IMTUF 100

If I really think about it, my journey to running IMTUF actually began back in September 2013. Back then, I signed up to run the Bear 100 with a lofty goal of cracking 24 hours on that beast of a course. I was humbled by the Bear that day, as it took me more than 33.5 hours to finish. To this day, I still don't know what happened to me that day. Altitude, weather, or maybe just being out of my league - in the end, I guess it doesn't matter. I just knew I didn't have what it took that day and it has haunted me ever since. I've shied away from mountain races (specifically 100 milers) and hid behind the fact that I live in an area that doesn't allow for proper training. I've dreamed about going back to the Bear to avenge that defeat, but have vowed to do it only when I live near mountains again. 

My mindset changed a bit this year as I stacked two mountain 100ks a month apart early this season, batting .500, with Gorge not going well, but Canyons feeling like a real breakthrough for me.  This lead me to selecting IMTUF as my sole 100 miler for the year. As a Hardrock100 qualifier With a course length somewhere between 100 and 110 miles, and gain somewhere between 17k and 23k, not to mention footing far more technical than Bear, this was not a race to be trifled with.  I expected the brutal climbs and descents to push me to my limits, and I eagerly wanted to discover if I was TUF or not.

Training for this had to be different than for races in the past. Training for Bear was spent largely on the treadmill hiking at 15% incline for hours at a time. That was fine for the ups, but I had no answer for the downhill specific training needed for the extended descents. My legs just weren't strong enough. This year had a big block of speedwork inserted after some solid volume early this season which helped to not only increase my cruising speed, but also to expose me to a different kind pain and suffering and ultimately toughen my legs up to the level they needed. After navigating that without injury, my focus shifted to adding more volume than I have ever done before. At my peak, I ran 300 miles in a month, with three consecutive weeks that had more mileage than I had ever had in a single week before. All while on task force for work, putting in 60-70 hours per week. Fortunately, my body allowed this all to happen.

In typical Frank fashion, I had to travel all over the country prior to racing. I flew from Cincinnati to Portland and back, then to Madison, and into Boise, all in the week leading up to the race. Praying that I didn't get sick, and trying to eat reasonably decent while also trying to eat food that I was so burnt out on after living out of a hotel for the past 2 months was brutal. The trip from Boise to Burgdorf was uneventful, just Christy and I rolling along, missing the hell out of the beauty that Idaho has to offer. After getting setup in our cabin and hanging out for the pre-race briefing, we drove back into McCall for some dinner before calling it a night.  430am came quickly, but I woke up feeling pretty fresh.  Typical breakfast came and went, and with a quick gear check out of the way, I headed for the start line, ready and confident to take whatever the course had in store for me. It was good to have a chat with Jeremy before the start, talking some strategy, but it was quickly time to toe the line and eagerly await the race tradition elk bugle to start the race. I ran the first couple of miles with old friends Emily Berriochoa and Jon Kinzer, but I didn't feel particularly social and as I eased into my comfortable pace, I found myself on my own. Typical. The scenery was awesome. Stunning, would be the best word to describe it. Fortunately, the first 20 or so miles are flattish and the terrain is forgiving, so I was afforded many opportunities to take in and marvel at the sights.  I'm still upset that I didn't bring along a camera.  Mile 17 was the first opportunity to see my crew,  and I was very happy to see Christy, Sis, and Jeb - even if only for a few moments. I didn't need much, only a couple of gels and one water bottle filled. A couple of quick words from Jeremy and I was off toward the first big climb of the day, up to Diamond Ridge. Knowing the climbs would be steep, I brought along my black Diamond z poles. I didn't want to have a repeat of Eastern States, where I struggled with the super steep grinds.  I practiced before with my different packs to be sure that I could store and access the poles as needed and it ended working fantastically for me in the end. In fact, I feel that like I was really prepared for the climbing and the poles were an extra bonus. Going up to Diamond Ridge, I kept moving steady, but I seemed to be going through more water than I had. Cruising on the downhill, the water drop couldn't come fast enough. Finally it did, and I drank 2 full bottles before refilling and heading out.  From this point until Duck Lake (mile 43.2) I basically felt like garbage.  I was nauseous with random puking spells.  Puking is not a usual thing with me.  In all of the races I have run, I've only thrown up once.  I tried not to let this get me down, so I dialed back the effort and focused on the rain that had been falling on us all over the last several hours.  I always look at the shitty weather and think of it as an equalizer.  Most people don't like it, but I feel better in it.  The worse the better.  Making my way into Duck Lake, I talked with Mike Blessing for a few minutes.  I got some broth down and started off toward the short climb leading to a long decent down to Snowslide Trailhead.  I caught up with Tony Huff and shared some conversation on the climb, but decided on the decent I was going to just let go and push hard down to the next aid.  I was dry heaving constantly, but I just kept on.  

