Sinister 7. 100 miles, a bunch of mountains, and my infatuation for the last two years.
Sometime in the days after I DNF'd Sinister last year, I made the decision to try again the following year. When it was announced that the course would be reversed, I was committed. With heat on Leg 3 ultimately being my downfall in 2021, I thought that the reverse direction would at least give me some reprieve during the hottest part of the the day.
A few months later, when I officially signed up for the race, I was already injured. But I didn't care. I was going to do this. The frustration over the previous race was high. In 2021, I had trained well, got to the start line healthy and wasn't able to overcome the temperature challenges. I was so disappointed, I didn't even write about it. Just moped for a few months and moved on to thinking about next year.
Getting to the start line healthy in 2022 was a bit more of a challenge as I battled a hip flexor injury from November right through all my training. Somehow, during my biggest build weeks, along with some taper weeks, I managed to get my injury in check and again found myself at the start line in the best shape of my life, and relatively healthy.
So on July 9, after a full week of packing, months of training, and weeks of organizing, I put on all my gear and headed off to the start line to see if I could complete the longest race of my life. Going to the start line, and in the weeks before, my mind was all over the place. I was confident I had done enough training to manage the distance and climbing, but there's so many things that can go wrong in an ultra and the non-fitness related things worried me the most. Weather, in particular, terrified me. I checked the weather at least twice a day for two weeks before the race. What I saw was that it was going to be warm (but not hot) on race day. And that the slow snow melt and wet spring had left the course in a muddy condition. This was something that I figured I was ready to handle given my successful attempt at Death Race was "the muddiest year ever."
Leg 7
The starting gun was triggered and off went the crowd. I was joined at the start line by my friends Jordan and Riley. Jordan told me he wanted to take it easy on Leg 7 (the order was reversed) and would go whatever pace I wanted to out of the gate. Riley was more committed to his own pace. Riley soon pulled ahead while Jordan and I plugged along, enjoying the crowded trails and the cool morning temperatures. Soon we were joined by another friend Alex who had been training with Jordan and I.
As the miles ticked by, and as the calories and water went down, this leg just disappeared without incident. There was no rush, no issues and everyone was friendly.
Leg 6
With the logistics of the race being different in reverse, I was not expecting to see my crew at Transition Area 6 (TA6) and instead just filled my bottles before heading back onto the course. Because of this quick transition, I ended up joining back up with Riley and Jordan momentarily before they went ahead at their advanced pace. This would be the last time I saw them until the finish line.
This leg started off well with my pace staying on target and me making my way through the first initial climbs up towards the alpine portion. While the hills are always tough, I was remembering to stick to my planned pace and making sure I was being careful on the uneven ground.
While we were dodging many puddles at lower elevations, when the course made its way into higher elevations in because clear that we were going to get our feet wet. There was still snow on the course and the meltwater was coming down from all directions, and often directly on the course. Still, I was not worried. I had trained in rain, had experience and had preparations in place in case I needed to make adjustments. So up, up, up we went into the alpine sections.
When we finally popped above the treeline, the already amazing views became even more extravagant. I had done this leg as part of a relay team in 2017, but completed it almost entirely in the dark. Seeing it in the daylight gave me a newfound appreciate for 1) how beautiful it was, and 2) how technical the trail was. In addition to the views, I also was getting pelted with some big mountain winds as we crossed the alpine section of the course. At this point, I was mostly just trying to keep moving while taking in as much of the beauty as I could. I knew I'd be dropping over the ride of the mountain soon and would remain in the trees for hours after.
After crossing the ridge, we also crossed several snowy sections. These were clearly in full-melt mode and seemed like they'd be ensuring the other side of the mountain was also soaked. And it was. Most of the technical downhill was an active stream. The effect of this was another hour or so of wet feet.
As I dropped further back off the mountain, the trail flattened out and I started thinking about conserving energy. I was about 40km into my day and ahead of schedule. So I did some math on the fly and realized I could be taking it a bit easier in the flats, which seemed wise as the temperature was starting to rise.
All things considered though, my race was going almost right to plan. I was on track for hydration and actually eating more than I planned.
