The day that everything changed

How Scout Mountain 100 mile became one of the most important races of my life

Kevin, me, Luke, Rachel and Chandra.

Recently at a race I was crewing, a runner I knew came into the aid station and announced that they had to drop. I eavesdropped as they explained to their crew what was going on and that this had happened before and they knew exactly how it would end. They were done, they said. Their crew agreed. But I couldn’t help myself, so I butted into the conversation and said, “hey, yes you are having an issue but maybe we try and problem solve?”. I knew they were telling themselves a convincing story of what was going to happen. But I was also watching as they and their crew did nothing to address the actual issue. They were not giving it a chance to change. I offered that we should focus on the problem, not the story and get them to the next aid station. I was proud when I got them up and out of the aid station moving forward. A little while later, they returned to the aid station after their partner, via a phone call, fanned the flames of doubt. They dropped out of the race.

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I was nearly 90 miles into pacing Heather Jackson at Cocodona 250 a few weeks ago. I would soon have to stop as the runners have to run the final stretch over Mt. Elden by themselves. I was finally pulling out all the stops to mentally prepare her to make it over and to the finish line. She had been in a rough spot for a while, she was filled with doubt and fear. I asked her a simple question: “Are you going to finish this race?” She said that, yes, she was 100% committed.

“Ok, great”. I said. “Then let’s stop worrying about ‘how am I going to do this’ and instead focus on the fact that when the moment comes you will figure out the next right step.” I needed her to trust herself. I needed her to trust that whatever she would face, she would be able to figure out. And most importantly, that worrying about what might happen in the future is unnecessary and unhelpful. “Let the future, be the future” I said.

Heather faced plenty of obstacles in those last 26 miles. Things, in fact, got much much worse. But with our (her crew) help, she figured it out. She finished the race.

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The day before Scout Mountain 100, I sat down with my crew person, Kevin. Kevin and I have known each other for nearly 20 years. He is a friend, my athlete and is extremely experienced in the sport. He had run Scout Mountain the year before and I was excited to have his support. When we sat down to go over my plans, the first thing I brought up was the mental game plan. After witnessing the two above scenarios, I was extremely conscientious of the power of my crew to make or break my experience. I wanted to ensure that I prepared Kevin, while I was in a calm, clearheaded state, for what he might face if my race was not going according to plan. I wanted him to know exactly what I wanted him to do when faced with the moment when I might say “I need to stop”.

We discussed the fact that most issues runners face in long ultras are solvable. It might take time, it might require walking when you prefer to be running, it may be hard but the reality is, there is only a very small subset of issues that are emergencies. I wanted to prepare myself to face down when things go wrong and still continue. I told Kevin that between himself, me and my pacer, Rachel Entrekin, we have enough experience to figure out most things and keep me moving. I told him that I am extremely, EXTREMELY, convincing when I say I have to drop and that, while I didn’t want my feelings to be diminished, I wanted him to say, “ok, we will discuss this at the next aid station”. I wanted to be pushed past the moment when my mind had lost its capacity to believe or problem solve. I wanted to not get tripped up on a story I was telling myself. I wanted to give myself to problem solve, I wanted to give things the opportunity to get better. Before I had left for the race, Nathan asked me, “Are you 100% committed to finishing this race?” and I said, “YES!”. I knew I needed guard rails in my crew and I wanted to prepare them to meet the moment. I could not have anticipated just how important of a role my crew would play in getting me through Scout Mountain or how important this mental preparation would prove to be.

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It would have been great if none of that were necessary and I had a smooth day where everything went right and I ran to my fitness level. But even before the race, I felt nervous and off. I felt unsettled. When the gun went off and we started making our way up the first climb, I felt weird. I felt dizzy and like my system was fighting itself. I chalked it up to the high temperatures and the late start time. I told myself to just settle in and not try and make meaning of every feeling. It would be fine.

And then, all at once, it wasn’t. At mile 6, my foot landed weirdly on a rock and my foot/ankle twisted sharply. It felt like an ice pick went through my heel. I hobbled a few steps in pain. Damnit! I tried to run and the pain lessened. Except every time the trail cambered, every time I stepped unevenly the pain would knife through my foot again. I kept running as best I could towards the next aid station at mile 15 where I would see my crew for the first time. I tried to focus on simply getting to the next aid station not the creeping thought that I needed to stop. Then, disaster. I caught a toe and fell hard, smashing my knee into a rock and hitting my head on the ground. My whole body hurt, everything was going wrong. My day felt over when it had barely begun. I tried to hold back tears of frustration and failed. I walked and cried as other runners passed me in streams. I hobbled to the aid station and sank into a chair.

