2023 Zion 100k

With a 50 miler now under my belt, it was hard not to think about the next evolution in my ultra journey. The next logical step was the 100k. It’s only 12 more miles, right? That’s how I rationalized it to myself. It also helped that my husband and I decided we’d run it in a beautiful destination. A race of this distance warrants a road trip, a visit to my brother in law’s, and some of the most breathtaking scenery I had ever seen. The Zion 100k was an easy decision.

One of the hardest parts of these events is the wait. Registration comes months before the race, and while I take advantage of every week of training I have, I still find myself antsy as hell to get out there and tackle it. Jumping from the 50M to the 100k didn’t feel as scary as the jump from the 50k to the 50M. Having had a few strong 50k’s and a solid 50M under my belt, I felt confident in my ability to complete it, but of course the level of training I put in would contribute greatly to how good I felt while doing so. I poured everything I had into training. I’m a very regimented gal, so I found a plan that suited my style and followed it to a “t”. To date, the lower volume plans in “Relentless Forward Progress” by Bryon Powell (a book that I would highly recommend, particularly for newer ultra runners) have been perfect for me. The only thing I couldn’t train was elevation, but we wouldn’t get over 5,500 feet, so I wasn’t overly concerned.

As race day began creeping closer, the reality of what we were going to take on sunk in. Our goal was to finish in under 19 hours, which would qualify us for a ticket in the Western States lottery. If we hit that time, it would mean starting and ending the race in the dark with cold temps while dealing with the blistering heat of the desert during the day. We were not using a crew, which meant we had to anticipate what we would need at the various aid stops and ensure we had warm gear available when we needed it. I spent way too much time pouring over the aid station locations, estimating our arrival times and calculating our calorie and gear needs. After a while you just have to throw your hands up and call it a day, knowing most of the plan will probably be tossed out the window and you’ll have to troubleshoot your way to the finish line. As a type A perfectionist, this doesn’t always make me feel very comfortable. Which is precisely why these events are so good for me :)

There is also an element of uncertainty when you are driving across the country to get to your destination. Pulling out of the driveway I had that uneasy feeling in my gut. What am I forgetting? It didn’t matter. What is, is. We’ll deal with whatever comes our way. We were as ready as we were going to be. Utah, here we come!

We drove the 21 hour route from Minnesota without stopping. We took advantage of the boring miles through Iowa and Nebraska to read “The Alchemist” aloud to each other (another book I would highly recommend). It was the perfect story to set the tone for the adventure ahead of us. We took turns driving overnight to allow each other some rest and arrived at my brother in law’s house at 8:00am on Thursday morning, two days before the race. Fortunately, we had no plans for the day and basically unpacked and crashed. After a solid 6 hours of sleep, I was feeling much better. El and I enjoyed a leisurely afternoon that included a 3 mile run at 3 peaks in Cedar City. Not gonna lie, the run had me freaked out at first. The elevation hit me much harder than I had anticipated, and it immediately put me into panic mode. But once I settled in and accepted it for what it was, my body relaxed and the effort became much less taxing. "I just need to submit to my surroundings, take it all in, and be one with the beauty. It’s going to be incredible." I told myself.

Friday was another low key day. Bib pick up, drop bag drop off (this is it, dear Lord I hope we prepped well), and another 2 mile shake out run. Our race forecast was looking perfect, low 30s at the start, highs in the low 70s throughout the day, and back into the 40s for the finish. We were also anticipating clear skies, and I couldn’t wait to see the stars smattered across the dark morning and night sky. One of the other hardest parts of these events? Falling asleep the night before. My mind was racing, contemplating everything that was in front of us. Reworking all of our planning. Anticipating what it was going to feel like. Wrestling with the unknown. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I know it was much later than I had hoped, and our 3:00am wake up felt far too early.

The hour drive to the start line had my head bobbing. I was so tired. I knew I hadn’t gotten enough sleep, and that made my nerves creep in. But I had to shake it off and roll with it. Surely the sunrise will recharge my battery (spoiler alert, it did). The 30 degree temps also helped, sending a shock through my body. But it didn’t feel like Minnesota cold, it was much more tolerable. That said, we still waited until the very last minute to make our way from our car to the start line. We barely had time to snap a couple selfies before heading out amongst the sea of headlamps bobbing down the road to the grand adventure that awaited us.

The race started at 6:00am, and sunrise was around 7:00am, which made the first hour pass quickly as we enjoyed the sun gradually making its way into the sky behind the magnificent landscape, slowly exposing the beauty surrounding us in every direction. It was absolutely breathtaking, and it boosted my energy. I felt strong, pacing around 10 minutes per mile (our plan was for 12’s). But we felt good, so we rode the high while it lasted. The first aid station at 5.5 miles came so quickly, I was in disbelief. With the sun now out and having warmed up from the initial miles, I was ready to shed my headband, gloves, and windbreaker before heading off to the Gooseberry mesas.

