2021 Cruel Jewel 100 - What a Gem 💎

To jump right into the details of the race, skip down to the “Race is ON” section. But if you are curious about what possessed me to voluntarily sign up for this little “Gem” way back in November of 2019, read on…

The backstory

I’ve always been intimidated by mountain races. My first attempt at one was Old Dominion, with 14,000 ft of gain in the Shenandoah mountain range of Virginia, which ended at mile 87 with a big fat DNF. I did go back for my redemption the following year, but never “buckled” since that required a sub-24 hour finish. Perhaps my humbling there led me to think I am not cut out for mountains. Or perhaps it was my other back-of-the-pack finishes at Bryce Canyon and Pikes Peak (50 milers) or at the CCC-UTMB 100k (which, by the way, was a slower time than it took Courtney Dauwalter to win the full, 100 Mile UTMB in 2019!) Needless to say, all of these underwhelming performances shaped my belief that I am not cut out for mountain terrain. I’m lucky to finish!

On top of these past experiences, where the climbs are never ending, my heart rate is through the roof, and my quads are destroyed, I have always felt a bit disadvantaged compared to those who live out west, with thin air in their lungs and mountain trails on their doorstep. The most “vert” I can get is at a local ski hill (a former landfill) with the “Black Diamond” slope maxing out in a total of 250 feet of gain in a quarter mile. Impressive, I know!

However, after learning about and meeting Mike Dobies my thinking started to shift...

Inspired by Legends..

It’s kind of my favorite story how Dobies and I “met”, because it (involves a little stalking and) takes me back to my “running roots”... which is, I guess, on the same dirt where he made his: on the trails around our workplace. My first introduction to trail running was in 2011 thanks to a pack of ”Trail Dogs”. It just so happens that Mike Dobies was one of the original Trail Dogs, but before my time. Although our time working for this company and running these trails did not directly overlap, Mike was a legend within the running circle. On our daily runs, I heard many tales about this crazy runner named Dobies who blazed those very trails. There was even a section of trail named after him: “The Dobies Loop”. I HATED that loop. Every time the run leader would decide it was a “Dobies Loop” kind of day, I’d curse his name and wonder what kind of freak liked “running” this sort of trail. Because it was NOT runnable. Instead, you were climbing over down trees, with branches and brush scraping at your flesh, along uneven terrain sloping at an uncomfortable grade, down the side of a bank, and forget about keeping a good pace. It was more of a slow walk! I had no idea who this Dobies guy was at the time, but I was not a fan of his style of running. ...Yet.

Well, flash forward to fall of 2019: I had just won Ode to Laz Backyard and then watched as Maggie won Bigs Backyard in 60 hours a few months later. And I realized, if she can do it, why can’t I? I started watching all the ultra running YouTubes and stumbled upon Nicky Spinks and the Last Woman Standing video. Watching that reignited my curiosity about Barkley that I had previously squashed. No female has finished the Barkley…. Hmmmmm. The championship backyard race had just been won by a female. Hmmmmm. My wheel’s started to spin. Why did I limit myself? Now, instead of saying “No way, not me” I started to think, “Well, why not me?”. I immediately texted our BFF-running buddy Ken and told him about my new “plan”. I knew it would take years, but all of a sudden I was empowered and wanted to do it all. Or at least explore it. So I ordered my copy of Tales From Out There and started my research.

As I was devouring the history of the Barkley Marathons and feverishly making notes on the pages of my favorite sections, I came to Chapter 16. Five paragraphs in, none other than Mike Dobies from Michigan enters the scene and I immediately threw my book on the ground in disbelief.
Could this be the very same Mike Dobies the Trail Dogs spoke of? How the heck did a flatlander from a neighboring town in Michigan run Barkley? I pulled up his Ultrasignup Account and began stalking. Holy cow, what a resume 🤯!! Dobies not only ran Barkley countless times, but he WON the “Fun Run” at his debut attempt in Frozen Head. That same year he also knocked out Hardrock 100 AND the Massanutten Mountain Trail 100. All 3 of these races rank as the top hardest ultra races in the US, and maybe even in the world (at least in my book!). I remember seeing the elevation profile for Hardrock once and laughing out loud, “Yea, right, no chance in Hell I’d ever do that! Who does that!?” Well, Dobies did… 9 times!!! Oh and back to his Barkley resume: he is one of only 5 all time Barkers to complete 6 Barkley Fun Runs. This guy was no joke... and I needed to get in contact with him!

So I reached out to a Trail Dog friend at work and asked if this was in fact the same Mike Dobies we “knew” and if so, if he could he put me in contact. Sure enough, it was the same crazy nutter I’d heard about and I was instantly fan-girling. I needed to know how Dobies trained in Michigan to be able to conquer such massive mountain races. I figured he must be superhuman, but couldn’t wait to pick his brain anyway.

