The 2015 Zion 100 - Achilles Destroyer

Ok, bear with me through all this as this is my first blog posting. I have wanted to start a blog on my running adventures for a while now, but wanted to start it off with a bang...something significant. Without much further ado here is my account on my first 100 mile race experience at the 2015 Zion 100.
I wanted to race a scenic 100 miler and what better race than to run 100 miles through the Zion national park? Andrea Quant (my girlfriend and crewer) and I decided that we would take a nice little road trip, camp out, and see how this goes. The drive there is a story within itself, but this blog will just focus on race day.
4:00 am the alarm went off, I got up, had a muffin, and then Andrea dropped me off at the start line. I found my fellow Californian friends Jason, Vince, and Tim. I have met these guys through races and they are a hilarious bunch. They always make you laugh, which is welcome when such a absurd task ahead of you. They had all ran the AC 100, so I was the odd man out. I will admit, at first I really thought this wouldn't be too hard of a race, even though having never  ran a 100. Nutrition-wise this would be an all Tailwind event.
Like all ultras they spring the start on you when you least expect it, you just start seeing people run and you think to yourself "shit, ok I guess we're starting". We ran off into the brisk morning at 6:00 am headlamps and all.
The race thankfully warms you up quickly with a giant climb up a trail called "Flying Monkey" which ascends up a mesa (you can read about how the trail got its name on Kelly Agnew's great blog). This trail is not runnable uphill, as it is just too steep and there are too many people. It climbs a good ~1200 ft in about a mile, all the while the sun started coming out providing beautiful views of the sprawling Virgin desert. Jason, Vince, and I kept together up most the climb bantering back and forth trying to just relax and take it easy. We then got to a top rope where you had to use it to climb up a ledge. Well, this created traffic as some idiot decided he wanted to take a picture while holding on to the rope. This pissed off a few people and even further the guy behind him fell off the ledge because the rope broke! Thankfully that guy was ok and I traversed the cliff a little to bypass the top rope, which everyone else had to do until they fixed the top rope. We got to the top of the mesa and the first aid station then started running a nice pleasant trail around the mesa that was very reminiscent of Big Bear. I had to take a quick poop stop and then we got to descend down "Flying Monkey". Without knowing much about the name of the trail, I thought that the "Flying Monkey" moniker was fitting as Tim and I flailed our way down the exhilarating descent. All the California boys and I love our descents, especially technical ones.
Now, with the adrenaline pumping Tim and I started to get separated going into the Dalton aid station at around mile 15. Andrea, my Dad and Step-Mom Linda were there to greet me. With ultras I've come to learn that these moments are what keep you going and what you must strive for rather than thinking about the end. The people that care about you and the volunteers feed off your energy and you feed of theirs, it's a really great feeling. After stocking up on some more tailwind, giving Andrea a wet smack on the cheek, I headed up to the Gaucamole Mesa. This was a gradual climb and had some beautiful views of a big ranch. I got to Guacamole aid station and took another crap. The event organizers decided to go "all natural" by providing porto-toilets where you would throw wood-mulch over your poo to make a compost. Sorry for the imagery, but it was pretty cool, whatever floats...or gets covered in mulch I guess.

Coming into the Dalton aid station (mile ~15)

