race report

Mines of Spain 100

Friday, October 20, 2023

Dubuque, IA

About The Race

Here, I typically write a little bit about the race. I'll highlight a few pieces, but you can refer to my 2021 race report if you want more detail. The race is run on a looped course. Each loop is composed of segments with several out and back sections, some smaller interloops, and other various features. The race is held in Iowa's driftless region along the Mississippi River, which means there are bluffs and rolling terrain. This is one of the races I think of when I imagine true Midwest trail running.

Training

IIn 2021, I attempted the Mines of Spain 100 for the first time. After logging 80 miles and spending nearly 20 hours on the course, I decided to drop out of the race. While I still believe I made the right choice given the conditions that day, that decision has nagged at me since. I took some time in 2022 to pursue other races and let the sting of the DNF (Did Not Finish) subside. But Mines of Spain stayed in the back of my mind. I needed to go back and finish the challenge that I had started. So, in 2023, I registered again for the race and based my entire race season around getting ready for this one event. Mines of Spain had an elevation profile typical of a Midwest race. There were no giant climbs, just a constant rolling terrain. So, I picked my other races to mimic this elevation profile.

The first warmup race of the year was WausaUltra Double Down. This race is two loops on the WausaUltra Backyard course for +/- 8.3 miles and over 1000 feet of elevation gain. I had a great time at the race and caught up with some folks I met at the Backyard event last year. I also took the shorter distance as an opportunity to stretch my legs out and run fast, something I haven't done in a trail race in quite a while. I felt great and enjoyed the day. Overall, my training was off to a good start.

From there, I moved on to the 8-hour event at Galena Sky. This course was perfect as Galena sits right across the Mississippi River from Dubuque. The terrain at Galena mimicked what I would be seeing later in the year. I hoped to log 50 or so miles for the day and get in a good workout. The course layout makes it perfect for a training race, as you are never more than about a mile from the central aid station. You can experiment with strategy and quickly change or pivot if something isn't working out. I had planned to take advantage of this. The beginning of the race looked promising, but after a few hours, I began having stomach issues. This slowed me down quite a bit for the middle hours, but I eventually got back on track and finished strong. Galena didn't go as I had hoped, but learning to work through the struggles in Ultra is just as valuable to training as running a great race.

After Galena, I spent the vast majority of the summer just training. My work schedule in the summer is difficult to plan around, so I opted not to run a summer race. While my work schedule kept me from training exactly how I would have liked, I put together a solid training block and watched the calendar as Mines of Spain grew closer. That drive to take care of what I considered unfinished business grew stronger. It pushed me through high-mileage weeks and several back to back to back long runs.

Finally, the day came. We packed Emma's Subaru and headed to Dubuque for packet pickup. I had a quick exchange with Josh, the race director and owner of Sun Trail Running. He knew I was looking to redeem my 2021 DNF and wished me luck. After packet pickup, Emma and I went to the hotel, where we discussed some basics: where my gear was, my goals, and what I expected of her. She picked up crewing for me quickly, so by this point, we didn't need to discuss much. She's got it figured out. Then we turned in early, preparing for a 4:30 a.m. wakeup call.

The morning of the race, we got to Murphy Park, the location of the Start/Finish line, a little after it opened at 6:00. This area serves as the home base for many of the runners and crews, so setting up camp here in "Crewville" is encouraged. It was a brisk fall morning in the Midwest, so I nestled in a blanket after we set up and tried to stay warm until the race began. The weather looked promising for the day, but the overnight temps were slightly concerning. A low of 40 during the winter or spring isn't a problem. But when we're not yet acclimatized to the cold in the fall, that can make for a rough time. Cold overnight temperatures were part of the downfall of my 2021 race, and I was anxious about the possibility of history repeating itself. I tried to put that out of my mind. I was better prepared for cold weather now than I was then, and I knew pacing myself better during the day would help my body maintain homeostasis as the night came. I thought through strategy and reminded myself what I needed to do to be successful.

gETTING sETTLED iN

The brisk air hit my legs, sending goosebumps up my spine as Josh brought the runners together for a quick pre-race talk. Mentally, I prepared myself to partake in the challenge ahead of me. I was hungry for redemption and eager to start, but I knew I had to be patient. Letting the eagerness get the best of me would push me to run too fast, and I would risk blowing up early in the race. I had to hold back and follow a pacing strategy, allowing me to run efficiently for the longest time possible.