Leg 5
In TA5, I got to see my family and my crew for the first time of the day. This was a big boost as I could see how excited my kids were to see me, and even how energetic my wife was to help out and get me ready to go back out. My crew got me new socks as the ongoing wet feet issue had me worried and the bottom of my feet were starting to get sore.
I decided early in this leg, that I needed to be cognizant of the temperatures and not over-exert myself in the heat. Having the experience from 2021 definitely made me more cautious in the heat of the day. That meant I gave myself a pass for walking a bit more and ensuring that I didn't get too dehydrated.
This approach worked pretty much how I wanted it to, but I was noticing that the pain on the bottom of my left foot kept getting worse. I figured this was due to having wet feet for most of the race and so I tried even harder to avoid each puddle that came along the trail.
As it turned out, Leg 5 ended up being the turning point for my race. Not in a good way. The leg itself was not as strenuous as the other legs, but certainly not as visually stimulating either. About halfway through the leg, while I was trying to shimmy past another massive puddle, I took my first fall of the day. I slipped down the edge of a puddle, with my chest landing directly on one of my poles, promptly and properly snapping it in half. My right leg fell into the bottom of the murky mud pit. The startled runner up ahead heard the loud crack of my pole breaking and probably thought something worse had happened.
I picked myself up out of the puddle, realized my pole was no repairable and continued on along the trail. But now, I was very annoyed. I was covered in mud, down a pole, my foot was sore, and the temperature was hot. So what did I do? I stomped through the middle of the next few puddles. It was probably the worst thing I could've done, but I was frustrated and I didn't want to slip again like I already did. So my waterlogged feet got a little more wet.
Eventually the leg departed from the endless, non-descript forest and went along an even less exciting powerline corridor. Lesson learned on looking for some new terrain to keep you stimulated. It can work the other way too. This was about when the race turned from fun and challenging, to hard and miserable. The power line route was completely exposed, both to the sun and the now whipping winds. Eventually the power line lead us to a road/ditch, which did not help the situation. And finally we hit the highway and the gravel road where we were navigating directly into the gusting winds.
This was getting hard.
Leg 4
I made it into TA4 relatively close to my desired time, but I wasn't doing well. My foot was throbbing. Every step hurt for the second half of Leg 5. I was starting to experience appetite fatigue from all the calories I was taking in. And then I took off my shoes and socks, discovering what was the early signs of trench foot. On the ball of my foot was a 2-3" crack that was forming.
This was not good. I'd never experienced this before and frankly didn't know the best way to handle it. My crew did everything they could. I got some more calories in, where I could because it was getting hard to eat. We replaced my socks and shoes and covered up the weird skin stuff that was happening on my foot. I then grabbed an iPod to distract me as I knew this leg would be the hardest so far.
Leaving this TA was very difficult. I was sitting in my chair with serious doubts about how the rest of the race was going to go. I knew the first section of Leg 4 was all uphill and that there were some seriously challenging climbs still to come.
After grinding up the first road, I took out my iPod. I needed something to distract me for the negative space I was currently living in. Naturally, the device that I had recently charged was totally dead and useless. To make matters worse, the work we did on my foot was not helping in anyway. The pain was continuing to get worse. My only hope at this point was to do everything in my power to stay out of the puddles.
After marching through to the first checkpoint on Leg 4, I was at least successful at staying out of the water. But immediately after that, there was a large creek between me and the rest of the leg. I stopped and starred at it for a moment. I was so mad. I couldn't avoid it. Just had to deal with it. And what was even worse was that the cool water did provide some temporary soothing to the burning sensation on my foot. But I knew in the long run, it would just make things worse.
At this point, pretty much all I was thinking about was that I didn't want to keep going on like this. The only thing that kept me going was that I wanted to make it further than I did the year before. This was not the goal I had coming into the race, but it had taken over my brain.
What lay between me and this new goal I decided to focus on was a giant mountain and about 17km. On I went, very slowly up this mountain. There was no longer anyway to run on my foot. Any sort of impact, rock underfoot or twisting was a bolt of pain. If you know the course at Sinister, effectively every single step you take either has extra impact from stepping on a rock or running on a surface that is uneven.
