I want to start with my mantra, to set up this post. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to accomplish by running Hardrock. I have done the, push myself as hard as I can for time based results, I have won races, I have dropped out of races, I have suffered painfully through races…but I wanted to enjoy this race as much as I could. In the lottery new runners have a 3% chance of being chosen to race, so I wanted to honor each mile and slow down and be greatful for the beauty of the mountains, the time the volunteers spend helping make it happen, grateful for my friends who came out to cheer, pace, feed, and support me along the way…as well as grateful for an aging body that has been doing this for over 20 years and is still allowing me to do the things I love.
The Hardrock 100 has 33,000 ft of elevation and usually its 100.5 miles, this year it was 102.5 due to some re-routing. Hardrock 100. Runners deal with very high altitude, altitude is anything about 5,000 ft, high altitude is considered around 8,500 ft, Hardrock is extreme altitude, where you hike over a 14,000 ft peak, and over 12 passes, all over 12,500 ft. It’s less of a runners race, and more of a mountaineering adventure with a little running between mountain passes. I want to impress upon you that it’s not an event to be entered into lightly. They started off their “safety in the mountains” meeting with listing the recent men and women who were lost/died in the mountains. After the race, a friend from NC admitted that she had been frustrated by how hard it was to get in, but after hiking part of the course, and turning around because of the exposure, sheer drop, loose rock and snow capped mountain pass, she had a better appreciation for the race lottery and that the race directors invite people to see the course with them before they put into the lottery. I had seen the hard parts of the course in 2016/2017 and had been applying to run with my eyes wide open to the dangers of the mountains.
For a really good reference and back ground this article is worth your time.
Most runners feel the lack of oxygen the entire race. It can make you nauseated, tired, confused and cause serous health issues if not taken seriously. Summers in the San Juan mountains usually brings strong thunderstorms with cold temperatures, hail and lightning. This year there was not a cloud in the sky, which meant that it felt extremely hot, and very dry and dusty. Because of this I wore my rabbit sun shirt and kept it wet during the days, it worked wonders!
Very unlike me, I actually slept soundly the night before the race. I woke only once at midnight to pee, and then went right back to sleep until my alarm woke me just after 4am.
I had laid out all of my clothes and nutrition the night before: my gear list consisted of Hoka Zinal2 shoes, Leiki poles, Kahtoola microspikes for the climb up to Virginus, Rabbit sun shirt, Rabbit Smashem shorts…and about 80 Chargels that weighed down my pack heavily.
I also thought about my crew and pacers and what sections they would accompany me on. Drew as the organizer, of course, ET and Gyro for getting things done and taking care of me along the way, Java for the dog pets, DJ for the first section from Engineer to Telluride, Aubrey from Telluride over Grant Swamp Pass to KT, and Liz with her head down-take control determination to the finish.
We got really lucky and found a cancelled airBnB within walking distance to the start. After the unusually great night of sleep, we got up, walked to the start, checked back in and lined up. Already there was a 2 mile alteration, I missed why exactly in the excitement of the morning, but assumed it had to do with either deep snow or the crossing a swollen creek of snow melt along the course.
After a cadre of photographers were shooed out of the starting gate, we were off. For a teeny town like Silverton (of approximately 900 residents) there was a surprising number of people cheering us along the mile or so out of town.
The conga line immediately started to hike as we hit the trail up to the first climb of Little Giant and I was happy to hike along mid pack. After a small creek crossing the climb up begins, this first climb starts up a jeep road that eventually turns into single track as it goes up and over the pass. The week prior, on the 4th of July Drew and I scouted this first climb, only to decide to turn when we saw the snow pack at the top, oh…and a bear blocking our trail. The morning of the race, no bears were in sight and the fantastic trail marking volunteers had helped put footprints into the snow at the top. “No hurry, no worry” I reminded myself as people pushed past on the narrow, crumbling single track. I wanted to follow the excitement, the racer in me said, go, but I remembered my mantra and stuck to my plan instead. At the crest of the pass we were greeted by the sunrise, and a snow tunnel that had been dug out for safe crossing. Much of it had melted since they dug it days before, but it was nice not to have to climb up and over the 5 foot snow drift.