I peeled off my long sleeve that I had been wearing to keep warm as we walked to line up in the corral. And then we were sent off. When starting a race of this distance, or really at any point during the race, one of the worst things you can do mentally is think, "1 mile down, 99 to go." That line of thinking emphasizes how much of a challenge you still face. Instead, it helps to focus on chunks. That chunk might be the distance to the next aid station, mile, or tree. Focus on getting to the next checkpoint; don't worry about what's beyond it.

My first chunk was Loop 1. I wanted to find a rhythm and get settled in. I had some recollection of the course from my time on it in the past, but I wanted to take note of the different sections and think about how to run them most efficiently in the subsequent loops. The goal was to complete Loop 1 in 4 to 4.5 hours, and I focused on maintaining an average pace that would help me do this. Any faster than this would be too fast and compromise me later in the race; any slower would be wasting the daylight advantage. I had to be disciplined. But above all else, I was here to have fun. I wanted to enjoy the run while the weather was nice, while the sun was shining, and before fatigue set in.

The field stacked up at the first significant climb of the race as runners slowed to navigate the narrow switchbacks, and I fell into place with some guys I had first met at WausaUltra in 2022. The company helped those early miles tick on by. We trekked down through the various levels of Horseshoe Bluff then passed through Aid Station 1 quickly as none of us found the need to stop this early in the race. We traveled through the part of the course that I have termed Yellow Tunnel due to the trees. Then, we entered the rolling prairie sections. As we navigated the out and back section of Eagle Scout Trail, the group spread out as we each assumed our own pace and started on our own strategy. From there, it was on to Aid Station 2, where I made my first strategic move of the race.

Aid Station 2 is where most runners stop for the first time during the race. And because it is relatively early and runners are still grouped tight, there tends to be a delay in getting in and out of the aid station. However, after Aid Station 2, it is only 2 miles before returning to Aid Station 1, which most people don't stop at on the return trip, having got all they need at Aid Station 2. I planned ahead for this and saved some time by only checking in at Aid Station 2 and forgoing aid until I returned to Aid Station 1. This trick doesn't work as the race continues and the field spreads out, but it saves a small amount of time on Loop 1.

From there, it was on to Aid Station 3, which lies in the part of the park that I had spent the most time exploring in college. The area brought back many fond memories of my solo adventures. Aid Station 3 is the first and only location where crew is allowed outside the start/finish area. I talked with Emma quickly and then continued on my way. Leaving Aid Station 3, the course runs along a creek for a stretch before entering Catfish Creek Trail. Catfish Creek Trail is a little looped section near the end of the course. As I entered the trail, something in the back of my mind told me to be careful. The trail had some gradual rolling terrain, and the path was not full of the tripping hazards that lined other portions of the course, so I couldn't figure out what my brain was warning me about. I didn't know what was happening here, but I remembered there was something of note.

I reached a slight uphill section, turned the corner that would bring me back toward the exit, and found what my brain had been warning me about. Ahead of me was a steep section of stairs that seemed to have no end. I slowed down, taking the stairs at a comfortable pace, and eventually reached the top. Then I rounded another corner only to realize I was still nowhere near the top and continued climbing. This is one of the many fun surprises you can expect on the course. I eventually crested and began working my way back downhill. After exiting the Catfish Creek Trail, there are roughly 3 miles left to reach the start/finish line, but you climb the bluff twice, making it far from an easy closing segment.

I made my way on to finish Loop 1 in almost exactly 4 hours and took time at the start/finish line to refuel, restock my supplies, and make a few other minor adjustments. I was feeling fresh and excited to continue on.