Kevin, Rachel and race director/friend Luke sprang into action. Luke assessed my head for serious injury and then moved on to my ankle. We took off my shoe and sock and tested the foot for orthopedic injury. Luke (who’s actual real life job is this) tells me that it isn’t broken, its just soft tissue. He tapes it up. I lament that I don’t want to be injured. I don’t want to keep going and then ended up broken. I was afraid. It was so early in the race, I didn’t know how I was going to make it almost 90 more miles when things were already going so bad. I worried about what was going to happen. I worried I wouldn’t be able to do it. I cried and I cried.

Rachel pipes up and says, “well we won’t know what is going to happen unless you carry on to the next aid station”. Actually I think she said something much more clever about a non-zero chance of something, but I can’t remember because all I was thinking was “ugh she’s right”. Even though every part of me felt defeated, I knew that stopping at that moment would be quitting. It would be a failure because I had not given it a chance to get better. I get up out of the chair and begrudgingly start hoofing it out of the aid station.

Luke yells after me as I start to leave the aid station, “We will love you no matter what!”.

“Ha, my therapist has been trying to convince me that for years and hasn’t succeeded yet.” I shout back as I disappear out of sight.

For a long time, I have felt like I have been trying to untie the gordian knot of unhelpful thoughts, feelings, beliefs and personality traits. The stories that I have about myself. I have worked tirelessly to try and build skills and understanding to overcome that things that I have experienced in my life. Recently, in my conversations with my amazing mental performance coach, Emily Saul, I have even been able to put into words exactly what I want, exactly who I want to be. It has felt tantalizingly close, like my fingers are about to pull on the right string to make the knot unfurl.

As I marched up the hill, I thought about what I had just said. Someone had told me that they genuinely love and care about me and I responded, essentially, that I didn’t believe them. How horrible. Horrible that I am the only person that believes that I am unloveable. Horrible that for all of my efforts and work, I still have not changed how I think about myself. I say I want something: love, care, safety, friendship, to be seen, to be understood and then when it is offered I reject it. Why? Because of the stories that I tell myself. Those stories served a purpose in my life to protect me, to save me. But those stories no longer serve me, yet even as I say I want to let them go, I cling tighter to them.

I hiked and hiked and thought and ruminated. And then I decided that maybe, for a change, I just believe them. When someone says they love and care about me. When someone says they support me. Maybe I stop being the thing that is in my own way.

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That doesn’t mean things got better. Soon thereafter, I fell again hard, landing on the same tender knee as before. I was in pain, I didn’t feel good, I was worried about my foot. The section out and back to Old Tom summit felt impossible as I tried to make it over the loose rock and extremely steep terrain. When I finally hit the fire road descent to South Fork aid station, I felt like I was moving through mud. What is wrong with me? I stewed in negativity as I made my way slowly towards the aid station. After what felt like forever, I arrive at South Fork aid, mile 28. I plop down in the chair as Rachel and Kevin begin to attend to me.

“I can’t do this” I tell Rachel. “If it were just my foot hurting, then maybe I could wrap my head around continuing but everything is wrong”. I had a headache, I was struggling with nutrition, I was COVERED in salt.

“Maybe this is just a great opportunity to practice problem solving!” Rachel says cheerily. She hands me some salt. I take it. She launches into a motivational speech the content of which now largely escapes me. I knew she was right, I did believe her. I just felt like I was up against a mental wall that felt immovable. The race was sucking. It was not fun. Everything was going wrong. Every part of my brain was screaming, “QUIT!”. Rachel continued as I sipped soda and felt dejected. Another runner interrupted her to ask for a selfie. I told her to go ahead, the motivational speech could wait. She stands up for the picture.

Meanwhile, Kevin had been in the background, quietly getting my pack prepared. As Rachel takes the picture, he hands me my pack and my headphones and says “we will see you at the next aid station”. I laugh. Motherfucker. He just did EXACTLY what I had told him to do. I couldn’t argue. It was well played.

