#racereport

[scrawnsenior]

Cadwell Park Ducati Cup Rd6

The Lincolnshire circuit with its undulations and mix of corners is one of my favourites. The conditions also suited me. A damp free practice and less than ideal conditions in qualifying meant I was where I needed to be straight away. 

I have been putting the miles in this season and it appears to be paying dividends. Confidence in the bike is high and I feel like I can push that little bit harder knowing I can trust the set-up and tyres. I had a little tumble at a club meeting test day a few weeks back but if I am honest that’s exactly what I needed. I pushed a front tyre to the limit of wear and beyond, down I went. I now have a good idea of how hard I can really go with the front before it lets go. It also meant that I could show the current technicians how to replace a Giamoto rearset and a full set of R&G crash protection on the right hand side of the bike. Positives from Negatives and all that!

Free practice was exactly as it suggests so no pressure to perform. Thankfully I had a set of well worn wet tyres on some rims so chose to use those. The track was pretty wet but a dry line was increasing as the session progressed. I went as hard as I felt was appropriate but with everything to lose and nothing to gain I saw no point in crashing just to be up there on the time sheets. P11 with plenty more left if conditions were similar for qualifying or a race. 

As it turned out the weather played a part in proceedings on Friday and our qualifying session got moved to Saturday morning in place of our warm-up. The right decision to make as the surface water for the Superbikes was terrible and clearly riding in those conditions was unsafe. This meant we finished fairly early on Friday and I had chance to fit a new Lighttech adjustable brake lever and give the bike a good once over. Decisions on gearing, fuel load and suspension all made. All we could do was wait and hope the weather improved by morning. 

The rain continued into the early hours and with our qualifying being the second session on Saturday it was always going to be a tough decision on tyres. I had a walk to look at the track and it was still very wet in places but I knew it would dry fast. My instinct was telling me to put wet tyres in the bike but from experience I knew that the right call was otherwise. Brand new Pirelli Supercorsa dry tyres went in but I stuck with my wet gearing. Conditions were difficult so I took a while to get going, as did most of the other riders. As the track started to dry the lap times came down. My fastest lap came on my penultimate circulation and had it not been for another rider backing out of his lap at an awkward place right in front of me I think my fastest would’ve been my last. P11 yet again and I knew I had more left at race pace on a dry track. 

 Race one and I got a reasonable start and managed to draw up level with my teammate by turn one but it wasn’t quite enough to get by. I made up one place off the start but it didn’t last and at the end of Park straight I got passed by both Cheetham and Couzens in one go. It unsettled me a little and I lost a bit of ground to them both which meant I had a lot of work to do catching them. I could see by my board the gap to the bike behind was growing so I concentrated on catching Dan Couzens. The gap to Dan stabilised to around three seconds in the early laps and it seemed like a huge undertaking to reel him in. By lap ten I was within half a second and I could see back markers coming to us. I knew that I could capitalise if it went wrong for Dan so tried to get as close as I could. We caught Andy Booth through Halls Bends and we both got by between the Hairpin and Barn. By now I was on Dan but couldn’t quite work out where to pass. As it happened he made a mistake exiting the bottom chicane before the Mountain. Wrong gear for him meant a split second for me to get by. I made it stick and and got my head down to get clear. 

I tried to ride defensively onto Park straight to force him to ride around the outside at the end. Even so, he squeezed in on the right in the braking zone but I knew he would have to work hard to haul it up and not run too deep. I waited a little then cut back on the inside before Chris curve. I knew he wouldn’t get another chance before the end of the race so concentrated on hitting all my marks to keep him at bay. P10 after a lot of hard work was rewarding and to get it after catching and scrapping with Dan made it an enjoyable race. 

Sunday was a long day. Our race was the last race of the day so we had been given a warm up. I wanted to try a few things and warm-up was the ideal chance. I had a fairly new (to me) technician so a full gearing change meant he got to see how to change a front sprocket and measure swing arm length. My dry gearing was 14/42 but I wanted to run a slightly shorter swing arm to help with direction changes so a change to 15/45 was required. Same ratio and shift pattern but hopefully slightly more responsive on changes of direction. 

No issues in warm-up except I was unsure of gearing. I still felt like I wasn’t quite riding quick enough to make 14/42 or 15/45 work. It felt a little lazy in places. I had all day to make a call so left it until about an hour before the race. 

Last race of the day is always tricky. Mindset changes slightly over the course of the day. As a team we try and pack up as much as possible prior to the race so the sense that it is all over before we even race often comes through. That said I made the call on gearing and went to 14/43 so was keen to try it and see if I could put in a better lap time. 

We spent a fair while in pitlane prior to our race due to the formalities after the Superbike race. Podiums and winners parade laps in the car all have to take place before we are allowed out. 

Away for the green flag lap and I got the sense my teammate had a bike issue. That was confirmed when he pulled up at the bottom chicane to look down at his bike. Further tinkering on the grid from him had me worried and I could only hope it was nothing too serious. 

Away well again and I held 12th from 12th on the grid. What was promising was keeping the leaders in sight. Middlemas went down on the opening lap at the bottom of the mountain so I crossed the line in 11th and more importantly, in front of Couzens. I could already sense it was going to be a long hard race so I did my best to not make any mistakes. I could see my teammate a little way in front of me so I was relieved his bike issues weren’t too significant. 

My board was telling me Dan was closing me down. Half a second as we crossed the line to start lap five. Exiting Charlies two I made a mistake and got on the throttle a little too early, pushing me wide and heading for the grass, I had to roll the throttle for a split second. That was enough and I knew Dan would pass me. The gap increased to just over a second but again I knew back markers were coming to us so I grafted to get back on his wheel. We caught Booth between Mansfield and the Chicane. Dan committed to going under him into the Chicane but backed out at the last second. This meant both he and Booth were slow on exit whereas I had run in to the Chicane fairly quickly. I went for it and squeezed between them before the bottom of the Mountain. I knew Booth was on my right and getting ready to tip into the corner. Turns out Booth did tip in behind me and almost had Dan off as he followed me through. 

