A Father Jim with some children from the Christmas Sponsor a Family Program.

stops and no finish line. Our marathons push us to run through our limits that we impose on ourselves, knowing that a warm shower, good food, and hospitable family and dear friends await us. The poor and hungry have no such assurance. So the next time you run a marathon, think about linking your struggles to those who find ordinary life a struggle, the poor and the sick. Use the gift of the marathon to shine light and hope unto someone else’s darkness. You will be surprised; not only will your time improve, but so will your faith and spirit. In my first marathon, during the last six miles I reminded myself of a beautiful saying of an early Christian martyr who lost his life in service of the poor: “The glory of God is revealed in human beings becoming fully alive.” When we use our gifts to serve others, we begin to claim the life God has set out for us. Happy marathoning! i

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(And What I Learned From It)

EADVILLE, COLORADO, August 18-19, 2001—As they say, the third time is the charm. On my third start at the Leadville Trail 100, I was hoping for my first finish, which would give me an even 10 finishes at the 100-mile distance.

After coming close to finishing in 1999 and with nine finishes on other courses, I needed to find the missing piece to this puzzle. As with any race, I had to train my body adequately and perhaps wish for some dry weather. But I wanted to do more than just finish under 30 hours. I wanted to finish well under 30 hours so that when I crossed under that finish line banner, I could say to myself, Now, what was so hard about that?

Since there are intermediate cutoff times all along the course, I wanted to be in a position that I wouldn’t have to deal with that concern.

The cutoff time for 50 miles is 14 hours, but after studying performances for the last two years, I discovered that virtually no one could finish this race without getting to 50 miles under 13:30, and even then it takes an extraordinary effort. I needed to run a good time for the first 50 miles and then hang on for the second half. The only way I could gain the confidence to accomplish that would be to pile on more miles in the six weeks leading up to the race and to find a way to acclimatize to the 9,200 to 12,600 feet of elevation on the Leadville course. The best method of altitude training is to sleep at altitude and train at a lower elevation, but that is seldom practical. The practical solution was to go to the Leadville area and live and train for at least 14 days. Longer periods are of more benefit, but 14 days seem to be the minimum for good effect.

TIME TO UP THE MILEAGE

In June, with a solid training base firmly established, I increased my mileage and ran four consecutive weeks of 60, 63, 63, and 62 miles. I know that these totals don’t sound like much to many runners, but I learned long ago that high mileage is usually bad news for me. I then took a break, traveled to Leadville, and ran only

17 miles during that week. A friend and ultrarunner, Dana Taylor, and I drove to Leadville, arriving on August 3. Dana was training for the Wasatch 100, also needed some altitude training, and was more than eager to keep me company.

Dana and I set up camp along the shores of Turquoise Lake at 10,000 feet. Our campsite was located on the Leadville 100 course at about the seven- and 93-mile marks and about four miles from the amenities of Leadville. Another friend, Lyle Hatridge, joined us on August 6. Lyle would be my one-man crew on race day and is a real mountain man. Lyle grew up in the Denver area, knows these mountains very well, and acted as our guide.

Over the next 12 days, I covered 85 miles of trails in the area. Those 85 miles were a combination of trail runs and mountain hikes. My longest run during that period was 22 miles at elevations up to 11,200 feet. When we weren’t running, we were hiking. We climbed to the top of the second- and third-highest mountains in the contiguous 48 states, Mount Elbert at 14,433 feet and Mount Massive at 14,421 feet. Both of these magnificent peaks were clearly visible across the lake from our campsite and dominated the sky to the southwest. These training miles added up to about 350 miles for the six-week period before the race. This was roughly a 25 percent increase in mileage compared with the last two years. I felt that I was as prepared as I could be.

Thad been fairly familiar with the Leadville Trail 100 course because I had covered it twice before, but after additional training runs, I knew the course very well. Knowledge usually creates confidence since it removes the unexpected, and this was the case. We covered some of the tough climbs that would face me on race day and discovered that they were not the killers I remembered.

THE DAY OF RECKONING

Race day was Saturday, August 18. The Race Across the Sky. The Leadville Trail 100. The highest 100-mile trail race in the USA. My third start at Leadville, and I was ready. My training and adapting had all gone well, and my confidence was at a peak. The only things that could prevent my success would be horrible weather or an accident.

