This year was a bit different though. It was one of the most difficult 12 months of my life. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. Pick a life aspect, it was hard. Not a sympathy play here, just a simple statement from someone who’s been very fortunate thus far in this world. In the midst of that I decided to attempt something that I’d been dreaming about for years. A 100 mile race. I could have attempted this sooner in my life, but I wanted an event that was no “lock” for me. Not that a race of that distance is ever a guarantee. But this one was in the Sawatch Range of central Colorado. One of my favorite spots to go adventure over the last decade. Add in having the family, a group of friends, and great weather and I was set up for a heck of a two days. The icing was that one of my closest friends, and partner in crime for multiple adventures/stupid ideas, was able to crew for me.

I knew it was going to get hard eventually. I was prepared to have to get through some tough times that were tougher than things I had been through before. There were plenty of instances where I’ve suffered in the endurance sense. Multiple marathons, 14er days, ascending out of the Grand Canyon (4 miles, 3 hours!). Even in those tough times I had always found a way to get it done. But this past summer my well was not quite as deep. The tough year had taken its toll on me and when things went wrong at mile 22, I wasn’t quite ready for it that early.

With the help of my one man crew I rallied at mile 30, was doing great, then found myself on a mountain pass, by myself in the dark, throwing up the food and needed calories I had worked so hard to get down. I was done. Before my pacer could even join in, that was it for me. For the first time ever I was not going to finish a race. I knew it was a distinct possibility going in. Reality is far different than the abstract thought.

Don’t think I haven’t thought about that moment every day over the last 6 months. A small part of me wishes I would have gone on. See if I could have rallied and gotten through it with the help of a friend. I know it was the right choice given the circumstances and terrain left. It was not my day and that is how it will be. I took a risk, it didn’t work out, and that is fine. It hasn’t felt fine at times, a lost opportunity. Letting down the people who supported me. That was, and has been, tough.

One of the hardest things to do is to listen to your own advice. If it were one of my high school runners or friends, I would say to use it as a learning experience. Screw that. Actually no, there were some strategies I learned to stack the odds in my favor. But I will continue to challenge myself and see what I can do, even if that means some failure.

Before we walked to the car at mile 50 aid station, one of my friends had the presence of mind to pick up a piece of granite (he is the last person you’d expect to embrace running, but he gets the spirit of challenge as much as anyone I know). We were hanging at the house, me wallowing in self-pity of a dropped race and my family and friends enjoying riverside conversation, he handed me the rock. “Bring it back next time and leave it there when you pace through,” he said. It is sitting on my workbench next to some finisher’s awards. A reminder. A reflection. Waiting to be brought back to Colorado.

This is probably the tenth version of this writing I’ve had.  The tab has been open on my browser since at least September.  If you have stories similar to this please let me know.  I’d like to share them. They bring me inspiration too.