October 10, 1999

Enough time has passed now that I can talk about the race and not break into a 
cold sweat or burst into tears at the mention of it, and I wanted to get an 
account down before I forgot some of the gory details.  I also wanted to capture 
some of my feelings before, during, and after the run.

Prelude to the 1999 Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run

Just to give a little running history, this was my first attempt at a 100 miler.  
I'd started running seriously about seven years ago and running marathons for 
about six.  I've run the St. George Marathon four times, the Silicon Valley, Big 
Sur, and the Great Potato marathons once apiece.  My times weren't blazing, but 
it seemed that everybody was doing marathons these days, and maybe it was time 
for me to try something different.  The decision was also easy to make since I 
don't think I have one fast-twitch muscle fiber in my whole body.  I know I'm 
not very fast, but I've always felt like I could run a long time.  I maybe 
should have taken a couple of years to work up the 100 mile distance, but I 
didn't have the patience. 

I'd heard of the Wasatch Front 100 a couple of years ago and couldn't comprehend 
how someone could possibly cover 100 miles in one race, but I also thought, 
"Wow, what would it feel like to finish something like that?"  I spent a couple 
of months at the end of 1997 learning about ultrarunning and Wasatch.  I'd 
talked to a buddy at work, David Clouse, about it, and between the two of us we 
decided we ought to try it.  After all, you only would have to average three 
miles an hour, right?  Crud, I could walk it and still finish in the time limit.  
Oh, if I had only known.  Clouse and I contacted a couple of guys associated 
with the race [John Moellmer, Irv Nielsen, Claude Grant(?)], and asked for some 
race and registration info.  Unfortunately, we sent in our applications in the 
first week of February, and the 1998 race was already full.  Much to the dismay 
of my wife, we said we'd try it again next year.  She wasn't exactly thrilled 
with the prospect of me
doing this and told me I was on my own.  Again, much to her dismay, I knew I 
would not be denied.

We received our applications for the 1999 race early in January and turned them 
in almost the very next day. After a couple of stressful weeks of waiting, we 
got the notification that we had been accepted.  Time to get down to business.  
I started collecting gear and writing a training program, and I signed up for my 
first 50K * the Quicksilver 50K in San Jose, CA in May.  The 50K went pretty 
well.  I finished way back in the pack, but it was a great introduction to 
ultrarunning.  I was particularly impressed with the aid stations.  Marathons 
usually have a cup of water and maybe some gatorade if you're lucky.  I rounded 
a corner into the first aid station at the 50K, and not only were there drinks, 
but all kinds of awesome food!  I saddled right up to the table and started 
trying some of everything.  Runners were coming and going out of the station, 
but there I was, shoveling in M&Ms hand over fist.  I finally realized that if I 
was going to finish this race, I'd better a little more time running and not so 
much time eating.  I finished the race, but I really didn't how I could have run 
one more mile.  I still had a lot of work to do.  A highlight of the race was 
meeting Norm Klein afterward.

Over the summer, Clouse and I were able to hook up with Tony DeArcos, who had 
run Wasatch the year before, and we started running sections of the course with 
him and a couple of other guys who were running the race this year, Olaf 
Questereit and Jency Brown.  We tried to replicate race conditions as much as 
possible in our training runs.  For example, one weekend we ran from Bountiful 
"B" to Big Water one morning (over 14 miles), and then turned around the next 
morning at 4 a.m. and ran from Brighton to Sundance (over 25 miles).  Another 
night we started at 8 p.m. and ran from Lamb's Canyon to Brighton.  Knowing the 
course and being on those sections during the time of day we were going to be on 
them in the race really paid off.  My last long run was the Wasatch Indian 
Trails 30 miler about 4 weeks before the race.  If there's anything that I do 
well, it's tapering before the race and going in well rested.  I finished the 
training schedule without injury,
but felt like a lot of runners do before a race; wishing I trained more and 
weighed less.  An even bigger concern was the fact that I'd had a major report 
due at work, and my wife and I bought our first house two weeks before the race.  
It seemed like I was packing about a year's worth of activities into a three 
week period.  It was good in a way in that I had plenty of other things to keep 
my mind off the race.

