I was rounding 2nd and heading for 3rd. I had just driven in two runs, was going for three, needed four. I stumbled, tripped, dove for 3rd, and came up short. I was out! After 70 miles, I missed the cut at Half Moon. The altitude and the previous two hundred milers had taken it’s toll. I let myself get too close to the cutoffs and the run became a race against the cutoffs, instead of one in which I run what makes sense for me. I was over cautious of the altitude and ran a much too conservative race early on, one which would force my hand later on. I’m not happy with my first DNF (Did Not Finish), but it’s ok. I can live with it. I do feel bad for my family and friends who supported, encouraged, teased, and were behind me for every step of every mile. I feel I let them down. I had never allowed myself or them to think that I would not finish. It brings to mind the thought I keep in my calendar, “If you have tried to do something and failed, you are vastly better off than if you had tried to do nothing and succeeded”.

Leadville at 10,000 feet, 4am, cool and comfortable with no wind. We left town in a crowd of 400 runners under a well lit start line. Once clear of Harrison & 6th, we were quickly in the dark. Hundreds of tiny lights lit the road while thousands of stars lit the sky. I started with David Berdis but only for a few moments and then was with Kevin Sayers. We ran together down a paved road, which soon became dirt, and then trail. A runner in front of us tripped over a concrete curb and hit the ground right at the trail entrance. Kevin surged past some slower runners on the trail while I held back, not wanting to burn any excess energy just yet. Many of us were overhydrated and stepping off the trail at regular intervals to relieve ourselves, allowing most of the faster and slower runners to sort themselves out. The trail around Turquoise Lake was very rocky at spots and had occasional mud puddles and small stream crossings. It was still pretty dark and difficult to see where you were placing your feet. In a misguided attempt to land on flat ground, I would sometimes find the flat surface of a shallow puddle with uneven ground under it. So I would get double dumb-shit points for getting wet and landing on a sharp rock. It was strange how it was always my right foot that found the water the three times that this happened. The sun’s light was just bleeding over the mountains as I came into the May Queen campgrounds and paved road again. The aid station was a tent we passed through for check in, drop bags, food, and check out. I dropped my flashlight and soaking wet gloves, but kept my jacket and picked up my camera. I took a handful of food and headed out, walking.

It was still cool, and although I was soaking wet with sweat, only my hands were cold. We stayed on paved road for a few more minutes, then back onto trail, across a stream, more trail to another road, a small bridge, and then up a steep rocky trail to another dirt road. I walked most of the uphills and ran the rest all the way to the top of Sugarloaf. On the last few switchbacks, we rounded the face of Sugarloaf and were treated to the gorgeous view of Turquoise Lake, which we had just finished running around. At the top, you could hear the power lines crackling as we ran under them on our mad dash to the bottom. I began to pick up speed rolling downhill, and was soon on another paved road. Neil Hewitt caught me and we ran/walked the last few miles into the Fish Hatchery aid station at mile 20. Glenn surprised me by being there. He was going to pace me in from Winfield, but we had made no plans for him to crew for me prior to that. He had gotten bored just waiting around and decided to check on me here. He helped me with food and water while I changed out my wet shoes and socks.

Up until now I was feeling pretty good and running within myself, but the next few miles out in the open on paved road and then dirt road filled with cars and dust just ate my lunch. I didn’t see many running this section as it drained our strength. Glenn was at Treeline again to encourage me to pick it up. Shortly after entering the trees and out of the sun, away from the cars and dust, I felt much better and started to roll again. I was soon at the Half Moon station with 30 miles behind me. This dirt road rolled along for a few miles under the trees before turning left onto a trail. This section starts with a good climb up a loose rock trail just to wake you up, but once on top, it becomes a wonderful rolling downhill for miles along a soft single track dirt and pine needle trail. The view of Twin Lakes as we approached the next station was fantastic. I made up plenty of lost time in here and approached Twin Lakes in a crowd of runners. I was in and out of here pretty quick.

