- The '03 Leadville Trail 100 Newbie Report -
- Mark Wallace -

By some form of twisted perverted logic my wife Dona, some friends and I had
come to the conclusion I could finish the Leadville 100. Five weeks before
Leadville I had completed the world's first off-road Iron Man in 20 hours.
Coach Phil had offered several warnings but then, shrugging and rolling his
eyes, setup a 4-week training plan. Three weeks before the start and after a
two week recovery he'd scheduled the longest "on feet" workout of my life, a
12 hour run-hike of about 45 miles. Without any ambition of becoming an
ultra-distance runner this was a chance to get the coveted buckle without
the months and years of preparation most would otherwise do. I would cheat
my way to a 100 finish and the silver buckle. Oh what blissful ignorance.

I'd approached this race like other ultras decomposing it down into a series
of problems, examining each gap between aid stations and crewing points. I'd 
spent 4 weeks getting physically and mentally ready after the Iron Man.
My longest workout was 15 hours of run hiking in a 24-hour period. I knew
from those and the difficulty of carrying 6 hours of supplies that I wanted
to minimize weight. I would use the fueling techniques I'd come to trust
with little variation. And finally I would use my 3 strongest allies as
pacers, loading them down as mules to shoulder all of our combined supplies.

There was no alarm that early Saturday morning. It was set for 3 AM but I
was up at 2:30 after four hours of nervous sleep. I always slept like a baby
the night before a big event, of course by any measure, the Leadville 100
run is bigger than most. Historically the finish rate is 45%, 60 miles of
single track or jeep trail, 15600 feet of climbing, up to 30 hours to
finish, and all at an elevation of 9200 to 12600 feet. It was my first 100,
first competitive run over 26.2 miles, and first event over 20 hours. As it
would turn out there were many more unimaginable reasons to be nervous that
cool August morning.

The race began at 4 AM. The last hour before the start is surreal and vague
as my mind attempted to comprehend its upcoming task. The weather was clear
as we walked to the start. Hurried checks of pack, shoes, clothes, and
lights filled the last minutes. And then it began with an explosion from the
shotgun.

The run down Sixth, the Blvd to Sugarloafin' Campground, and around
Turquoise was relaxed and comfortable. I wore a HRM set to alarm at 155 to
keep myself going easy and struggled to keep the alarm silent. Three friends
were there at Sugarloaf'in cheering. I stopped to inquire on their choice of
entertainment at 4:30 in the morning. They shoo me off: "Run Mark Run!" With
over 29 hours left "There is plenty of time for that." I thought, or was
there? I wondered how it would feel upon returning to this point more than
24 hours later.

I pulled into May Queen at mile 13.5 in 2:22, just 2 minutes slower then
expected. I had no idea how long the rest of the race would take and carry a
slip of paper with 25, 27.5 and 29.5 hour splits. For the first 75 miles of
the race I was a few minutes over the 27.5-hour finish splits. Just out of
the aid station I see an early victim "yodeling groceries" (a term one could
only learn at a race like this) on the side of the trail, it's so early it
must be nerves. Up and over Sugarloaf Pass to my waiting crew. I take the
downhill easy, knowing it's what I'd least prepared for. Dona hands me
sunglasses and a smaller water belt and I was off to Fish Hatchery.

The next miles slipped by easily: Fish Hatchery at 23.5 miles, "Treeline" at
28 miles, Halfmoon at 30.5 miles and then back onto the Colorado Trail with
a short climb and then rolling wide soft trails all the way to the town of
Twin Lakes at 39.5 miles. I run or hike relaxed trading short conversations.
Still no problems as I pull into Twin Lakes Aid station at 8-hours elapsed.
I get a full refill of water and fuel, stuff a jacket and poncho in the hip
pack as dark clouds roll over the mountains. This was the first real test of
the run, the first crossing of Hope Pass.

I pushed to Hopeless Aid station getting there at exactly 10 hours elapsed.
What a wonderful place. The clouds are misting, 10s of llamas and horses are
grazing about, tents are scattered and many volunteers including children
are there eager to help. I left quickly anxious to crest the pass just 15
minutes ahead.

As I approached the top I hike with Steve from Boulder, a young man with
some impressive race experience. We talked about Boulder, the Alaskan
Iditasport, one of his toes he thinks will have to be amputated, the
off-road Iron Man, and then finally his father. Steve's father had died
earlier in the summer, a runner himself, he was literally here with us. As
we came to the top Steve prepared to release his father's ashes. I lingered
with him, finding the prayer flag with a message from our recently departed
dog Scooter. We both said a few silent words and then quickly left the near
freezing and wet conditions. It was an amazing emotional couple of minutes
which will always be with me.

Steve and I ran together to the trailhead at the Winfield road. It was cold
and drizzly as we descended and I put on both the poncho and jacket. There
was heavy rain in the valley ahead. At the bottom we shook hands, I thanked
him for sharing the Pass and assured him that his father's memory would help
us finish. I didn't see Steve again. I hope he came to peace with his father
's passing.