I was able to recruit pacers for the race, but some accepted under duress.  I 
had two of my brothers (Brian and Mike), a cousin (Matt Nelson), and a friend 
(Todd Reyman) lined up for various parts of the course.  My sister-in-law 
(Heather), my mom (Shari), and my wife (Vicki) were going to be my crew.  We all 
made it to the pre-race briefing, got the drop bags distributed, and all the 
logistics organized.  I couldn't wait to see how this all was going to be pulled 
off.  I knew, however, that finishing the race was going to be very contingent 
on how well I planned.  Thinking through the equipment and food I would need, 
and when I would need them, took a lot of preparation.  I went to bed about 
11:30 and fell asleep around 12 the night before the race.  That didn't leave 
too much time for sleep before I had to get up to catch the bus to the start 
line.

The Race

I woke up about 3:30 and got my stuff together for the bus ride.  Vicki took me 
to the bus in downtown Salt Lake City.  I got on the bus and settled in for the 
short ride to the start.  I listened and watched people talking.  Man, these 
people sure seemed relaxed for what was coming up.  I couldn't wait for this 
thing to get started.  I made it to the start, found Clouse, and we got ready to 
take off.  Somebody said, "go!" and we headed out. I settled in to pace of quick 
walking and jogging the downhills.  After a mile or so this guy came practically 
sprinting by me and the group I was in.  I thought, "Wow, what in the heck is 
that guy doing?  I'll probably see him again in about 20 miles in an exhausted 
heap on the side of the trail."  It didn't quite end up that way.  I only 
finished 15.5 hours behind that guy!  It was the eventual winner, Leland Barker.

I was working my way up the climb to Chinscraper just mostly trying to keep a 
steady pace and not get too tired.  I was enjoying listening to a couple of 
women talking behind me and saying that running a 100 miles was much harder than 
child birth!  I now had some ammunition for some future discussion.  After a 
quick bottle fill-up at Cool Springs, it was on to the top of Chinscraper, which 
came much quicker than I expected.  I really had no idea of what time it was 
when I made it there, but there were still some runners behind me, and so I 
figured I wasn't doing too bad.  However, my anxiety was still running pretty 
high, and it didn't really go away until I was about 15 miles into the race.  In 
all previous races the anxiety had pretty much disappeared after the starting 
gun, but I couldn't shake it this time until I was a couple hours into the race.

I'd been on all sections of the course except for a twenty mile stretch between 
Chinscraper and Bountiful "B" so I wanted to at least keep someone in sight 
during that section and follow them.  I found out that I really didn't have to 
worry at all about getting lost because the trail was so well marked.  That was 
some kind of relief.  About 15 miles or so I caught up with my buddy, Clouse.  
His several pit stops allowed me to gain a little ground on him.  We ended up 
being within a quarter mile of each other until Brighton.  He'd get way ahead of 
me, but then I'd pass him at an aid station or during a pit stop. I ran up next 
to another runner, and he told me this was his fifth attempt at Wasatch.  He'd 
been injured one year, dropped with a friend another year, and simply run out of 
gas in two more.  He said there was plenty of time to finish Wasatch at almost 
any pace, so if you think you're going slow, go even slower.  I took a lot of 
confidence in that, and I let him go on ahead of me.  I ran for a little bit 
with Meredith (didn't get her last name) from Maryland.  We talked about her 
races back east, and I talked about this race being practically in my backyard.  
We weren't together very long, but we had a nice visit.  Unfortunately, I don't 
think she was among the finishers.  I also ran into Jennifer Eyring, who I met 
along with Butch (?) at our trail work day.  She was cruising, but we chatted 
for a few minutes before she left me in the dust.