I was still feeling strong as we paced behind a group of four guys. Phil was on the waiting list and likely to get into the Western States. Riley was a dad who had a love for the journey and kept mementos from his kids with him for encouragement, including notes from them written in Sharpie on his shoes. I can’t remember the names of the other two, but they were collectively an incredibly positive bunch and we crossed paths with them several times throughout the course of the day. Trail friends are the best friends. They make miles tick by faster, keep the energy high, and keep the motivation strong.

Gooseberry was simply incredible. The trail was the perfect mix of gravel and rock interspersed with sections of large rocks where it was difficult to decipher where to go. We had to pay close attention to find the trail markers and often found ourself catching up to people standing on high ground looking around, or others would catch us doing the same. We worked together to find our way, trail running can be a team sport indeed! And the views. My God, the views. It seemed that every corner we turned the landscape became bigger and bigger. We could see the entire valley below meandering between enormous rock structures. My favorite was when we could look across the valley to the section of the mesa that we had just came from. It was such an awesome realization to see how far we had already come! We were lost in the expanse and returned to the Goosebump Aid Station, 17.7 miles in, in what felt like no time.

From there we were ready to descend into the Virgin Desert. It was at this point that I realized I hadn’t studied the route very well. I thought we had one more Goosebump stop before the descent. Nope. We go down now and our last Goosebump stop is after we come back up. "Shit," I said, "I’d better grab my poles!" And with that, we made our way down the ~1.5 mile, 1,200 foot descent affectionately known at Mondo Z. The steepness slowed us down, but also allowed us to enjoy the spectacular views of the giant orange and cream layered rocks. We passed a gentleman who must have been in his 60s or 70s clicking his way down the rocky terrain. “This is my favorite part,” he said. He’s done this race multiple times, I thought. Awesome. It was just the inspiration I needed, and it turned out this section was my favorite part, too.

By the time we got to the bottom, the heat had crept up. We maintained a power hike for quite some time as we conversed with another older gentleman who had done both the 100k and 100M in the past. I was so amazed that someone his age could still do 100 milers. Age really is just a number. These are the folks that helped me realize that I could do it, too. Not just today, but for many years to come. I was grateful to have encountered such amazing people so early in the race. It energized me to get moving, so we picked the pace up and started jogging on and off. And wouldn’t you know, my old IT band injury decided to rear its ugly head.

That familiar throb in my knee brought back back memories of discomfort during long stretches of previous marathons. But that was usually 8-10 miles of pain. We were only 25 miles into 62, I was going to have to deal with this for a while. It was frustrating and defeating, but I did my best to stay positive. I took some ibuprofen, jogged when I could, and walked when the pain became unbearable. Elliot was simultaneously struggling with achilles issues, which was also a bummer, but on the plus side, it kept us wanting to maintain a similar pace to one another. We lifted each other up and pushed each other forward as we always do when the going gets tough.

Eventually we made it to the Virgin Desert Aid Station. The stops were beginning to feel further and further apart now as our pace slowed and the honeymoon phase of the race faded. I got some CBD cream for my knee which seemed to help a ton alongside the ibuprofen. Elliot smashed some fresh pineapple that had seemingly magical properties. We left the aid station in much higher spirits, and with the ability to jog more than walk.

The rest of the valley segment went pretty smoothly overall. El and I continued to take in the breathtaking views around us, now with the addition of snow capped mountains in the distance. We kept the mood light, running quite a bit but walking when we wanted to as we were way ahead of schedule. We shared an immense amount of gratitude, verbalizing our appreciation for each other, our marriage, our children, Mother Nature, and our ability to be out doing what we were doing. It kept our heads in the right space and brought us closer as a couple, as these things tend to do.

Eventually we ran into the four gentleman from the beginning of the race again and played leap frog with them a few times until we pulled out ahead through the hottest, most desolate segment of the race. While the high was forecasted to be in the low 70s, it felt like 90+ degrees out there under the intense sunrays beaming down on us from the cloudless sky. We could see Mondo Z in the distance, that gigantic climb back up to Goosebump. It wasn’t productive to worry about it, we needed to stay in the moment and enjoy the flat ground while we had it. Unfortunately, there were several runners that wouldn’t make it out of that valley to the finish line. We passed a few that were struggling, including one unfortunate guy who was laying under a bush seeking some semblance of relief from the sun. We were fairly certain he had heat stroke and made sure he had what he needed until we could notify the aid station crew of his whereabouts. That's when it sunk in that what we were attempting was not to be taken lightly.