Unfortunately, the pain was also distracting me from eating according to my schedule. I was still somewhat drinking according to plan, but I just wasn't focused enough on my caloric intake. As the leg was taking longer than anticipated because of the inability to run, I eventually started to slow even more because of the lack of food.
When I hit the summit of Moose Mountain, I took my phone off airplane mode. I had it on most of the day to save battery. But now I needed to communicate with my crew and my wife. I was fairly certain my race was going to be over at the next TA. I was still very frustrated and had been for hours. I found a nice place to sit down and feel sorry for myself. At least it had a good view.
I finally passed through the second checkpoint on the leg at about the time I was supposed to be finishing the entire leg. I started doing the math in my head based on my original schedule. I had planned on finishing the race around 28 hours, which left me a 2 hour buffer in case things went wrong. When I did the math, I realized I'd already burned that entire buffer. Also, I couldn't run. Then it sank in. There was no way out of this that ended with a finish.
I told myself over and over before and during the earlier stages of the race that I should keep going until I finish or I time out and miss a cutoff. But now I was going to be 70km from the finish with no reasonable way to get there in time. So on that last section of Leg 4, I decided this was going to be it. I was going to DNF at TA3. At that moment, I was 100% good with this decision. I was miserable and continuing on was only going to make my foot worse. All that was left to do was march my way out of the woods and finish the leg.
As I got within a few kilometers of the TA, I heard thunder. Of course, I thought. Of course it's going to storm on me as I DNF. Sure enough, 10 minutes before I hit the TA, the winds picked up, the lightning starting crashing and the skies opened up. This was the inevitable end.
DNF
When I got into the TA, I didn't see my crew. I only saw the timing table where I knew to hand in my timing chip. I handed it in before I could rethink it. It was over. I had achieved my improvised goal of beating last year's distance but ultimately fell short of my primary goal of a finish.
It's hard to explain the emotions that go through your head in a moment like that. I'd spent the better part of two years training for two editions of this race and yet I hadn't been able to achieve my goal despite so many things going well and getting so much support along the way. At the time, I was mad that something I hadn't anticipated took me out, but I was not disappointed in my decision. I was in a lot of pain.
The aftermath
After getting back to our place we were staying at, I wolfed down some food and went to sleep. From the TA to when I woke, I was good with every choice I'd made. When I woke up, I started checking progress of my friends who were still out there. I felt almost guilty for being in my bed while they battled away. Then something hit me. They were all going to finish. That was the first moment when I questioned my decision. I was so excited for them, but I felt hesitancy in wanting to go to the finish line. I was afraid of how I would feel seeing people finish. Ultimately, I knew I had to swallow my pride and I went down there.
I'm glad I did. I got to see Jordan finish in an incredible 7th place. I saw Riley finish in 27th. And I got to talk to Alex after his 20th place finish. I got to hang out with all of them and hear about the depths of their races and their peaks. I heard about what was challenging (turns out no one had a good day with their feet). But what was most rewarding was seeing them succeed. My disappointment faded in those moments, overwhelmed by their triumphs.
In the days after the race, my feet started to heal. I got the ability to walk and run back, without experiencing pain. For a solid 10 days afterwards, my thought process was basically just about the race. Rethinking my decision to DNF, wondering what might have been. What I figured out was that I wasn't willing to suffer enough. It was a hard realization, but it was true. What's interesting is that I'm still not that disappointed that I DNF'd. I could have suffered a bit longer, but ultimately the result was going to be the same, just a little later on.
The good news is that I learned a lot from this experience. I learned that:
- my feet need a lot of attention during a race this long
- I need some distractions when things are bad
- I need to be willing to suffer more
- How are you going to feel about this in 24 hours? If you quit, will you be mad in 24 hours or will you feel good about this. It's important to think ahead about how this decision will make you feel in the future.
- It doesn't always get worse. Even though you are in a dark place and things might be getting worse, I doesn't necessarily mean they will keep getting worse. Ultras are notorious for highs and lows, but neither of them last forever.
- Know your motivation. Why are you doing this? Having this touchstone is critical for keeping your motivation up during a race.
- Know how much more you're capable of than you think you are
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