My hydration and fuel intake was going pretty much as planned.  I was taking an 
S Cap and Power bar or Gu every hour, drinking plenty, and pretty much eating 
anything and everything at every aid station.  I seem to be blessed with a cast 
iron stomach.  I can't remember, in several years of running and racing, ever 
being nauseous during a run.  I'd pretty much planning on at least feeling like 
throwing up at some time during the race, but it never happened.

Clouse and I were making decent time over the first forty miles.  We were still 
feeling pretty good, until I got stung by a bee on the thigh.  That got my 
attention pretty quick.  It took my mind off the discomfort in other areas.  We 
finally made it to the descent into Big Mountain, and I could see my crew down 
below.  I started yelling to get their attention.  Taking my eyes off the trail 
for just a split second caused me to stub my toe and almost do a face-plant on 
the trail, but I pulled it out.  I made it into the aid station at a little 
after 4 p.m. and planted myself in a lawn chair.  My crew got my shoes off, 
cleaned my feet up, got me something to eat, and my pacer, Todd, and I were back 
out.  My crew did a great job of checking for any hotspots on my feet and 
getting them taken care of.

Todd and I made our way out and really just enjoyed the scenery for the next 
several miles.  As expected, Clouse and his pacer, Sal Petilos, passed us again 
a few miles out of Big Mountain.  We just kept cruising along, and I kept 
saying, "just over that hill, and we should be at the aid station."  Well, that 
saying kept coming up many more times during the race.  Unfortunately, the aid 
station wouldn't be there.  I would have to say, "Okay, I lied.  Maybe it's over 
the next hill."  I sure seemed to be covering ground a heck of a lot slower than 
in our training runs.  We finally got to Alexander Ridge aid station, but got 
out of it pretty quickly.  Todd congratulated me on excellent racing strategy * 
getting in and out of the aid stations quickly.  Clouse and Sal passed us again 
as we made that long, terrible hike along the power line in the grass.  That 
thing seemed to go on forever.  I couldn't wait to get back in the trees.  The 
sun started to go down, and it started to get a little chilly.  Todd put one of 
his extra shirts over my shoulders, which made me feel a lot better.  I couldn't 
believe how much that helped.  It was also getting kind of dark, so I took my 
flashlight out of my pack (which I forgot to leave in my drop bag, clear back at 
Francis Peak!), but unfortunately it had been keeping the inside of my pack 
nicely lit over the last 30 miles, and it didn't work.  We sloshed across a 
beaver dam, ran a little more, and made it into Lamb's Canyon (Mile 53) at about 
8:30 p.m.

I spent about half an hour at the aid station changing clothes, eating a bunch 
of stuff, and getting my courage up for the hike up and over Bear Bottom Pass.  
Again, my crew took care of anything and everything I needed.  They had 
everything taped, greased, or equipped without me even asking.  It was like a 
beautifully tuned pit crew, and I was the stock car.  My brother, Brian, and I 
took off about 9 p.m. and trudged up the road to the trailhead.  I remember the 
first time we went over the pass in training.  It was so steep and long that I 
couldn't figure out how in the world I was ever going to get over that bad boy 
after already covering 50+ miles.  Brian and I started making our way up the 
pass, and I said, "Hey, maybe this isn't as bad as I thought."  Then we got a 
little further, and I said, "Hey, I think maybe it's worse than I thought."  We 
didn't talk for about two miles, mostly because I couldn't.  Brian was following 
behind me, and I noticed his headlamp light was just wandering all over the 
forest, and I could hear him tripping on occasion.  I said, "Hey, why don't you 
back up a little bit and shine that light on the trail so you can see where 
you're going?"  He was providing a little distraction to keep my mind off the 
agony.  Brilliance, pure brilliance.  We finally made it to the top of the pass 
and over the other side.  My mood really improved as we made our way down to the 
canyon road, but I noticed that I was starting to get a little cough that felt 
like something was in my lungs.  We got to the road and worked on up to the aid 
station.  Jennifer Eyre and her pacer passed us, and we ended up leap-frogging 
each other all the way to Big Water.  I didn't see Clouse and Sal leave Lamb's, 
so I didn't know if they were ahead or behind me, but I had a feeling we'd catch 
up to each other soon.  Brian and I walked and talked as we walked up the road, 
but every time I would say something, Brian would turn his head, shine his 
headlamp in my eyes, and say, "what?"  After this happened about three times, I 
said, "Hey, about we not do that anymore?"  He was cracking me up.  His theory 
on pacing was to not tire himself out with too much training beforehand so he 
wouldn't be tired during the race.  Heck, he even bought a brand new pair of 
shoes to wear for the first time during the race.