Soon enough, the climb up Mondo Z was upon us. It was so daunting. It looked twice as high as I remembered it on the descent. And now, there was no escape from the sun as we slowly lifted one leg followed by the other for that treacherous 1.5 miles. I felt like a sloth and had to stop a few times to collect myself along the way. One of those stops was alongside another older gentleman who was accompanied by his pacer. He looked completely sapped and was pale in the face, but assured us he would be fine and just needed to rest a minute. Godspeed my friend, on we continued. We reached a section that didn’t cause us to pause on the way out. But now, on fatigued legs, further deconditioned by the last mile of climbing, I was downright terrified to traverse this “trail” section that was so narrow and unstable I was honestly surprised it was even part of the course. Ok, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but I was grateful to have it behind me!

From there, it was a short climb to the peak where we would be greeted by the most encouraging volunteers with a smorgasbord of amazing food to recharge our bodies. With 38 miles down and the biggest climb behind us, I felt accomplished and thankful for the progress. We took our time refueling, rehydrating, and repacking for the next leg. We greeted Phil and Riley, happy to see they had conquered the ascent and hopeful that the other two were soon to follow. This was our last stop at Goosebump, which meant we had to gather all of our cold weather gear from the morning (lesson learned, we should have packed another set in a future drop bag, so we didn’t have to carry it). After our break, I was surprised by how good I felt. My legs felt renewed, I was ready to run again, it was time to head to Grafton.

As we left the aid station, I checked my watch - 4:00pm. Our stretch goal time was a midnight finish, which meant we had 8 hours to go 24 miles. This meant we needed a 3mph pace, 20 minute miles. We’ve got this! I thought. We set off with confidence and determination, spirits soaring sky high, and a whole lot of pep in our step. And wouldn't you know, up ahead of us was the gentleman we had passed going up Mondo Z. He not only made it, but he recovered and got back on the road way faster than we did. I was humbled, impressed, and encouraged.

With our renewed energy, we were able to jog the straights and downhills, and our pains subsided for a bit. The 6.5 miles to the Grafton Aid Station passed quickly as a result, and it was there that I realized I had no idea what was coming next on the course. I totally understudied. But being surprised by what’s coming next isn’t the worst thing either. I learned we had 1.9 miles to Wire Mesa, so I stuffed my vest with pretzels Napoleon Dynamite style and off we went.

It was an easy road to Wire with mostly downhills. We were maintaining a 12-14 minute/mile pace and were still way ahead of our stretch goal time. We arrived to the mesa feeling good, ready for a strong finish. When we got there, we asked a runner who was just finishing the loop how it went. “Honestly,” he said, “it’s a bitch.” He proceeded to tell us the whole thing is runnable, but your legs just don’t want to run. Unfortunately, he was right.

Although we felt pretty good when we set out, the fatigue in our legs was setting in. The trail was fairly flat without many downhills to coast on, and technical enough that we didn’t want to be hasty and take a wrong step. So we agreed to hike it. We were way ahead of schedule, and this was our reward. Well, I’m not sure if my body took this as a sign that we were done or what, but after 20 minutes or so, the nausea started to kick in. It came on slowly and gradually got worse and worse. I had no desire to eat or drink anything. This isn’t good, I thought. I knew Elliot wasn’t feeling well either as he had grown quiet as well. We tried some ginger goo that he had made, which helped some, but not enough.

With our slow pace, and no dialogue, it felt like we were traversing that segment forEVER! “Will it ever fucking end?” We asked each other. Eventually a group of three jogged past us looking way fresher than we did. I honestly thought we missed our exit point and started the loop over again. Elliot started running again at that point, I’m pretty sure completely out of spite. I followed suit and was surprised to find that the nausea subsided when I was moving more quickly. But I couldn’t hold it, my legs were so tired. We walk/jogged the remainder and by the grace of God we eventually made it off that damned mesa. It was a gorgeous section, just like the others, but I definitely didn’t appreciate it as much. I felt like shit and my spirit was torn. On the bright side, we only had 8.7 miles to go. If we kept a 20 minute/mile pace, we could still finish this damn thing by 11:00pm, an hour ahead of our stretch goal time. I was bound and determined to get this shit done!