I leave the aid station feeling a bit better and start pushing hard down the road. I knew the next section was short, smooth and could be fast so I decided to run it as hard as I could. I told myself I could drop at the next aid station because by then I would have allowed myself to be pushed out of the aid station by each of my crew. They couldn’t use the same tactic on me! I felt smart and self-righteous because I would finally be able to release myself from this frustrating and terrible day. I basically sprinted through the next section as fast as my original plan had called for. Over 7 miles in under 70 minutes. I came running into the aid station and proudly announced that I still needed to drop. Kevin and Rachel went to work feeding me pounds of potato chips and soda. Rachel told me that if I had come in to this aid station running 20 minute miles and limping maybe she would indulge me, but I had essentially just passed 20 people in 7 miles. From her perspective, I was fine. She was right, I was fine. Yes, my foot was concerning but it wasn’t getting worse. And we had actually managed to get rid of the headache by getting more on top of my salt. I internally regretted telling her that I would keep going if it was just my foot bothering me. I knew I had no reason to stop. I knew I could keep going.

I start crying silently. Rachel and Kevin are silent. Rachel rubs my back as I let the tears come. It is then I let myself feel the frustration, the disappointment, the shame. This is not how it was supposed to go. Before the race, I had been told by others that I could very well win the race outright. That I could run nearly 5 hours faster than the women’s course record. I believed I was fit enough to do this. But I also turned those comments into expectations. Expectations that I was now wildly failing. I felt like a failure. As an elite, it can be exceptionally hard to feel like you are allowed to have any other experience other than a perfect or near perfect one. I cry and I cry. I let myself feel the weight of this. The immense pressure I have put on myself to always succeed, always overcome. To prove over and over and over again that I am good enough. The weight of this is heavy. I can feel it. I can finally see its shape and form. I can see that this story, this pressure is the thing standing in my way, it is the thing pushing me to quit. I decide to carry on.

Rachel has offered to jump in early to pace me. And after, we spend 5 minutes more at the aid station trying to problem solve getting a BUG out of my EAR! We are on our way. I jokingly tell her that I am only continuing because I feel bad that she hasn’t gotten a run in. But even in that joke, I can see something else. Rachel is a phenomenal runner who just had one of the greatest performances our sport has ever seen. She is my friend, my training partner and an incredible human. She knows what I am capable of and in that moment, I just feel like I am disappointing her. Just as Luke had said before, Rachel had said that she supports me no matter what. And instead of believing her, I perverted that story in my head to mean something else. That there were conditions to that support and I was somehow failing them. I felt ashamed of myself. She was showing up for me (just like I wanted!) and I was clinging to a story that I was going to somehow ruin or fail this friendship. I could see in that moment what I was doing and instead of believing the story I was telling myself, I decided to believe her. Even if it was scary, even if it felt impossibly hard, even if my faith and trust felt weak, I believed her.

We moved over the terrain well. The evening was coming and with it reprieve from the heat. My body felt better and my foot was not getting any worse. We gabbed and laughed. We ran in comfortable silence. We talked about light things. We talked about hard things. I kept pushing and pushing against the thought that I had to stop. It was persistent. I finally made the decision that just because the feeling “I need to quit” existed didn’t mean that objectively I did. I could continue to move forward alongside the thought, with the thought. In fact, I realized that the point wasn’t to get rid of the thought of wanting to quit, the point is to just keep moving in spite of it. And I was doing it! I was doing it. A new thought crept in: maybe I can get through this.

As if the universe had heard me in my silent thought and said lessons not over yet, I step badly on a rock, pain sears through my heel and I nearly crumple to the ground. I land on another rock and a second wave of pain. I hobble. I limp. I can tell it was bad from Rachel’s horrified silence. She tells me to take a moment. I tell her that I literally had just entertained the thought that I could actually do this and then this happened! We make our way to the next aid station. I am again feel doubt and demoralized. I go straight into the arms of Chandra, Kevin’s wife, and tell her what had just happened. It is her turn now and she goes to work on getting me out of the aid station. She is a PT so she suggests trying new shoes. I let her give my foot an adjustment to see if we can free up some space in the heel. We feel a satisfying pop as she adjusts. I tell her that it is her turn to gaslight and bully me out of the aid station. Rachel and I grab our headlamps and head out into the night.

I still don’t believe I can do it. I don’t believe I can get through this. But I do not let that thought determine my action. I eat, I drink, I move forward. I run as hard as I can when I can. I go as slow as I need to when I need to. Things feel a bit lighter now. It feels as if I am starting to be ok with how this day has gone. It was not the day I wanted, but perhaps it was the day I needed. I am preparing to run Mammoth 200 in October. I know that I need to be extremely prepared to face down the lowest of lowest and the biggest of challenges. Maybe, as Rachel had said many miles ago, this was the perfect opportunity to practice problem solving. I realized it was also the perfect opportunity to practice finding my way to be ok in those moments. I thought of the quote, “life is not a problem to be solved, but an experience to be had”.