At Big Water I hooked up with my crew again.  They planted me in the chair 
again, got me warmed up with a change of clothes, and I was on my way.  My mom 
said Clouse was just a few minutes ahead of me.  My cousin, Matt, was my pacer 
now.  He had just returned from a mission to Russia for the LDS Church, and I'd 
instructed him beforehand that he had better remember every detail of that 
mission so he would have plenty of stories to keep me awake as we moved along.  
I got out of the aid station at about 12:30 a.m., and I was thinking that I 
might make it to Brighton by 4:30 or 5 a.m.  Man, I was making great time!  Matt 
and I worked out way up to Dog Lake (we passed Clouse and his pacer again), and 
it came up on us pretty fast.  I felt pretty good until we got to Blunder Fork 
and started going to Desolation Lake.  I really started slowing down and getting 
tired.  It really took me a lot longer to get to the Desolation aid station than 
I wanted.  I even started falling asleep on my feet a little bit.  Matt got a 
little bit ahead of me during this stretch and cleared the moose out of my path.  
Earlier in the summer we ran into a cow moose and two calves as we were running 
toward Desolation at about 2 a.m.  She was none to pleased to see us, and we had 
to hustle out of there.  No moose this time, although maybe one would've forced 
me to move a little quicker.  I started seeing some weird things.  For example, 
I saw what I thought was some type of teepee right in the middle of the trail, 
and I was trying to figure out how I was going to get around it.  As I got a 
little closer, I could see that it was just an illusion.  I just shook my head 
and kept going.  Matt and I got over to the Scott's Pass aid station, but we 
left pretty quickly because it was cold and the wind was blowing.  We ran out of 
the aid station over to where I thought we were supposed to turn and make our 
way down to the Guardsman Pass road.  Unfortunately, we were about a mile before 
we were supposed to do that (again, I was moving a lot slower than I thought I 
should be).  As we got to the road, I turned Matt loose to head on down to 
Brighton and get things ready for me.  It was kind of cold those last few miles 
to the lodge, and I was really tired.  My legs weren't feeling very good, and 
the thought of going up Catherine's Pass wasn't too appealing to me.  However, I 
just kept pushing thoughts of what was coming up out of my mind.  That was a big 
part of my strategy * just running aid station to aid station.  I didn't think 
about how far I'd been or how far I had to go, I just concentrated on getting to 
the next aid station.  The thought of dropping at Brighton (Mile 75) did enter 
my mind for just a split second (75 miles wasn't too shabby, you know.  I 
thought maybe I could be happy with that), but then I thought, "Even though I 
can't really run very well (or at all) right now, I'm still moving strongly, and 
the sun is going to be up pretty soon.  I'll rest for a little bit at Brighton, 
and that will make me feel better."  My thoughts of getting to Brighton by 4:30 
were long gone, as were the thoughts of getting there at 5 or 5:30.  I got there 
a little after 6 a.m.