We scheduled to meet up for Happy Hour a few weeks later. I had stars in my eyes and pretty sure I didn’t stop smiling the entire time. I soaked up everything he had to say, I even made notes 🤓 in the back of my Barkley book because he had such brilliant tips - things I’d never thought of - from how to treat a blister to how to how to cope with chafing mid-run. This guy was tough and had seen some stuff and I had a lot to learn. When the conversation shifted to Barkley, he laughed me off a bit. I knew I wasn’t cut out for it, but he basically affirmed it in so many words or less. I walked away from that 6-hour Happy Hour completely lit up and motivated to prove him wrong one day. I had consumed only 2 beers from 4 to 10pm and I didn’t even notice I was starving... because Dobies had fed me.

He inspired me to try hard things… To practice running in the cold, in the dark, alone, at night, in unfamiliar territory. He told me I needed to get comfortable being uncomfortable, and it was like a light bulb went on inside of me.

Getting out of my comfort zone…

Cruel Jewel would be my opportunity to practice being uncomfortable. It is called the “Hardrock of the East” because it is comparable in distance (106 miles) and elevation gain/loss (33,000ft). The only difference is the altitude. But where it lacks in altitude, it makes up for in Georgia heat and humidity.

Unfortunately, the 2020 race calendar didn’t play out as originally planned thanks to a little global pandemic, however in hindsight, I think it was for the best to get an extra year of training and confidence under my belt. 2020 consisted of 3 backyards (1 virtual, 1 Ode, 1 Bigs), 2 spontaneous hundred milers (Canal Corridor & Desert Solstice), and my biggest year of training thanks to the GVRAT (Great Virtual Race Across Tennessee) and flexible remote working.

Race day approaches…

Coming into 2021, I was really looking forward to Cruel Jewel finally taking place. I was now more familiar with the distance and time-on-feet, so the 48-hour cut off didn’t scare me as much as it originally did. But the mountains and total elevation gain (which adds up to more than ascending and descending Mount Everest) still terrified me. What if my legs are toast in the first half and I DNF again? What if the heat is too much? So many things can go wrong out there, no matter what the race course is like.

Running an ultra, you can never be 100% certain of success. And I guess that is exactly why we do it... to prove to ourselves we can, even if we are not sure.

I couldn’t predict how race day would pan out, but I did my homework and felt as prepared as one could be going into it. I really enjoy putting together a race sheet 🤓. If you enjoy geeking out like I do, feel free to check out this link to my sheet: Cruel Jewel Race Strategy. Doing this helps me visualize the race before I even get there. I map out the segments, estimate the pace for each based on the gain/loss, time of day, and mileage, and start to get an idea for what I’m up against. I had a relatively aggressive but “doable” strategy in mind. I took a look at the finish times from prior years, read a few race reports, and thought perhaps I could compete well enough to take a top 10 female spot... Maybe?! In the worst case, I’d crawl in before the final cut off on noon Sunday, 48 hours later, but even if I came DFL it would be excellent training for Ode to Laz, AND I’d get a special DFL crown! 👑

There were 4 of us signed up to race: Me, Andrew, BFF Ken, & Ode Friend Zach. We all shared a house together with our crews and spent the days leading up to the race relaxing and re(over)thinking our drop bags. Except for Ken. Ken never has time to relax. Ken and his lovely wife Kate and their kids started their road trip south late Wednesday. It turns out their adorable 18-month-old, Charlie, isn't a fan of car rides and voices (or rather, screams) her opinion about it. The Nielsen family eventually arrived after 8pm Thursday evening, and all was well in the end, but I’m pretty sure running the race the next day was easier than the commute to the start line!

Friends Annabelle and Bruce with their son Aidan, also made the trip down to crew and pace us. I talked Annabelle into doing the back half with me (all 56 miles). And Bruce, although new to ultra-trail running, was eager to take a leg or two with Andrew. Even though they had never officially crewed or paced anyone before, I knew having them along for the journey was going to boost us tremendously. They brought all the enthusiasm in the world, which is all you really look for/want from a crew team. I was excited to share the experience with them, as every race is special, and even more so when it is shared with others.

The Race is ON…

The race didn’t start till noon on Friday, but by a little after 10am we were too antsy to sit around at the house, so Andrew and I headed to Vogel State Park. We met Annabelle and Aidan there for packet pick up. Poor Bruce had an unexpected visit from a stomach virus the night before, so he was resting up to hopefully feel better in time to pace. We all sat around and visited as we nervously watched the time go by with a few trips to the bathroom (for nervous bladders) mixed in.

Finally with 5-10 minutes to go, we all head toward the start line. And stop at the bathroom one last time. As I’m waiting in line for a stall to open up, Liz Canty is washing her hands at the sink. I froze, a little star struck. I can't remember what she said in the moment, it’s all a blur, but then she looked at me and said, “Sarah, right?” Gobsmacked I responded, “Yeah! Liz, right?!” Thankfully a stall opened up so I could flee, but as I retreated I told her good luck and that I’d see her out there! I immediately felt so dumb and flabergasted at the same time. Liz Canty, Barkley badass knew who I was?! WTF, that was cool! Someone pinch me! I was pumped.

