Outlaw 100 DNF Reflections and Moving On

Photo credit: Mile 90 Photography

 A DNF can be a hard thing to wrap your head around. You commit months and countless hours of training and preparation, all to get to the moment of truth and have things fall apart. Even worse is when things fall apart when they shouldn't have, and you know you could have done more, performed better, been more patient and rational, and finished what you started. 

I consider myself a pretty mentally stable person. I don't often have wild mood swings, fights with anxiety or depression, or do things that are not rational. This race I managed to do all of those things, and that was why my race fell apart. Not because I was sleep deprived from nursing a sick 6-month old and a teething toddler, not because I caught the cold that my daughter had this week, and not because my feet were wrecked from traversing rocky terrain for the past 14 hours (all of these are true in this case). My race ending at Outlaw was a mental failure, not a physical one. Despite the setbacks this week, I was beyond well trained for this event, it was right in my wheelhouse (being a strong runner/hiker over technical terrain), and I had an amazing crew member with my wife on hand to help me every loop. There was no excuse for me to DNF this race.

I realized after a night of sleep and a chance to reflect why I was able to justify a DNF while in a low spot during the race...I didn't think about my "Why." I used to write in this blog before and after every race, reflecting on the work that went into preparing for the event, and why it was so important to me to finish or hit a specific goal. With the added commitments of having two kids in the last two years, I haven't found the time to write in my blog. In fact, that last time I wrote in my blog was about two months before Killian was born in May 2018, recapping my Orca's Island 100 finish. For this race, my lack of reflection and mental preparation was my downfall. Yes, it would have been a painful slow grind of a finish, but that's the nature of 100-mile ultras, and if you don't come to your event prepared to battle your mental demons, they will eat you alive.

This running season, I am setting a goal of getting back to my blog with at least one post in the lead-up and follow-up to each event I do. This will give me the mental check-in I need prior to, and following each event, and will allow me to share with those around me my commitments to each event and goal. This will be a challenge - in fact as we speak I'm listening to a toddler screaming to avoid naptime and a hungry infant gnawing on her hand.

On to Outlaw 100....

The sunrise from "Rocky Top" at Outlaw 100

This race is an event I committed to last fall. Isabel has family in Oklahoma and the event gave us a chance to visit them and run an early season 100 mile in the same trip. I knew from the start the training for Outlaw for me would be less than ideal. The course is a technical monster...kind of like the Superior Hiking Trail, but with extra rocks, and bigger rocks. In the snowy months in MN, it is hard enough to train on trail at all, much less find any technical terrain to train on. Instead I opted for the "get in the best shape humanly possible" approach. Based on the 53 miles I ran at Outlaw, that approach largely worked.

My awesome crew and wife, Isabel.

My race morning started at 4:40am. Isabel and I drove to the start from our hotel in nearby Wilburton, and got things ready to go in the building at the start line. It was a perfect 37 degrees at the 6am race start. The gun went off and we headed across the parking lot to start our first 20 mile loop. Each 20 mile loop was comprised of a 13 mile loop section and a 7 mile loop section. The first mile or so of trail is about the most runable in the whole race, and we started off clicking off a good pace. I hung towards the back of the lead pack so I could pay close attention to some of the leaders, all of whom had been to the course or trained in the park extensively before. After the last mile this became important, as the trail is in many places barley distinguishable from everything else. There is just rocks, fallen leaves, brush everywhere, which virtually camouflages the trail, especially in the dark. 


Within the first few miles, I began to understand just how technical this course was going to be. There are literally rocks everywhere. Big rocks, small trip worthy rocks, jagged rocks, flat rocks, moss covered wet rocks, rocks that you needed to boulder up/down, rocks that you need to use in order to cross streams...just a whole lot of rocks. In fact, about two miles in I fell on my side some wet rock (don't trust Altra's outsoles on wet rocks...) and nearly over a falls below. By the end of the first 13 mile loop, I was realizing just how much patience was going to be needed to do this course. That said, it was fun, it was a challenge, and I am quite adept at hiking quickly over technical terrain and breaking into a run where it was possible. During the loop you go up and over a nice climb called "Rocky Top" and circumnavigate a lake below from the ridgeline. It is the most beautiful part of the course, and myself and another guy stopped for a photo up at the top before the descent back down (see photo below). After Rocky Top we went back down to the rocky shoreline of the lake before another brief climb up another baby mountain, and then towards the first manned aid station which was across the lake near the first highway crossing called "Shorty's Brothel." Shorty's Brothel became a beacon to reach each 20-mile loop. Stocked with friendly faces, quesadillas, soup, and everything an ultra runner could want, it was a carrot that stayed in front of you through those first few grueling miles.