Before the race, I wrote a short list.

Success looks like:

1. Being present for the experience

2. Liking who I am when things get hard

3. Holding each moment lightly

4. Trusting myself.

There I was having an experience and I was spending all my time trying to think my way out of the moment. I was busy beating myself up and assigning much more meaning to what was happening than was due. I told Rachel that I admire people like Adam Peterman who found a way to continue on at WS despite having a terrible day. I admired my peers who had gone through this journey that I was now on. It was comforting to remind myself that I found people like Adam inspiring, not disappointing. I could see now just how hard a thing it is to do. It is damn brave to let yourself be seen in that moment. I wanted to be that brave. I silently resolved to stop looking for way out. I decided to be in the moment.

For a large part of the race, I had been thinking about Kilian Korth’s recent experience. He injured himself at Cocodona and pushed through to the finish. Afterwards, it was discovered he injured himself bad enough that he needs surgery. In his Substack, he said that in the future he would not make the same bargain. That he would not sacrifice his future for a single race. Since mile 6, when I had twisted my ankle the first time, I had been thinking about this. I kept telling myself that I believed the same. This race wasn’t worth the cost of the rest of my season. As we moved through the night, I remembered something. No more next times. At the beginning of this year, I realized that I have spent my whole 20 year ultra career trying to protect my future. I believe this was extremely wise when I was young in the sport. It is what has allowed me to still be competing at the top of the sport. But I also realize that it means that I have held myself back from going on all in. I have protected the future at all costs. But at what point am I going to let the future arrive? The moment I am protecting will never arrive if there is always a next time. On my training bulletin board I put up a postcard with the following quote:

“Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the goddamn way with what matters.”- Ernest Hemingway

It was then I knew I would finish. I did not say anything to Rachel for fear of being snippered by another rock. I decided to move out of survival mode and start racing again. We came into Cusick Creek and I delighted in some gluten free Pad Thai. I joked with other runners. I got up and out of the aid station faster than I had all day. By this point, I had probably been sitting in aid stations for well over an hour. I just wanted to get on my way.

We made our way down towards City Creek at mile 61 where I had originally planned to pick up Rachel. I checked in with her that she was ok to continue with me. After all, she had signed up to pace me 40 miles not 66. She told me she was going to continue with me for as long as I needed and wanted her or as she said, “until I was tired of her”. Not possible. I told her that the front of my shin was starting to hurt because I was trying to keep my heel from hurting. It didn’t hurt as long as I landed correctly, so I was bracing each step with my shin. We made it to City Creek in good time and I once again plopped down in a chair. I downed soda, ate whatever Kevin put in front of me and let Jake, the aid station captain and Rachel get to work on bolstering my ankle. Rachel is a PT, so she applied tape to offload the overworking muscle and provide my ankle with enough support. Jake kept repeating to me that it was 18 miles until I would see my crew again and that I needed to be certain I could make it when I left here. I jokingly said that my crew wouldn’t let me quit and he reiterated that I needed to be certain. I felt like he was offering me an out (yes, someone, finally!) and instead of being drawn to take it, it hardened my resolve. You don’t think I can make it, I’ll show you! Off we went.

The next section was tedious with an extremely steep climb. The downhill was rocky enough to make me extremely cautious and it felt like it went on forever. At this stage of the race, 12 miles between aid stations is forever. But I started to notice that I was catching people. I was running quite well and despite everything, it was beginning to dawn on me that my legs actually felt really good and I had a lot left. Right before the aid station, there was a sign that said, “BLAME LUKE” and we laughed because he certainly had put together quite a doozie of a course. We finally made it to Elk Meadows and I tried to get in and out as quickly as possible. A pacer for one of the other runners made a sarcastic comment to me about my injured foot. I am sure he was not trying to be rude, but it pissed me off. Who are you to judge me or my injury? You don’t know me. You know nothing of what is happening with me. I proceeded to absolutely annihilate the next 6 miles of smooth single track back down into West Fork. We averaged 9 minute pace and we were so fast to the aid station that Kevin wasn’t even ready. I sat down now determined to make it quick. I had not been able to stomach gels for a long time, so I was trying to eat as much solid food as I could at aid stations. I downed an iced coffee and a corn tortilla cheese quesadilla and was on my way. I could feel the momentum now. I was racing. I had put a good deal of distance between myself and several people in that section. My confidence was growing. We only had one more crewed aid station, Scout Mountain. I knew I just needed to get beyond there and I would make it to the finish line. Yes, I had my resolve to finish now but I wanted to be beyond any opportunity to stop. The miles that lay ahead were not easy with a massive 10 mile climb from West Fork to the top of Scout Mountain, including an insulting (blame Luke) downhill then back uphill 500 feet out and back to Scout Mountain aid station.