Thanks to Covid, we were separated into waves, and for some reason Ultrasignup ranked me higher than Andrew and Ken, so I got to toe the line in the first wave with all the elites. The adrenaline was already pumping standing next to power broads like Liz Canty and Sheila Vibert (winner of MMT100 2019 and a load of other ultras) when Andrea “Cali” Kooiman (a multi-Badwater 135 mile finisher) told all the girls in our wave to huddle up for a selfie “since there were only like 30 of us [females] racing”. I tried to play it cool and after she snapped the picture told her to “tag me”. She nonchalantly replied, “I’d have to find you first”, and laughed. The imposter syndrome in the back of my head was raging loudly but I tried to block it out. I wanted to be worthy of my spot in the first wave. Afterall, nothing is certain…. What if these girls don’t have “their day”, and what if it happens to be mine?? ...Why NOT me?

That fantasy faded quickly. Right out of the gate it was clear, I was not “one of them” and it was probably not going to be “my day”. The pace they took off at was ridiculous, the vert became very real, and I found myself getting passed by runners from the later waves in no time. Even though they started in the last wave (9 minutes after me) it only took Andrew 6 miles (and Ken 8) to catch and dust me. I was happy they were running strong and flying up the hills, but I was a little disappointed in myself for struggling so much and not being able to keep up. Then again, I was hitting all of my predicted aid station times pretty much spot on, so I decided that maybe the guys were going out too fast again, and they’d blow up eventually.

Getting lost at Fish Gap…

I knew the first (and last) 15 miles would be the most brutal of this out-and-back course, so I held on knowing once I got it out of the way the course would hopefully ease up a bit. I loaded up and set off from the 15 mile aid station feeling fueled and excited to take on the next section. As I headed to the trailhead, I saw a runner just ahead, halfway up the hill. Another. Freaking. Hill. Which was no surprise, at this point. The course is either up or down, so you quickly learn to accept your fate. I tucked in and started knocking it down, one step at a time. Dare I say it was getting easier? Toward the top of this climb, the runner I had been trailing looked back and asked “Hey, have you seen a race flag? I haven’t seen any in a while”. I looked around and realized he was right, but on the tree ahead there were official trail markers, so we weren’t “off trail”. Maybe we were just in between flags? We went a little further. When we got to the top of the climb the trail had deteriorated significantly and no other runners seemed to be coming up behind us. It was time to either turn back or figure out where exactly we were. I had a feeling we were going in the right direction, but I didn’t know the area. I tried pulling up the Trail Run Project app but I hadn’t downloaded the maps of Georgia (fail). My new lost friend Josh and I peered down the hill and could see a trail along the base of the hill with a person in bright orange running along. I started to scream to them, “HEY ORANGE GUY ARE YOU A RUNNER?!”, but they couldn’t hear me. It was too far. We could’ve bombed down the side of that hill and tried to rejoin with that runner, but what if they were just a hiker not part of the race? We couldn’t be sure, and didn’t want to risk going farther in the wrong direction, so we did the safe thing and ran back. Back to mile 15 aid station. But it was now mile 17 according to my watch. Ouf.

After notifying the volunteers at Fish Gap that they needed to block off the trail we had just gone on a pointless out-and-back on, Josh and I set off on the correct trail intent to make up for our snafu. Josh and I had been yo-yo’ing from early on. His hike uphill was stronger than mine, but I’d always catch him on the downhills. We started playing “tag” with each other as we each took the lead on various stretches depending on the slope. Now, we finally hit a stretch that was relatively flat and runnable so we settled into a nice steady rhythm. We also knew the daylight was fading and wanted to make it to our drop bags at Wilscot Gap (mile 25) before nightfall so we kicked it up a notch.

Annabelle, Bruce and Aidan were waiting for me at the first crew point - Skeenah Gap (mile 20). I sent them a message to let them know I was two miles behind after taking that little detour, but feeling good. The long downhill into that aid station was fun and I checked my watch to find I was only 15 minutes “behind” my goal race plan (and tried not to think about how I might’ve been an hour ahead of the plan, had I not gone the wrong way!) Annabelle was super positive and didn’t let me hang around long. She didn’t want me to dwell on the mishap and literally kicked me out of there on to the next segment. I disappeared into the woods, and hollered at Josh to catch me back up.

What’s funny is, as a runner you bargain with yourself while you’re out there, in between aid stations. When you are pushing or suffering, you tell yourself - “Get to that next aid and then you can take a break”. After “getting lost” and backtracking, we pushed hard. And the whole way, all I could think about was getting to Skeenah, sitting down and taking a breather. But in reality, as soon as I got there, the boost I got from seeing my crew, and all the people smiling and cheering us on around the aid station was all I needed to forget about that, and press on.