The next section was my first struggle. Matt Gunn (the bearded race director) warned us that running on slick-rock takes a lot out of you and is hard to get in a rhythm. Suffice to say, I didn't take heed of his warning.  The next 5 miles or so was a maddening maze of slick-rock and trail markers where's Waldo. Running on slick-rock is like running on concrete that a construction worker decided he wants to be a Picasso of concrete. The impact, angles, the up and down just put my ankles through the grinder. On top of all this, slick-rock is hard to gauge the depth of the rock so you have to focus 100% on about two feet in front of you at all times. You look up and you could catch you foot and fall on the abrasive rock. At this time I had to stop and find the trail markers numerous times. I saw a bunch of people get lost and also saw the leaders heading back to the aid station. At this time I gauged I was in the top 20 or so.
Finally getting out of the slick-rock infused maze, I started down towards the Dalton aid station again. The gradual mild descent down Guacamole was a welcome reprieve to my ankles. I just let gravity do the work and cruised with a 100k dude named Steele to the Dalton aid station. I was again met with cheers and my crew. I filled up on some more tailwind (which I would do for all the aid stations for the rest of the race) and Andrea brilliantly handed me some watermelon water. This stuff was amazing and I highly recommend it. She smeared on a dab of sunscreen and I started across the town road towards the legendary Gooseberry mesa. Steele and I ran through a beautiful desert section at this point and I was feeling ok at about 30 miles in. I thought to myself "I've ran a 100k before, I only have approx 100k left...piece of cake right?" Other people started feeling the heat at this point as it was getting hot. Us Californian boys are used to this though and my training runs in the dead heat of day out in El Morro definitely helped out.
While you are running this desert section, you can see this ethereal trail that climbs up to the top of the mesa. Unfortunately this was what I found out to be the legendary "Goosebump" climb. It was also impossible to run up this trail.  This was my first opportunity to power-hike at my pace. Power-hiking has been somewhat of a weak spot for me, but my friend Matt Kafka gave me some pointers throughout some runs that we have done. His advice is always spot-on and I'm lucky enough to have him as a source for information. I remembered my teachings and kept a high cadence, small steps, and my back straight while I started up the ~1700 ft climb. I caught a few people on the way up. A lot of people in this race seemed to do well on parts that weren't overly "crazy". The really hard ascents and descents are what I love, but I hate running the "filler" miles and find myself getting bored and uninspired by the landscape. I felt pretty good getting up to the top of "Gooseberry" mesa, but now we had another dreaded slick-rock maze. This time it was 7.5 miles. While I really struggled with the slick-rock on this section, the views were amazing. Part of the trail literally took you to the edge of the mesa and you could see all of the Virgin desert. At this point it just got annoyingly hot and the slick-rock had me taking the race director's name in vain. This race "only" had 10,500 ft of gain, but I will say this. I would rather climb an ungodly amount of feet than run slick-rock, slick-rock is literally the worst surface I have ever run on...no joke...worse than actual road running.

Coming out of the slick-rock maze on Gooseberry mesa (Mile ~48)

Another aside, I ran into quite a few mountain bikers on this trail as it is a legendary mountain biking trail. These mountain bikers were the nicest people and had simple yet really inspiring things to say. They didn't have to but I remember two bikers in particular saying "It really tells alot about who you are doing this" and "Just remember the pain and inspiration come in waves brotha!". These little things inspired me along with the landscape to get through this damned section. I came to the aid station pretty drained at around mile 48. Andrea, my Dad and Linda could see I was really struggling after that section. I poured some water over my head while Andrea soaked my buff (a water retaining headband) with cold water. This was a pretty dumb move on my part as my hair was completely covered with salt. It stung the hell out of my eyes. Was I getting enough salt or drinking too much water? These are questions that plague an ultrarunner every second of the race. Visions of coffee-colored pee and hypoantraemic shock have you always guessing and worrying. Andrea walked with me out of the aid station on a long and dusty road. I complained and unloaded some profanity regarding what I was doing and that damned slick-rock. At this point I really was uninspired as cars were going by on this long dusty road out to the Grafton aid station. Some jerks would fly by in cars, making it impossible to breath. Andrea consoled me and told me I was doing amazing. My Dad told me I was 11th at this point. I'm not gonna lie I had pretty high expectations going into this race, like a typical overzealous rookie when it comes to 100 milers. I had some pretty good results in 50mi-100k races, but this....this was completely different and much much harder. I saw Andrea and my parents take off in the truck down the dusty road and I was on my own again.
This section kinda sucked as it was boring, less scenic, hot, and cars kicking up dust all over the place. I took another poop stop and continued on. Some people would roll down their window and cheer you on, but at this point I was really feeling it. I looked behind and saw a woman coming up on me at a pretty good pace. This feeling always gets to me for some reason as I am a extremely competitive person. I try to tell myself it's a long race and competition is fun, but when you're feeling like crap, the last thing I wanted to do was worry about this person coming up.

Blowing kisses to Andrea as she leaves me in the dust.