The decent to the first aid station is steep with lots of switchbacks, I could tell several people got excited and ran down too quickly because I caught and passed may people on the next climb up. Despite only having a few weeks of hike training in Asheville, climbing uphill felt really easy as I chatted with a woman who I had met through a mutual friend. It was also her first Hardrock and I could tell she was also being smart, not racing, as a finish is often the desire for the first attempt at Hardrock for those of us who have been putting into the lottery for years.
I passed the other runner from NC shortly after, he looked hot and miserable. I later learned that he timed out at the final aid station before the finish, that must have been devastating for him. This section sort of rolled along up high and it was very hot and very exposed. Coming from NC and expecting heat I continually doused my sun shirt in every creek and felt quite comfortable. A woman I had been leap frogging with for the first 30ish miles asked, “aren’t you over heating in that long shirt,” to which I answered, “nope” as I jumped into the next creek.
The next aid station was Pole Creek, which was apparently moved due to a reroute, but as this was my first time I didn’t know any different. From Pole Creek to Sherman was about 9 miles, mostly hot and exposed and uneventful, undulating up and down short(er) climbs until descending on a very boulder-y trail into Sherman aid station, mile 30.
At Sherman they had popsicles and ice and I refilled my pack as we turned onto a dusty jeep road to the base of Handies. We shared the dusty road with all sorts of traffic for about 5 miles. Many people were taking breaks as the mid day heat and dust started to affect us. I noticed I was coughing a lot, I thought from altitude, but it was more likely irritation from the dust getting kicked up from all the vehicles.
From Burrows the climb up to Handies was pretty straight forward. It started off on big wooden erosion steps. I thought, well this section sure favors people with long legs. This was not the last time I would have this thought, continued to have it over multiple snow crossing as well, as the footprints were clearly made by someone with a much longer leg span than I. Up and over Handies the pack had largely spread out by now and I was alone on top of the 14er, just up ahead I could see groups of 3-4 runners on the way down the side of the mountain.
This is the only time I checked to make sure I was on course, I could see a hiker off to my right, but thought I saw runners straight ahead. I used Gaia map to double check that I was heading the correct direction and continued on. There were several snow crossings here and lots of deep mud. At some point I stepped into what I thought was the trail and ended up knee deep in mud. Fortunately the shoes I wore had their own gaiters built in so there was minimal mud in my shoe. The one thing I did at every aid station was change my socks. My feet were never dry though, the minute I left an aid station there would be another creek crossing to plunge into. My feet were awesome the whole time. I got one blister but taht was because there was an error in making the shoe insert, there was a little leftover material on the inside of the shoe. At one of the aid stations DJ cut out the excess material and my feet were golden the rest of the adventure.
The sun set was amazing as I hiked down through American Basin. At the last minute I had put a headlamp ito my drop bag at Sherman, and was glad I did. Sunset was changing orange, to pink to purple, but coming down the valley between two peaks it got dark quickly.
I felt kind of rough going into Animas, I had been coughing a while now and my chest was tired from breathing harder at altitude and coughing up the dust. I changed out of my wet sun shirt (which, thanks to my smart, stellar crew, got washed and put back on me the next day..good thinking ET!) and got all my night gear: second headlamp, warmer long sleeve, packed my rain pants which are very warm as well, and headed off into the night with DJ my first pacer. The last climb up to 14000 feet didnt feel as bad as this section did, this is where the first bout of nausea set in. I am not sure if it was from the dust on this climb or if it was just that I had now gone 44+ miles without much oxygen and it was starting to catch up with me. DJ was great, he paused every time I needed to gasp for air, he encouraged me along just fast enough on the downhills…and then he said something to me that gave me an idea. “Rachel, you tend to suffer the most in the hours before daylight, but once the sun comes up you often get new life.” This is true for many ultra runners, the hours before daybreak can be the hardest, but sunrise often brings renewed energy.