Leaving the town of Twin Lakes, I crossed the highway into a field and across a series of creeks. The water was only up to my ankles and felt pretty good on my feet. I stopped in the last one for a minute just to enjoy the feel of it. I think I was moaning a bit in the ecstasy of it, because the crews sitting on the bank started staring at me. I moved on. Soon I was on the lower reaches of the mountains, on my way up to Hope Pass. There was a small but very load stream bouncing down the mountain on my right. It was an easy climb at first, and then became steeper, would ease off, become steep, and so on, and so on, until finally I crawled into the Hopeless Pass aid station at treeline, complete with llamas, indifferent to the runners buzzing about or the grandeur of the scene. My god, what a view! The rain clouds sprinkled just a little on us, but not enough to make much of a difference. I was warned not to get too comfortable up here at 12,000 feet, so I quickly moved on. I had another short steep climb to do and had at it. It was not that far but it seemed endless. Each turn of the switchback revealed another rise, and another. It was a very narrow and steep trail littered with loose rock, and I had to constantly move off the trail onto the uphill side for the runners careening downhill who had already gone over and were returning. It appeared that the downhill runners had the right-of-way as the entire string of slow moving uphill marchers each leaned out of the way as the downhill runners ran by us. Most of them, including the leaders, were generous with their encouragement. Thanks! A kind word is always appreciated. And up we went, tiny steps in slow motion, then off the trail, back on, and repeat... finally, I topped out at the summit. 12,600 feet and a view worth the effort. Just a moment and then I was careening down the other side. I was really moving now. People got out of my way as I came up on them, coming or going, they all moved aside. I connected with two others who appeared to be crashing downhill in the same manner as I with mad abandon: a big young bare chested guy, and an older fellow with an American flag attached to his back. The three of us rocked all the way down to the dirt road at the bottom. What took me three hours to climb up, was only 30 minutes going down. Most of my friends were already coming back up as I was going down. Scott, David, Neil, and others I knew as well. Once on the road, I had a 40 minute uphill walk on a dusty dirt road to the ghost town of Winfield and the turn-around aid station at mile 50. Glenn was patiently waiting for me as I came slowly in. He had bought me a hamburger, some juice, and a Gatorade. I ate, drank, and picked up my flashlight and was out of there with just 30 minutes to spare on the cutoff. It was too tight and I would be dancing close to the cuts from this point on, I knew. I had no room to work with and still had to climb the beast again.

Glenn and I ran/walked the dirt road back to the trail. Others were still coming in, having just missed the cutoff. We began our climb back up to Hope Pass and I was quickly reduced to a crawl. My heart rate soared, my breathing became rapid, and I started getting dizzy. I had to stop and sit down to control it. I was breathing like an old dog ran hard and exhausted. Actually, that describes me pretty good. The climb back up this side was much steeper than the other, but shorter as well. I stopped at a stream to splash some water on my face. I had to stop and sit constantly. I had not acclimated myself too well to the altitude driving up from Austin only two days earlier. I knew better, but was short on money and time. Relentless forward motion was a dream I wished for as I relentlessly killed time. I sat down over and over. I was depleted of energy, and the altitude robbed me of the air I so desperately needed. On and on I went, slowly moving up with others in the same shape as I, towards the summit. The trail got even steeper on the switchbacks near the top, and the rock and dirt slid under my feet. Glenn kept catching me as I slid backwards or fell sideways. I’m certain that he kept me from falling sideways off the trail more than once. Thanks Grenn! Slowly, ever slowly, we approached the summit and eventually topped out. The minor triumph lasted only a moment, and I quickly picked up the pace on another mad rush down the trail to the Hopeless Pass aid station. It was insane to run so recklessly down the steep trail covered in rock and loose dirt, but I had to make up for lost time. I sat for a moment at the aid station, put on my jacket and fixed my light. It would be dark soon. I had 1:45 to make Twin Lakes, but it was all downhill and so we rolled again as quick as we could manage. This downhill was much tougher because of the darkness. We didn’t see any glow-sticks and had to watch for flags, rocks, roots, and twists in the trail. It was a wild adventure and we laughed at the insanity of it more than once as we careened down the mountain in the dark. We made good time and hit bottom soon enough, crossed the field, waded the ice cold creeks, and rushed into Twin Lakes with minutes to spare. We both changed shoes and socks, picked up our good flashlights, and moved out with ten minutes to cutoff.

I had forgot about the long wonderful run I had from Half Moon to Twin Lakes, but soon remembered as it was very tough and mostly uphill all the way back the other way. We slowly climbed the endless uphills out of Twin Lakes. It seemed like the entire ten miles was uphill and unfortunately I was now extremely slow going uphill. Again, I had to stop and rest on the steeper climbs. I was time-killing slow. Glenn urged me on and reminded me endlessly of my need to continue moving. We didn’t have a clue how close Half Moon was, but did know that we had a few miles after we hit the big downhill and dirt road. We finally hit the last downhill and started down. A blister on my toe popped and the pain was awful each time my foot hit the ground. I tried to ignore it, but I slowed more and more, wincing on every step. I had to stop and fix it. Some new-skin on it and we were back at it again after just a short delay. It felt much better now. We found bottom and the dirt road soon after. We started up the road and were only on it a few minutes before it hit 12:40... the cutoff for Half Moon. I was out. I had just missed the cut and we still had a mile or two to go, we guessed. Another mile up the road, a truck pulled alongside of us and informed us we were out. The Grim Reaper had caught us. I had run too close to the cutoffs and finally got caught.

And so the physical side of this story ends. The mental side will last a little longer. Wasatch is in three weeks, so I will thankfully be distracted from this unsuccessful bid at the Grand Slam. It was only a double after all. Oh well. Congrats to those who rounded 3rd and are headed for home at Wasatch. I hope to see you there.

joe prusaitis