Skeenah Gap to Wilscot Gap: Taking a moment to reset

However, halfway up that next stretch of trail, when there was no one else around and the mind shifted back to “Damn, this is hard” and “Damn, that really sucked”, I found a rock and sat for a minute. I decided I needed a little recharge, so I allowed myself to eat my entire Almond Butter biscuit without moving. That felt good.

As I got up, I could see my buddy Josh coming up the trail below. It’s always nice to have company. We carried on as we had the last stretch. Pushing to make up some time, chasing the sunset and getting to know each other a little. It was an absolutely gorgeous stretch at that time of day. The sun was beaming through the trees, setting the greenery it touched on fire. I wanted to stop and take a picture, but it wouldn’t do it justice and we’d hit a good flow. We crushed another big long down hill into the Wilscot Aid station just as dusk was hitting, perfect timing. It was drop bag time, and still only 15 minutes “behind schedule” at about 8:45pm.

My crew was on top of it, like an Indy race car pit stop. Kate helped me strip and change into my night clothes while Bruce and Aidan filled my bottles and brought me food from the aid station. At the same time, Annabelle was removing my shoes and socks and tending to my feet with Monkey Butt. She even went to the next level and rubbed the powder into my feet, making sure to get in between my toes. That’s love! I don’t know if many people can say they have a friend like this, but I definitely realize how special she is and how lucky I am to have someone that’s willing to get near my feet in the middle of a race, let alone touch and massage them!

They updated me with how the guys were doing (Andrew was a couple hours ahead of me now), fed me some broth and noodles which didn’t go down so well, and sent me into the night lit up like a Christmas tree thanks to the Kogallas. It was 10 minutes past 9, so I lost about 25 minutes there, but it was needed. Something about changing out of wet clothes from the day and getting into your running “PJs” that resets you and allows you to carry on into the next phase.

Wilscot Gap to Old Dial Road: Taking it slow with my new friend Amy

Although the next aid was also a crew point, I told everyone I was all set, and specifically wanted Annabelle and Bruce to go back and nap before pacing us at the turn around. Thinking they had headed back and that I was on my own for the night (at least for the next 25 miles) I settled in and figured I didn’t have to “push” anymore. I’d beaten Josh out of the aid station again, so I was on my own for a minute, until another runner caught me on a climb. I let Amy pass me because I didn’t feel like pushing up that hill, but as she passed I could tell she was struggling. I inquired, and she said she had tweaked something early on, so she was going to power hike it, at least until the halfway point, and then reassess once she got there. We got to chatting and I really enjoyed her company and her pace. Even though we were walking the ups and the downs, we were still moving at a decent clip. And it was dark now and pretty technical anyway, so I just latched on. I didn’t have anywhere pressing to be and it was really cool getting to know her story. Towards the end, I couldn’t hold back on the downhill anymore, and told Amy I had to take off and stretch out my legs. I never got to thank her, but I think that “walk break” was the recharge I didn’t know I needed. Talking to Amy was so refreshing - she’s a gem. Thanks to her, I was able to let go of the earlier set back, connect with another like minded human, and really enjoy what I love doing.

Old Dial Road to Stanley Gap: The sun goes down and things start to heat up!

I cruised into Old Dial aid to find Annabelle cheering away. That naughty thing. I told her to go rest, but she showed up anyway! I felt bad because that last 5 mile stretch took ~2.5 hours, but she was more concerned with getting me back out on the trail and didn’t let me waste any time faffing around in the aid station (again!). I tried to tell her all about walking it out with my new friend Amy and how lit up I was now - and that I was feeling really good and ready to crush the rest of the night sections, but before I knew it I was on my way again, waving farewell to my incredibly dedicated crew.

I still find it so bizarre how I come alive at night, but then again, I’ve always been a bit of a night owl. The next section was 6 miles of road. All uphill, but gradual, until the very end where it gets steep. As a flatlander, raised on roads, this is where I excel, so I was excited. At this point, I was in 20th place (females) and 146th overall, but I didn’t know this, and didn’t really care. It wasn’t about that anymore. This was the biggest, hardest race I’d ever attempted. The early sections didn’t go as planned, but they were behind me now. I would finish one way or another and I didn’t care how long it would take. If Amy could carry on injured, I had no excuse!

On the road, I found my legs and a second wind. I was flying by runners and a little worried I was going too fast, but it felt so good I just went with it. The road was my domain, I was going to enjoy it while it lasted. In that 6 mile stretch, I passed 17 runners, and each one added fuel to my fire. The battle was on. Until all of the sudden I spotted, in the middle of the road, a big skunk staring me down.