My crew was there as I came off Hope Pass. "I'm kickin' ass and takin'
names!" I proclaimed, "Unfortunately the ass has my own name on it." I
grabbed a smaller fuel belt and took off for the turn-around. The road was
heavily puddled but the last rain of the race had stopped. Walking out of
Winfield for the return trip to Leadville eating a ham and cheese and
drinking potato soup, I was feeling good and looking forward to picking up
my first pacer at the Hope Pass trailhead. Tammy, a veteran of many ultras
and nearby resident very familiar with the trail, would be with me 8 miles
to Twin Lakes. Joe would take me the 26 miles from Twin Lakes to May Queen
and Dona (besides 26 hours of crewing!) would be my escort the last 13.5
miles to the finish. I could not have chosen three more suited pacers and
crew.

Tammy and I made a good pace to treeline keeping a steady conversation
going. I was drawing as much energy from her as I could and thankfully Tammy
always has lots to spare. As we came to treeline the altitude and exhaustion
were combining to make me dizzy. The gentle coaxing (and poking!) from Tammy
was just what I needed to get to the top. But there was a big problem up
there in the misty clouds. As we started down my legs were virtually unable
to bend. I stumbled into Hopeless aid station barely walking and shivering.
A volunteer quickly led us to the cook tent and a chair, I drank soup and
Tammy massaged my legs. I stood once and walked outside but, with Tammy off
collecting supplies, quickly ducked back into the tent, it was COLD out
there!

About 30 seconds after coming into Hopeless (although Tammy insists it was
at least 5 minutes) we headed down. As the trail flattened and we got lower
I was able to move faster and by the bottom we were able to run most of the
last 2 miles. Our finish to Twin Lakes was made all the better as Tammy's
husband Tom came by with Alan Cohen, a perennial finisher. We stuck together
for about 10 minutes chatting up a storm and enjoying the company.

Tammy had pulled me over Hope and I was feeling rejuvenated coming into Twin
Lakes. I would pick up Joe who had never run over 20 miles but I had no
doubts he was qualified. He would take me 26 miles to May Queen and through
the night. He had told me before the race that there were only 3 things to
do. First get to Twin Lakes inbound, second get to May Queen, and third get
to the finish. I laughed at the absurdity of those statements but in the end
he was proved right. Mentally those were about 3 equal hurdles. Joe is the
fiercest competitor I know and I planned to draw from that as much as
possible.

Pulling into Twin Lakes I was frantic. "I've lost them, I've lost them, have
you seen them anywhere?" The crew, ever worried and vigilant asks what it is
I've lost. "My marbles! Have you seen my marbles?"

Joe and I had an enjoyable trip to Halfmoon pulling in at 11:15pm. We had
chatted most of the way about everything and nothing and the time had passed
quickly. Someone said it was 27 degrees, it felt like it! We ate, and I sat
by the heater while Joe refilled our supplies. I asked for some Advil,
another pacer dug into a bag and handed me 3. I had started a slow dose at
noon and was picking up in an effort to keep the leg and foot screams to a
dull roar. The other runners there were mostly staring at the floor, it was
a scary sight, and some had given up the fight.

Joe grabbed me about this time and we took off at a strong walk headed to
"Treeline" 3 miles down the road. I struggled to run a little to no avail. I
had felt lead legs before but nothing like this. Truly each leg felt like
dead weight swinging as little more then pendulums in hip-deep water. It was
cold in the trees but warmed instantly as we came out into the open. Joe had
gone ahead to find Dona and as I entered the crewing area a medic looked at
me and asked what day it was. It was Saturday or Sunday but I wasn't sure if
it was after midnight yet. The answer was close enough; it was within a few
minutes of midnight.

By counting 100 running steps I was able to force myself to run. We worked
our way to Fish Hatchery at 21:15 elapsed, 2 hours after leaving Halfmoon
and 1:15AM by the clock. A radio blared a Led Zeppelin song as we came in,
it sounded wonderful. A few spectators and crew lingered about and the aid
station was busy. I sat and ate a sandwich chatting with Maureen, a
volunteer and Leadville neighbor. Dona had warned Joe I might try this trick
and after 2 or 3 minutes grabbed me as if to say social hour was over. We
walked out to what I fully expected was to be the real test of the Leadville
100: Powerline, named for the high-tension lines strung along its length.
They hum constantly and the road next to them is mostly straight up and over
Sugarloaf pass. On a bike it takes about 45 minutes, walking 90 minutes to 2
hours. I would spend close to 3 hours struggling over the beast.

The first pitch went by easily. On the second the altitude started to hit
and I slowed down. It was after 2AM and my body was not happy to be here. It
was cold and began to snow lightly. Somewhere around 3 AM I surcumbed to
nausea. I felt better and steadied myself on Joe's pack to keep from
weaving. Joe forced me to sip water and Hammer Gel. He continued to
encourage me on as many others passed us. After an eternity we came over
Sugarloaf and started down towards May Queen. I had hoped to start an easy
jog but all I could muster was a walk. Down and down we slowly trudged, my
feet yelling to stop with every footfall, finally to the 1.5 miles of rough
single track which would lead to the aid station.

