Where to start? I guess at the starting line. Ricki and I were up early, about 4:45 am in order to get dressed and geared up and to the starting line at 5:45. We were expecting 40% chance of rain and mid 45 degree temperatures. I was carrying my small Ultimate Direction pack full of snacks and other essentials. In the main compartment I was also carrying a jacket. I was wearing a sleeveless shirt, a tee shirt and my Skins sleeves. The first six miles was a serious climb in the dark from just under 7,000 feet up to over 10,400. The weather was perfect for the climb, the cooler felt good as we climbed up into the clouds. At the peak we began a 19 mile roller coaster maintaining an elevation of around 9-10,000 feet. I was running a comfortable pace, feeling strong. It makes me happy because running at nearly 10,000 feet is a task and considering that I was feeling good it means I've actually gotten back into the shape I should be. The views were limited because we were basically in the clouds but the temps weren't bad and running was comfortable. I've included several pictures of what it looked like as we crossed ridges and beautiful lakes crossing the continental divide.
The race was run very well and all the aid station volunteers were excellent. They would refill your bottles while you grabbed snacks and I kept to my tradition of moving quickly through aid stations. I was catching people regularly and really enjoying myself. At about 4.5 hours it started raining. Nothing bad, just sprinkles and the temps were still high so it didn't feel too bad. At about 20 miles the rain picked up and when I started the final climb up Rabbit Ears mountain the rain was increasing. Near the top the rain was turning to sleet along with increasing wind. The top was very steep and because of the rain and other runners the trail was horribly chewed up and slick. I managed the final peak and headed down quickly hoping the temperatures would warm back up but evidential the cold was here to stay. Ricki was at the 28 mile aid station and I was still feeling good. I grabbed some snacks and pushed on quickly to make the next aid station, now on my was back and excited that most of the climbs were done.
Looking back this is where things started to go wrong.
Although I didn't know it, I started having problems over the next few miles. The course here was relatively easy rolling terrain and one of my fastest sections on the way out. But the rain had filled the trails with ankle deep water and there was a lot of stumbling which seriously increased as I ran. All the stream crossing were much more difficult because the rocks we had previously used to cross were under water. The next section was about four or five miles and I was really struggling. There were several meadows you had to cross which exposed us to the increasing wind and sleet. The temperatures were also dropping. At one point I stopped to eat a Gu and I couldn't open the packet because my hands were numb. I managed to get it open by clinching the packet between the heels of both hands and biting the top of the packet. Clear indication something was wrong. I found myself having a real hard time calculating where I was and how far I had to go. This usually happens when I was short on calories, but I knew I was eating well. So what was going on? At one stretch I stopped moving altogether as I reached the beginning of another clearing. I knew I was close to the next aid station but had at least 1/2 mile in the exposed meadow. I couldn't see more than 100 yards or so and really didn't want to step out into the wind. But standing still allowed my body to begin shivering uncontrollably. So I stepped out into the wind. When I reached the next aid station the wonderful volunteers took my pack off, helped me into my jacket (my hands would no longer work and my gloves were soaked). Once redressed they gave me a cup of hot ramen soup which tasted fantastic. I really did not want to linger and knew most of the next section was in the trees. I knew if I could get to the next aid station I could limp in the last 20 miles or so because my legs were still feeling very good.
The next section was more difficult. I was stumbling more, and way off my mental game. I was traveling through forested sections and open meadows and all the streams were swollen so the crossing were wet. The rocks were now under the water and where we could previously cross dry, we were now in the cold water even more. Stumbling into the next aid station, Long Lake (mile 37) I tried to get some quick calories. As soon as I stopped moving muscle tremors began. The volunteer asked how I was doing and I mumbled something incoherent. It felt like my lips wouldn't form words, my face had gone numb. I spilled the first Pepsi the aid worker gave me but managed to choke down the next one while the uncontrollable muscle tremors increased. Knowing I was still strong I figured I should get going quickly. The next section was a bit of climbing and exposed leading to the final leg. Walking out of the aid station the muscle tremors were making it hard to walk and also causing the muscles to cramp. I figured if I started running the shakes would go away, but they didn't they only made it harder to run. I was feeling foggy at the time so when I heard my Dad's voice speaking very clearly and very personally to me I stopped dead in my tracks. I've heard my Dad's lectures on how quickly hypothermia kills numerous times, and I could repeat it in my sleep. In my head I heard loud and clearly:
"Uncontrollable muscle tremors (me thinking to myself - check), slurred speech (check), lack of muscle coordination (check), foggy or unclear thinking (check). Bard, you are moving into stage three hypothermia. If you keep going you are risking your safety. Turn around."
I stood for a moment looking down the trail. The muscle tremors were increasing so I turned around and walked back to the aid station. The workers ushered me quickly into a van with several other runners and wrapped me in a space blanket. The heat was blasting and the temps in the van were a balmy 80-90 degrees. After 20 minutes of shivering without improvement I had convinced myself that if I could put a space blanket under my jacket I could trap some body head and continue on. I jumped out of the van and had a volunteer wrap me in the space blanket and put my jacket back on. In the two minutes it took to accomplish the task my shakes were worse so I jumped back into the van. It was then I had my second moment of clarity. When the worker had removed my jacket I noticed that both shirts were soaked. My jacket, supposedly waterproof had not done the job. The rain and sleet had soaked me through. After another twenty minutes in the van I realized that even with the space blanket I was not warming up. For those of you who don't know what this means, it means the body core has cooled down enough that it cannot produce enough body heat to recover itself. I knew I was done. My clothes were soaked, my jacket ineffective against the weather, and my body core temperature low enough that it would take dry clothes and an external heat source to recover. Another racer, not nearly as bad as me, but without the proper waterproof jacket was sitting next to me in the van as I mumbled my stubborn "gotta keep going" mantras to myself. He turned to me and said "Hey, I'm not a race official and can't make you stop, but I am an ER Doctor. It would not be wise or safe for you to go back out, if you do, they'll find you three miles down the trail huddled under a tree unconscious.
Two minutes later (8:30:30 running time) they had stripped my wet shirts off, pulled a dry sweatshirt over my blue skin and loaded me into a car headed down the mountain. Twenty minutes later I started thinking clearly and realized just how poorly I had been processing information. I looked at the temperature on the car console it read 33 degrees. The snow had increased, all my clothing were wet and I was already in bad shape. It could have been disastrous had I kept going.
When I got down the race director met me and told me that I did a fantastic job. He gave me a finishers mug and said I certainly deserved it. I realized then that it was not a matter of my fitness, I was clearly in shape to finish strong. I was simply foiled by my equipment, the jacket allowing me to become soaked clean through.
I loved the course and plan to go back next year. Do I feel bad about not finishing? No. Had I simply dropped, or quit because I was tired or struggling physically I would have felt bad. Looking back I know that it was a matter of safety. And I'm not willing to risk my life or my safety for the sake of any race. It was the right decision and I'm grateful for the forceful hands of the volunteers who turned me towards the warm car.