I stopped abruptly, as I wasn’t sure if it was going to attack and definitely didn't want to get sprayed. I looked behind to see if anyone else was coming, but I was all alone. I flashed my headlamp at it again. The skunk wasn’t moving, and I needed to get moving! As I started to move forward slowly, I used my poles and started banging them together to scare it off. It didn’t budge. As I got closer, the skunk magically transformed into a puddle. Oh boy, the hallucinations were starting already... This was going to get interesting!

Although my eyes were playing tricks on me, I felt like finally all my cylinders were firing and I was knocking down the miles. I didn’t even notice that it was all uphill! My focus was on getting to Camp Morganton as quickly as possible so Annabelle didn’t have to wait as long by herself. I knew Andrew would be picking up Bruce for a couple sections, and he was about an hour and 45 minutes ahead of me at this point. I thought maybe I could reel him in a little as he usually starts to fade in the back half of races.

Stanley Gap to Deep Gap: Crusing into the leaders

At Stanley Gap (mile 37), I saw a girl that had passed me earlier looking dismayed and warming herself by the heater. She was ready to turn in her Bib, but the volunteer wouldn’t let her, yet. I tried to talk her into carrying on with me to the next aid, but she refused - she had no gas left in the tank.

On my way to Deep Gap, I was cruising along when I saw a headlamp approaching. At first, I thought it was a crew person or volunteer backtracking the course perhaps to help a fallen runner. As the person got closer, I noticed it was a runner. I thought, maybe they dropped something on the trail and were headed back to find it. As we passed, I asked “Did you drop something?” The runner briefly looked back and then carried on. I don’t think he heard me clearly. Then I realized what an idiot I was. That was the first place runner, on his way back to the start. Duh. And wow, I was still 10 miles from the turnaround, which meant he was 20+ miles ahead of me! Dang.

When I got to Deep Gap, the aid station was buzzing. I ran into the Legendary, Liz Canty, sitting in a chair with her pacer standing next to her as she nommed some mashed potatoes. She was looking pretty beat up, but she too was on her way back already - meaning she was ~17 miles ahead of me. It was cool to get to chat with her and tell her what an inspirational badass she is.

Deep Gap to Deep Gap and Camp Morganton…

The next 10 miles flew by rather smoothly. Right as I was headed out of Deep Gap the second time, I ran into Andrew and Bruce who had just come from Camp Morganton about 2.7 miles out. This meant they were less than 6 miles ahead of me - about an hour and a half - so I’d made up some time. This excited me almost as much as the big road downhill ahead, until something started shaking loose inside of me. So typical. It was time for #2, and I was on an open and exposed road section. I thought about holding it until I got to Camp, but it was too uncomfortable. Instead, I found a grassy spot on the side of the road and turned off my lights. A return runner approached and I prayed that he wouldn’t notice me, but sure enough, his headlamp shone in my direction right as I was in the middle of doing my business. Now typically, as a runner you know when someone is off trail what they are up to and politely look away and keep your gaze forward as you pass. Well, maybe this runner didn’t realize it was another runner at first, because he kept looking back and lighting up “the scene”. Then he asked if I was alright! To which I embarrassingly replied, “Uh, yea… just um… taking care of… some shit”. I mean, hello?! Why else do you think I’m off the road crouched down like this??? C’mon, look away, dude!

I got to “Camp M” (as AB called it - since she couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out how to pronounce “Morganton”) around 4:45am - 45 minutes behind schedule but was now 12th female and 111th overall. I didn’t know this at the time, but I’d picked off 35 people over those last 20 miles. Now that I’d made it to Camp, all I was concerned about was picking up Annabelle and cruising home. Except when I walked into the building, Annabelle was nowhere to be found. But Ken was there! I said hey and asked him how he was doing and if he’d seen AB. Apparently she’d just run out to the car to grab something.

I had been warned about how warm it is at Camp and not to get too cozy, so I retreated to the corridor where the drop bags were and started restocking my pack out there. Annabelle appeared, as bright and as energetic as ever, apologizing for “missing me come in” and immediately jumped on refilling my bottles. I brushed my teeth and told her I wanted to get moving before I got too cold. Within 10 minutes we were off and told Ken to catch us on the downhills.

Heading back to the start with Annabelle…

AB took off like a racehorse down the road. I was eager to fill her in on all my stories, but had to pause when she’d get too far ahead and wait until she’d walk and let me catch her back up. Eventually, she accepted my snail pace and settled into the “ultra-shuffle”, as well. I was excited to hear all about her crewing adventures with Bruce and Aidan, and all about how the boys were doing during the first half. Apparently Andrew had struggled with some nutrition issues early on, but figured it out and was pushing forward steady and strong. Meanwhile, Ken had only just arrived at Camp less than 10 minutes before me and was looking a little disheveled. I knew he’d pull through it though.