I spent a few minutes digesting my food and hiking up the hill. And then I was running, really running up the hill, pushing hard and watching as my body easily responded. I knew I was this fit, I thought to myself. I knew this is what I am capable of. I pushed and pushed. I was picking people off, passing them like I had just started running. We made it to the descent into the aid station and I flew downhill on the smooth terrain. I felt like I was flying. I saw another female runner coming up out of the aid station with her pacer, she was about .6 miles out of the aid station so I was more than a mile behind her. I told Rachel that I wanted to make this aid station quick but that I wanted to be smart since it was the last time we would receive crew from Kevin. We were in and out in less than 5 minutes. Rachel told me to go on ahead as she collected supplies for myself. I ran up and out of the aid station, yelling “I’m dropping Rachel Entrekin” and cackling. I was having fun now. I pushed hard making it a game to see how hard I could make it for Rachel to catch me. At one point a 50 miler came down towards me and exclaimed, “Damn! I thought you were in the 50 mile running like that up this hill”. We made it to the turn and we were on our way towards to top of Scout Mountain.

A strong wave of emotion came over me. HOLY SHIT. I was going to do it. I knew it then. I knew I would finish. And I was having fun! And I was feeling good. It was time to send it. I had been holding back but it was time to stop saving and start spending. I wanted to push myself as hard as I could now. In no time, I passed the girl that had been ahead of me. We raced up Scout Mountain, clocking a 14 min average pace up the steep terrain. We made it to the top and began a careful descent over extremely steep, loose, rocky terrain. I took my time. I was not going to rush through this and hurt myself. Finally we were released onto smooth buttery single track and we pressed the pace towards Big Fir aid station. A mile or so before the aid station, we passed another female and her pacer. We reached Big Fir and hastened to get out of there. There were only 6 miles and 1500 feet of climbing standing between us and the finish line. I was so close. I shot out of the aid station once again cackling as I tried to drop Rachel up the steep pitch. I pushed as hard as I could where the terrain would allow. We made it up and over the first hill. One to go. I caught up to a 50 miler and after taking special care on a steep rocky descent, I passed her as we entered the Nordic center.

We were immediately engulfed in a deep stifling heat. It felt like we were baking in the morning sun. The air felt stagnant and too warm. I slowed, not wanting to push too hard and cramp or run out of water. No mistakes. I felt too good to blow it now. Every time I had the chance, I would run and push as hard as I could. Finally, we reached the top and I unleashed. A brief stop at a clear, cool cow trough of water gave us reprieve from the heat. We were so close. I am running, I am crying, I am laughing. Rachel is running stride for stride. She is saying, “You are running 7 min pace! Dude, how are you doing this! This is incredible.” We top out one final tiny climb and I can see the finish. A sob escapes. I freaking did it. WE freaking did it. We fly down the hill and circle our way to the finish through the parking lot. I hit the grass and now the tears come easy. I already know Luke is waiting at the finish line, I already know he is crying. I cross the finish line and go straight into his arms. Everyone is crying. Everyone is hugging. I cannot believe I just did that.

It was then amidst the crying and the hugging that I was presented with the award for 3rd place. I had run my way back to the podium. I had been three hours behind 1st place at one point and finished only 40 minutes back 1st, 20 minutes back of 2nd. Rachel and Kevin had known in those last miles what was happening but they didn’t tell me. It wasn’t necessary. It wouldn’t have made a difference. That was the greatest comeback of my entire career. That was the most important race of my life. It profoundly and deeply changed me. I learned things that I could not have if everything had gone right. I had the experience that I needed and in hindsight, the experience that I wanted. Because I wanted to be different, because I wanted to write new stories, because I no longer need next time-everything I need I have right now.

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I know I could not have succeeded without my people. Kevin and Rachel, you guys are absolute legends. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Chandra, thank you for stepping up in that pivotal moment. Luke, you already know how I feel. Big love to you guys. And so much gratitude for the entire race staff and volunteers. What an exceptional race. To my fellow competitors and crews, thank you for being a supportive and loving community. I truly felt out there that this is exactly what this sport is all about!

Also Rachel wrote a fantastic write up about her experience, a must read!