Meditation in Motion

The day was becoming comfortably warm as the sun shone, but there was a cool breeze. While this made for excellent running conditions, it brought forth a challenge. Keeping electrolytes in balance is critical to a successful race, and my sweat indicates the amount of electrolytes I need to replace. However, sweat evaporates quickly in conditions like this, and clothes stay relatively dry, making it difficult to determine the amount of electrolytes I need to intake.

I let my mind be still and tried to listen to my body for what it needed. I adjusted my nutrition and hydration plan to respond to the weather. I focused on my breath, inhaling deeply through my nose and exhaling from my mouth. While I have a regular meditation and breathwork practice, this is the first time I consciously focused on breathing during a race. I felt more energized and never found myself gasping for air as I had in other races. I focused on the placement of my feet and my posture. I remembered how grateful I was to be here doing something I love with others who are just as passionate about this as I am. I was grateful for the person I love to be out here, sacrificing her weekend and her sleep to be out here helping me accomplish my goal.

I allowed myself to take in the beauty of the course. Glimpses could be caught of the Mighty Mississippi flowing to the east. The fall colors were on full display. I listened to the leaves crunch underneath my feet. The rolling terrain of the driftless region offered breathtaking vistas at the top of every climb. I ran easy, but I ran quickly. An immense sense of peace overcame me as I navigated through Loop 2.

Then, at mile 30, I thought my race had ended. While it made for an aesthetic experience, the leaves that covered the trail also helped to hide the many rocks, roots, and branches that covered the trail. In my daydream-like state, I had gotten lackadaisical and failed to notice I was entering one of these sections. I kicked a rock hard and found myself trying to tuck and roll as I tumbled to the ground. As I popped back up to my feet, a heat shot to my right knee. My only thought was, "Great, I just tore something, and I'll have to limp the next mile or so before I can get to the next aid station and drop out."

I took a tentative step, and my knee seized. I shifted my weight back onto my left leg and tried to bend my right a little. It loosened up, and I took another tentative step. This one felt a bit better. I picked it up to a light jog, and the pain subsided. I didn't know if I had just twisted it wrong as I popped back up, but I felt alright now and continued. When I met Emma at Aid Station 3, I notified her of the fall so she could be on the lookout for swelling or other potential issues as the race went on. I knew there was potential for problems to pop up later as I continued to put stress on the knee, but for now, I seemed to be in the clear.

I completed Loop 2 in just over 4 hours, still in perfect timing with my schedule, and began to prepare for Loop 3. While I would still be running most of Loop 3 in the daylight, the sun would likely set an hour or so before I finished, and the weather was cooling off slightly. I wasn't getting prepared for a full nighttime run yet, but I did make accommodations for dusk hours and planned out what I would need.

You Saw That Too Right?

At this point, I was still running well and feeling good, both physically and mentally. I made a few tweaks to my nutrition strategy as some of the foods I packed became unappetizing, but that was to be expected. I had planned for this, bringing several different food options to ensure I always had something to keep eating. I knew that I could also start utilizing the aid stations for food now that many of them would have items like broth and potatoes. I rolled into Aid Station 1 and filled up my water bottles.

Around this time, I was also growing tired of my electrolyte drink, so I opted for plain water and swallowed a few salt tabs instead. Before continuing, I grabbed my drop bag and fished out the headlamp I had stashed. I would have plenty of time to get back here on my return trip before it got too dark, but I wanted to be safe and elected to take my headlamp anyway. Then, I headed out and made my way onto Eagle Scout Trail.

I noticed that this trip on Eagle Scout Trail seemed to drag on forever. The trail has many repeating features, all of which look the same. I would coast down a forested hill expecting to see the barn at the bottom, a mental checkpoint I had established. But upon reaching the bottom of the hill, there would be no barn in site. I would come up a hill and out of the woods to an intersection of trails, expecting the turnaround point to be just a bit further. But the turnaround was not just a bit further. The Eagle Scout Trail section of the course is officially listed at 3.66 miles. This time, though, it felt like 10. The mental fatigue began to creep in as the scenery constantly tricked my mind into thinking I was almost done with the section.