Surprisingly, we were able to jog the straights and downhills back to Grafton. Unfortunately, there was a lot more ups than straights and downs on the way back. The sun had now started to set and it was getting cold. When we stopped at the aid station before our last loop, I hit my all time low for the day. I felt as though I had left my body. I felt empty, like a ghost or a zombie. I was nearly in tears at the thought of embarking on another 5.5 mile loop, in the dark, and the cold. My eyes welled up, but I didn’t let a tear shed. Elliot asked me how I was doing, something we have vowed never to ask each other, so I must have looked rough. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t drink. “We just need to go,” I said. Fair enough, let’s go.

Bless his heart for leading the way. We ended up with a third runner joining us for that last loop as well. Devin from Iowa had done several 100k’s and a 100 miler before. As previously, it was encouraging to have someone with us who had accomplished this distance and longer. It helped me believe that I could do it, too. Elliot asked me something along the lines of, “Are you good to go?” “Yep,” I replied. And just like that, he set off running. Devin and I followed right along, and we hitched a few more lost runners onto our wagon train. I’m not sure how long we kept it on, but it was much longer than I felt possible. And just like before, it helped keep the nausea at bay, such a welcome relief.

But man, our bodies were spent. And with the challenge of navigating the terrain in the dark, we just couldn’t keep it going. Back to hiking, back to debilitating nausea. I was so thankful for Elliot wayfinding in the dark. Thankful for the great conversation with Devin for the first half of the loop. But eventually it got quiet again, just like Wire Mesa, and it became a test of tolerance. I knew we had at least an hour and a half left, and it was all I could do to keep moving forward, praying that we weren't about to fall off the edge of an unseen cliff in the pitch dark. I was simply counting down the minutes one at a time, until we finally saw that beautiful aid station come into sight. When we arrived, the pack behind us took off like they were fine and dandy. My mind was blown. "You want to run?" I asked El. "Hell no," he replied. Thank God, I thought, because I didn't know if I could.

Although I still felt like shit, knowing the end was only 1.4 miles of dirt road away brought a renewed sense of excitement. We are so close, that finish line is ours! It felt so freaking cold. My watch said the temperature was 49 degrees, but it felt colder than the 31 degrees that we started in. I put my windbreaker on and we hobbled our way down the road. We were talking again now. I felt mentally back to normal, which was such a relief. We exchanged our feelings of gratitude for each other, for the incredible day, and for the life we had built together. It was the theme of the day. We were in a bit of disbelief that the end was so near. That we had made it.

Soon enough, the finish line became visible in the distance. “Should we run it in? Hold hands as we cross?” Elliot asked. “Absolutely,” I replied. And so we did, crossing that line at 17 hours and 9 minutes, nearly two hours ahead of our goal, an hour ahead of our stretch goal, and the perfect time to compliment our 17th wedding anniversary that had just passed the previous week. We embraced each other hard and gave each other the biggest kiss before exclaiming to the small crowd, “17 hour 100k for our 17th anniversary!” We got a few “woos,” but if I’m honest, the finish line was rather anticlimactic. There weren’t a ton of people hanging out in the cold at 11:00pm. But that’s ok. That’s not why we do this. We do it to experience nature in a way only ultra runners can. We do it to push our mind and body to places we never thought possible, building resilience, confidence, and a profound perspective on life. We do it for the adventure, to meet new people that are part of an amazing community, and to get us out to new places. We do it so we are capable of other grandiose adventures. We do it because we love it.

At that point, I couldn’t have been happier to sit in a heated tent and enjoy the best cup of ramen I have ever had in my life. We were delighted to find the “Rad Rabbit Hat Guy,” who had been complimenting Elliot on his “No Weak Shit” hat, also enjoying hot soup in the tent. This guy finished the race before us even though he thought he broke his foot. No weak shit indeed. The perfect final reminder of what our bodies are capable of. I sat there, staring at my medal, basking in the fact that the hard work was over. Holy shit. We were done.

Zero percent of me wanted to make the hour drive home, I was so grateful for Elliot taking point on driving. It didn’t take long before I needed to unload the contents of my stomach right there on the side of I-15. The ramen was good while it lasted I guess. When we got to the house around 1:00am, it took all I had to rinse my body off before collapsing into bed.

When I woke the next morning, I felt hungover. My stomach still messy. Starving, but not wanting to eat. It took nearly half the day to feel normal. At that point I was pretty adamant that I would never do this distance again. But of course, as the days pass by, all of those negative memories fade away, leaving only the beautiful, life-changing moments we experienced. It really was an epic adventure like no other. It allowed me to tap into areas of my brain that I wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, otherwise. It allowed me to see what I was capable of. It strengthened my marriage. It introduced me to new people. It brought me a sense of pride and accomplishment. It made me feel like a real, badass ultra runner. So yeah, a week later, I was definitely going to do it again. No weak shit.