The weather is always a concern in Colorado. Since we had arrived in the Leadville area, it had rained on us at least once a day. The thunderstorms usually came in the afternoon, and rarely before 11:00 a.m. Luckily, we were caught only once by a storm while out running. As race day approached, the forecasters talked about a drying period. Maybe, just maybe, good things would happen.

On Thursday, August 16, two days before race day, Dana had to return home, and Lyle and I moved from our campsite by Turquoise Lake to the Delaware Hotel in Leadville, one block from the start/finish line. We could act civilized for a couple of days, sleep in a real bed, and make final preparations. At the hotel,

the first thing we did after lugging all of our gear up to the third floor, with no elevator, was to check the Weather Channel. Good news. The forecast for Saturday did not mention rain or thunderstorms— a rare day, indeed. We just had to hope that someone knew what he was talking about.

On Thursday evening, I picked up my racing packet and then enjoyed a feast of spaghetti, meatballs, salad, rolls, lemonade, beer, and cake, courtesy of the race. We then turned in early, since this would be the last chance for good sleep until Sunday night.

On Friday morning, August 17, all the runners had to attend the mandatory medical check and race briefing. This year the speaker was a race director, Ken Clouber, who seemed to be especially inspired. After going over the rules, explaining a few no-nos, and introducing a few stars of our sport, he turned to his motivational speech. Though I had heard it all before, both Lyle and I were moved. All the clichés took on new meaning, and we were all ready to stand and shout hallelujah.

GETTING OURSELVES ORGANIZED

Friday afternoon and evening were spent planning for the race and getting our supplies and equipment ready. I also paid close attention to eating and drinking. We tried to get to bed early, since this night would be very short. I wanted to get up at 2:30 a.m. to make the 4:00 a.m. start and managed to calm my mind enough to get a few hours of sleep. I was awake before the alarm and went over my checklist for the umpteenth time.

The weather forecast still looked to be perfect, and the local temperature was quite mild at 48 degrees Fahrenheit. We hit the street at 3:40 a.M., walked the one block to the starting area, and I checked in with the officials. At 4:00 a.m., the race started with a shotgun blast, and we were off into the darkness.

Rain had been minimal over the last two days, and the trails and roads had had achance to dry out. Instead of gingerly running on the dirt road section called the Boulevard and sliding around in the mud that usually exists, I could concentrate on just moving forward. After about four miles, we run ona short section of really bad road that is always covered with mud puddles. This year was no exception despite the dryness of the last two days. It was here that my favorite flashlight decided to quit. I pull off to the side and retrieve my backup light. Lyle is to meet me on the course at a place called Tabor Boat Ramp at about the seven-mile mark. I get there about five minutes ahead of schedule, and we fail to connect. I hesitate for a few seconds and then jump back into the race. I will see him at the first official aid station at 13.5 miles, in another hour.

By the time I get to the May Queen aid station at 13.5 miles, it has been light for 30 minutes. Lyle is there and greatly relieved that nothing has gone wrong

except for missing each other in the dark. I give Lyle my lights and ask him to check out the dead light to see whether it can be saved. Later, Lyle tells me the light is beyond repair. I pick up a second water bottle, drink one can of Ensure, check into the aid station, check out, drink another can of Ensure and continue on. I won’t see Lyle again for 10 miles. So far, the course has not had any climbing to speak of, but now as we go onto the Colorado Trail, the work commences.

A section of single-track trail brings us up to a good dirt road that continues up at a gentle angle for another mile. A sharp left turn puts us on another road that is much steeper and very rocky, and we climb to the crest of Sugarloaf Pass at 11,200 feet. After the pass, the road deteriorates quickly, and a long, steep, twisting descent brings us out onto an asphalt road. After one mile on the asphalt, we arrive at the 23.5-mile aid station at the fish hatchery. Lyle is waiting for me, and I give him my Tyvek jacket, bottles, and pack. I drink a can of Ensure and run on up to the check-in area. I go in one door and out the other, run back down to Lyle, and drink a second can of Ensure. I leave my pack and one water bottle with Lyle and continue on with a single water bottle.