Loop 3 continued to be uneventful until the sun began to set. At this point, there was still visibility in the prairie sections, but the trees blocked out most of the little sunlight that remained. I flipped my headlamp on, which provided the little extra light I needed to confidently navigate the rocky trails without fear of tripping over something, but I knew once the sun went down completely, I would have to take my time. Again, many portions of the trail were covered with leaves. This made obstacles challenging to see in the daylight, but under only a headlamp at night, they would be nearly impossible to pick out.

As I started one of the climbs near the end of Loop 3, I began to hear something. I wasn't wearing headphones, and as far as I could tell, there were no other runners near me. I couldn't quite distinguish the sound, but it seemed out of place. Maybe this was a hallucination? I've had many auditory hallucinations during races, so I wasn't surprised at this thought. But as I continued climbing the hill, I identified the sound. It was music, a harmonica, to be specific.

I hit a switchback, and a man came into focus under the beam of my headlamp. He was standing off to the side of the trail, by himself, with no light, playing harmonica. Now, I've also had visual hallucinations during races, but this seemed too clear to be a hallucination. He didn't disappear as I got closer, either, like all my other hallucinations have. But this was a bit too strange to be real, wasn't it? I continued to the start/finish line to close out Loop 3. Another runner came in shortly after I did. I turned to her and asked, "Was harmonica man real?" She replied, "I'm glad you saw him too."

In preparation for running through the night, I traded in my headlamp for a higher-power one I had at camp. I also switched my pack out for a larger one that allowed me to carry a few extra clothing items in case they became needed. I threw on a hat and gloves and was ready to start Loop 4. This is where my race fell apart last time. Was I prepared to put myself in that position again? Yes.

Nap Time

My mental fatigue was growing strong, and I was getting tired. I partnered with another runner and her pacer, trying to siphon off an energy boost. On a few of the short pavement stretches, I even ran with my eyes closed, attempting to get a little bit of rest. I knew a paved road was relatively flat and straight. The chances of me running into something were low, and I would feel a change under my feet before I went off into the ditch.

Parting with the other runner, I dropped into Horseshoe Bluff. I looked up at the clear, dark sky and was taken back by the stars. I was filled with awe and wonder. Spending so much time on the trails develops a deep connection with the natural world. The wind, the current of the river, the warmth of the sun, the energy that permeates the farthest reaches of the universe, that energy also pulses through you and me, connecting us to everything and blurring the boundaries between self and not self. I know how esoteric that sounds, but that's what coursed through my mind as I gazed up at the stars. I was not an individual navigating this trail. I was part of the trail.

I continued along the course, moving more slowly and cautiously. Physically, I was still feeling great, but I didn't trust my ability to run some of the sections without tripping over the myriad of obstacles on the ground in the low light, especially now that I was getting tired. Surely, the obstacles wouldn't register in my mind as quickly as they had, and I would be delayed at stepping over or otherwise avoiding them. But I had planned to be slower at night for precisely this reason.

Then, the mind games really started. I entered Eagle Scout Trail and became completely disoriented. I knew I had stayed on course; the course markings were clear, and the route on my watch overlapped the previous loops. But it felt like one of those old cartoon skits where the character exits the screen on the right only to come back into frame on the left. I was stuck in a neverending cycle, passing the same intersection of trails over and over again.

Eventually, I reached the turnaround point, but my mental faculties had been greatly diminished by the several lifetimes I had seemingly just spent on Eagle Scour Trail. I pushed on until I found a section of the course with steps and sat off to the side. I allowed myself 5 minutes to close my eyes and take a dirt nap. I fell asleep for maybe 30 seconds but felt rejuvenated when my 5 minutes were up. Unfortunately, that state didn't last long.

I navigated the next several miles, growing more and more tired. I was still able to keep a running pace in the open meadows and again played the game of trying to run short stretches with my eyes closed. This version of the game was more dangerous than playing it on a paved road, though. Somewhere just before or after Aid Station 1, I don't remember anymore, I tried another dirt nap. I tried to take advantage of biology and swallowed some caffeine before closing my eyes.

Here's a science-backed trick that everybody should know. Adenosine accumulates in your brain as you go through the day. This accumulation is what causes you to feel tired. Sleep clears adenosine. Caffeine fits into the same receptors in the brain that adenosine does. When the receptors are filled with caffeine, adenosine cannot accumulate.

