The Leadville 100 was last weekend and this is my first blog entry since then. What has been the delay writing? Simple really, I didn’t make it, I dropped at mile 77, tired, cold, dejected and struggling to make the cut offs. What went wrong? Possibly a lack of preparation for this particular event, an inability to handle the altitude of maybe deep down I was a little too confident that at least I’d finish even if only just. “Quitting is a state of mind”, is a quote I often say when things get tough. At 3 am last Sunday, my mind said I’d had enough.

We arrived in Colorado on Thursday morning but during the flight I started to feel uncomfortable after a number of long busy days. As the day progressed, the dreaded signs of a migraine presented themselves more and more, I wondered if it might be just altitude but early on Friday I knew is wasn’t. Except for a brief outing to collect my race number, I remained in bed unable to eat or drink without throwing up. During the pre-race brief I made a hasty exit to throw up outside, hope that no one would notice. It is very hard to walk and hold back the urge to vomit without looking like you have a serious neurological disorder! During the day while Guthrie prepared my things to complete 100 miles, I looked on dreading the prospect. By late evening the nausea has eased and I slept fitfully until 2 am. After 2 cups of black tea and half a bagel, the race started.

I have obviously decided that a finish was the best I could expect, from the beginning I felt tired and was a little concerned about dehydration. I drank as much as I could constantly without over doing it and eat noodles at every aid station where they were available. The going wasn’t as hard as I thought it might be until we climbed Hope Pass. There had been much more road than I expected, in fact the course was much less attractive than I expected considering the location.

Hope Pass left me quite breathless and feeling totally inadequate, several times I had to stop to rest on the climb to the top. It was humbling and a little disheartening to see others appearing to continue to walk up with much less effort. At the Hopeless Aid Station I sat to eat noodles and contemplated stopping at the next aid station – the half way point. Down from the mountain, the course followed a dirt road for 3 miles that felt like it would never end. Finally, at the Winfield Aid Station Guth and I talked about stopping – she wasn’t having any of it; ‘try at least one more section’. So, back up Hope it was, and the return visit was as hard as the first.

Other runners has been passing me all day, I ignored thoughts of concern telling myself to just ‘keep doing what you’re doing’ and press forward. The next aid station though raised the reality of cut offs an experience that I had never been confronted with before in a 100. I had to be out of the station quickly and time to the next one would be tight. The course between the two dragged. Hill after hill, turn after turn, it seemed endless. I was feeling colder as the sun sank and a period of hail didn’t help. It was clear that despite trying to maintain a good pace to generate warmth, I wasn’t consuming enough calories.

I made the next station with time to spare and headed out again. The course was all dirt or paved road to the next aid – I thought this was a trail race! I was shivering constantly and the lack of food was making me feel sick. My lower back around the kidney region ached, which worried me. Was this just stiff muscles or something worse? I met Guth at Tree Line, an unofficial aid stop, changed my shirt and added another windbreaker. It made no difference and at the next station I decided it was time to stop. There was 23 miles to go including a 2,000 ft climb and 10 miles of wind swept lake side to negotiate. The end of my Slam quest was a major disappointment but it isn’t the end of the world at least that is how I tried to justify my actions. Since then I’ve bounced between pangs of regret that maybe, just maybe I could have continued if I had REALLY wanted to and moments of reassurance that I did the right thing. At the end of the day though, those thoughts mean nothing because it is history now. If I want to finish Leadville, it will have to be another year – just don’t tell Guth that just yet as I swore I wouldn’t!