Dan fought back of course and I think it was the end of that lap he tried to pull the same move into Park Corner on the brakes. Again I anticipated he would run a bit deep so cut back under him. I think he was expecting it on that occasion and he tried to pull it back to block me. Very close racing but great fun. Next challenge was another back marker into Mansfield. This time it was me being indecisive. I went to go under Thrower into Mansfield but felt it was just a little too late to go for it so backed out. Hard on the brakes and down an extra gear to get the drive out of the corner to pass him before the Chicane. I kind of hoped Dan wouldn’t get through so I had a little breathing space but he made it too. He then proceeded to chase me for the whole of the last lap and true to form he dived under me on the brakes into Park. He made it stick and although I thought about pulling a move at the Hairpin after he made a mistake over the Mountain I decided that a top ten for both of us was better than ending up in a heap at the second to last corner. Discretion the better part of valour, as they say. 

A good weekend of racing with Dan and another two top ten finishes to my tally. Tangible progress and to be within 35 seconds of the winner is a big thing for me. I didn’t quite get into the 1:33 lap times but a PB with a low 1:34 was still good. Chipping away getting closer to the front with a bike that is sorted makes a difference. The two technicians that worked on the bike this weekend left nothing to chance and that showed with the results. One hundred percent confidence in the bike means I can focus on what I need to do out on track. 

Assen next and another circuit I like, hopefully keep the momentum and try and get into the top ten in the main championship.  

Images Barry Clay. 

[meand703-blog]

Race Recap: TriBoulder Beast Aquabike

What: TriBoulder Beast Aquabike

Where: Boulder, Colorado

When: July 22, 2018

Distance: 1.2 mile swim, 50 mile bike

IM Boulder 70.3 is only 2 weeks away at this point. Although I live 10 minutes from the bike course, I refuse to train on it because of road traffic. This race’s bike course closely matched most of the HIM course, so I thought it would be great practice. Although it wasn’t closed for race day, at least I would be cycling with a bunch of people.

So that was my plan: just treat this like the last long training day before the HIM. Having this mindset really calmed me down and I felt relaxed the whole time before the start. The swim went relatively well. I took my time, but still managed to eek out about 1:45/100m. If I can stick to around 40min for the HIM, I’ll be happy and it will mean I have fuel in the tank for the rest of the race.

Once I hopped on my bike, I had to keep telling myself that this was a training day and to relax. I have the tendency to try to overdo it when people are passing me by the droves, but I focused on my breathing and repeated “this is just training.” 

The course was broken up into 2 laps. My first lap was fast especially after that initial long stretch of false flat. By my second lap, I hit a headwind that lasted the whole time which slowed me down as well as impending soreness. I had to take a quick water and stretch break at mile 44 which really got me through the last 6 miles. I overheard some people talking about how once they stop cycling, it’s really hard to start back up in a race. But for me, a very quick stretch break makes a huge difference. I plan on taking quick stops during each aid station during the HIM for both the run and cycle.

This was my first Aquabike, and the absolute best part was going into T2, running out, and then immediately running through finish and being done. I’m definitely going to do this distance more often since I’ve noticed that, although I love it, running is the sport that causes me the most injuries.

Overall, I was happy with my bike time, but I will definitely have to push a little bit harder for HIM. My soreness on the bike was caused mostly by outside factors like my bike seat and shoes, so I’m planning to push a little more during the HIM to try to shave some time. I did feel like I had more in the tank for a longer run, which is good.

My goals for this race were to practice the bike course and work on nutrition as I’m switching to all liquid. I was able to accomplish both!

Plus I won 3rd in my AG and got a sweet medal. I left my cycling sunglasses at home and had to cycle in my “going out” sunglasses, but they worked surprisingly well even if I did look like a dufus. 

[racemym]

#RaceReport #OGShark #MattYoungMotorsports We had a successful and also challenging weekend at the #SCCA #HoosierSuperTour #LoneStarGrandPrix at #COTA. After Jason scored a 2nd place #podium in Race 1 on Saturday, our transmission broke while we raced for yet another podium finish in Race 2 on Sunday. We will be back even stronger and #faster at the next #race! 🦈 #TeamOGShark #MYM #signaturewheel #essex #mtechnik #BMW #E92 #M3 #bmwmotorsport #bmwm #bmwe92m3 #racing #racer #racecar #sportscar #mpower #roadracing #CircuitOfTheAmericas #ATX #Austin Photo Credits: @redcasephotography @windupphotos @ugosplodes (at Circuit of The Americas) https://www.instagram.com/p/CLVWTZ9JFF7/?igshid=6hoztgzemg23

[itskiyahbitch]

This UK is a joke. Looking like this Uk ain't for Us/Me anymore.

Very soon alot of black people will leave this UK.

This place doesn't deserve us at all.

