles as if they were figuratively ‘on the ropes’. Talking is minimal as breathing is hard enough as it is. Your heavy legs are balanced by your light headedness. As you break the tree line, there seems to be a never-ending series of switch backs which act like rolling upper cuts to your chin or solar plexus. When you see the multi coloured prayer flag markers at the top again, you know you’ve survived a stern examination of your finishing credentials. I take a moment to appreciate the view ahead of me. At the top of Hope Pass you can see Twin Lakes in the distance and Turquoise Lake in the far distance. Beyond Turquoise Lake is the finish line in Leadville. It’s hard to think that you were at the start line about 15 hours ago. Despite the nostalgia, I’m feeling pretty crap due to the altitude so I go up and over. I pass through the ‘Hopeless aid station’ staying well clear of the comforts of the warm fire whilst tipping my hat to the llamas. As I enter the tree line, the darkness starts to set in so I put on my head torch. The descent is quite challenging due to the rocks and recent rain fall so full concentration is required. Despite this, I descend reasonably swiftly and the drop in altitude feels so much better. It’s a continuous descent for at least 90 mins. I use my new found energy and keep running through the river crossing and lowlands all the way to the Twin Lakes aid station. The atmosphere at Twin Lakes is still electric which is uplifting. A kind gentleman dressed in a sumo suit offers to pace me but I politely decline. “Come on man!” he exclaims (I’m sure his offer to run the last 60km with me was in jest though I wasn’t prepared to compromise my finishing aspirations). I spend about 10 mins at Twin Lakes topping up my drinks and eating as best as I can. I put on some new shoes and dry socks which feel amazing. I manage to leave Twin Lakes at 9.05pm with a cumulative time of 17 hours and 5 mins and 55 mins ahead of the cut off time. I’ve heard that if you can leave Twin Lakes inbound within the cut off time, then you’ve got a good chance of finishing Leadville. By this point, about 40% of the field have already been culled. Despite being beaten up by Hope Pass, I’m in good spirits. The middle rounds of the fight have definitely gone to the Dreadville Slugger. However, the most important thing is that I’m still in the fight and I’ve managed to absorb arguably the worst the course has to offer. I asked Dr Stanley before the race that from his own study/appreciation of the course, which cut offs were the hardest to make from Twin Lakes inbound. “All of them” he replied. This run is relentless. Just got to keep jabbing and moving forward I guess.

View from the top of Hope Pass with Twin Lakes in the mid distance and Turquoise Lake in the far distance. Beyond Turquoise Lake is the finish line in Leadville.

