The Tahoe Rim Trail 100 mile foot race on the eastern edge of Lake Tahoe is a magnificent, full-fledged mountain 100. With ascent/descent of 19,788 and an altitude up to almost 9000 feet, its finish rates of highly-qualified ultrarunners have traditionally been 50% or less. The race is comprised of two 50-mile loops. It is difficult to describe what it is like to complete 50 miles in the mountains, only to start again in the same spot to do it all again. But that's all part of the mental game.

The trail is mostly sand and granite rocks. Easy to navigate during the day, but at night, the light-colored granite rocks closely match the color of the sand, making it difficult to navigate long without tripping or at least going slow.

This year was a grudge-match between me and this course. Made it 67 miles last year before having to drop. This year I felt stronger and wiser. I'm always wary and cautious going in to a 100 mile run because you truly never know what you are going to get. But I felt on a good day, I had the body and skills to finish this race.

The supposedly mild temperatures of upper 80's are very deceiving because on top of the exposed ridges where you spend most of your time, the UV rating is off the charts. In the shade is pleasant, in the sun was like a radiating heat lamp. I noticed this the day before the race and made a tactical decision to go with a long-sleeve white backpacking shirt instead of a traditional running shirt. Turned out to be a good move. The nights were cool and perfect. I kept moving fast enough to just use running shorts and a race tee shirt.

The dust on the trail was particularly visible at night under a head lamp. I was glad that I had chosen to wear a bandana over my nose/mouth most of the day to keep the dirt out of my lungs because I've traditionally had difficulty breathing later in races that were held under dusty conditions. The moist bandana seemed to prevent that from happening.

My nutrition plan is constantly evolving and condition-specific. This year, my plan was to stick to easily-digestible sources during the hot part of the day then switch to solid food at night. This plan worked very well for me. Had a home-made combo of maltadextrin and some Perpetuem and then supplemented with fruit or Cliff Bloks to try to average about 300 calories per hour if possible. That plan worked for about 8 hours before I had to abandon it for real food. However, the race drink was Amino Vital instead of Gatorade and I have to say I was impressed with it and used it throughout the race to supplement calories. Not many electrolytes though.

After about 11 miles, I reached the infamous "Red House Loop". This is the "taste of hell"  portion of the race that is a little over-dramatized in some ways if you are a mountain runner but at the beginning of this loop is a down-hill that is sandy, rocky, steep, and goes on forever. When training for Western States, I learned to run downhill under technical conditions very fast. The idea is that if you go slow, you are putting on the brakes with every step and wearing out your quads. So theoretically, if you go fast, you pound the ground a little harder and give your lungs and body a severe workout but it is less work than going slow. But besides that, flying down the mountain at full-speed with no thought but the next step is my idea of a GREAT time and I'd do it regardless of strategy. And I have to admit I'm very good at it. People were inching down the mountain, heard me coming, and just stepped aside. HOWEVER, I guess I'm going to have to admit to myself that my ability to run downhill exceeds my body's ability to handle the pounding it takes to do so after some number of degrees of downhill is reached. I made it to the bottom without hurting or falling but I'm guessing this stretch is what initiated some of the pain I experienced later. There was tremendous force applied to my hips, knees, and shin area because I was running and also almost skiing in the sand to try to slow myself down some. Too much, too hard. But it wasn't until about mile 30 that the pains started to really creep in. I had an inflammation in my sciatic nerve area and where that tied in to my IT band on the outside of my leg. That was a chronic pain that would last the entire race. Then the front of my ankles started to have pain. Shooting at first, then growing with intensity. My energy level was fine. I had lost about 6 lbs and that was of some concern to the race workers, but I maintained that level throughout the race so I wasn't concerned. But the constant pain up and down my left leg was having a big impact on my performance. I rolled in to the 50 mile mark one hour later than I had made it there last year. But I was going to be ok because in my drop bag, I had " the stick" , my foam roller, a new set of clothes, and my phone. Everything I needed for a fresh start. Only one problem. The drop bag WASN'T THERE!!! Throughout the sorting, they put my bag in with the 50 milers and it was up the hill in a pile. I couldn't face another 50 miles without a sock change and my phone to contact my pacer. So I was delayed here at least 45 minutes. I used the time wisely to eat and stretch while they found my bag.

Headed out the aide station 14 hours after having started the race. It was only a few minutes before the pain was back and the intensity of the ankle pain and hip pain returned in full-force. I discovered that if I stayed on my tip-toes while climbing that it relieved some of the pain in my hip. But I think that made the pain in the front of the ankle even worse. Received lots of encouragement from my friends and that meant the world to me at that moment. Somehow I wasn't alone in all of this. Mosquitoes attacked as darkness set in.