Very cool that the BBC is just,, propaganda posting this morning

[james-moves]

Smiling , before it all went wrong . not going to lie Saturday's race was a bit of a write off . muscle cramps from about 7k in and IT band issues that stopped me running for the last 3-4 k , just about finished 17k with over 500 metres of elevation but a lot to be learnt from this one . - - - #veganrunners #runner #trailrunning #fellrunning #lakedistrict #workout #fitness #racereport #inov8 #athlete #training #badday #instagood

[missylizzylucy]

I blogged about my {mentally} challenging race yesterday over on @restonstyle and I’ve brought up my takeaways from it to my swimmers several times this week. . 1) when you don’t feel good, do it anyway 2)when you fall, get up 3) when you want to quit and just run home, keep going 4) when it feels hard, let It. Enjoy the hard work. 5) when you’re struggling, let a friend lift you up 6) walk when you need to walk, fly when you feel like flying, just keep doing the work. 7) the results will always take you by surprise at the end. . Check out my full, two year review on the blog! . #latergram #racereport #runner #running #showyourpr #prr #halfmarathon #restonstyle (at South Lakes High School)

[coachstephanieholbrook]

IMAZ 70.3 is in the books. Race report coming soon #imaz703 #racereport #comingsoon (at Tempe Town Lake) https://www.instagram.com/p/CGkVjHTAq-I/?igshid=17xuy7j45e9vw

[swimcyclesprint]

Now that it's the off season... finally working on the reports. MONTE RIO Olympic race report finally up! Link in bio. | #monteriotriathlon #triathlon #triathlete #triathlontraining #racereport #russianriver #monterio #raceday #throwbackthursday #tbt (at Monte Rio Triathlon)

[fullstackme]

Race review: Runfest Richmond Marathon (15/09/2019). Alright, so this was my first marathon in the UK. Having done an HM in 1:33 this spring and doing another round of training during summer, I was aiming for sub-3:00 ideally, or, closer to reality, anything between 3:00 and 3:10 at very last. Four weeks back before the race, I passed my peak of 110 km a week and started tapering, reducing mileage & adjusting the nutrition. The week before the race was quite light, though looking back I think I could make it even lighter. On race day, I felt super excited and full of energy. This played a bad joke as I took the front group of runners aiming for sub-3:00. Many of them began way too fast, so I quickly reached my LT since I was heroically trying to keep up and bridge the gaps. Wish I had that energy after 30th km when 3:00 pacemaker took over me, and here I made another mistake trying to follow the pace group, which was obviously running faster than what I could afford at that point. This falsy move made me dying last ~5-7kms, all the way to the not so glorious finish. 3:05 in the end: thanks to some advantage I've built up in the beginning, but still could be better, live and learn. Organisation was great (despite the usual lack of parking in London), so were the spectacular Kew Gardens & Richmond Park. #marathon #running #london #richmond #runfest #racereport #racereview #firstmarathon #marathonuk #olddeerpark #kewgardens As always, don't forget to check out the complete report in my blog. (at Kew Gardens) https://www.instagram.com/p/B63qdHjD3A8/?igshid=wukwh2q32wkz

[valofthevilla]

#racereport #imwaco703 T2, Run . Pt 3 I tried running through T2 but holding the handle bars on my bike while running in cleats was causing my neck/shoulder to tighten. I felt like it was starting to spasm so I walked in and STRUGGLED to get the bike up on the transition bar without pulling or straining a muscle in my neck. 😖 Everything else went smoothly, I lost the arm warmers, had a GU and drank some more. I had to do a mandatory bathroom break and lo and behold, a LINE at the portapotties. 🤦🏻‍♀️ I ran out of transition in typical trunk for legs form but as I approached the waters edge, I felt fantastic. The weather was perfect, I noted the change in the course. They spared us, I thought. Last time, less than a mile in, we were climbing up this surprise hill and we all looked at each other with a “WTF is this hill?” look. Now, fully prepared for said hills, they came later. But not much later. 😕 My pace quickly came to a screech even though I pushed to run up as much as possible. This proved to be a horrible idea. The tightness from the wind on the bike was not isolated to my neck, shoulders and back. It also made my hips, glutes and hamstrings so tight that my IT band was as stiff as a board causing my knee to inflict incredible pain on me. I probably could have bought some time (and distance) had it continued to be a flat course. But running up that first hill was enough to ruin what I thought would be an awesome run. I managed to run as much as I could, walk up the hills and fly down the hills until my knee just stopped liking the flats too. I tried stopping and stretching. Walking through aid stations (and beyond). There may have been some crying at about mile 7 when I thought I would have to walk the whole thing in. Now, I have a pretty high pain tolerance, I’ve run through an entire half marathon injured before. And PR’d! 😳The pain I felt I can best describe as someone pushing a screwdriver into the side of your knee. Lovely, right? I felt like if I pushed too hard, I might collapse and not be able to finish. And hell nah... Cont in comments (at Ironman Waco 70.3) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4yqrSDgCGG/?igshid=8hl68ospxb3v

[msteechur]

The Portland Marathon was my second marathon of the year, in fact my second in 2 years. I am registered to run Chicago, but with New York so close after, I can’t take time off for both. So I chose NYC of course! Portland replaced Chicago. Roy and I walked to the start line from our hotel, which was conveniently less than three blocks away. We arrived around 6:15 for the 6:30 start. We wondered aloud why no one was in the corrals. Then the announcer announced that we had to have our drop bags in by 6:40. Okay, so attention to detail has not been my forte lately. About 5 minutes later the announcer announced race time was at 7:10. Back to the hotel for half an hour. Damn, could have slept in until 6:00! Mile one I immediately noticed pain in my left foot. I wasn’t cconcerned. I’ve I’ve learned anything in 121 marathons it’s that pain is rarely linear. It usually works itself out unless it’s a true injury. I knew I didn’t have an injury so I expected it to subside at any time. The race course was changed this year. The good: It goes through a lot of quirky and fun neighborhoods. I really enjoyed seeing the diversity of the different areas of Portland. No more out and back on St. Helens. The bad...no more St. John’s or Steel Bridges. We did tour some of the not so savory parts of Portland. As far as how I felt, other than my foot that really hurt from mile 0 to 22 and then for some reason zero pain until 24, I felt good. Yeah, I got a little knee pain towards the finish, but it was more effort pain than injury pain. My goal was to finish upright and smiling. My reach goal was under six hours (I have seriously slowed down) and my pie in the sky goal was 5:45. I finished in 5:57:17! That is quite a bit faster than my last marathon. Other than my foot, I felt fabulous. After the finish line I saw Roy through the fence and got a kiss. Then went through the food area and got some water and my rose. Three different men came up and shook my hand because we kind of played cat and mouse the entire race. That was nice. Oh and I got TONS of compliments on my outfit, including being told I was for sure the “best dressed in the race”! #racereport #pdxmarathon https://www.instagram.com/p/B3S_FrpgnBe/?igshid=3lhru1ctz7tj