Finally I got to the Grafton aid station to see Andrea and my folks. They said I needed to eat more, but I thought the Tailwind was doing me good. The woman caught me at the aid station. I came to find her name is Roxanne and she is a hell of a runner. She was looking really strong and it kind of deflated my mood. Was I slowing down or where they speeding up? Another question that plays on repeat on a ultrarunner's mind.

Must get my Tailwind!

My dad told me I was on my way to the Cemetery aid station. I joked that I was going there to die, because I felt like complete hell. I continued on a beautiful little cactus infested single track that led to a steep descent.  I saw the leaders going up, we exchanged words of encouragement, and I continued on the slightly technical downhill. I could see Roxanne up ahead and caught her at the aid station. A cute little girl asked if I would stay at the aid station with her. I laughed and said I wish I could sweetheart. This little nugget of joy brought some life to me as Roxanne and I headed to climb the descent we just went down. It may have been a runnable section, but at mile 58 everyone just power-hiked. This was a section where you could see how close everyone was to you. Two other runners were closing in on Roxanne and I. The second one was a fellow Californian named Ian Seabury that I had ran the Twin Peaks 50 with but never ended up chatting. He was looking pretty strong. (Photos below: Andrea and my Dad with me at the Grafton aid station mile 62.5)

Once conquering the ascent, the trail back to the Grafton aid station was quite pleasant with a nice little steep technical section. The weather was starting to cool and was feeling better by the minute. Roxanne had pulled away at this point. I had thought I put in a good effort, but out of nowhere Ian came in and passed me quickly while I pulled into the aid station. I came to the Grafton aid station feeling pretty good, my crew still telling me I needed to eat more. This was the last time I would see my Dad and Step-mom as they were going to head back to their hotel, whereas I wouldn't see Andrea again until mile 80. I got pictures with them and continued on my way back up that long dusty road with all the cars kicking up dust again.
This was the most mundane part of the race, this long dusty boring road.  The whole time I saw Ian and his orange shirt slowly getting smaller in the distance. I was uninspired at this point, but I didn't want to lose my position any more than I had. I put in a decent effort as I made my way to the Goosebump aid station for the third time.
This is where my race would turn around, those moments that define you're race and who you are. I had wanted to get down the treacherous Goosebump trail while there was still light out. I donned my headlamp just in case and made my way to the trailhead and looked around a little. Someone had a drone hovering ready to follow anyone brave enough to fly down this thing. Since we live in a narcissistic world I figured I'd give them a spectacle. The anticipation of the steep descent and the drone made me feel amazing and I was at mile 68. Suffice to say I literally flew down Goosebump trail (Sub 7 min/mi) while the drone chased me. The dusk was filled with deep pink, reds, and oranges as I descended. (I would really love to see that footage whoever filmed that). It was an amazing experience. I picked off three people including Ian who seemed to have injured his leg at the top of Goosebump. I flew by Roxanne and yelled "I'm back!". She just looked like she saw a ghost, as no one was running Goosebump down. I was feeling amazing at this point and rode the adrenaline all the way into the dark.
The trail to the Virgin desert aid station seemed longer than advertised, but I made it there. Now, at 75 miles, we had three loops that we had to complete in accordance to the colored wrist band we got. First the red loop, then white and blue. At this point the temperatures dropped pretty dramatically. So I donned my jacket. Everyone I've talked to after the race said the white or blue loop was the hardest, but I found the red loop to be literally my Achilles heel...as it would kill my Achilles'. The loop was comprised of a constant mountain bike trail with infrequent rollers ever 3-5 ft. Trying to do this in the dark with 75 miles on your legs feels like the 9th threshold of hell...at least for me. The constant up and down led me to over extend my feet because I couldn't tell where the rollers ended or began. This led to my Achilles tendon being expanded and contracted with strenuous weight time and time again. By this time I could see lights catching up to me. I came into the Virgin aid station the first time kind of pissed off. I hated that trail straight up. By this time Ian came into the aid station also. I guess his leg wasn't hurt after all.My Mom, step-dad, and Andrea were there this time and it helped a lot. At this point I could tell Andrea was getting tired, she had helped so much today, she didn't have to, but man was she a trooper! I had some Top-Ramen noodles, coke, and more Tailwind and took off again, this time the white loop. I knew it was a dangerous game rushing out at the aid stations at this point, but it was late in the race, drastic times call for drastic measures!