ON THE LEVEL, FOR THE TIME BEING

The next 3.5 miles are generally level and mostly asphalt, which makes for easy running, but I don’t let myself get too eager. I frequently take walking breaks to keep my legs fresh. There are no trees for the 3.5 miles after the Fish Hatchery. The sun is blazing, and Lyle feels it is hot, but am very comfortable. Three and a half miles beyond the fish hatchery is an area on a dirt road called Tree Line. Support crews are allowed up to this point but no farther. At this transition zone from meadow to forest, there isn’t any aid station, but crews are allowed to help their runners. The road is usually very dusty. I find Lyle in the maze of vehicles lined up on both sides of the road. I drink another can of Ensure, put on my fanny pack again, and pick up my second water bottle. Although there is an aid station up ahead in 3.5 miles, I won’t see Lyle again until mile 39.5, about 2:45 down the line.

After 3.5 miles on a mostly climbing dirt road, I come to Halfmoon Campground and the aid station at 30.5 miles. This aid station is the only aid station where support crews are denied access. Since Lyle cannot be here, I am using the drop-bag service. As soon as I enter the north end of the campground, someone radios ahead, and my bag is waiting for me at the aid station less than a minute later. I rummage through my bag and get two cans of Ensure and toss them down quickly. I check out with the officials at the south end of the campground and head for Twin Lakes at mile 39.5. I am still feeling good.

A lot of the next nine-mile section is very runnable, but it is again single track, rocky, and more technical. This section is where I ran out of energy last

year and lost a lot of time. Although I still feel quite good as I leave Halfmoon, my mind is wondering whether this condition will last. I am about 20 minutes ahead of my 1999 pace and about 30 minutes ahead of my 2000 pace. The next nine miles along the base of Mount Elbert will tell me a lot about my conditioning. I remain comfortable, walk when I should, and run at a good pace when the terrain allows. I arrive at the Twin Lakes aid station at 8:01 and 39.5 miles into the race. I am elated since I am ahead of both 1999 and 2000 and I still feel very good. At the aid station, I weigh in for the first time in the race. I am down about 2 pounds—excellent. Lyle greets me after checking out of the aid station, and we walk down to where he is parked. I am 50 minutes ahead of 2000, and since I don’t have to do blister repair as I did in 1999, I am 40 minutes ahead of 1999. I drink two cans of Ensure, and at Lyle’s car I sit and change shoes in preparation for a stream crossing.

THE HEART OF THE RACE

The next 20 miles are the heart and soul of the Leadville Trail 100. From Twin Lakes at 9,200 feet, the course climbs up to Hope Pass at 12,600 feet in just over five miles. A steep, 2.5-mile descent takes you to the Winfield Road at about 9,600 feet. Then, you go 2.5 miles up the wide but dusty Winfield Road to the site of the ghost town of Winfield at about 10,000 feet and the halfway point. After a medical check, you turn around and retrace your steps.

The runners must get to Winfield in under 14 hours to continue the race. From a practical viewpoint, the outside limit, in my opinion, is 13.5 hours. Even then, someone would need to work very hard to finish. This is the only 100-mile race in which I have needed to concern myself with cutoff times. You need to be well trained and have some speed in the mountains to avoid chasing the clock all day and all night. In both 1999 and 2000, I was in this predicament, and I didn’t like it. Once you leave Twin Lakes for Winfield, you must get back to Twin Lakes in a decent time and have some energy left or your day is over.

Before you get into Twin Lakes, you get a very good view of Hope Pass to the south. The climb up to Hope Pass is on your mind from this moment forward. As I sat changing shoes at Twin Lakes, all I could think about was the next five miles up to the pass. My mind was concerned with the effort required and also the possibility of bad weather. So far, the weather had been great, but conditions in these mountains can change in an instant. As a precaution, I packed my gloves and my jacket. Lyle left to drive around to Winfield Road to meet me on the opposite side of the range.

About a mile out of Twin Lakes is the only large water crossing on the course, Lake Creek, which is about 50 feet wide and 18 inches deep and flows fast over a rocky bottom. In some years, when the water levels are up, there are several

© Leadville Picture Col

channels to the creek. I counted eight channels in 1999. This year there is only one flowing channel. A rope is strung across the creek to give the runners some added security. The rope helps you cross a few seconds faster. At one-half mile beyond the creek, you are back into the trees and the climb begins.

IS THE DIFFICULTY OF HOPE PASS EXAGGERATED?