I was so glad to rest for just a little bit and make a pit stop.  I drank a 
Mountain Dew to help wake me up, but it really chilled me, and I started to 
shiver.  I couldn't get warm for anything.  To top it off, my cough was getting 
worse, and I couldn't seem to get a full, deep breath.  I sprawled out on the 
floor, wrapped in a blanket and just rested while Mom and Heather massaged my 
legs. I'd instructed my crew to not let me drop from the race unless I was 
bleeding from the eyes, so they kept me pumped up.  I also took a couple of 
Ibuprofen.  I'd been drinking plenty and planned on continuing that, so I 
figured I was pretty safe in taking it.  After almost an hour, I decided it was 
time to go again.  I was feeling quite a bit better, and the sun was up.  My 
brother, Mike, and I loaded up and headed out.  I heard an aid station worker 
saying that you had to leave Brighton by 8 a.m. if you wanted to have a shot at 
finishing, and we left at about 7:10.  I knew it was going to be close, but if 
we just kept moving we might make it.  We started our way up the trail, and I 
couldn't believe how much better my legs felt.  That rest did miracles.  It was 
immediately evident that I was over dressed, though.  I had to peel a couple of 
layers, and I didn't have any trouble with being cold until after the race.

Mike and worked out way up to Catherine's Pass.  I hocked up a big chunk of 
something out of my lungs, but I could tell my breathing was getting kind of 
shallow.  I didn't know if I had some kind of cramp in my diaphragm or something 
or what, but we just kept on cruising.  I was taking some advice that Todd had 
given me earlier in the race * take short, quick steps going up hills.  That 
really kept me going, and I never had to stop and catch my breath or rest on any 
climb during the whole race.  My lungs were fairly whistling at some points, but 
I never had to stop.  We got to the Ant Knolls aid station, but just got in and 
out.  It darn near killed me to pass up that sausage and potatoes, but I didn't 
think I had the time to eat much.  The next climb was the Grunt.  The only way I 
made it up that climb was to remember that if I could just make it up that, I 
only had one more serious climb to go.  Mike and I made it, again with short 
steps and whistling lungs.  We were able to shuffle over the next few miles of 
rolling terrain as we got to the Pole Line aid station.  I was looking forward 
to getting out of my long-sleeve shirt and pants.  Unfortunately, I must have 
put my short-sleeve shirt in the Alpine Loop aid station drop bag.  Oh well, I'd 
wear the other for a little while longer.  We left Pole Line and saw a sign that 
said the Alpine Loop road was ten miles away.  It was now 10:15 a.m., and we set 
a goal to get to the road by 2 p.m. That would still give us three hours to go 
six miles.  We could do that, no problem.  We blasted up that last serious climb 
by the lake (can't remember the name), and got a good view of Timpanogos and 
Sundance.  What a sight, but it sure was still a long way off.  We kept 
cruising, and I kept going back and forth between thinking we were going to make 
it and thinking we weren't.  Mike was the best, and he kept telling me we had it 
in the bag.  I don't know if he really knew that or not, but it she was good to 
hear somebody say it.  I thought we were just about to the Mill Canyon aid 
station and that we were making good time, but it was about a mile further than 
I thought it was.  We ran into a couple on some horses, and the man told us as 
we passed that he had run this race before, and that we were going to finish 
easily.  Wow!  For just about the first time during the whole race, the thought 
that finishing actually might be a reality crept into my head.  I remember 
starting the race thinking that finishing would actually just be some kind of 
crazy dream, but things were starting to look pretty good.  We got into the Mill 
Canyon aid station, and I was pretty disappointed to see that the Alpine Loop 
road was still 5.5 miles away, instead of the four miles I thought it was.  I 
knew we were really going to have to cruise if we were going to make it now.  We 
took off after refilling our bottles and eating some cantaloupe and a nectarine.  
I was still walking pretty strongly on the uphills and shuffling the downhills, 
but my feet were really getting sore * not sore from blisters, but more of a 
soreness from the relentless pounding.  In fact, I didn't have any blisters on 
my feet.  I covered them in Compeed before and all during the race.  I'd used it 
some in training, but it really came through during the race.  I couldn't 
believe how well it worked (no financial interest!).  We kept moving, and all of 
a sudden we ran into our cousin, Matt, again!  He'd met a runner at Brighton who 
didn't have a pacer, and he left with the runner to help him along.  Matt's 
ankle was hurting him pretty bad, and he was making his way to the Alpine Loop 
road as well.  Mike and I went on by, knowing that we were close enough to the 
road that Matt would make it.  We reached the grove of trees before the road, 
and I sent Mike on ahead to the aid station to get things ready for me.  I broke 
out of the trees, crossed the road, and ran into the aid station.  It was 2 
p.m.!  We met our intermediate goal!  We now had three hours to cover six miles!  
It was in the bag.  My wife and kids were there, and I got a little emotional as 
I told her that I thought I was going to make it.  I left my fanny pack with my 
crew and just took my hand-held bottle.  I knew I could get some water out of a 
faucet at Aspen Grove.  Mike and I shuffled through the trees, tumbled over the 
rocks (Did I mention the killer rocks on about 95 percent of the course?  Man, 
they were absolutely brutal!!!!!  I can't stress that enough!!!!) into Aspen 
Grove.  I refilled my bottle at the faucet and we were off again.  We got to the 
water tank, moved on down the trail, and suddenly came upon a guy coming back 
the other way.  He said he thought we were off trail, and that someone had been 
messing with the ribbons.  I just thought, "Oh no, nothing like this is going to 
screw me up now!"  I tried to convince him that we were going the right 
direction, and he decided to follow us.  We found several more ribbons, and a 
couple of other runners passed us, so we knew we were on the right trail.

