If you look around MPT a majority of race number plates hanging are from mountain bike races vs. running races. Several of those plates represent some of the hardest mountain bike races on the east coast. The stoke I once had for running had transitioned into cycling, replacing the long runs and any aspirations to one day complete a 100 mile ultra race. Running had been reduced to weekly social coffee runs averaging 4-5 miles at a super casual pace or the occasional run around the block if feeling exceptionally inspired. That was until I got a text from a friend asking if I would be interested in linking up for a longish run. Sure, why not?

Earlier in the year I participated in Pete Ripmaster’s Owl Run-Hundreds Fundraiser by running a 5k every day in May which gave me a little bit of a base but it had been a very long time since I last ran over 6 miles. The run would be replacing my usually scheduled long ride so I decided to ride my bike across town to meet Denver at his house for the 7:30am start. When I arrived I warned Denver that my motor was good but I was gonna be a bit slow. He took it easy on me as we made our way through West Asheville trying to smooth out the route as flat as possible in a town full of steep hills. From there we kept it flat heading down to the RAD(river arts district) greenway system that connects Carrier Park and Hominy River Park. This flat section of trail hugs the French Broad River which separates Asheville from the Biltmore Estate for about 5 miles. Post run I hopped back on my bike and took an extended ride home and was surprised with how good my legs felt after the 11 mile run.

Post run with Denver my mind began wondering what I had left in my distance running tank. Could I run 100 miles? I decided to test the legs again and got another run the following weekend, this time running a half marathon(13.1miles). Again I was surprised how natural running was coming to me after taking so much time off of putting in big mile runs. The idea of running my first 100 miler in 2021 was haunting me so I messaged to a fellow endurance athlete Pete Ripmaster to see if he would be interested in linking up to train together as he continues to knock off 100 mile runs until he has ran a 100 miler in all 50 States raising $50,000 for The Owl Research Institute. I messaged Pete to get info but mostly to have his accountability, I knew if I put it out there he would keep me to it. After a quick call from Pete it was finalized, we would be running the Prairie Spirit 100 at 6am in Ottawa, Kansas on March 27th. 

Race weekend arrived. Pete would be picking me up in the morning to head to the Asheville Airport to start our journey to Kansas. I had all of my bikes tuned up the previous week out of a nervous habit from bike racing. So what does one pack for a 100 mile run? Not much when the race provides fully stocked aid stations every 9 miles and unmanned water resupply stations halfway between. I made sure to pack my two pairs of favorite socks, one pair to start the race in and the other pair would be waiting for me at the halfway point. I also packed a change of running compression gear so that I could leave the halfway point feeling freshish. Other than that I only needed my fleece for a warm layer, gloves,  Ultimate Direction ultra vest, headlamp and snacks.

Our alarms went off and it was time to head down for a quick breakfast in the lobby before heading to the starting line. Not much of a selection so I grabbed some coffee, a few pastries and some yogurt to try and get ahead of the calories I was about to burn through. Pulling up to the race starting line the racers were scattered in the darkness. The 2020 lockdown had made for a very isolating year and it felt surreal to be at a race with almost 100 other runners. Arriving just a few minutes before the start Pete and I made our way over to the Start/Finish Line. Surrounded by a sea of other runners the race director called out “distance if you want” which was followed by a local runner's reply “Welcome to Kansas, touch eyeballs and let's race!”. 

The director gave the count down and then we were off! A herd of crazies taking off into the dark abyss of the Kansas Prairie. Pete and I were going to stick with our plan of 2 to 1 for as long as possible. That meant we would be running 2 miles and walking 1 mile to keep us at a steady pace without burning out. My goal was to finish the race not to try to reach any time goals or to be competitive. Nice and steady was the mantra as we made our way along the Prairie Spirit Trail. During the early miles the stoke was high with so many smiling faces soaking in the early morning sunshine that took the chill away. Pete and I had found our rhythm with the 2:1 making the first 25 miles pass by almost effortlessly. 