It seemed unfathomable to me that I could limp along for another 50 miles. The first 5 miles or so of this race is up-hill and climbing was SO painful. But sometimes you just put all of the logic, time-calculations, and hopelessness aside and decide that you are just going to keep moving into the abyss as long as your feet will move. And that's what I did.

As I reached the summit, I realized that I could still run on flats and downhills ok. It was the climbs that hurt the worst. That's good. I was able to run at a reasonable pace for this distance in the race. Reached red-house loop again. Fueled up and headed down the huge descent again. Except this time, there was no 90 mph running downhill. I took controlled, quad-burning steps all the way down. If I ever face a hill like that again, that's what I'm going to do. The pain I experienced climbing out of that loop was mind-numbing. I just kept moving until popping out again at mile 67. The place I dropped last year. I headed out quickly, determined I wouldn't be back here next year.

As luck would have it, a friend of mine from Houston happened to be visiting her aunt/uncle at Lake Tahoe the same weekend as this race. She is a triathlete and marathon runner but had never run on a trail. She had graciously volunteered to be my pacer from mile 76.5 to the finish. I had to keep contacting her, updating her with the latest estimate for when I would be there. It'll be 1:30am... Now, don't show up until 3am &. Don't bother to be there before 5am & This 9 miles was mostly uphill and was at the most difficult time of the night for me. That period between 1am and 5am when the mind just wants to shut down. The sand and rocks blending together under bleary eyes. Pain. Exhaustion. Worried about the awful time my pacer was going to have being out here with a cripple.

As hopeless as I felt, I had a plan that I felt would turn things around. When I made it to the Mt. Rose aide station at mile 76.5, I would find a cot and lay down for about 15 minutes. Just 15 minutes and I probably would feel better. When they say that things are darkest before the dawn, they are right. I was in a dark place under the star-light.

I arrived about 5:40am or so. Right after it was light enough to see. Saw Anna's excitement to get started and with the daylight I was waking up anyway. So I grabbed a pancake and headed out for the last 23.9 miles. Glad to have company, dreading the pain that was to follow. Worried that I might not make the 35 hour cut-off time. Next aide station & 9 miles away.

I was a bit revived with the combination of Anna's enthusiasm, daylight, the pancake, and a good bit of downhill. I was still able to run most of the flats and downhills. Told Anna to ignore my periodic yelps of pain that would escape. Toenails now coming off, there wasn't a single step until the end that didn't hurt. Yet I was able to look through the pain and enjoy many of the moments. Great views of the lake. Mule deer buck about 20 yards away. Chicken/avocado/cilantro-burritos. Joking and laughing about everything under the sun. And yelps of pain.

The nobility and honor of travelling 100 miles in the mountains by foot were not at all obvious to me at this point. It seems a ridiculous thing to do at the very least. To suffer endlessly for a piece of metal. That logic and pain would be set aside for a day to make room for spirit and perseverance. I can't fully articulate my feelings, but I put all that aside and decided that finishing what I said I was going to finish was reason enough to go on. To not make Anna's participation and effort be for naught. To practice smiling, laughing, and appreciating my life and my surroundings in the face of seemingly impossible difficulties somehow seemed to be enough reason to keep going.

My calculations had me finishing right at 35 hours. This, of course, kept me moving at my fastest possible pace because 35 hours 1 second meant no buckle. Made it to Hobart aide station at mile 85. It was hot. Everyone was drinking beer. I was happy for them... really... I was.. really... . Instead, I had an ensure smoothie.

What lay before me was the climb to Snow "Valley"  which was the highest point on the course. Sounds like a "peak"  me but not my call. I had somehow thought it would take me 3 hours to make this 3 mile climb. I was so relieved that I was able to make it in 1 ½ hours. What this meant was that I was no longer dancing with the cut-off time because the next 7 miles were largely downhill. On top of Snow Valley they offered me Oxygen in a can but I didn't want to start getting adequate oxygen at this point in the race. Why remind my body what that was like? I was able to run a good bit to the finish. Just more perseverance and acceptance of nothing short of the finish got me there. Rolled in at 33:15 (though they wrote 33:18 but that's ok)

It's now a week later and I'm wearing a stabilization boot to allow my ankle to continue to heal. Swelling is mostly gone except for a knot on my shin bone where the large ankle tendon ties in to the bone. Not sure if it is a stress fracture or just an inflamed everything. But it will heal and I'll be running again. No more 100s this year though. Need time to forget. And to remember. This was also my Hardrock lottery ticket. Amazingly, I was hardly even sore in the rest of my body the next day.

I'm at peace with the world. Strong and satisfied with who I am. Happy with my life. Hopeful of the future. Thankful for what I have. Able to persevere and endure. I can be resilient and strategic. Intellectual and human being. Able to connect with people quickly on the deepest personal levels. And most of all & you'll always see an honest smile on my face. Travelling 100 miles on foot may have nothing to do with any of that. But for me, somehow I think it does.