Photo Credit: Mile 90 Photography

After Shorty's came what became my least favorite part of the course. You make the climb up a straight up ugly east coast style mountain, littered with rocks (obviously), but without the views, stream crossings, or variation that Rocky Top had offered. It was just a grind for about 6 miles before we finally crossed over the highway, and back down towards the camp. Right before the camp, instead of going directly for it, they take you on the scenic route, up a steep gravel road (OMG...gravel! Even tho it was a good 15%+ grade, you felt like you were being treated to some real buffed out terrain), and then up further towards the actual "Robbers Cave" that the park is named for. The cave is essentially a huge complex rock formation with some mini caves in it. It is very cool and worth visiting if you ever find yourself in easter Oklahoma. Once you reach the cave you descend back down towards the start/finish for the second manned aid station, and the start of your 7-mile loop. At the start/finish aid station, Isabel's smiling face was there to greet me and ask if I needed anything. I took another Larabar (my fuel of choice for most of my run), and headed out on the 7-mile loop. The 7-mile loop starts out similar in terms of technicality as the 13-mile loop, but gets worse for a bit with the aptly named "Rough Canyon" section, before ultimately getting a little bit more "smooth"...which is a hard word to even say about any point in this course aside from the 1/4 mile of road you get to run each loop crossing roadways. I finished the 7-mile loop and got back to start/finish to end my full 20-mile loop. Isabel was there again to greet me. I opted for a sock change, a reapplication of "Trail Toes," (a gift from my client, Joe, who had luck with using it on his feet to avoid blisters and chaffing...what a great gift!) and then got rid of my jacket and headed back out in just a t-shirt and short tights. It had gotten up into the 50's and was feeling quite warm for a guy from MN used to running in sub-zero weather. My time on the first loop was just under the 5-hour mark, which was a great pace and felt relatively easy, but was maybe a touch fast to maintain for the race.

Finishing the first 20 mile loop

The second loop was much the same. I felt good, ran with some of the same people, and felt like I was making good time relative to the course conditions. I was learning to keep up with the lead pack, I didn't need to push it. While they were breaking into a run every chance they got between extra rocky outcrops, I was hiking 70% of the loop and consistency catching them every time we hit a climb. I began to realize that for me, this could be a good strategy to conserve energy for the later miles. I continued to hike 70% or so of the loop, and continued to keep up with the group. In fact, I checked into the end of the second loop a little bit in front of the group I had been running with.

A problem was brewing, however. While my body was feeling amazing and performing exactly how I'd hoped, my feet were taking a major beating. Traversing extremely technical terrain causes your feet to shift, slide, rub, and jam into your shoes constantly. Add that to them being consistently wet from the stream crossings, and they were in rough shape. I've had issues with my feet in every single race I've ever done over 50 miles, but never this early. Despite being religious about sock changes and reapplications of anti-chafe/blister foot cream, the course was catching up to me. I came in from the second 20-mile loop feeling fantastic overall, but very concerned about my feet. At the start/finish area at the end of my second 20-mile loop, Isabel was again there to green me, but this time with the whole family. Killian, Emi, her Parents, her Aunt and Uncle, and their two grandchildren, Abby and Lydia. Again I was right about 5-hours for my loop time. I did a quick round of hello's and got down to the business of managing my feet. A great guy from Iowa who I'd been running with, Tim, said that he recommended Injinji toe socks with another sock over it. I had both of those items, so I gave that a try in hopes that it would make the difference.

Finishing mile 33 back at the start/finish aid 

I said my goodbyes and headed back out on course for loop three, stocked up with a handful of quesadillas and more Larabars. I also had picked up my headphones for this loop and jammed to a Three Days Grace mix that I had saved to my phone in advance. This was an amazing pick-me-up and distraction from my feet, which were becoming quite painful. Getting to Shorty's Brothel aid-station on the third loop was faster than on my previous loops, and I was feeling amazing. At Shorty's Aid I got some soup and more quesadillas, and headed up the climb towards the previously described "least favorite part" of the course. I flipped on my headlamp coming out of the aid-station, because it was getting dark. While I had made sure to have a really high quality headlamp for this race, I found it was leaving me wanting more. I was tripping over rocks and running off course constantly. Often the only thing that stopped me was the greenbriar brush that cut into my legs...telling me that I may have wandered off the trail. In the dark the hard to distinguish trail was even more challenging to navigate. I was coming down from my high...fast, and having a lot of trouble keeping a solid pace. I had been reduced to a 100% hike to not stumble over rocks, and even that was difficult to stay solid with due to constantly losing the trail. This section felt like it took an eternity. During this eternity the negative self talk and anxiety crept in. I was losing my cool, losing my ability to think rationally about the race, and worst of all losing my patience. On top of that, it had gotten quite cold and I was very anxious to end the loop to get a coat, hat, and pants and hopefully some caffeine (I had put on the windbreaker I carried in my pack already). The sleep monsters were hitting me hard, as I knew would happen after a pretty sleepless week leading up to the race.

