Ever since I found out that running 100 miles was humanly possible, I wanted to be one of the humans who’d done it. That initial discovery came when I read Born to Run, over a decade ago. I had never run a marathon. I wasn’t even a runner. But when I read about Scott Jurek and Micah True covering unfathomable distances on foot, I felt the longing others must feel when they first set eyes on Mount Everest: I needed to be there.

In the intervening years, I’ve become a runner and I’ve followed the usual progression: a few marathons, some 50K’s, and a couple of 100K’s. Ultra running has become more than a dream. I've been lucky enough to spectate the Western States 100 miler – which I once heard described as “a parade of human spirit.” And getting to see so many people cross the finish line, particularly in the golden hour before the 30 hour time cut off, helped cement the belief that I really could conquer that mythical distance myself.

So, this fall, after my partner Megan and I completed a six-day trek of the 106-mile Trail Mont Blanc, we felt ready to sign up for the Rio Del Lago 100 miler. We were excited and terrified. Even if everything went perfectly, I knew it would likely be the greatest physical challenge I’d ever endured. And if the race went off the rails, it would mean death marching for hours. But, whatever happened I would draw strength knowing that Megan was out there on the trail with me – even though we didn’t plan on running together. And we had an incredible crew of friends who’d come out to support us. Amy and Zac would be crewing for Megan, and Hannah and Mark would be crewing for me. If Megan and I were running close together, we’d see all of them at every crew station. If our paces separated, so would our crews.

The race started at five in the morning from Beals Point in Folsom, California. The first 21 miles were on the American River path, flat and mostly paved. It made for an easy start to the race, the critical factor being not to go out too fast. I cruised through these early miles feeling good, staying relaxed and excited to be living my dream. After returning to Beals point the course headed north towards Auburn, where Western States finishes. At mile 25, Granite Beach, I saw my crew for the first time and dropped off a headlamp and windbreaker I’d started the run with. Leaving that aid station, I was feeling good and expected to cruise through the ten miles to the next crew point. But almost immediately, my stomach started to turn.

Feeling good and flashing my number to the photographer shortly after the start of the race.

I’ve had stomach issues in all of my 100k races, but usually not until the end of the race. I’d never had problems in less than 50k. But by the time I was going through mile 30, my stomach was cramping and bloated and I was struggling to eat enough. Dropping out of the race never crossed my mind. Unless I was seriously injured or time cut, I was committed to finishing. But I was dreading another 70 miles of cramps. At the next aid station, I told the volunteers what I was going through and they offered whatever support they could. I tried ginger ale, Tums, and drank more water. And I kept repeating an ultra-truism to myself: it never always gets worse.

Finally, around mile 40 and after over three hours of stomach issues, I threw up on the side of the trail. It was a slick, liquidy vomit, making it plain that I hadn’t eaten any solid foods since breakfast. It’s not the solution I’d have sought out, but it reset my gut. When I saw my crew at the mile-45 aid station at Auburn Overlook, they already had water warmed up and made me a Cup Noodles so I could get something back into the tank. The weather was starting to turn and a light rain was coming in, so the warm broth also helped fortify my body for the next long stretch. It was 24 miles until the next aid station where I’d have my crew’s support, so I took a headlamp and a jacket with me even though it was only two o’clock. One of the downsides to a November 100-miler is the 6:06 sunset.

Leaving Auburn Overlook with ramen in my belly, I felt a whole better. The next part of the course would cover a lot of the same trail as the Way Too Cool 50k, which I’d done a few years prior. It was the hilliest section of the race, rolling up and down rooty singletrack that was slick from the rain. It also had some of the largest gaps between aid stations, two ten mile stretches without support. Fortunately, I was able to find another runner and his pacer who were keeping a similar speed to me. We ran together for almost all of the first 10-mile stretch. When I ran out of water, the pacer offered me an extra bottle. It was just another one of the innumerable acts of support that make accomplishing an effort like running 100 miles possible.

On my way to the Cool aid station at mile 69, the real fatigue was starting to set in. With every step I took, I was setting a new benchmark for the farthest I’d ever run. The sun set and I turned on my headlamp. Its light reflected off the rain and the fog that had settled in the trees, making it hard to see further than a few feet. But I knew that once I got to the aid station, I’d see my crew, eat another Cup Noodles and pick up my first pacer. I kept my mind focused on that next checkpoint, trying not to think of the hours to go before the finish. Finally, around 8 p.m., I arrived at Cool. It was really raining and I swapped out my windbreaker for a jacket. And with another belly full of noodles, my friend Matt and I left for the return leg to Auburn Overlook.