Keen pacer ready to go at Twin Lakes

As I go up a rather nasty continuous gradient up Mt Elbert, the field is noticeably smaller though some runners have been joined by their pacers. The pacers are generally in high spirits and some are playing up beat music to keep their runners moving. Most of the pacers also seemed to be ahead of their runners in true ‘lead from the front’ style. I had arranged to meet my own pacer (Courtney) about 14km away at Outward Bound (the 123km mark) so I had good incentive to keep moving. Content to not drop my guard, I kept an honest pace throughout the night. Walking the ups, running the downs, and shuffling the flats. I don’t mind running at night anymore. It’s generally cooler and you tend to run slower so there’s less demand on the cardiorespiratory system. The main challenge therefore lies in staying focused and awake which is where caffeine, glucose, movement, and having company plays a role. Just before the Half Pipe aid station (114km), I was starting to lose focus and felt sluggish so I took caffeine tablets for the first time to help stay awake. I arrived at Outward Bound two hours ahead of the cut off time and slightly ahead of schedule at 1am. I linked up with Courtney who was kitted up and ready to go for her pacing duties. Courtney was keen to do the infamous “Powerline” section of the course which was the last significant climb and glancing counterpunch of the Leadville 100. I stopped briefly at the aid station to try eat something but by this stage of the race, its difficult to have any semblance of an appetite. Nibble and sip. Sip and nibble, I told myself as I tried to get more mashed potato and potato chips down. However, at the same time, I was acutely aware that I didn’t want to stress out my gut too much as a defunctioning GI system could be terminal. As Courtney and I left Outward Bound, I knew the road out of the aid station was runnable. However, the road also had a slight gradual incline (which was imperceptible in the dark) so I suggested that we walk out to give my stomach more time to digest my food and to ease Courtney into her pacing role. When we passed some fresh vomit on the road, I knew that we had made the right call. “Respect the gut” I told Courtney and she agreed. When we arrived at the base of Powerline, I asked Courtney to take note of the time. “This should take us 90 minutes” I told her. “There are lots of false summits. We just need to keep going for 90 minutes”. Still relatively fresh, it’s not long before Courtney powers ahead of me. I shout out to her and ask her to come back. “Just walk beside me!” I counsel. By the time you’re a 120km into a run, you don’t need a fresh pacer to motivate you to go faster and push the pace. I was in a fortunate enough position that I didn’t need to go any faster, I just had to keep going! I’ve seen instances where pacers have pushed their runners too hard. So hard that sometimes their runner can’t recover and they DNF when in reality they would’ve finished without their pacer. A good pacer keeps you company, reminds you to eat and drink, lights up the preferred route, keeps you positive, and unapologetically lies about how good you look. Thankfully, this is mostly what Courtney did. As we headed up Powerline together, in the still of the night, you could easily hear the electricity in the powerlines above you. It was a loud vibrant ‘crackling’. If I hadn’t been with others, I could’ve easily convinced myself that I was a sinewy, rancid, slab of meat that was slowly being cooked alive. When we finally got to the top of Powerline / Sugarloaf, we were greeted by the bizarre sight of an unofficial alien themed aid station dubbed ‘Space Camp’ with a large banner saying “Nice Fuckin’ Work!”. There were people dressed up in space costumes waving glow rings and someone blowing gigantic bubbles. I’d heard rumours that drugs were rife at this aid station so to be careful with what you accept or eat. Rather cautiously, I asked Courtney to fill up my drink bottle with WATER. Having never done drugs in my life, I didn’t think 24 hours into a 100-mile run would be a good time to start. I nervously shuffled past whilst Courtney lingered and enquired about the home made ‘performance enhancing’ cookies that allegedly could inspire “the best fuckin’ run of your life”. Heading down Sugarloaf felt as hard as coming up. By now your quads are cooked and your legs are sufficiently tenderised. I can afford little more than a shuffle. Hagerman Pass Road was smoother and less steep so provided a brief reprieve. But then you connect with the Colorado Trail again which is technical rocky downhill and hence so much slower at night. I discover that its easier (and safer) to walk quickly rather than jog. When Courtney and I finally reach Mayqueen, it’s just after 4.30am and still dark. “Make sure that you get to Mayqueen before sunrise” were the words of past finishers. The penultimate round was a points victory to the Molloys. We had 5 and half hours to get to the finish and were 2 hours ahead of the cut off time. I was exactly where I wanted to be. I had taken it deep into the race and the famous slugger was tiring. I could probably walk in from here and still finish. From here, it was my fight to lose.

