I came into mile 50.1, the Boston Mills Aid Station of the Burning River 100, after running for 11 hours 33 minutes and 20 seconds. This time put my pace at 13:57/mile.

When I ran my first 50 mile race 16 weeks prior, I finished at an average pace of 12:49/mile. Generally speaking, I was pleased with my time when I reached Boston Mills because I really did feel healthy and was taking it easy.

In other words, I could ride this pace to the end, with a good bit of slow-down, and still finish strong.

Coming out of Boston Mills, I had my first low point of real frustration due to the Ohio and Erie Canal Towpath Trail.

I found out over the course of this race that I wasn’t the only one who disliked towpath so much, and I still can’t nail down exactly what is so dreadful about it. Perhaps the monotony of the terrain, or the sun exposure, or the visual distortion (am I the only one that can never tell if towpath is going uphill or is staying flat?). Either way, I walked a bit more than necessary on this stretch of towpath that apparently only lasted for a mile and a half or so.

It felt like it dragged on for miles and miles.

I wouldn’t see my crew from Boston Mills (the halfway point) until Ledges Aid Station at mile 66 of the Burning River 100. My pace gradually decreased over this time period from 13:57/mile to 15:21/mile. I think I remember the terrain being quite monotonous during this time and I felt slowed by mental fatigue; I was ready to see my crew.

Up to this point the thought of a DNF (did not finish) had not crossed my mind. I was still calmly confident. The terrain had been Ohio-like with a few minor climbs, but nothing to deter my will and mindset. Even with the slow pace, I was rooted in the mission with a firm mindset.

I texted my Crew Chief (thanks, mom) at 7:19 PM while I stopped for water at mile 61.2, over 15 hours into the race, and told her it would be “slow rolling” and that it would likely take me two hours to reach them at mile 66.

Just over an hour and a half later I saw my crew again at Ledges Aid Station at mile 66. My pace was a slow 15:21/mile when I arrived.

“Don’t Do The Math.”

Ledges Aid Station of the Burning River 100 was the last time I felt confident in finishing. It was when the course changed for me; I would race the clock for nearly 30 miles, fighting frustration and pain the entire way .

My ‘expectations’ for the state of Ohio were shattered after mile 66. Funny how expectations about yourself and the environment need to be considered when ridding them from your mind, or when planning an ambush.

Perhaps I could have ambushed this final 30 miles had I expected and trained for it, but I digress. I shed expectation as my training was subpar and here I was, at the Burning River 100, my first 100 mile race, with 30 miles and many hours to go over rough terrain.

Of course the trails weren’t mountain trails with highly advanced technical terrain, but for my first 100 mile experience and only my third run of marathon distance or greater, the hills destroyed me. They knew I was coming; they knew my downhill technical skills were weak. The hills, the steep climbs and wicked descents, saw their opportunity when darkness fell.

My girlfriend paced me from miles 66 to 71.8 and I lost about 53 seconds on my pace. Add one minute on your pace every 6 miles with 30 miles to finish and you might be in trouble.

In trouble I was.

My friend Alex paced me for a ‘quick’ 3.8 mile loop and we added only four seconds to my pace. He kept me moving over some dark and technical terrain at a decent speed and, as a result, I felt strong upon our arrival back at Pine Hollow Aid Station. Unfortunately, here I started to do math.

“Don’t do the math,” my mom said.

I couldn’t help it. The terrain was becoming rougher. I took inventory of my body and knew my right ankle was getting bludgeoned by the downhills and my hamstring strained on the climbs; it was all technical terrain. Stopping for even a moment sent my teeth chattering in the cool night and muscle stiffness set in quickly.

I’ll take some towpath now, please.

This was one of the lowest points. Mile 75.6: 20 hours and 49 minutes. Estimated time of finishing (if pace was maintained): 28 hours.

If I maintained the pace Alex and I had just ‘crushed’ on that short loop, I would finish two hours ahead of cutoff. My mom later told me that the crew was getting nervous about the time at this point.

The people I dragged into this didn’t think I was going to make it.

Neither did I.

I wouldn’t see my crew again for 16.1 miles. My girlfriend, who has never run more than 8 or so miles in her life, walked with me during this period. It took us a dark, painful, and hilly 6 hours and 25 minutes of power hiking the uphills and limping the downhills, exhaling through gritted teeth, to see my crew again. She found two sticks that I picked up and used as supports on the downs; my ankle was in bad shape.

6 hours and 25 minutes to cover 16.1 miles. Yikes.

I remember the Covered Bridge Loop well; it was exhausting and technical. The hills of that mentally daunting loop behind me, I asked an Aid Station volunteer the distance to the next station. He must have seen me looking at my watch because he said “You’ve come this far; you’ll get there.”

Another lady chimed in: “The hardest part is behind you; except for a few sections, the terrain ahead is smooth and mostly flat.”

Aid Station volunteers really can save a race for an ultra marathon runner. I get chills when I think of strangers pulling for me and standing out in the dark for me to test my limits.

We left the pirate-themed aid station of Covered Bridge, abandoned my primal hiking poles, and immediately were on roads, heading away from mile 85. My girlfriend encouraged me to run, but the distance ahead seemed too insurmountable against the odds; the pain was too real in the early morning darkness. Frustrated tears in my eyes, I continued shuffling along, wondering where all the other 100-mile runners were.

Low points are worth mentioning.