Contrary to what many believe, caffeine prevents you from getting tired more than it actually gives you energy. So, if you are exhausted but need to stay awake for a prolonged period, grab some caffeine, then take a 15-minute nap. It takes roughly 15 minutes for caffeine to kick in, which is why you want to take it before falling asleep. During the nap, the body will start clearing the adenosine. By the time you wake up, the adenosine will be (partially) cleared, and caffeine will be plugged into the receptors, blocking further adenosine accumulation. This prevents you from getting more tired, at least until you start metabolizing the caffeine.

That was a long-winded way to explain a strategy that didn't work for me. I only had 50 mg of caffeine with me. A 12 oz cup of coffee, typically considered the small size at most coffee shops, has around 125 mg of caffeine. I also have a high caffeine tolerance and a genetic variant that allows me to break down caffeine faster than average. That amount of caffeine would barely trigger a response in me, and I only got a 3-minute nap before I got cold and decided to keep moving on. In that little amount of time, I likely had not yet even begun to clear the adenosine that had been accumulating over the now almost 24 hours that I had been awake.

I soldiered on to Aid Station 3, where I met Emma. I sat on a cooler and sipped on a cup of broth and mashed potatoes before again trying a short nap. Like a great crew captain, she set the 5-minute timer I asked her to and kicked me out when the time was up. I left out in a zombie-like state, more tired than when I came in. Catfish Creek Trail was another section that played with my mind. It felt as if I were on a stair stepper at the gym, climbing higher and higher, yet never actually getting closer to the top. I got through the rest of the loop, stopping twice more to rest on the side of the trail, trying to relieve myself from some small amount of fatigue. Yet, surprisingly, despite my mental exhaustion, physically, I was still feeling solid.

Begin the Death March

And there I was, getting ready to begin Loop 5. This was the reason I was here. I had put in hundreds of hours in preparation for this. I was feeling better than I could have possibly hoped for. I was optimistic about how I would finish the race. I thought that the slower pace of Loop 4 had allowed me to preserve, and maybe even restore, what little energy deposits I had left. Before I started on Loop 5, I had told Emma that I intended to run more as the visibility increased with the rising sun. I even thought I could be faster than Loop 4. Through the first few miles of the loop, I wholeheartedly believed this.

And then the wheels started falling off. I noticed I was getting progressively slower on the hiking sections unless I was specifically thinking about my pace. When hiking during a race, I think about moving forward with purpose. I try to keep my pace at 15 minutes/mile or faster and can typically hike this without much thought, so when I looked at my watch and noticed my hiking paces drifting up toward 25 minutes/mile, I knew I was dropping off.

Then, the course opened up into one of the rolling prairie sections. The downhills here would be the perfect opportunity to run a little without the fear of tripping over roots, rocks, and the other hazards of the forested trail. I could make up a little bit of time here. As I reached the first short downhill section and started at a light jog, my legs started screaming. I barely made it to the bottom of the hill before I had to stop. My quads were completely trashed. My optimism for the loop met reality right then.

There was no doubt in my mind that I would finish, but this last leg would test my resolve. I could phone it in. I had roughly 15 miles left and had just over 16 hours to traverse it. I could move at a snail's pace, wallowing in how sore and tired I was and still finishing in time. Or I could suck it up, accept the pain, and push forward. While I won't pretend that some of the former didn't happen, I focused on the latter.

The one silver lining was that while my physical exhaustion reached its peak, my mental fatigue was finally dissipating. I had reached the point of sleep deprivation where my brain finally accepted that I wasn't going to bed and began to perk back up. I could also see the first signs of red peaking over the trees as the sun rose. After hours of darkness illuminated by only the narrow beam of my headlamp, the sun was a welcome boost to my state of mind.