I thought maybe I could take a short nap at Engineer aid station, mile 50, but after laying down for 5 minutes I couldn’t so we carried on, and I decided I would nap at the low point of the course and see if my oxygen debt could be helped with a nap at Ouray, which is just under 8,000 ft. I felt like I was struggling to stay awake as we came down Bear Creek, which has been described as the “slip and die” section. Miners and other travelers cut into the rock for this trail, and though I couldn’t seen in the dark, I could hear there was quite the drop to the river below. Mostly I was too tired to be anxious on the trail, instead I noticed the interesting shadows all our headlamps made along the rock wall.
I laid down for a bit in Ouray, again, sleep eluded me, but my stomach settled enough for me to get in some eggs and wait for the sun. The hike out of Ouray was pretty cool, there was a huge open metal bridge over a gorge with a cool water fall, and then we had to duck through a short tunnel which led out of town. The short trail led to Camp Bird road the 7 mile climb to the next aid station. It was alost another Jeep road, which meant more dust. This is where I finally lost the contents of my stomach. This was a first for me, I have vomited lots after races, but never during. Fortunately this would prove to be a good rest, not the start of more projectile breakfast. At governor Basin, mile 66 I managed to get down , and keep down, some tater tots for the snowy climb up Virginus to Krogers.
This was the first section of the race that made me really nervous. In 2016 Liz and I had come up and down Virginus and that year there wasn’t a ton of snow. This year there was a lot and I was climbing up. I had carried microspikes with me from the very start of the race, unsure how slippery the snow fields would be. I dont weight enough to often make steps into the snow, but this was really the first section I was going to use them.
At the base of the climb we bumped into Liz’s Uncle Tom, who had finished the race a handful of times before. He and his daughter attacked the snow like pros, I stopped to it on my microspikes. What a difference that made, I felt much more steady on my feet now, as I hoisted myself up the rope. I had chosen DJ for this section because he was sure on his feet in snow and patient with any hesitation I had. There are no places to practice uphill snow climbing in NC, and even growing up in MA I never had the chance to hike uphill in snow and ice. I was thrilled to get to the top, DJ took a shot of Joe Grant’s alcoholic offerings like a champ, and we were off down the other side towards Telluride.
This was probably the only time I really ran in the whole race, adrenaline propelled me down the hill after DJ, and onto the road where friends, Ringo andCari were waiting. The four of us ran through town into the Tellurdie park and got me changed back into (clean!) sunshirt- good thinking ET, and slathered with sunscreen, I had more tater tots, was greeted by an overwhelming number of friends and took off up another Bear Creek trail with a next pacer Aubrey. This trail is really pretty, and for the first time in a whole day, it was busy. The 75 miles prior to this was mostly race-only trail users, aside from the Jeep traffic around Handies Peak. It was a bit weird to see so many people after feeling like I was the only person in the wilderness for a day. To be fair some of the trails we use are not really “trail” in the sense that many people use them for anything other than the race. We ran into some guys who had ski gear strapped to their backs, they had just skid down some remaining snowfields. It was mid July and there were skiers out, this made me laugh. Aubrey was great company as we climbed up Oscar’s pass and descended into Ophir, where a few of my crew surprised me at Chapman.
Originally no one was going to meet me there, but Brian, Et, and Todd were there getting me ready for Grant Swamp Pass. Todd, having never witness an ultra before was surprised and said “I wasn’t expecting you to be so happy and lucid at mile 85!” I would say normally I am not, but reader, I will remind you that I came at this challenge as a chance to slow down and appreciate how my body can do hard things and enjoy amazing scenery and in turn I would feed it, hydrate it, rest it when it needed so I could be happy and lucid for as many miles possible.
Sitting in the chair, word was there was snow at the top and they urged me to take my micro spikes with me. At Telluride I had so happily ditched them, actually I had happily ditched half my pack…out, I threw my puffy jacket that they had snuck in, out went the spikes, out went the overnight warm hat and extra food and gloves..bye forever, I thought! I finally had a pack that was manageably heavy. I was not excited for the extra weight again, but I packed them. When we got to Grant swamp and assessed the climb, I realized there was no way I could pause to put on microspikes.