Daylight started to break on the Deep Gap loop and the miles were flying by as we chatted away. After punching my bib for the second time, the volunteers at Deep Gap hooked us up with the best PB&J sammies I think I’ve ever had as well as a couple of clutch wet wipes that were applied in some key places. Feeling *refreshed* in multiple ways, we carried on.

From there it’s a BIG 2.5 mile climb up followed by an even bigger 3 mile descent into the dreaded pointless out-and-back section to [B]eaver Creek aid station. The only exciting thing about this section was getting to see Andrew and Bruce again. They were 2.5 miles back up the climb from Beaver creek when we ran into them, which meant they were only 5 miles ahead now. After a quick smooch and a tip from the guys to get down on some ramen noodles at the bottom, we parted in different directions. I asked AB if she thought they looked “OK”. Bruce was a little pale and Andrew seemed like his energy was fading, too. It all became clear when we finally got to that section of the trail on the way back up, and I understood why they looked so rough. It was a monster climb that felt never ending. At the same time you have to keep dodging the oncoming traffic which now included the 50 milers who were bombing down the trails on fresh legs. Oh wouldn’t that be nice. I think it was also during this long uphill grind where Annabell noticed the salty-sweat-line “mountain range” on my ass. She was spending a lot of time back there and was starting to see things herself!

The Hunt Begins…

The next four checkpoints were crew-accessible aid stations during the hottest part of the day. It was really nice seeing Kate and the kids and reunite with Ken briefly at Stanley Gap (mile 69) as he finally caught us after bombing like crazy on the downhills like I knew he would. The new day seemed to bring him new energy and I’m sure the cuddles from Charlie helped, too!

Back on the trail, “one aid station at a time” was the main focus. That is, until a runner up ahead became visible. Then, the focus became hunting them down and passing them. At the same time, if a runner started gaining on us from behind, AB was sure to scope out their bib and “reassure me” that it was “just a 50 miler”. Her subtle comments were precisely the nudge my competitive side craved. With each person we passed, she’d give me positive feedback in the form of “Nice job, you’re moving great” and it kept me pushing.

When we came to the 6 mile Old Dial road stretch (mile 75-81), I was optimistic, knowing it was all road and pretty much all downhill. However, it also happened to be the hottest part of the day with no shade and the sun was blazing. And naturally, it also happened to be when my stomach decided it needed to empty itself again. Of course, on the open and exposed road! But at this point in the race, I couldn’t care less. I found a bush in front of someone’s house and did my best to bury it. What else can you do?

We still managed to pass two more girls on this stretch, and as we were coming into the Wilscot (drop bag) aid station, Annabelle was already coaching me on not spending too much time there in order to keep the lead. I decided my feet were fine and wouldn’t need a shoe or sock change, but I definitely needed to get out of the long sleeve shirt that kept me warm at night, but was now roasting me.

Thankfully Kate was there to help me undress, again. AB grabbed a few hot dogs for us that went down great, which was surprising considering the heat. Usually when it’s that hot it’s hard to eat solids like that, but I went with it. I loaded up my pack with the last baggie of fuel I’d prepped for the final 26 miles and we headed back into the woods. As we did, I noticed the girl we had just passed on that last segment still taking her time getting aid.

Staying Present (or trying to) and Small Victories…

The whole day with AB had gone pretty smooth, but from the start of our journey together I agonized over how terrible the first 15 miles of the course were and expressed how scared I was to endure it again in the reverse direction. I tried all sorts of pep talks to myself and held onto the hope that maybe the second time around wouldn’t be AS bad. AB reassured me that we would get through it, so I held on to her confidence and tried not to think too far ahead. All I needed to think about was getting to the next aid, or passing the next runner.

As we approached the last crew-accessible aid station, Skeenah Gap (mile 85.4), I could hear the welcomed noise of people from the road just ahead. At the very same time, I spotted another female runner just ahead and I instinctively picked up the pace. Annabelle’s giggle in reaction to this made me smile and kick it up even more. We chased the girl to the road and were right on her heels when out of nowhere a set of steep stairs were required to exit the trail onto the road. So focused on my prey, I misjudged the stairs and found myself sliding down them on my butt, right behind her. The onlooking crewers laughed and cheered and reassured me no one saw, as I laughed at myself, dusted myself off and resumed in a sprint toward the aid tent, passing the girl I had been in hot pursuit of and beating her there by 5 seconds.

It was a stupid small victory, but the game of chase was making this back half really fun. I was smiling ear to ear and catching my breath as I refilled my bottles, when the lovely Kate walked up to offer assistance and tell us Zach had finished 9th overall! I set my poles down to grab some food, while Annabelle did the same. I was looking forward to this next section. It would be the last “good” section before the dreadful final 15. I was happy to stay and soak up the moment a little longer, but Kate nonchalantly gestured toward the trailhead and said, “Hey, by the way, that was the 5th place girl that just left. Go catch her.” I looked at Annabelle and I could see the fire in her eyes, as well. She was standing between me and my poles, so all I said was, “Grab my poles, let’s go!”