I made it to Aid Station 3 by pushing an increasingly uncomfortable pace on the hikes and squeezed 30 to 60-second running intervals where I could before my quads shut me down. I met Emma and regrouped before I started on the race's final segment. I knew I would be hiking most of the remaining 5 miles to the finish line. I knew I could do it but really didn't want to be out on the course for the 2-ish hours it might take. I joked with Emma that I had proven to myself that I could finish the race, so I may as well drop right there and save myself some misery. She didn't find the joke funny and told me I looked great. I knew this was a lie, and she would later admit this was a lie, telling me I looked green. But I took her encouragement and continued on.

The last stretch took all of my willpower to keep moving forward. The climb on the back half of the Catfish Creek Trail forced me to take another break on the bench at the top, and somehow, the descent back down was even worse than the climb. I slowly made my way out of the park to the road section, where I was met with one final challenge.

A sharp pain shot through my feet in my first steps on the hard pavement. The one part of my body that had not given me trouble all race, my feet finally expressed their discontent and protested. I don't know what having stress fractures in your feet feels like, but I have heard of runners developing them over the course of an ultra. I was afraid my feet had finally reached their limit, and this is what I was experiencing. The benefit is that my feet hurt just as bad running and walking as they did standing hunched over with my hands on my knees. If I was going to be miserable either way, I could shorten the misery by moving forward.

I pushed through the road section and up the last long climb to get back into Murphy Park. As I crested the hill and the park gate came into view, I parted with the last of my energy reserves and ran. I was in pain, I was miserable, I was tired, but I was going to give everything I had. Emma was waiting at the gate and ran me to the finish line. My official time was 26:00:03. I barely crossed the finish line before tears started rolling down my face. Overcoming this challenge had been on my mind for 2 years, and realizing that I had finally done it was dawning on me. Then I turned and saw my parents standing there, and I completely lost what little composure I had.

I got a hug and congratulations from Josh as he gave me my finisher buckle. I thanked him for putting on such a great race. Then, I made my way over to my parents. They had driven out to Dubuque and been at the park all morning to surprise me at the finish line. I still don't think my parents fully understand why I do this, but their unwavering support has played a vital role in my ability to accomplish these goals. I greeted them each with a hug and thanked them for coming as tears continued to stream down my face.

Crash

My body had finally had enough and was making this clear, so I got bundled up in warm clothes and found my way into a chair. My brain was starting to go, too. I chatted with Emma, my parents, other runners, and spectators/crew I knew, but I was also aware that my communication was becoming less coherent and my line of thinking sporadic and fragmented. My mental energy was gone. My parents said their goodbyes, and I quickly fell asleep in my chair. I have no idea how long I was asleep, but I slept like a rock. I only woke up as Emma shoved a Sub-24 coffee into the cupholder of my chair.

We sat a while longer while I sipped my coffee and watched other runners come across the finish line. Then, when I had regained enough energy, we began packing up camp and getting ready to return to the hotel. Before departing, I thanked Josh again and let him know that I would be back, this time shooting for a sub-24-hour finish. In typical ultrarunner fashion, I had barely finished the race and was already planning the next.

I started running ultras because I needed to prove something to myself. I'm not a confident person and have always had a low self-worth. I didn't think I had the capacity to do difficult things. So, I took on a challenge that I thought would help reframe how I view myself. I wanted to do something few others had and develop abilities I could be proud of. If I learned to be proud of myself in one realm of my life, maybe that would transfer to others. My first 50k was miserable, but I had the grit to finish it, and now I can run a 50k without training. Finishing a 100 miler was once the ultimate goal, but now I'm not satisfied with just finishing. I want to run faster. I want to run farther. Ultras have helped me learn that I am resilient and capable of enduring. They have allowed me to reframe what I believe I am capable of and strive for bigger, more daunting goals. Ultra has taught me to be proud of my running accomplishments, but more importantly, it has given me the ability to be proud of myself as a person.

Proud to Partner With:

Bigger Than The Trail

Ornery Mule Racing

Shoes: Altra – Lone Peak 2

Gear: Inov-8 - packs, Injinji - socks

Wearables: Garmin - Forerunner 945, Oura Ring

Nutrition: GoMacro Bars, Simply Snackin’ Bars

Recovery: ATH - supplements, FitAid, Freeze Sleeves