It was the last hour to May Queen where my mood went dark. I could barely
walk down the steep trail or step over the rocks. Joe never relented with
his encouragement but it rang hollow in my ears. When we got to the river
crossing and could see the aid station through the trees, Joe thought we
were about there. I told him with some disappointment that we still had
about a mile to go. Joe was a little frustrated; we were going to be an hour
late arriving. He began to curse the trail, the race directors, and God
himself. I found this rather humorous. Another eternity passed during which
I resolved to quit. I had all my excuses ready; I would have to convince
Dona. Armpits chaffed and bleeding, legs unable to bend, nauseous, not
enough time, it was over. When I got there I would refuse to move, fall to
the ground and finally sleep.

Dona was standing at the tent as we approached, ready to leave immediately;
I just glared. "I'm done." I said. I tried to lie on a cot but they were
covered with supplies. "How stupid" I thought, "they should be cleared off.
These people don't know what they were doing!" I realized they knew exactly
what they were doing. In despair I sat down, put my head in my hands and
gave up, listing all the accumulated excuses. I was looking for someone to
cut off my wristband, which would mean I was out of the race. Each time I
looked up though Mike Sadar, a ten-time veteran volunteering here on the
forward line, was looking at me hard and reminding me how tough I was. The
conflict welled in my brain and my eyes. I couldn't go on and I couldn't
stop. Friends waited at the finish, Tammy and Joe had already done their
parts and Dona was here now ready to help me finish it. A coke looked good
and I drank it, stood angrily and stomped out. I needed a hat and gloves so
Dona went back and for a few minutes I spoke in anger aloud and silently at
those who had just convinced me to leave that sanctuary.

At the Turquoise Lake trailhead a few minutes later I was still upset but
felt some life in my legs. I held my elbows to the side to avoid the pain
under my arms and began a fast walk and then slow run. As the sun rose, I
began to believe I might finish. I had left May Queen at 6:15 AM, 15 minutes
ahead of the cut-off, 26:15 into the race and 3:45 left before the final gun
blast sounded. I went as hard as I could, reeling others in and trying to
hang with those faster. Dona was perfect, talking excitedly, encouraging me
to run and catch those ahead. When I needed to drink or eat she would pass a
bottle or food ahead without us having to break stride. I was drinking well
and had to stop often for relief, too often, so Dona insisted I swallow a
salt tablet. At the first boat ramp other crews were there and asked if
there was anything I needed. I asked for a coke and a blond angel handed me
her own. Thanks.

We had made great time chasing and proding others and were almost halfway
there. The next couple miles were flat and the trail wide. I started running
100 steps then walking 100 steps. My feet screamed, armpits screamed, groin
screamed, quads screamed, and calves screamed. I was able to focus by
counting over and over to 100. We came to Turquoise Dam and saw Joe; he had
been there for over an hour in the cold waiting to make sure we made it. It
was 8:15AM and about 5 miles to the finish. As long as I kept moving we were
going to make it. But there was one last down hill, a steep powerline cut
about 200 yards long. Dona found 2 walking sticks I used to help slowly
negotiate the downhill, one faltering uncertain step at a time.

We were headed straight to town now. I ran a few more "100s" and we came to
the turn off to the Blvd. Someone yelled that we had done it, just 1 more
hour. It was after 8:30 AM so I had to keep moving; I promised myself no
more running if I could just do a little more to the Blvd. We got onto the
Blvd. and others ran by, I could not comprehend it. The exhaustion was
starting to hit in waves, feet cramping, I put a hand on Dona's shoulder to
steady myself. Someone near the end of the Blvd. was walking down telling us
how close we were, he said "You're fine, just don't stop." At the pavement
my friends and their dogs came up to greet us.

We walked slowly up Sixth Street enjoying the finish and listening to the
crowd as the last runners approached. Joe was snapping pictures and
obviously enjoying the intensity of the moment. Ben, Vicki and Malinda were
there too somewhere in the hazy half-awake blur. I was going to finish the
Leadville 100 and walked up the last hill holding Dona's hand and smiling.
Hundreds of spectators clapped and offered congratulations as we came to the
banner. I ran those last few red carpet steps, the roar of the crowd in my
head and stopped abruptly in Marilee's arms as she draped a finishers medal
around my neck.  She congratulated me as I told her I was sticking to the
bike from now on. Ken, shot gun in hand, said he was proud. We stood and
watched as the last finishers came in; people came up to offer their
congratulations. I had finished in 29:49, just 11 minutes before the 10 AM
cut-off, only 4 others would finish later. Vicki brought the car up and I
lifted my legs in. It was over and all I wanted to do was sleep, but only an
hour, the awards ceremony started at noon.

What a trip it was. No one does it alone.

From: "Wallace, Mark"
Date: Thu, 16 Oct 2003 12:26:43 -0600