[scrawnsenior]

2019 Ducati Cup underway. 

Another season started with this amazing group of people. I have handed over the THR instagram to another member of the team so that will free me up a little at the meetings to concentrate on the task in hand. It will also mean that the instagram feed will be a little more real time rather than images being posted retrospectively. You can find it here: 

https://www.instagram.com/trueheroesracing/

It also means I can put a little more time into my tumblr to keep everyone updated. 

The first race meeting of the year is always a bit manic with finishing touches falling into place and everything settling in. Our team is all voluntary so we never know until the weekend starts who we are going to get. This season there are plenty of new faces joining us which is a good thing. A race weekend is a big production so having plenty of hands on deck (team manager is Royal Navy so that’ll keep him happy) is essential. There are quite a few people missing from this team image, they left a little early before the final tear down. It’s always a challenge getting everyone who helps out into a group photo but this will probably be the biggest number we manage to get in one place at one time. 

From a racing point of view it was a mixed bag for myself and the other riders. We ran three bikes at Silverstone for the opening round. Two Ducati 959 Panigales in the Ducati Cup and a GSXR1000 in the Superstock 1000 class. Myself and Dave “Salty” Sellers are pretty much guaranteed a race so our qualifying is more about grid position than actually getting to race. Jim Walker who rides the SSTK1000 bike has a tougher time. The early meetings are always over-subscribed for the amount of grid slots so qualifying is the order of the day. Jim has had bike issues the last couple of outings so never really got up to speed on the new bike. This meant that by the time the niggles were sorted it was his qualifying session. Needless to say, without valuable track time prior to his qualifying he was on the back foot. He didn’t qualify to race but at least the bike issues are solved and we can look forward to the next round at Oulton Park. 

In the Ducati Cup qualifying session I never really got my finger out and only managed to secure 24th on the grid. A good 1.5 seconds off my pace from last year. Salty was up to speed straight away and managed a good solid 9th on the grid. 

Race 1 of the weekend didn’t quite go to plan for me. Having done one outlap and two green flag laps I was all fired up to make a bit of progress and get up to the riders I usually run with. I got a cracking start and passed quite a few riders before turn one. That’s when it all went a bit pear shaped, as I pushed the right handle bar to turn in there was very little resistance and I had to sit up and run wide off the track. Turns out the bar had sheared half way through at the clamp end. With it hanging on by a thread I limped back to the pits and that was my race over. Although it was disappointing I count myself very lucky it happened where it did and how it did. We will never know why the component failed so there is no point dwelling on it. Salty had a better time and ended up finishing 8th which is the best result the team has ever had in a National race. 

Race 2 Grid positions go off fastest lap time for race 1 so Salty dropped down to 10th on the grid and I was relegated to 33rd and had a lot of work to do. This time fortune favoured me but Salty went down early on in the race with a high side just before coming onto the Wellington straight. Big hit to his head but he got up and staggered away. I remember seeing his bike and visor lying in the track as I went by so I knew he’d had a knock. Bike was ok(ish) and he was fine. I got a good start again and managed to pass nine riders on the first lap. Things then settled down and the work started to catch the group in front of me. All were riders who I would normally be battling with but they were just out of reach. Prior to the race I knew that if I didn’t get near them early on I would struggle as we are all on the same bikes and running roughly the same lap times. I was mindful that to crash would be a blow to morale so the urge to push was somewhat diminished, especially having seen my team mate go down. Perhaps the wrong mindset to have but a finish was required to set me up for the next meeting. P33 to P19 was ok and although I was .5 second a lap slower than last year I was happy to bring it home. 

Next round is Oulton Park in two weekends time so preparations have already begun. The team vehicles are stored in different locations so depending on where the next meeting is dictates where they are stored. All have gone to the respective locations and once our shop stock and victuals are replenished we should be good to go for a little visit to Chesire. Oulton Park is also the first meeting for our Sidecar so the workload will increase slightly. 

Action shot by Barry Clay. 

My HJC Helmet provided by Oxford Products and custom sprayed by Dylan from Dr Kolor. Sponsor Logo is Kinetic6

[jordanbryden]

Well - first off- Ironman Barcelona is a flipping amazing race. World class setting, beautiful course, and affordable accommodation right next to the race start. Highly recommended you check it out. Today’s race was a return to pro Ironman racing with 3600 age groupers and 70 guys originally on the start list and about 50 showing up. The speed of the swim caught me a bit off guard- I came out of the water a bit back of my usual split but ended up on the front end of a group of 20 guys. I knew there was no chance at getting away on a flat course like this but wanted to stay up front to avoid any risk of crashes. Riding felt strong and I was pretty happy with how I strong legs coming in to the second transition. On the run I stuck to my game plan and went out slow. I really felt confident after moving up the field - and was sure a top 15 or top 12 was possible- but I obviously made some mistakes with my nutrition somewhere - and it came back to hit me pretty hard with 17km to go. I got moving again a bit but had faded out of the top 20 despite still putting together a 8:35 race. Glad to be back in the mix of things at a high caliber race- but now just SO HUNGRY FOR MORE! . . . #ironmanbarcelona #imbarcelona #triathlon #triathlete #gotri #dare2tri #trilife #roadtokona #swimbikerun #racereport #getoutside (at Ironman Barcelona) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3SNS2yJOLk/?igshid=y1libg7hnc3m