I grabbed two cheese quesadillas and stalked toward the trailhead. Annabelle was not far behind, but in a matter of seconds someone came running from the aid station, and I heard Kate yelling “Sarah, Sarah you forgot your poles!” Thank goodness for crew!

I wolfed down the quesadillas as we power hiked the first climb out of Skeenah. It’s one of the bigger climbs, about 1,000ft of gain in a mile and a half, but I was moving good and Annabelle’s gentle encouragement, “You are crushing this hill”, was all I needed. That, and the hope of catching “5”.

Amazing the difference a day can make…

I didn’t put it together until now that this was the same segment of the course where I had gotten lost and tacked on two extra miles, just 24 hours prior. It was on this same segment that I let go of any goals or ambitions I had previously set for myself for this race. And here I was, one day and 88 miles later, reinspired and hunting down my competition.

And there she was, up ahead, moving slowly up the steep grade. We were motoring along and as soon as she was in sight, it was just a matter of time. As we approached, she stepped aside to let us pass, and looked at me and said “Good work!”. She was looking a little perplexed and pretty gassed as I smiled at her and told her to keep it up! I was overcome with emotion as we pressed on, but tried to play it cool. We still had 19 miles to go, but I get goosebumps even now remembering that moment.

The rest of that segment we pushed. I mentioned to AB that I was looking forward to seeing if the volunteers at Fish Gap had listened to me and blocked off the trail I’d fallen victim to the previous day, and sure enough as we approached, there was now red tape blocking the entrance to that trail. As nice as that was to see, the realization that we were now entering the final 15 sunk in. The next 7.3 mile stretch was going to be the worst. And then the next 8 after that, would be worser.

We loaded up all our bottles and got out of there fast. I didn’t want “6” to catch us back up. Annabelle was still gung-ho and positive as ever as we set off, but she quickly started to realize what I had been bitching about as we pressed on. It’s hard to adequately describe this section and it’s level of suckiness, because at the same time, it is one of the most beautiful sections of the course, as well. And this time, the sun was setting and it was absolutely gorgeous. I knew we had about an hour of daylight left and wanted to get up and over the first nasty 2 miles of the section, so we cranked some tunes on the JBL Clip speaker and got to work. At the top, we stopped to take some pictures that will never do that sunset justice, but I can still see it just as vividly in my mind as we did that night.

The last 5 miles of this brutal 7 mile section would be done in the dark. It became comical how ridiculously technical and frustrating this section was. When you have over 90 miles under your belt, running a flat surface is difficult - so this was just insane. I was relieved that Annabelle was cursing the rocks and showing signs of struggling a bit. At least I wasn’t making it up and now she could understand what I had been through and why I did not want to go back!

Fire Pit to Finish: Shared suffering and shared hallucinations…

There’s something oddly comforting about suffering together. During these last miles, there were stretches where we didn’t talk, but having AB muddling through alongside me in silence helped me push harder than I probably would’ve on my own. It’s also cool that now we can look back on this shared experience and remember in vivid detail the horrors we endured together. What’s even cooler is that during this final stretch, we also experienced shared hallucinations. I’d shine my light ahead and swear I saw the side profile of a man sitting on a log by a lake, and Annabelle agreed, “Yep, I see it too, but that’s not real, it's just leaves”. Another time I saw a photographer off on the side of the trail with a long black camera lense pointing at me, but it was just a stump of a tree that had fallen over.

The trippiest hallucination and still to this day I cannot understand how it happened, was in the final 8 mile stretch. We were in and out of Fire Pit (mile 98, or 100 if you’re me) aid station pretty quick. It was demoralizing to see my watch hit 100 and know I still had 8 to go, but luckily I was too tired to think too long about anything, and quitting wasn’t an option. It would be one last big climb, followed by 3 miles down, and then the water-only aid followed by the last 3.7 miles to the finish. The steep climb sucked. I didn’t really remember it from the beginning, but it was a whole different ball game coming at it from this direction in the middle of the night. Every rock was loose. And I think the traffic from all the runners and the 50 milers trampling though made it like running through a giant play-place ball pit. But instead of light airy colorful balls, they were sharp heavy rocks that sucked the life out of you. I flipped countless rocks up against my own ankles and bashed my poor toes so hard in these final miles. A few times tears almost started flowing. But before one could slip out, I’d hear Annabelle behind bash into the same one, and this distracted me from my own pain. She was hurting too. She was exhausted and sleep deprived, too. And she still stayed positive. “We’re doing it!” she’d say. “It’ll get done.” One step at a time.