Welcome to Space Camp at the top of Powerline

Leaving Mayqueen with the sun rising over Turquoise Lake

Leaving Mayqueen it’s like a great weight of pressure has been lifted. From here the strategy is simple. It’s 20 kilometres to the finish line. I’ve just got to keep going! Although the trail around Turquoise Lake was runnable 24 hours ago, in the dark and with tired legs, it feels impossible to run so we commit to a fast walk. Slowing from a shuffle to a walk, we start getting passed by those who are naturally fast walkers. “I don’t like being passed” Courtney tells me. “Let’s just walk briskly till we get to the Tabor boat ramp.” I tell Courtney. “Running in this stuff in the dark is hard work. From the boat ramp the trail becomes runnable again so we can start running then”. In the dark, you can just make out the shape of the lake as you chase shadows around the trail. Eventually, the dark becomes light and the sunrise brings fresh energy. Your depth perception returns and the trail becomes easy to see again. It was my turn to dictate matters and take the fight to the course. “Let’s go. We can run now”. When I say run, it’s not really a run but rather a shuffle. Runners can underestimate the effectiveness of a shuffle. Though a shuffle is a lot slower than a run, it is slightly quicker than a walk. And if you can shuffle, you will generally pass a lot of people on the way to the finish line. Courtney and I managed to shuffle all the way to the bottom of The Boulevard and passed a few people along the way as a result. My plan was to give myself at least an hour at the start of the Boulevard. “Don’t underestimate The Boulevard” I remember reading. I reached the bottom of The Boulevard with more than enough time to spare and 2.5 hours up my sleeve. The same downhill dirt road that you cruised along at the start of the race, is now a gradual painful incline all the way to the finish. The final body blow. Bordering on below the belt. Certainly not something I’d like to be running under time pressure 175km into the race. With the pressure relieved, I tell Courtney that my intention was to walk the last 5km to the finish. I share a story with her of a Leadville 100 runner who pulled out at the 98-mile mark as ‘he couldn’t go any further’. How is this possible? To endure so much and not finish so close to the end. Apparently his ‘body had shut down’. I had to remain vigilant. Keep my guard up. Control the fight all the way to the end. Turning off The Boulevard and onto West 6^th Street, I knew that the fight was all but won. I knew every little contour and rise and fall of that street like the back of my hand. I can’t tell you how many times Dr Stanley and I had walked along this street at the end of every training run and ‘visualised’ this moment. And regardless of the distance run prior, Dr Stanley would always collapse over the finish line (only to non chalantly walk away after this – he is a very dramatic man). I’m over the last big rise next to the hospital and I shuffle down the final downhill. The temptation is to keep running all the way to the finish line. This is something I’ve always done. Finished strong. I think it’s become a self and societal expectation to cross the finish line running so I’ve done this every time. But after 99 miles at Leadville, I had nothing more to prove to myself or anyone else. For the first time in my running career, I actually wanted to walk all the way in. “I’m going to enjoy this one Courtney. I’m going to walk in. I want to savour this moment”. And so it was. There was still the adrenaline pumping noise but it was less of a blur and I could easily make out faces and smiles. I hug Courtney over the finish line. It was great to share a sunrise and the last 37km together. I’m not really a hugging person but now I’m getting hugs from Merilee Maupin and Ken Chlouber (co-founders) at the finish line and they give me my finisher’s medal and belt buckle. I’m thrilled to secure a clear points victory at the finish. It’s hard to beat an opponent who won’t give up. Motivation will get you to the start line. But only total commitment will get you to the finish. Dig Deep. Commit. Don’t quit. Inside each and every one of you is this inexhaustible well of grit, guts, and determination. You’re better than you think you are. You can do more than you think you can. Between the bang and the buckle, it’s up to you. Don’t dream of finishing an ‘A race’. Prepare for it. Train for it. Running is medicine.

Crossing the finish line with my wife and pacer Courtney

Leadville 2022 finishers (701 starters):

Andrew Stanley (NZ) 26:20:33 (108 of 368)

John Molloy (NZ) 28:16:52 (185 of 368)

Hugs all round at the finish line with Courtney and Merilee Maupin

Between the finisher’s buckle and you is a doughnut

The only New Zealanders at the TransRockies 2017, Dr Rich Newbury (left) & Dr Andrew Stanley (right)