Before coming into the fateful final visit to the end the 13 mile section of the loop, I did a short mental inventory and focused on what I would need to get in and out of the aid-station quickly. I knew it was going to be tempting to just stop, and if I stopped I might struggle to get going again with how quickly my feet would swell if I wasn't moving on them. As always, broke into a solid running pace coming into the aid station, but without the smile that I had the first few times around. Isabel was again there to greet me coming into the start/finish aid station, and asked what I needed right away. My mental checklist went out the window and I struggled to turn my thoughts into words to get what I needed. After finally getting a coat and a wool base layer, I asked her to grab a back-up headlamp, and then we headed into the cabin at the start/finish where the aid-station fare was. I grabbed some soup and water. I was feeling dizzy and disoriented as Isabel struggled to get my new headlamp figured out (it was stuck on colored lights...and I still don't know exactly how we got it back into regular headlamp mode). We finally got it figured out and I asked her to go grab some caffiene and an ibuprofen from my tub. I never take ibuprofen during races, but I thought it might be my last resort for my feet. I sat down to finish my soup and talked with Isabel who was asking how I was and how I was feeling. I had been ruminating on how challenging navigating the course was becoming, how much my feet hurt, and how much of a grind the night miles were going to be (at this point I had nearly 11 hours before we'd see daylight again). Thoughts of my kids being ready for bed back at the hotel, how nice it would be to see them and read to them before bed, how exhausted I was, how I couldn't breathe through my nose because of having a cold, how slowly I felt like I was moving all kept circling in my head. A couple of the guys I was running close to came and went from the aid-station while I was still sorting things out..further causing anxiety. I finally told Isabel that I really wanted to stop and DNF. She did the right thing and suggested that I just go out and finish the 7-mile loop, get to mile 60, and then make up my mind. I said that was a good idea and started to get my pack back on. I realized I still needed to get pants before going back out. This was about the fifth time I'd forgotten something I needed before going back out, and it caused me great anxiety that I couldn't get my mind together to get the things I'd put in my mental checklist before getting into the aid station. I told Isabel that I was going to go tell the race crew that I was going to drop. She asked if I was sure, and I said I was.

...And just like that, in a single moment of weakness, my race was over. A race that I'd been training for since November. A race that I'd put in countless hours for, been supported by great friends leading up to, and had everything in place for a podium finish for even that this point was now over. The race crew was friendly at Outlaw, and maybe to fault. The volunteer was beyond nice when I said I was going to DNF. She didn't ask why, didn't tell me to get back out there and just try to get through this rough patch, but just said "Oh you're dropping down then, what distance did you complete?" I said I'd just crossed the 53 mile mark, and she reached to grab me a 50-mile medal. I took the my DNF token back to the table where Isabel was and sat down relieved it was over. I now have the clarity to realize that I wasn't relieved that my race was over, but that the anxieties swirling in my head were over. I could now go back, read to my kids, put them to bed, and lay down and let my head reset with a good nights sleep. That's exactly what I did, and we had our first good night of sleep in over a week (the kids were exhausted after a big day of playing with the family, and Emi was finally over her brutal cough, so they both slept like rocks).

I woke up around 7am the next morning, it still dark outside, and everyone still asleep. I quickly realized that I was not relieved as I'd expected. I was instead experiencing major regret, guilt, shame, and resenting my irrational decision to end my race. There was no good reason for me to DNF at Outlaw 100, but I did. I had not DNF'd an ultra since my very first race at Zumbro 50-mile in 2014, and there was no reason this should have been a first. In my four 100 mile attempts, I'd experienced lower lows, worse issues, and more adversity than at Outlaw, but always finished. I cannot justify this decision no matter how hard I try.

But there is a silver lining to this experienced. I have had the chance to reflect and understand what went wrong. I have learned that In a mental funk like this (which I'd never really experienced before), I needed to have a concrete "Why." While there were many little "Why's" for persevering and getting a finish at Outlaw, I hadn't reflected on them prior to the race, and none of them were in my head at the moment of truth. Another silver lining is that I have another 100-mile event on the horizon, and I have a huge appetitive for redemption with the 100 mile distance. I will get that redemption in six weeks at Badger Mountain Challenge 100-mile in WA. There will not be a repeat of what happened at Outlaw 100. I have learned, and I'm going to move on stronger and more capable of overcoming circumstances like what I was presented with at this event. While true redemption will not happen without a return to and a finish at Outlaw 100, getting my fifth 100-mile buckle at Badger Mountain (and first post-kids...which for some reason feels notable..my world is very different than it was for my previous 100s) will be a good first step.

Huge thanks to everyone who helped me prep for this race: Isabel, Jeremy, Matt, Mark, PT Pete, and others.

A look at my upcoming races for 2020, so far:

March 26th - Badger Mountain Challenge 100-mile in WA
June 20th - Grandmas Marathon in Duluth, MN
July 25th - Voyageur 50-mile in Carlton, MN

I will be adding to my calendar, but these are my focus races for the early part of my season in 2020. I'm a stronger and fitter runner than I've ever been, and I'm ready to crush it in 2020.