Although the climb to Hope Pass seems to last forever, it really isn’t that bad. Dana and I had made this climb on August 11, and with that memory fresh in my mind, Isettled into a strong, steady pace and tried to be patient. After crossing the creek, I knew it would take at least 80 minutes to get to the aid station below the pass at around 12,000 feet. That estimate turned out to be very accurate, and I arrived at the uppermost meadow without feeling exhausted. The aid station below Hope Pass is not official. The people who organize the station recognized the need many years ago and volunteered to provide this service. Llamas are used to carry supplies up to 12,000 feet. When you clear the last group of trees, you come into a beautiful meadow with lots of wildflowers. The sight of the aidstation tents and the grazing llamas will inspire any runner.

At the aid station, I pause for some water and my first solid food since Friday night. The station has hot noodle soup and hot mashed potatoes. I eat a half cup of mashed potatoes and move on. The meadow soon gives way toa large expanse of scree and boulders. The trail becomes very

4 The author nears the top of 12,600-foot Hope Pass at mile 45.

steep for a short way and then tops out at the saddle between Hope Mountain and Quail Mountain. At this point every year, a photographer snaps shots of each runner at the top of the pass. Runners with enough strength try to smile.

The descent from Hope Pass outbound can be more challenging than climbing up. The south side of the Hope Pass trail is extremely steep for the first half mile or so and very dangerous. Fortunately, the trail is dry today; I would hate to be on it when it is wet. By this time, the lead runners are inbound and the two-way traffic keeps things interesting. I concentrate on my footing and exercise a great deal of patience. In about 45 minutes, I hit the road to Winfield and find Lyle waiting. I now have five miles of dirt road up to Winfield and back to Lyle, so I reduce my load to a single water bottle. I can afford to travel light for the next hour.

The dirt road section going to and from Winfield is another bad part of this race. Most of the support crews do not attempt driving to Winfield. Crews serve their runners where the Hope Pass trail meets the road. The cars that make the trip create a lot of unnecessary dust and become a major nuisance. I took to breathing through my bandana. | arrive at Winfield and the 50-mile aid station where my weight is checked again, and I remain 2 pounds down.

A POSITIVE TIME CHECK

I leave the aid station and head back to Lyle and another climb back up to Hope Pass. I check my time for 50 miles. I hit the 50-mile mark at 11:37. I am doing very well. I am now 2:23 ahead of the cutoff, 1:26 ahead of 1999 and 1:52 ahead of 2000. So far, my day has been nearly perfect. I need to get back to Twin Lakes in good shape, and then I can relax a little. The shoes I changed into at Twin Lakes before the creek crossing are bothering my feet, so when I get back to Lyle, I change into an older, more comfortable pair that I will wear for only the next eight miles. I drink more Ensure, pick up my fanny pack along with my jacket and gloves, and start the climb with two full water bottles.

The south trail up to Hope Pass is very steep, and the last half mile is very slow. A few outbound runners are still coming down, and they all look very tired and resigned to the fact that they will miss the cutoff at Winfield. I know just how they feel. I feel very fortunate to be as far along as I am. The climb up takes almost exactly twice as long as coming down. When I top out at the pass, I realize that the conditions are suddenly quite different. I am met by a blast of wind that nearly knocks me back on my heels. I couldn’t see it earlier, but now a large dark cloud is looming above me, and a couple of minutes later the lightning and thunder begin.

I wish I could stop and appreciate the turmoil around me, but that wind is cold. Then I am pelted with hail and snow. I struggle in the wind to put on my jacket and gloves as the storm increases in intensity. I am trying to keep moving

downward as all this is happening, knowing that my only protection will be in the lower elevations and the trees. The wind, the steep trail, and the slick rocks make for a very interesting 14 minutes or so until I can reach the Hope Pass aid station. As soon as I get a few hundred feet below the pass, the winds decrease dramatically, but the hail and snow continue. When I reach the aid station, I see that everyone has moved into the tents. I pause momentarily to get some water. Since I am not in distress, I immediately move on down the trail and in a few minutes reach the trees. At about the same time the hail and snow change to rain, which soon decreases to a drizzle. Within 30 minutes from start to finish, the storm is gone. With a feeling of great relief, 1 scamper on down to Lake Creek to get my feet wet and arrive back at Twin Lakes a little damp but feeling good and full of confidence.