But when my watch hit 104 and we hadn’t reached the last stupid unmanned aid station of water jugs, I was starting to get pissed. I let out a few loud screams and grunts and continued, willing the bridge over the river with that little folding table with water on it to appear. This was when I looked ahead and saw another runner in the distance light up the trail and low and behold it appeared! Without saying a word, Annabelle said “Oh look, a bridge - is that the aid station?!” I couldn’t believe it, “Wait you see it, too??” And then it was gone. We had both hallucinated the aid station in the middle of the woods. But how? Annabelle had not even seen it before?! That was completely bizarre.

I decided to call Andrew. He had just texted that he’d finished and I needed someone to whine to, or at least something to do to pass the time. We spoke for a few minutes, and I complained that the water aid station was never going to appear and all of the sudden we came out to this road and the surface of it was moving like lava. I told him I was starting to really go on a trip now, and he told me to take the smelling salts - that one sniff would get rid of them. I had done one earlier in the day during one of the trail sections when I got a little sleepy and I knew they’d wake me up, but I didn’t want to scare the hallucinations away. They were entertaining! Beyond that, Andrew was sounding a bit useless and brushing me off so he could nap in the car. And just then we came upon the final water station. Hooray.

From there the last 3.7 are a bit of a blur, aside from the final mile of road through the park to the finish. We could smell the finish now, but that last mile seemed WAY longer than it did right out of the gate. It was nearly 3am and the campground was peaceful and calm and it started to sink in. We made it. The torture session was over. 38 hours and 40 minutes earned me a giant dinner-plate sized belt buckle and proof that I am capable of doing the hardest of things. And so what, it wasn’t a podium finish... I battled from back from 151st place overall at mile 20, to 71st place at the finish. AND originally I was aiming for a top 10 female spot but somehow snagged 5th, so I’ll take it! Thanks again, AB, for going hunting with me. I’ll never forget it!

The Epilogue: It’s over, but not for Ken…

After finishing and chatting with the race team for a few minutes, we asked them to check in on Ken to see where he was at. He’d checked into Fire Pit around 1:30am and they said it was taking most runners on average around 5 hours to complete those last horrendous 8 miles. When I realized that, I was shocked. I asked how long it had taken us. They were impressed that we had done it in under 4 hours.

Knowing Ken still had some time out there to battle, we headed back to the car to wake sleeping beauty. I collapsed into the passenger seat and said “Take me home” and the bewildered Andrew took a moment to figure out what planet he was on. Realizing he was not quite awake, and impatient as I am, I said nevermind, I’ll drive and got into the driver’s seat. I was wide awake after all, and it was only 10 minutes home. As I pulled out of the park, I suddenly realized how out of it I was. The road was pitch black, no street lights or traffic, and it just looked like a black hole. I felt stoned as I pulled out onto the main road, and was confused which lane I should be in. Luckily it was 3am and no one was on the road. It wasn’t a mile before Andrew insisted I pull over. I had been pinballing between the rumble strips and could not stop hallucinating black cats leaping out of the side of the road all over the place.

Andrew took over and we made it home, somehow. Poor Annabelle was probably petrified in the back, but she just rolled with it. She was probably too exhausted to care at that point.

When we got back, we stumbled inside, showered and attempted to go to bed, but instead it turned into a few hours of moaning as our legs throbbed. Poor Andrew was wrecked. I was feeling it, but not as bad. What hurt the most on me was my elbow, oddly enough. My triceps took a beating from the poles. More than anything though, I was concerned about Ken. I think I slept for an hour at most and woke up thinking about how he was still out there and I wanted to be there for him at the end. I was also a little afraid he was going to be furious over that last section, and could not imagine battling through a second sunrise, alone, through all THAT.

I told Andrew I was awake, couldn’t sleep, and was headed back to the start. Of course he got FOMO and wanted to come along and took forever hobbling around to find clothes and shoes. I grabbed our traditional celebratory Stella’s and a cold Gatorade, and we were off. Thankfully there were no more black cats and with the daylight, I was able to keep it between the lines.

We picked up our shattered soldier and he greeted us with a delirious half-smile. Thank goodness, he was not mad at me! Instead he was rambling away, probably also in disbelief about all he had just gone through to get to that finish line. My favorite part of seeing him in that state was his recount of the final few miles, and how he was having a full blown conversation with himself. Until he realized he was talking to himself. Then he apologized to himself and explained he was simply out of mind!

We didn’t make it out of the park before sleep finally took over and Ken was out. I could see his head bobbing to the side in my rearview and smiled. I was thrilled we had all made it. We would all have our own stories to tell about the “Cruel Jewel” and how we all conquered it in the end. What an incredible adventure, and what incredible friends to share it all with... I could not have asked for a better race weekend.

Now after we've had some time to recover and reflect, it's pretty cool to realize we did the hard thing we originally thought we had no business even attempting. We proved to ourselves we were capable of tackling an incredibly challenging course. Maybe Hardrock 100 wasn't so impossible, afterall? I guess we have no choice but to put in for the lottery and see if we are lucky enough to find out!