Bear Bites Can Be Nasty

I had high hopes for the Bear 100. Aside from a low training mileage month in September due to a calf strain, I was feeling good going into this race. Everything had been coming together: the weather was forecast to be moderate but wet, my crew and pacers were all capable and knowledgeable, and I was eager to be running.

Greg, Deron, Melissa and I flew from Phoenix to Salt Lake City where we met up with Michelle and continued on to Logan for packet pickup. The Bear is not a high key event, and the atmosphere at packet pickup was indicative of that. We all listened as the RD gave updates for everything from the course to crewing to weather. There wasn't anything earth shattering, and that helped to ease my nerves.

The night was rough. I took a Zzzquil to help get me to sleep, since I have problems sleeping the night before the race and has made races more difficult. Normally, Zzzquil gets me to sleep and even though I still toss and turn I still manage to get enough sleep. That wasn't the case that night though. I went to sleep alright, but I was awake from 1:45 AM until my alarm went off. Actually, I was awake enough to get up before the alarm.

Despite the lack of sleep, I was feeling good and had almost no nerves. We made our way to the starting line and enjoyed the warm morning and atmosphere. The runners all made our way onto the street and without much fanfare, we were off and running. What some people don't know about the Bear is that the first half mile or more goes through a neighborhood where it then meets up the trailhead up the canyon and turns into single track. If you don't work for a good position, you will end up in a slow conga line for the next 8 miles. I made good progress here and ended up in a group (still a conga line) that was very comparable in ability to me.

We made our way up the canyon at an assertive, but manageable pace. The trail is beautiful and smooth most of the way up the canyon, and I was feeling good and passing people as I pushed up the canyon trail. At the top of the first climb, there's a short downhill/roller section where I kept it moderate to save my quads on the way to the climb approaching the aid station.

I was going downhill through one of these rollers when I hit the bottom and transitioned to the uphill and instantly felt a sharp pain in my calf. It wasn't an unfamiliar pain. It was the same pain I had experienced just a few weeks early when I strained my calf. The moment the pain hit, I knew my day was over even though I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and tried to continue to push uphill. Each step uphill left me with pain and I could not flex my foot like I needed to get a full step forward with my right foot.

Each of the runners I had passed coming up the climb passed me back, and they all brought friends. More than 30 runners passed me in the 1.5 miles I had left to get to the aid station. At the aid station, I sat and wrapped my calf in ice and took some Ibuprofen (I never do this during a race). After about 10 minutes, I got up and attempted to walk to the aid station table but after only two steps I realized my day really was over. The nine miles to the next aid station wasn't impossible, but would have been stupid for me to attempt. Despite all of the physical, emotional, and psychological investment, I knew I had to call it after only 1/10th of this hundred miler.

Live to fight another day. And I will.