[benrunnerpants]

Flying feet from London nearly two weeks ago. Not really run since. What I have done is write the run report. Check it out at www.benrunnerpants.wordpress.com an insight to the whole weekend up in that there London. If you have a read it would be great to know your thoughts. #asicsldn10k #newblog #runner #runnersofinstagram #flyingfeet #wordpress #racereport #lonelygoatrunningclub #ukrunchat https://www.instagram.com/p/B0sZdaDnbG6/?igshid=cllivtkxg2gx

[slotwinski-fit]

Yesterday’s #southdublin10k was a big success :) I haven’t done much speed work before but still managed to go below 40’ - ran for a glorious 38.59 minutes -super happy and looking forward to half and #kbcdublinmarathon in coming weeks! It was also lovely to meet strong @polishrunnersclub representation ! 💪🏻🏃‍♂️🇮🇪💚🇵🇱#kbcdublinraceseries #kbcdublinmarathon2019 #dublinhalfmarathon #running #runningmotivation #twitch #twitchstreamer #twitchgamer #runner #race #raceday #racereport #fitgamer #fitnessmotivation #tri #triathlon #biegacz (at Grange Castle Business Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/B0O8vQ9ItkM/?igshid=17n1bajq6y6fp

[ievenranthisfar]

RACE REPORT // Bryce 100: Returning For Revenge

Seven years ago I discovered Utah.

I don’t mean like Mormon-level-discovered Utah. I just mean, like, I personally discovered it. I somewhat drunkenly convinced my old college roommate Matt to sign up for the now-defunct Slickrock 50 outside Moab. A few months later, as we wound our way over undulating waves of slickrock on the rim of canyons in the middle of expansive, desolate desert, I realized something: I was hooked.

Southern Utah is an alien planet. It’s Mars on Earth. It’s the most endlessly fascinating terrain in North America, and some of its most brutal too. Since my first experience, I return every chance I get. I into big, burly mountains. But I’m totally spellbound by Utah desert.

Matt Gunn, the founder of the Ultra Adventure Grand Circle Trail Series, understood that. It’s been his mission to get more people out to explore this far-flung corner of the country. In 2013 I took him up on the challenge, being so enthused, I signed up for both Zion 100 and Bryce 100 just six weeks apart. Zion was the best race of my life. Bryce was the worst.

At Zion, I ran a fast race all day, finishing in 17:55, a mere three minutes off first place. But, I was so focused on Zion that Bryce ended up an afterthought. I just assumed it’d be a beautiful course, pretty much as “easy” as Zion. And since it was the inaugural year for Bryce, no one knew any different.

What we got instead was one of the most sneakily brutal courses I’ve ever experience. You pay for the occasional mind-blowing viewpoints with a leg-grinding, brain-mushing, oxygen-depriving hell of route. I’ll spare you the details, but the end result was my first and only DNF. I made it 74 miles before I couldn’t breathe, stopped eating and got frozen cold. At that point, the idea of running another marathon was simply impossible to wrap my mind around.

But this year, when I realized I needed a Western States qualifier AND I had to get it before the arrival of our kid, the ole Bryce 100 suddenly seemed more inviting than it ever had. I signed up and decided it was time for revenge.

Cut to race morning. 

Photo by Patrick Sweeney 

About 250 of us are standing around, waiting for this thing to begin. I have a weird feeling. It’s not nerves. It’s more like, I don’t want to be there in the first place. Half an hour before, as we drove to the starting line, Dom, Katie and I had gotten lost. We had no idea where we were going. Inside of me, a little pang of hope said, Maybe I won’t have to actually run this thing.

But, lucky me, we found the start. I’d have to run this thin after all.

“Two minutes till we start!” the RD yells from his perch. I move towards the starting line, and see something I’ve never seen before: Everyone is standing five feet behind the line. Weird. No one wants to toe the line. I thought this was a race? I say to myself and step up to the line. There’s the “10… 9… 8…” and in a blink, we were off. Me, five feet in front of about 249 people.

Photo by Patrick Sweeney

I take off strong but not particularly fast. After a couple miles on dusty, flat dirt roads, the course turns off onto undulating, windy singletrack that screams in and out of draws. I pop a few peeks from the other side of the draws and find that I’m already about four minutes up on numbers 2 and 3.

Thunder Mountain Trail is one of the most magical stretches of trail I’ve ever run, and I have good memories of it from last time—perhaps my only good memories from last time. After careening through the bright red, ponderosa-speckled draws like some kind of dusty rollercoaster you suddenly hit them. Hoodoos. Big, alien pillars of red, pink and white sand. It’s as if Earth spontaneously sprouted its own Easter Island heads.

I go screaming through the hoodoos, stop to take my customary first-10-mile shit off the side of the trail and then carry on, dropping down onto the Grandview Trail.

The vast majority of the race takes places on Grandview, although the trail varies dramatically from wide, rocky ATV trails to barely-there, bushwhacky singletrack. This would be my life for the next day 20 hours or so.

I roll up to the Thunder Mountain Aid Station (mile 10.5) as the volunteers are still unloading a few things and ask for some fruit. Instead, I have to go into the tent and open the food myself. But I guess so are the pains of being the first to the aid stations.

With some very fresh orange slices in my belly, I lope off towards Proctor Canyon, already a few minutes ahead of my splits. The next section is a good kick in the face, dusty drops and climbs as you weave your way along the base of the plateau, snaking over a series of canyons. As I bomb down the stupid-steep singletrack, all I can think is, Shit. I have to run back up all this shit in about 75 miles.

This is the precise moment when I realize that out-and-back is 100% objectively the absolutely worst format for a 100-mile race. I’ve done HURT with it’s five 20-mie jungle loops. I’ve done Big’s Backyard Ultra with 4-mile loops every hour. But 50 miles out and the same 50 miles turned 180 degrees? Woof woof.