Around mile 30 I couldn’t keep up with Pete’s power hike. I found myself having to run to catch up with his hike pace and I soon faded back to adjust to my own pace. Looking back at my training I would have added much more power hiking into my regiment. The next 20 miles I got into my zone and the miles became a blur of passing gravel under my Brooks. My focus turned to making sure I was keeping up with my hydration and nutrition to help fuel me in the later miles. Around mile 40 the lead runners were already on their way back to Ottawa, most of them displaying smiles and high spirits. As I approached the 50 mile aid station/turnaround Pete was headed out looking solid. 

The folks at the aid stations were wonderful humans! The first half of the race I had made it through the aid stations as fast as possible but now it was time to slow things down to make sure I left for the second half feeling prepared for a long night. Volunteers were making sure we all were checked in and provided me with a few servings of warm soup as I changed into fresh socks and compression gear. I observed other runners who were getting themselves prepared for the second half and I couldn't help wondering how many would make it to Ottawa. Trying not to get too cozy I forced myself to get up and take back off on the trail. The next couple of miles were full of other runners who were on their way to the halfway point. 

As the sun disappeared into the horizon the temperatures started to drop. During the day it had been in the high 50’s but that would change overnight as the temps would make it into the 30’s. My pace had slowed down dramatically by the time I made it to the next aid station. I fuled up quickly then reached for my fleece and gloves but they weren’t on my pack. Sitting at the aid station for another moment thinking about how uncomfortable the rest of the run was about to get I decided to just get moving. I got to the trailhead and something told me to go back to the aid station to ask if anyone had turned in my layers. As I made my way back I looked to my right and in a fold up camp chair lay my fleece and gloves! So stoked to have these layers I took off smiling into the darkness. 

Around mile 70 my body started falling apart. The tendons in the front of my right ankle were now giving me sharp shooting pains while my left calf and hamstring started tightening up due to my new hobble run. I hobbled into the next aid station which was inside of a community center. It was a mix of people calling it quits and sleeping on the floor and others with the ghostly stare as they contemplated the enormity of the rest of the miles. One runner came in and declared that she was done and was promptly met with blankets and hydration. I filled up on soup and coffee before taking a 15 min nap on the floor with my feet elevated on a nearby bench. As I woke up I overheard the coach of the runner who was quitting let her know she still had a race to finish. I too had a race to finish. Back out into the cold darkness I shivered my way back to the trail. 

The miles to the next aid station seemed to not be going anywhere. I had a few moments when I decided to see how far I could run while taking a little shut eye. This section was a delirium of shadows and rest breaks trying to find some reprieve of the pain that was almost debilitating. Finally seeing the lights of the next aid station camp almost felt as good as finishing the race. This was the coldest and highest wind during the race. Once in the aid station tent I wrapped up in a blanket and sat in front of a heater. I may have taken a short nap sitting there but I was in an altered state between the pain and the cold. The volunteers informed me that they thought the wind had died down so I decided to make a go for the next stretch. They were good people but I still think they knew they were lying. As soon as I came out of the tent I was hit with freezing wind and legs that had forgotten how to work as my body violently shivered. I remember telling myself to just keep moving and everything would be alright. 

I made it to the last aid station as the sun started to ease my pain. 10 miles left but it would turn out to be some of the slowest miles of my life. The night had hidden the long seemingly endless straight aways of the rail trail. I continued to hobble along the trail while going deep into the pain cave. Was I injured? Of course I was but I wasn’t going to give up this close. One of the race staff passed me as he made his way from the last aid station to the finish. I knew I was close but I wanted to know how close so I asked him as he ran by. My calculations had me between 2-3 miles out from the finish line. I was wrong, 4 miles were left between me and the finish line. This news hurt a little bit but the end was near. My mission was to run 100 miles but I had forgotten that there was a cutoff time. I was within the last 2 miles and someone yelled that I still had time to make it. I pushed myself to turn my hobble into some form of running stride with the adrenaline of finishing propelling me forward. The orange cones that marked the turn off to the finish line seemed so far away on the final straight away. As I made the turn towards the finish I could see Pete cheering me on! I charged forward trying to stay composed before collapsing on the other side of the finish line. Coming in at 29:46:40 I was DFL(Dead Fu*#ing Last) and proud.