A BIT OF CONFIDENCE GOES A LONG WAY

Now I know that I will finish this race. I have now covered 60.5 miles in 15:10. I have 14:50 left to cover the remaining 39.5 miles, but it will be dark in about an hour. It is humbling to know that the lead runners will be finishing in about three hours.

Lyle meets me as I get close to the parking lot at Twin Lakes. He knows what I know and is excited that at last we will conquer this course. I change out of my wet shoes and socks and put on the same shoes that I started with in the morning. I know that the temperature will start to drop very shortly, so I leave my light jacket and put on a slightly warmer jacket that has a hood. I check my lights and put my backup into my pack. Lyle has purchased a new flashlight in Leadville to replace the one that malfunctioned this morning. The new light is a little heavy, but no big deal. Even though it is nine miles to the next aid station at Halfmoon, I will carry only one water bottle. I fortify myself with more Ensure and go to the Twin Lakes aid station. I weigh in and check out quickly and head for Halfmoon. My weight is still down only 2 pounds.

There is a lot of climbing as soon as I leave Twin Lakes, but I am not in any hurry. I have only two major climbs left. The climb out of Twin Lakes and the climb to Sugarloaf Pass will take the majority of time and energy. Darkness seems to descend quickly. I turn on my light and continue to walk strongly and steadily and run when the terrain is suitable. My legs are still strong, and although my quads are slightly tender after Hope Pass, I am feeling good.

The night is my least-favorite part of these long races. I don’t mind the cold. I don’t mind the darkness. I don’t wonder what monsters might be lurking behind every tree or rock. I don’t worry about getting lost, although that can happen, but not tonight, not on this course. Sleep deprivation is not a real problem, either, but it can be. What bothers me most is the hypnotic effect the bobbing light has

on my eyes and mind. My whole world is confined to that circle of light in front of me, and that tunnel of light eventually drives me a bit crazy. I can get sleepy, but what seems to happen is that at some point, my eyes seem to lose their ability to focus properly. That in turn affects my balance as I lose depth perception. These factors combine to make running a bit difficult at times. Tonight, these things continue to occur, but I don’t have to worry. I have enough time to walk the entire distance to the finish if I have to. I move on through the night, content to embrace the darkness.

THIS SECTION BRINGS BACK MEMORIES

I remember this section between Twin Lakes and Halfmoon campground at mile 69.5 from 1999 when I struggled on through drizzle, on a muddy trail with a very dim backup light, and failed to reach the aid station before the cutoff time. This year is quite different. I have a good light, the trail is dry, and I have the most precious commodity—time. The sky is clear, and I pause from time to time to enjoy the stars. I reach the Halfmoon aid station at 18:10 into the race. It is now 10:10 p.M., and I am 2:35 ahead of the cutoff time. I go into my drop bag at Halfmoon and put down two more cans of Ensure. The hot chocolate looks good, so I have some of that, too. The aid station is warm and inviting, but I don’t linger. I head down the dirt road for 3.5 miles to Tree Line where Lyle is waiting.

In the dark, Lyle spots me before I can see him. I haven’t seen him since I left Twin Lakes 12.5 miles and 3:30 in the past. It seems much colder down in the valley away from the trees. I drink another can of Ensure and add more clothing. I add a layer of fleece to my upper body, a pair of wind pants, heavier gloves, and a Gore-Tex jacket with a hood. I mostly walk the 3.5 miles to the fish hatchery and ave plenty of time to think about the last big climb. I also enjoy an unobstructed view of the night sky. The Milky Way is readily visible. The additional clothing is doing its job, and I am comfortable in the night air. The temperature is probably

in the high 30s. I arrive at the fish hatchery at 20 minutes after midnight. I have now covered 76.5 miles, and I am 2:40 ahead of the cutoff.

Tam into and out of the fish hatchery aid station in just a few seconds. I change batteries in my light just to be safe and head for Sugarloaf Pass. The climb to the pass is hard to describe. I wish now that I had made the climb in daylight before the race. The route is a rutted jeep road that is very steep in spots with many twists and turns. At night, the route seems to go on forever, and in the darkness, there are many false summits. When I finally reach the top of the pass, I check my watch: the time was only about half of what I would have guessed.