The last couple of miles were again over some more brutal rocks, but then we 
crossed the bridge, over the road, and headed up the last little climb before 
you broke out of the trees to the finish.  Several runners passed me in this 
last mile, but I couldn't have been happier to let them on by.  I just wanted to 
get done.  We burst through the trees and started running downhill to the 
finish.  The crowd went wild! (Or so it seemed!)  I made it to the grass and 
thought I was done, but someone pointed out the huge "FINISH" banner another 
twenty yards away (funny how your eyesight goes, along with everything else), so 
I had to put it in gear one more time.  I could see my wife and kids, crew, and 
friends at the finish.  I crossed the line in 35:24:37.

The Post-race

All I wanted to do next was to sit down and just rest for a little bit.  I did 
so and started to shiver, and I got pretty cold again.  I wrapped up in a 
blanket and just tried to warm up again.  My breathing was also getting worse, 
and it seemed like I could just barely get about a half a breath.  I sprawled 
out on the ground again and tried to sleep, but the hard ground was just killing 
my hips, so I got back in the chair.  I coughed some more, and was able to hock 
up a big something from my lungs again.  Almost immediately I could breath 
better.  I decided I just had a lot of trail dust in my lungs, and it would take 
a little while to work it out.  I watched a couple more people finish the race 
(and two more finish unofficially -- wow! that was something.  Those guys were 
tough).  I ended up finishing 113th out of 118 official finishers. The race 
people put on a big meal for everyone, but eating was about the last thing on my 
mind.  I just wanted to sit in my chair and stay wrapped in my blanket.  I even 
contemplated having my brother get my finishers award for me at the award 
presentations, but I was able to get up and do it myself.  Looking around, I 
couldn't believe how relaxed people looked.  I was just thinking, "C'mon people, 
we've just run a hundred miles, for crying out loud!  Why are you all looking 
like you just walked around the block?"  I found out later that only a little 
over 60 percent of the runners finished, and the runner who gave me the good 
advice about slowing down wasn't among them (Actually, I passed him again right 
before the Alexander Ridge aid station.).  Clouse finished over an hour ahead of 
me in a little over 34 hours.  He got out of Brighton ahead of me and never 
looked back.  If it weren't for all those pit stops he had to make, he would 
have beaten me by at least six hours.

I said for a couple of weeks, that while I wanted to continue ultrarunning, I 
was 99.99 percent sure I wouldn't do another 100.  It was just too much torture 
to go through for too long.  However, if I have one talent as a runner, it's the 
ability to forget pain.  And while this pain is being forgotten a little more 
slowly, it is going away.  In fact, I thought that maybe since I wasn't going to 
be doing Wasatch again for a while, maybe I'd better put my entry in for Western 
States since I'd qualified for it.  Who knows?

John Darrow #74
jdarrow@le.state.ut.us