About 30 miles in, after the race hit trail.

The first few miles after picking up Matt felt like they came for free. We ran down the Wendell-T-Robie Trail at a steady clip, the light from our two headlamps making the footing that much easier to see. We crossed No Hands Bridge and started up the Western States Trail. It was at that point that my climbing legs decided they’d had enough. We slowly hiked our way back up to the Overlook aid station and focused on keeping a steady pace and continuing to eat and drink. Even as I felt more tired, I drew strength from having Matt with me and knowing that I’d soon get to pick up a fresh pacer who’d stay with me until the finish.

The race went through Auburn Overlook for the second time at mile 77. My trusty crew was ready with another Cup Noodles, which I scarfed down joyously. If anyone from the Nissin Foods Corporation is reading this, I am ready for my sponsorship. I said goodbye to Matt and left with Jason. It was nine miles to the next crew point and I focused on that checkpoint. The first few miles after Auburn Overlook were downhill and again I felt like I was benefiting from my pacer’s fresh legs. Finally, we were back down to the American River and along some smooth singletrack. I was still struggling with any inclines, but I was able to cruise on the flat trails and before long we were meeting up with the crew again at the Rattlesnake Bar aid station.

In the last nine-mile section, I’d switched to a Maurten drink mix and had actually managed to consume two bottles worth - 640 calories in total. I didn’t want to try and cram another Cup Noodles in my stomach, but the steadfast crew had one ready and I happily drank its salty broth. We were at mile 86 and as Jason and I hit the trail, I finally allowed myself to start thinking about my finishing time. I had been running for twenty hours. If I could cover the last 14 in under four, I’d be able to proudly claim that I’d run 100 miles in less than 24 hours - a secondary, but aspiration goal I’d had going into the race. There was just one problem: a section of trail known as the meat grinder.

On the way out, I’d run through that section of trail without an issue. We hit it around mile 32, when I was having my worst stomach cramps, but still it wasn’t too treacherous. But returning to the rocky stretch of riverside trail in the dark with 90 miles in my legs, I realized why it’s referred to as a machine for pulverizing flesh. There aren’t any long climbs, but there are steep little punches with rock shelves or water bars sometimes a foot high. Each time I had to surmount one was a concerted effort, like doing a single leg squat. I would put my leading foot up on the step, put my hands on my knee and exhale as I hoisted myself up. Although my legs were still feeling surprisingly good on descents, these downhills were chunky with rocks and roots slick with mud that required cautiously picking our way through them. Jason was by my side and he reminded me that we were in the single digit miles to go and that the last four would be smooth and runnable. He kept me moving until, finally, we reached the Granite Beach aid station - we’d exited the grinder intact.

Going into the home stretch, I had a bit over an hour to cover the final four miles and achieve my sub-24 goal. Drawn forwards by excitement, Jason and I clipped off the fastest miles I’d run in the second half of the day. I cruised along the trail, almost enjoying the pain that was shooting through my quads. I wanted to remember this feeling forever. I was going to be a hundred mile finisher.

When I crossed the finish line, my crew was there – just as they’d been throughout the whole race. All night, they drove from place to place in the rain, cooked me Cup Noodles and traded out my layers. When I was struggling, I was drawn forward by the thought of seeing them at the next aid station. Although running a hundred miles is an individual accomplishment, their support throughout the day not only made it possible, it made it so much more meaningful.

After finishing, my legs locked up. I needed help limping back to the car. Back at our Airbnb, I took a shower and went right to bed. But I only slept for an hour before we got up to go back to the finish line – Megan was set to come in at just over 27 hours. Getting to watch her finish her first hundred shortly after I’d completed my own was the bow on a perfect day. Well, two days at this point. It’s still a bit unreal to have stood on top of that personal Mount Everest I’d longed for so many years ago. Even now, the feeling of the summit is receding into a myth of its own. Did we really do that? We did. And although this was our first, it certainly won’t be our last.

100 miles, One Day

Schedule a Free Consultation