From the pass, I feel that I can coast to the finish. I have a fairly long downhill in front of me, but I find that I dare not try to run. It is here that I have my most severe episode of my eyes not being able to focus and thus affecting my balance. I still have lots of time, so I just walk strongly and steadily all the way into the May Queen aid station at 86.5. This is the last aid station before the finish. I have been on the move for 24:08. It is 4:08 a.m., and I am 2:22 ahead of the cutoff. I lost a few minutes on the last section, but that is not important. The climbing is behind me, all I have in front of me is 13.5 miles of fairly easy terrain, and dawn is less than two hours away. I indulge myself at the aid station and eat some solid food for only the second time all day. I sample a tortilla wrap with turkey and cheese. I chase that with a can of Ensure and get ready to leave.

A QUICK CHECK OF AGE-GROUP PLACING

Lyle tells me that I am the first 60-year-old to arrive at May Queen. We had both thought that I was leading my age group all day, but now for the first time we know for sure. That feeling of elation should carry me for a few miles.

As I leave May Queen, I tell Lyle that I will see him in 90 minutes at the Tabor Boat Ramp. I have about six miles to go to get to Tabor, and I arrive right on schedule after walking the distance at a 15-minute-per-mile pace.

Dawn is just around the corner, and I can see the eastern sky slowly brighten. Our plan right from the start has been for Lyle to run with me from the Tabor Boat Ramp to the finish, a distance of about 7.5 miles. Lyle is eager and ready when L arrive. I drink one last can of Ensure, and Lyle carries another can just in case I falter. The predawn air is still pretty chilly, but since my pace will increase as soon as it gets light, I continue on with only lightweight gloves and jacket.

Lyle and I start off on the last leg of our adventure at a brisk walk. Lyle is soon warmed up, and as the day brightens our pace increases. I haven’t run for a while, and I am interested in seeing how it will feel. I start off at a slow jogging pace, and I learn that my strength is still there. My legs are a little stiff but nothing hurts. I gradually pick up the pace, and my mood rises with the sun.

We pass one runner with his pacer and receive some envious glances. We soon leave the lake and the end of the single-track trail. We negotiate a mostly downhill jeep road, pass two more runners, and come out on a dirt road that will lead us to the Boulevard. A long, level section on good dirt road, asphalt road, and bad dirt road takes us to the bottom of the last rise in the course. We are now about four miles from the finish. We can see a long way ahead, and we run and walk to close the gap on anyone we see.

We pass two more runners in the next three miles, and then we can see the buildings of Leadville. We hit the asphalt with one mile to go and pass one more runner in the middle of the last hill. We reach the top of the hill, and from there we can see the finish line banner and the waiting crowd. The end is at hand, and we can still laugh and smile.

THE FINISH IS IN SIGHT

We start running at the top of the hill and continue down the other side. A race official calls in my race number from four blocks away, and Lyle tells him how to pronounce my name. At the bottom of the hill, I have three blocks of incline to the finish. I could probably run the whole way but decide not to. [run and walk and then run the last block to the banner as Lyle peels off from the course. I am announced as the first 60-year-old to finish, and I do my best not to act stupid. I break the tape in 27:41:45. Merilee, a race director, gives me a big hug and hangs the finisher’s medallion around my neck. Home at last, and now I can ask myself, Now, what was so hard about that?

The answer, of course, is that nothing was hard about that, since I had trained hard and long and did the right things before and during the race. That is true, but I also had a little bit of luck with excellent weather and good support and encouragement.

Lyle and I float off to the Delaware Hotel to shower, eat, and relax before the awards ceremony at noon. At the awards ceremony, we learn that the winner was Steve Peterson, from Boulder, Colorado. He claimed his fifth Leadville title in a time of 17:40:53. The first woman was Janet Runyan, also from Boulder, in 21:47:44. I finished in 27:41:45 and was 80th overall and first in the age group 60-69.

Now that it is all over, I can look back on the race and believe that it was all worthwhile. There were times when I wasn’t so sure. I am just happy that everything worked out to near perfection and that the time, money, and training were not in vain. But I believe that this was the last 100-mile race for me. I have 10 finishes at this distance on six different courses over 13 years, and I feel that this is a good point to stop. There are other races and other distances that I will continue to compete in, but for now at least, the 100-milers are not on that list.