I don’t recall feeling a similar energy to what I encountered at the start line of the TransRockies. Over 300 runners from 18 countries lined up at the start at Buena Vista. Fizzing nervous energy in a stand of defiance against insurmountable challenge. Competitors rocked and grooved to the TransRockies theme song, AC/DC’s Highway to Hell, before heading into the mountains. To be honest, the next 6 days were a bit of a blur. Pine trees, loose rocks, and boulders. Beavers, humming birds, and a sly fox. Continuous steep climbs, zig zagging up switch backs, and technical descents. Soft pine needles, running down an ice cold stream, and the smell of wild flowers. Sleeping in tents, a mobile shower truck, and banquets with friends. Life was simple. Run, eat, sleep, repeat. This was about living the moment. Celebrating aid stations. Appreciating the simple things in life. Being thankful for your body and sharing the experience with running friends. I can vividly remember two running moments – Day 2 climbing up Hope Pass (3821 metres) and Day 5 weaving in and out of trees on rolling terrain on top of Vail Mountain (3565 metres). It was like being in a trance like state. A mild headache, light headedness, slight shortness of breath, difficulty holding a conversation, and running out of step with the odd stumble. The medical side of me knew these were symptoms consistent with mild acute mountain sickness. But for the runner, the dreamer, this was what it felt like to dance with the Gods. To extend yourself. To go higher than you have ever been before. To court challenge whilst smiling back at your partner. And when you could no longer hold step, the Gods would let you go and the dance would end leaving you breathless and gasping for air. It was time to descend. I got high in the Colorado Rockies those days!

Steep technical descent down Hope Pass

From a pure running perspective, the TransRockies was undeniably hard work. Multiday races are not for the weak and faint hearted. Environmental stressors are amplified over the course of a week. The altitude was physically challenging and a nocturnal pain in the backside in the form of interrupted sleep and frequent night time toilet visits. Small hot spots and niggles that are usually manageable in one day events, can turn into significant problems over the course of a few days. A well rehearsed pre race routine is important. Lubricant should be applied diligently and as if your life depended on it. Chaffing and blisters can be terminal. Good shoes, socks, and running clothes are paramount. I became quadrupedal and used trekking poles for the first time to offload my legs and found them very useful. As soon as the day’s run had ended, no sooner had you to prepare for the next day. This entailed a good grasp of post race nutrition, foot care, and recovery. Many competitors took advantage of the air compression leg massagers and event masseurs on site. However, a friend of mine who favoured recovery massages allegedly had his balls touched by a male masseur. That kind of put me off massage. I used cold river dips, hot showers, and compression leggings instead to avoid stray hands. Sleeping in tents next to hundreds of competitors also had its challenges. Zips, snoring, squeaky air mattresses, and camp flatus did not promote a relaxing environment conducive to good recovery.

Day 6: Vale to Beaver Creek with tent city in the background

Race Summary

Stage 1: Buena Vista to Railroad Bridge, 33.5km, 760m climbing, max elevation 2845m, 4:51:45

Stage 2: Vicksburg to Twin Lakes, 21.4km, 975m climbing, max elevation 3821m, 3:38:35

Stage 3: Leadville to Nova Guides at Camp Hale, 39.4km, 823m climbing, max elevation 3326m, 5:17:09

Stage 4: Nova Guides at Camp Hale to Red Cliff, 23.3km, 854m climbing, max elevation 3561m, 3:29:58

Stage 5: Red Cliff to Vail, 38.8km, 1250m climbing, max elevation 3565m, 5:30:27

Stage 6: Vail to Beaver Creek, 36.0km, 1600m climbing, max elevation 3217m, 4:57:16

Total time 22:47:56

Just passing through

When I crossed the finish line at Beaver Creek with a cumulative time of 22 hours 47 mins, there was a greater sense of accomplishment than normal. This was a tough race! I was happy to finish but it was sad knowing the week was coming to an end. The TransRockies brought lots of laughter, joy, and new friends. This was more about enjoying the experience than just running per se. My first experience of multiday running had left me mesmerised and craving for more. Refreshed, recharged, and rejuvenated. Ready to tango again. The Colorado Rockies would not be my last dance. Running is medicine. Thanks to Vertex Altitude for the pre race altitude training! Join me at my next blog, the Crater Rim Ultra 50km, a local run in my own back yard in Christchurch.

At the finish line with Dr Rich Newbury (left), Dr Andrew Stanley (2nd from left), and Canadian athlete Dee Douglas (right)