I arrived into Snowslide Trailhead at mile (47.8) and spent several minutes trying to get my shit together.  I knew that the climb up Snowslide was nasty, and I had planned from early on that I wanted to crush the climb and then destroy the long decent that followed.  I enjoyed talking with my family and found myself staying longer and longer.  Jeremy was there pushing me to get moving.  I left there with the gear that I needed and feeling better than I had felt for several hours.  I fell into a rhythm, listening to Icky Thump by the White Stripes and pushing hard up the steep and rocky climb.  What followed, was an off trail grunt up to the top where I lost my steam, going off course.  Fortunately, I found my way again, and crested the high point just ahead of a few other runners.  We all stopped at the top and admired the view for a few minutes before starting the long decent down.  I took off, feeling pretty great and ran hard but controlled to the Lake Fork Trailhead at mile 60, where I would see my family for the last time before the long night section across the Crestline.  Jeremy had said in the pre-race briefing to be sure and get our mind right before heading out from this station.  I was still feeling pretty excellent and after hearing about how brutal the Crestline was all day, I couldn't wait to see what all the fuss was about.  The rain was still coming down, and the temp was dropping, but I was moving well.  The climbs didn't seem too bad after what we had already done, and the decents were fairly smooth.  Things seemed on the up for me, until my stomach decided to put the hammer down on me.  The vomiting returned, and with a vengeance.  I found that I not only couldn't stomach any more gels, but even water wouldn't stay put.  I sat on the side of the trail for a bit trying to work through this in my head before essentially walking the remaining miles to the South Crestline AId at mile 67.  I sat in this station for nearly an hour, nursing a small cup of broth and trying not to puke all over the floor.  The rain wasn't letting up and I knew I wasn't going to feel any better, so I grabbed a couple of quesadilla slices and walked on.  It was really slow moving from here to mile 74 where the next aid station was waiting.  While I still couldn't drink or take in gels without reversal, I was able to hike the uphills hard (ish) and jog on the downhills for short periods.  I sat by the fire at Box Creek for probably another 40 minutes, again sipping on a cup of broth.  I was feeling very weak and tired at this point, and feeling pretty disheartened.  All I could think of was back to 2013 at the Bear when I laid in the Beaver Lodge for an hour, broken and battered.  I decided that I wasn't going to go quietly, so I moved my sorry ass out of the aid station and through the rest of the Crestline section.  Despite feeling like garbage, I didn't find the Crestline to be as difficult as I expected.  I didn't mind the solace - maybe I was just distracted by the shitty weather or just focusing on moving forward without puking.  At the North Crestline Trailhead, I joined up again with Alexa, a Canadian runner that I had chatted with on the way up Diamond Ridge.  I don't remember much about what we talked about, but it was the first time I had run with someone since the first few minutes heading up Snowslide, so it was a welcome distraction.  The rain had become a slight drizzle at this point, but the difficulty was with the fog that had rolled in, making would would normally be a nice cruising decent down the road kind of difficult .  I was kicking rocks and trying not to roll an ankle for the next handful of miles down to the Terrible Terrance trail.  Alexa went on, and I walked every damned step of that trail.  I was dragging ass, and really at my lowest point.  I tried to focus on pressing forward, and knowing that when the sun would come up, I would get a huge boost.  After an eternity, I made my way into the Upper Payette Lake Aid at mile 89 and was so happy to see Christy and Sis there.  Again, I sat there with a cup of broth trying to keep warm and see if I had it in me to give a solid push and get this race finished.  Sis gave me some ginger ale and some candy and I began to feel some life coming back to me.  Sis got me some swedish fish for the road and told me it was 5 miles to Cloochman and a mile to the top, before a big cruise to the finish.  I hit the trail, ready to give it another shot.

I kind of broke down a bit as soon as I left the aid station.  It's always hard for me to put on a brave face around my family when I'm feeling weak and anything but brave.  I then felt what I had been hoping for for the last several miles.  I had been waiting for my mind to get out of my way and just let me do what I had trained my ass off for for the last several months.  I started to run, and suddenly, I wasn't tired and weak.  I was running uphill at what seemed like a pretty decent pace and I kept this up all the way to Cloochman at mile 94.  I still wasn't eating or drinking, so I spent no time there and moved through.  One of the aid station ladies told me it was 4 miles to the top and I kind of did a double take, expecting only another mile.  I sucked it up and kept moving.  The trip up to Bear Pete was a pain in the ass.  It seemed highly meandering and it felt more like we were circumnavigation the summit than making an ascent to the top.  The course markings were sparse, and I kept wondering if I was going the right way.  I started to lose my drive and found myself walking more and more.  Fortunately, I made it to the aid station and only stood there for a minute or two, complaining about the last climb.  I realized this wasn't getting me any closer to the finish, so I looked at my watch and decided I was going to push hard and try to finish before 11:30am.  I don't remember much, but I remember expecting the trail to be smoother on the way down.  Fortunately, I popped out of the trail and onto the road without taking any spill.  I finally knew that I was going to make it, and get the 100 mile monkey off my back.  I hadn't finished one since March last year after having to drop at Eastern States last August.  I ran as hard with what I had left and crossed the line at 29:35.  

A long story to get to this point. I'm disappointed.  Even 2 weeks post race, I am disappointed.  I should be happy that I finished 4 hours faster than at Bear, but I can't say that is the case.  I guess that is something I am going to have to come to terms with in time.  I keep focusing on the fact that I came away from this no longer feeling intimidated by mountainous courses.  Sure, I didn't have the finish time that I wanted, but I've recovered incredibly fast and as I think back and try to remove the stomach issues from the equation, I was very prepared for this type of race, and I did it still living in the Midwest where the terrain isn't exactly ideal for training.  Knowing that I will be living in the Pacific Northwest again shortly, and adding in that I recovered very quickly from this race only helps confirm that I have a lot left to give, and am capable of much more.  I'm very grateful for my family for making the trip up and for the support they continue to give me.  Thanks to Jeremy and Brandi for the continued support and also for organizing such an amazing race.  

I'm still pissed that I didn't take a camera....