The two-ish miles of the white loop were flat single track, so I put a good sub 8 pace effort in to give me some breathing room. The white looped then turned into a another roller show and my Achilles once again wanted to not be associated with me anymore. The lights behind me didn't seem too close at this point, it seemed my sub 8 pace strategy was paying off. I took it easy and got back to the Virgin desert aid station. I stealthily caught my Mom and Andrea off guard as I snuck into the food tent. I just wanted to get going on the blue loop and get this race done at this point. My Mom gave me some warm Ramen broth and Andrea gave me a hug as I went off for the last loop. This is where things would get iffy.
The blue loop had, from what I can tell, everything in it. Climbing, descending, technical, runnable, and a extremely high probability of falling. It's not an ultra until you fall right? I caught my shoe probably more than 10 times on this loop. The doozy is one where I stubbed my toe really bad on a rock with me skidding on my hands to a halt...eh could've been worse. I was wondering why I kept catching my feet on rocks and started to realize I was having strange feelings and minor hallucinatory things happen. Sleep deprivation, extreme fatigue, and colder temperatures were making it really hard on me. I ran the first three miles relatively fast, but as I came to mile 4 my mind started playing tricks on me. I felt somewhat drunk and couldn't follow a straight line too well. Also visions of cows and old Venician black plague doctors with the long-beaked masks with their big hats started to come out of the shadows. I think I envisioned cows because their poo was on the trail a few times, as for the scary looking Venician plague doctors have no idea why. I know it sounds somewhat scary, but at that point I didn't give a shit. Part of the benefits of running these crazy races right? Anyways...I pulled into the Virgin desert aid station for the last time. Ready to head to the finish.
By this time I put a decent lead ahead of the light behind me. I kissed Andrea and hugged my mom and step-dad saying I'll see them in 6 miles. I also saw my friend Vince at this point as he was starting the white loop, we hugged and Andrea got me heading out to the final push.
The last six miles were awesome. For some reason the auto-tuned song of a guy eating a five-guys burger played in my head (Dayum DAyum DAYUM!!). It's a hilarious song and is surprisingly catchy. I felt strong again, no more visions, and I put in some quick miles, but a headlight emerged about from what I gauged to be 5 minutes behind me. Dayum DAyum DAYUM!!!! Whoever this was wouldn't give up! I ran faster, even though my body was finito. Finally I came into 100 West Town Park! It was bittersweet as it was 2:30 am in the morning and pretty much no one except Andrea, my Mom, my Step-dad, a passed out guy in the tent, and three event volunteers were there. I embraced them all and sat by a burning barrel like a bum. My body started shaking uncontrollably as it couldn't deal with the cold anymore. My official time was 20:33 for 7th place for my first 100 miler! Six minutes later Ian came in. I couldn't believe the effort and comeback that guy made. We embraced and had a PBR together and chatted for a bit. We got our belt buckles and traded stories around the fire for a good half hour. From there on me and my crew left and went to bed.
I learned so much from this race, as it was the hardest thing I have ever done in life. It makes all your problems seem so insignificant and love for your family and friends more profound. I gotta thank Andrea who I love so much, she was there crewing me even though she is in her Master's finals week! And people say I'm crazy! My parents were amazing and I'm glad they got a little taste of the stupid things their children do. People say that we, ultrarunners, are crazy, but crazy is relative isn't it? I think crazy is spending 80k on a car that gets you from point A to point B. Huge thanks to Matt Gunn, the bearded race director, for putting on such an amazing, well-organized, and challenging event, Bryce 100 may be in the future!

Running 100 miles just for a damned belt buckle!

Next up is a fun R2R2R run with the OC Trailies in May and then the Cascade Crest Classic 100 in August!

• Gear used: UD SJ Vest, Tailwind Nutrition, Onnit's Alpha-brain and Schroom-Tec Sport, Petzl Tikka headlamp, Buff, Altra LP 2.0 race shoes, Salomon Bonnetti jacket and race shirt, Brooks shorts, Injinji socks, Suunto Ambit 2 S Watch

Cheers,
-Branden