I come into the Proctor Canyon Aid Station (mile 19) a bit knackered but overall, feeling good. Dom and Katie are there waiting for me. A welcome sight after running by myself for nearly 20 miles. I’ve gained another five minutes on my splits.

“I’m kind of surprised I’m winning,” I tell them as they stuff fresh gels into my pack. “I don’t feel like I’m running that fast. I’m just running really comfortably. But the weird thing is… that’s as fast as I can run.”

I’m running at the very edge of what I could but I was nowhere near red-lining. The altitude was acting like a governor, keeping my effort comfortable and in check. Whatever works, right? I still can’t believe I’m leading.

And boom, just like that, I’m not leading anymore.

Another runner comes shooting through the aid station and out the other side. The feeling I experience isn’t disappointment. Oddly, it’s relief. Phew. I don’t have to be in the lead anymore. I can just run my own race.

Out of Proctor, I wind my way through scrubby meadows and soft pine forests, eventually climbing up to the very top of the plateau. At times the trail is faint, at other times, it clings to the side walls of dusty draws by the skin of its teeth. Finally, there’s one last nut-kicker as you push up to the top of the plateau and the Blubber Creek Aid Station (mile 28).

Another aid station, another time waiting on food. “Do you have any fruit?” “Oh, we can cut some up for you.” “Uhhhhhh… yeah… that’d be great.” So I stand there, again, waiting for them to pull out more oranges and cut them up. A couple minutes later, I shoot off into the forest again.

The top of the rim offers jaw-dropping views for miles and miles. It’s the first time you get a taste of the rugged cliffs you’re running along. Strangely, I have almost zero recollection of this from four year ago. I was basically blacked out the majority of the race. So, this discovery is a rather pleasant one. Oh, it’s really beautiful up here.

Just a few paces out of the aid station, I caught sight of the other runner who had passed me back at Proctor. Not wanting to jump back into first just yet, I trail him for a bit, staying a comfortable pace behind and watching. I can tell he’s starting to falter.

It’s early afternoon, and the day had grown intensely hot. It looks like he’s running with one only bottle. Not smart. Last night right as I was going to bed, in a super-last-minute-OCD change, I threw in a third bottle to carry between Proctor Canyon and Blubber Creek just in case. I can feel my bottles bouncing on my chest. I’ve nearly sucked all three dry. So I know this guy in front of me is in serious trouble.

Right around mile 30, I pass him back on a climb. I’m back in the lead. Damn. Have to remember, I’m running my own race.

At Kanab Creek Aid Station (mile 36) I’m in and out fast. Now, the descent down to Straight Canyon Aid Station at mile 41 and a chance to see my crew again. The sun is blasting full-bore by now, and I actually think to myself, Thank God for AC. I know how to run in the heat. I feel bad for everyone else.

After a few miles later, and I burst out into a clearing to see a massive aid station below me. At Bryce 100, Straight Canyon is the jam. And it’s hopping. After all the quiet miles by myself, it feels good to finally get some big cheers from the crowd. But more importantly, it feels good to cool down.

Dom and Katie go to work immediately. I get ice-cold Moroccan mint tea in my bottles (my new secret weapon), an ice bandana around my neck and a full soak-down compliments of Dom. It’s UH-MAZING. I feel like a NASCAR at a pit stop. And a couple of minutes later, I bound off, feeling pumped up, cooled down, and like I can kick all the asses. By now I’m about 30 under my 22-hour pace. As my dad says, ha cha cha!

Photo by Joel Livesey

I set off for the big climb up to Pink Cliffs Aid Station (mile 46.5) and the highest point of the course, around 9,400 feet. It’s the single most-sustained climb as well. But man, I feel fan-friggin-tastic. After I half-mile, turn off the dusty country road and bound up through a little patch of woods I’ve dubbed Secret Forest. From there, it’s a turn onto another dusty dirt road and climb. Then turn onto doubletrack and climb. And finally bushwhack your way up the last few hundred feet on a sleepy, shaley hillside and climb. I surprise even myself by running nearly every step. In my race plan, I had budgeted 1:50 for these 5.5 miles. Instead I do it in about 50 minutes. At the top of the climb, a volunteer greets me with a “Holy smokes, man! You’re flying!”

More pineapple in my belly compliments of the 10-year at the aid station, and I drop down the—you guessed it—dusty, rocky road towards the turnaround point. Of course, all I think is, Dammit. I have to turn around and run back up this shit.

Down, down, down I go.

Now, this is where the course map gets deceiving. On paper, it looks like you just drop into the turnaround point at Crawford Pass (mile 51.5). No. Not true. You have what amounts to a super gnarly, nearly cross-country slog on overgrown singletrack, over fallen trees and across rocky, chewed up washes. Ah yes, I remember this. I think to myself. How awful.

By now, my ankles are starting to feel pretty beat. Like, baseball-bat-beat.

Imagine you’re an ant, and you’re trying to run across a field of chunky, hunky vomit. All six of your ankles would be wrecked. That’s how I’m starting to keep.

After what seemed like an eternity in the hot sun, I arrive at Crawford Pass.

“I’m definitely a bit knackered,” I announce to Dom and Katie and the loud Australian woman working the aid station. “But I’m waaay happier than the last time I was here.” I flash back to four years ago when I plunked myself down in a red camping chair and tried to (unsuccessfully) wrap my brain around doing everything I just did, but now in reverse. Snapping back to the present moment, I feel tired but excited to still be winning. In fact, I figure, I must have had a pretty good lead at that point.

With another quick patch-up, Dom and I set off for the long return trip to Straight Canyon. I have a pacer now, which is normally nice, but a small bit of dread flashing in my brain as I realize I’ll have to huff and puff and summarize 51.5 miles of the day, all while running back over all that chunky vomit.