For those of you who have not seen Grant Swamp, it’s a very steep ramp of loose sand and rock. You put your foot in and slid back, next foot in, slide back and so on. It makes your heart pound not only due to the elevation and the effort needed, but because at times you feel like you are stuck, spinning your legs and only sliding backwards. I felt a bit like a cartoon character, legs spinning while I actually went nowhere. This was the section section that worried me when I thought about the race beforehand. I chose Aubrey specifically for this section remembering back to the first time I met her several years ago, hiking up a talus field with friends. I noted that she seemed to pick the smart line, while everyone else sort of just ran ahead, having to pause and retrace steps. Aubrey looked at the trail and chose the line up that was the most successful. With her history of trail building on 14ers I knew she would pick the smart line up Grant Swamp, and as this was nearly mile 90 I was not sure what the state of my head or legs would be like at this point.
Like Virginus, I had done Grant Swamp before, but never with snow at the top. There’s as a tiny lip right below the snow that felt solid enough for a pause, and then up the snow steps we went. We both needed a break at the top to recover our nerves, so we took a picture of sunset just over Island lake. It was really beautiful there was one tent right next to the lake, glowing as the evening grew dark. It looked like it was just out of some sort of mountaineering catalog.
Once we crested the pass I finally allowed myself to think about what mileage I was at (roughly 89)and get excited for the finish. The whole race I had purposefully stayed in the moment, not thinking ahead, not getting anxious for the finish. “No hurry, no worry.” Hours earlier Dj had asked what mileage I get excited for the finish, he said anything after about half way makes him excited. Half way would have been the night before way back when I first picked up DJ and that felt like a lifetime before, I told him I would be excited when I saw Liz at KT
Now i was excited, I just needed to run downhill to KT, drop Aubrey and pickup Liz and head to the finish. I knew the last section was a series of false summits and non-trail, I had been told its mostly climbing from one flag to the next on high open fields.
Aubrey’s pacing duties ended at KT and I picked up Liz who was excited to GO! I know that technically running Hardrock was my dream, but Liz was firmly part of this dream as we had hiked much of the course years ago with her 18month old…well he joined part of Handies, we did not take him on Virginia’s or Grant Swamp Pass. I still remember we taught him the word GONDOLA that trip.
I stared up the climb with enthusiasm, and soon thought I had my first hallucination…I saw two glowing eyes following our movement through the woods. Once I realized my pacer saw them too, I recognized it was not a hallucination. We both began yelling and banging our poles together to make noise, the eyes did not flinch, they only followed. They continued to follow us as we hiked up and up. I had a brief moment of panic, is it a mountain lion? We continued on, what could we really do but catch up to other runners.
Up top the wind really picked up, this may have been the first time I felt cold at any point of the race. Liz was great, she scanned the horizon with her headlamp looking for all the reflective tape. My nausea was coming back and so I was slowing down a bit, she kept the pace moving and steady. We didn’t really see any runners at this point, it was just head down, through the last aid station and onto the talus field down to the creek. We paused before plunging into the creek, putting away our poles so we could grab the rope with both hands. Even though we were now on hour 44 of being awake and moving, I had paced myself slowly enough, taken a care of my self and eaten enough that I felt perfectly aware and control of myself. I saw many people at the nd of the race that had given it their all and were stumbling to the finish line and needed a seat immediately at the finish. That was not this for me, this was enjoy and be fully present and hold back so you can be aware and in control every moment of your adventure.
We crossed mineral creek without incident and realized once we got to the near side that some of my crew had awoken early, Drew CLiff and RIngo were on the side cheering, “two more miles to the finish.” The last two miles were quite pleasant and very confusing, I know we came in from the south side of town but somehow we wound around above town and popped out coming from the north.
I finally let myself realize this was going to happen, the whole experience felt like a dream, I kept thinking about being one of the 900 runners who have ever completed the Hardrock 100 in the almost 30 years it has been run. Even less likely is to finish as a woman, we make up maybe a third of the 900 finishers. I could finally pinch myself, the dream was real, I kissed the hardrock (as is tradition) and stood stunned in the lights of the finish line, surrounded by the arms of my friends, crew, pacers and husband. HECK YA, WE DID IT!
Trail Wisp(erings) 