Photo by Dom Grossman

On the way out, we pass the second-place guy about 10 minutes from the aid station,. We figured I have about a 23-minute lead. There a bit of a gap and then bam, bam, bam, bam. Four or five other guys all another 5-10 minutes off second place. It’s a little tighter than I thought. It might turn out to be a race after all.

Photo by Dom Grossman

Up and over Pink Cliffs, the sun beats down on us mercilessly. By now, I’ve developed a new technique with my ice bandana: Once it’s mostly melted off but was still nice and wet, I slip it under my hat, letting it dangle over my head to make my own makeshift Marathon Des Sables desert hat. It looks silly, but I’m in Fuck-It Mode at this point.

Photo by Dom Grossman

Coming down the bushwhack/shaley section from Pink Cliff, I really start to feel my ankles. And the feeling is pain. Another mile or two down the long dirt road, and my ankles not-so-politely declare, “No more, thankyouverymuch.”

Every single step on my right foot shoots white-hot pain through my ankle. I slow to a jog. Then to a walk. And finally, I can’t even take another step. I pull out of my body for a instant and see that I’m leading the race, on a nice, juicy downhill, and I can’t even take one step forward.

Dom’s selfie game can be a little over-the-top, but man, it’s good to have him around during a tough race. He orders me to lay on the ground, and we try to drain the blood out of my leg through a series of stretches. After a few minutes on my back in the middle of the road, it does the trick, or at least enough to get me back down to Straight Canyon. I still can’t believe I’m in the lead.

By now, we’re passing a stream of runners headed out to the turnaround point. Their kind words of congratulations lights a nice fire under my ass.

That said, there’s one woman who takes a look at me and blurts out, “Are you OK?” “Uhh, yeah. I’m fine. Why?” “You’re going the wrong way.” “Oh, no. I’m headed to the finish.” She looks back at me skeptically.

To be far, my makeshift desert bandana probably looks dumb, and I most definitely look like shit.

Photo by Katie Grossman

Back at Straight Canyon, the party has swelled. It’s almost overwhelming. So many people hovering around. I come in and collapse on the ground so Dom can stretch me out again. A very nice volunteer offers to help out by throwing a few ice cubes at my which immediately bounce off my chest and into the grass. I think to myself, This is one of those scenes that makes all the other crews tell their runners, “Yeah, the first-place guy was here 12 minutes ahead of you, but he looked like actual dog shit.” Screw it. I don’t care. I have to patch myself back together. Where’s the fucking duct tape?

I take longer than I would’ve liked, but so be it. My right ankle feels like it’s holding on by a thread. And the left one? Maybe four threads. Dom and I set off. We have a stout climb ahead of us, back to the top of the rim. And in the late-afternoon sun, I start to feel pretty haggard. We pass yet another woman going in the opposite direction who grunts at me, “Where are you going?” as if I’m going in the wrong direction. “To the finish line,” I grunt back.

Photo by Dom Grossman

Up on the rim, things start to deteriorate even more. All day I’ve been right at the edge of my pace, which isn’t more than a comfortable jog. But now, back above 9,000 feet for the fourth time today, my engine was running on fumes. Sixty-plus miles at this altitude have finally caught up to me. I’m just depleted. There’s no other word. Depleted. Oh no, I realize. This is exactly what happened last time. Suddenly the specter of my old DNF is breathing down my neck. Not again. I try to keep my head straight. Last time I was barely surviving. This time, I’m—miraculously—in first place.

But it feels like only a matter of time.

Photo by Dom Grossman

Somewhere around mile 70 or so, as we power hike up a rock-strewn doubletrack, a runner and pacer saunter up behind us. We exchange the customary head nod and “great job, man” and that was it. Swift and painless. I’m out of it.

But then, to add literal injury to insult, things get worse. I start to kick rocks. At the time it doesn’t dawn on my, but in retrospect, my busted-ass right ankle must be causing my foot to rotate externally, just ever so slightly. And by doing so, smack, smack, smack. I catching just about every single rock between mile 70 and the finish with my right big toe.

Every.

Single.

Rock.

The one reprieve from the pain is the amazing sunset we snag, right above Blubber Creek. This is where I dropped, in the middle of the night, four years ago, so it feels like I’m putting some demons to bed.

As we hurtle down off the rim towards Proctor Canyon, my knee joins the symphony of pain because, why not? I don’t remember a whole lot of this section, mostly because I start to go into a fairly dark place (literally and metaphorically). Dom does his best to keep my spirits up, but isn’t able to do too much. “Man,” he quips out loud. “At least, I’m just glad I get to be here to see you feel so shitty. Now I know it can actually happen to you.” Funny. Katie says just about the same thing a few hours later.

Dropping into the Proctor Canyon aid station, I get passed by two (three?) other runners. At this point, I don’t care. I’m deep within the pain cave. I sit down in a car, scarf down a freshly made bowl of ramen noodles, swig a whole can of Coke and then aske Dom and Katie’s permission before I pop two ibuprofens. I know it’s not great idea, but at this point, it feels like the difference between finishing in four hours and finishing in eight.

After a quick squabble between Dom and Katie over Dom spilling soda on Katie’s puffy, Katie and I set off to stalk the finish line. Instantly—thanks to the miracle of ibuprofen—I feel better. Amazingly, I’m also still right at or right under my original 22-hour target pace. So, things aren’t so bad. Or at least at this point they’re not.

Remember all those descents in the morning? Those ones I knew would turn into ascents at night? Yeah. I start to hit them. And there are way more of them than I ever remember. (There always are.) The night becomes a power-hike punctuated by kicked rocks and maybe one or two more runners passing us.

Finally, we arrive at Thunder Mountain, our last aid station, mile 92.5. More soup, more Coke, let’s roll.

This final section of the course is also the first. So, it’s all those super-fun rollers through hoodos and draws from earlier in the day. And in fact, I had been excited about it all day—partly because it’s objectively fun/cool, partly because I wanted Katie to see it and partly because (FOR SOME REASON) I didn’t think it had too many climbs.

I was an idiot.

It is steep. It is so steep. I’m reduced to a painfully slow and painfully painful power hike. At one point, I can feel the exact moment the ibuprofen wore off. A snap of pain floods back into my legs, ankles and feet.

And that’s when I thought the thought. You know, The Thought. Capital T, capital T. The Thought. The Thought where you think it. The Thought that goes, At least it can’t possibly get any worse.

Because you know what always happens next…

We’re power hiking a super steep incline, and suddenly I hear a SQUISH from below me. My right foot slides back in my shoe. What the hell was that? I wonder. And then I know. I know because I feel it. And what I feel is a giant blister that—unbeknownst to me—had been forming under my entire right heel and at this very moment decided to pop. Now, suddenly, every step is excruciating pain. My pacer and all the forest creatures know it because I scream expletives with every step.

This is officially a comedy of errors.

We soldier on. We get passed by yet another runner, solo. He’s fucking flying. How? By now I just want to be done. Unfortunately the course isn’t.

One bright spot is the gaggle of hoodoos. Suddenly, like giants congregating in the night, our headlamps light them up. In the pitch-black night, they’re ghostly. “HOLY SHIT!” Katie starts screaming. “THIS IS SOOOO COOL!” It was the first time she had ever seen hoodoos. Like, ever. And it was blowing her mind. We snapp a few photos and enjoy a brief reprieve from my grim task of kicking every rock I could find. I cherish the moment of levity.

Photo by Katie Grossman

Soon, we start winding in and out of the draws. Turning, climbing, cresting, turning, dropping. Over and over again. By now, we’re counting down the miles. Three miles… two miles… one mile… “The finish line must be right at the Thunder Mountain trailhead!” I said as if I knew. I’d never made it this far.

The draws keep coming. With every one we say, “This HAS to be the last one.” And nope, another fucking draw. After the race, Matt Gunn tells me, “Oh yep, those eleven draws, huh?” It would’ve really been nice to know the number eleven going in. Instead, every new turn is a heartbreak. The total mileage ticks 100 miles. Oh c’mon…

Finally, finally, FINALLY, the trail straightens out and we dip down to the trailhead. There’s nothing there. No finish line. No lights. No spectators. Just a pink ribbon to follow. Oh c’mon…

We turn left onto the dusty country road that I breezed along nearly 23 hours ago. “The finish line has to be right around this corner,” we both keep saying. But we take a corner and a corner and another corner, and all we see is a great big expansive of nothing. Pine forest. Dirt. Darkness.

You know when you’re just so over a race and ready to be done? Yeah.

The road seems to stretch on forever, with no indication that we were nearing any sort of civilization. I turn to Katie and only half-jokingly say, “I think I’m gonna drop right here.”

Finally, we see it. Or something. We see lights anyway. We get a little closer, and we see it. It’s the finish line.

You know that scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail where the knights are rushing a castle and it cuts and then it cuts back to them and it doesn’t look like they’ve made it any closer and then it keeps doing that? That’s essentially what happens here. Even when we can see the finish line, it feels out of reach. Once again, I turns to Katie and say, “I think I’m gonna drop here.” I was joking slightly more this time.

And then, we arrive.

Photo by Dom Grossman

I cross the finish line. What a day. What a course. What a relief to be done. “How do you feel?” someone asks. “I’m just glad I don’t have to run this damn race ever again,” I say. And I mean it. Bryce 100 is a brutal race. I thought it four years ago when I DNF’d it. And I think it again today. 23:01, sixth place, and the utter stuffing beat out of me.

After offering me a beer (which I gladly accept), Matt Gunn urges me to go pick out my finisher belt buckle. Each one is handmade and unique. And as I peruse the table in a shell-shocked, sleep-deprived, mind-mushed state I grab the only pink-colored buckle I see. “The happiness of this belt buckle represents the exact opposite of how I feel,” I tell the poor volunteer standing there who has no idea how to respond.

In the light of day, it might be one of my favorite buckles for that very reason.

Utah lives up to its legend. It’s everything I wanted. It’s a land of wonderful brutality. And beautiful wonderality.

I feel like I’ve been baptized into it with the Bryce 100. And even if I never run it again, it will always hold a very special place in my heart.

EPILOGUE

This race took everything out of me. I knew it was a hard race at the time, but in the convening weeks since then, I gained even more respect for it.

For the first week after race day, I just felt like I’d gotten the shit beat out of me. Hour-long epsom salt baths (perhaps accompanied by a viewing of The Unbreakable Kimmy Schimdt) were the norm. All I wanted to do was lounge around. I got my ass properly kicked.

For those counting, 116 hours of recovery time is almost five days.

Beyond the emotional wear-and-tear I was physically brutalized too. Thanks to all those rocks I decided to kick for the last 30 miles, several toenails were full blackened and primed to eject themselves from my foot. So, in a moment of curiosity, I went to a podiatrist to see what official medical intervention could do. (In my all races, this has never occurred to me.) About 25 shots of novocaine to my toe later, all the blood was drained. And I’m happy to report I’m still the proud owner of ten toenails.

Beyond the toenails, my ankles and tesnor/upper IT were wrecked for weeks. Shit, I’m still recovering.

But every time I look down at my bruised toenails or feel a twinge of pain in my hip, I think back to Utah. I think back to the dust and the plateaus and the rocks and the washes and heat and the rocks again, and it reminds me of how brutally beautiful that damn state is. And how I can’t wait to get back.

You know, as soon as all this shit heals up.

The full Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/1043646531