Hardrock Hundred Mile Endurance Run July 9-11, 1999 by Blake P. Wood "Where is Blake? And what have you done with his body?!" was Mike Dobies' question when I congratulated him on his Hardrock finish. I heard comments like that from a lot of friends, and asked the same thing of myself. My goal in my fifth Hardrock was to beat my 33:43 time from '97. My plan to accomplish this was to run the same times as '97 through Ouray (45 miles), then gain an hour or so over the nighttime section to Sherman (78 miles), and repeat '97's fast finish with whatever I had left. I figured I might have an extra hour in me over '97, but that was it. I also hoped to finish in the top five (I was sixth in '97), although I wasn't so sure I could manage that after seeing who else was entered this year - a pretty good field! I also hoped to finish ahead of my good friend and five (now six) time Hardrock finisher Gordon Hardman. I've always admired Gordon's ability to hang back and then catch everyone in the last half, and of all the times we've raced, I've only finished ahead of him once. That time Gordon was hauled away from the finish in an ambulance, so I figure it didn't really count. Running faster than Gordon was a worthy goal. My wife (Rebecca) and I drove up with two of my daughters on Tuesday, so we could participate in the moving and well attended memorial service for Joel Zucker on Wednesday morning. While I attended a Hardrock planning committee dinner that night, Rebecca managed to cook dinner for the kids before it started to pour rain - something that continued off and on until race day. Camping out with kids in the rain isn't a lot of fun, but I was psychologically prepared to run the whole race in the rain. Luckily, it didn't happen that way. RD Dale Garland came up with a characteristic and brilliant solution to the problem of bored children during the long process of checking in and waiting for something to happen: put 'em to work! And not just menial tasks either - Dale had Gordon's and my kids fill all the race packets, had Gordon's son coordinate setting out all the race paraphernalia for sale, and had my nine year old daughter handle all the sales for quite a few unsupervised hours - taking money, making change, and entering sales in the receipt ledger. Much better than relying on us parents to keep them out of everyone's way and make them be quiet! The alarm went off at 3:55 am on Friday morning, and I started gathering my stuff in the tent, amazed to be comfortable in a T-shirt. At Hardrock, we normally wake to frost on our sleeping bags. After a big plate of huevos rancheros with green chile at the French Bakery in town, I checked in while Rebecca made sure the kids were still asleep in the back of the car. Ulli Kamm greeted me. "Well, Blake, are you going to win this year?" "No, of course not!" was my reply. John DeWalt had asked the same silly thing the day before. The idea was ludicrous - I had about as much chance of winning Hardrock as I did of winning a Nobel Prize. I spent the remaining minutes before the start wishing friends luck, and at 6 am sharp we were off, just as the sun lit up the tops of the peaks above South Mineral Creek - a beautiful, cloudless morning! The start/finish was moved this year from the Kendall Mountain Ski Hut to the gymnasium in town, requiring a bit different route through town that no one was entirely familiar with. For the first quarter mile I was in the lead with Rick Trujillo and Randy Isler, but that didn't last long - I kept stepping out of the lineup to snap photos, and was a third of the way back in the pack after the South Mineral Creek crossing. Climbing up the Bear Creek trail gave me a chance to meet many other runners, about half of whom I knew by name, as I pushed slightly not to drop too far behind the leaders. When we finally broke into the open in Putnam Basin, however, I could see a lead pack of about a dozen runners 10 minutes ahead of me. That was the end of trying to keep up - they were going too fast! Surprisingly, I found myself alone for the next two hours through the KT aid station. I made it to KT (12 miles) in 3:05 - a couple minutes before my '97 pace, although this was probably accounted for by start being moved. The Kamm Traverse was a huge field of blue-and-white Colorado columbine this year - beautiful! I caught up to a couple other runners I didn't know at Ice Creek, which we waded since the logs we had crossed in previous years had been washed away. Following an incredibly steep scramble a few hundred feet up to the Ice Creek Trail, I found myself hiking along with one of the runners from the creek. It was Tim Seminoff, whom I knew by reputation as a really good runner. He also turned out to be a really good companion, and I thoroughly enjoyed his company during the climb/scramble up Grant-Swamp Pass. After having Tim snap a picture of me depositing my rock on the cairn next to Joel Zucker's memorial plaque at the top of the pass, I bombed down the scree slope into Upper Swamp Basin. Tim picked his way down more cautiously. Below the scree slope was a few hundred vertical feet of glissade down a steep snow bank, on which I rapidly caught and passed fellow Los Alamosian Charlie Thorn. Picking up the trail across the bench, and checking in with the course monitors there, I headed down the trail toward Chapman Gulch, trying out my knees and legs for the first time with some fast downhill running. Again, I was all alone. Rebecca, Mom, and my daughters were waiting for me when I arrived at Chapman Gulch 13 minutes ahead of my '97 time. One of my goals was to minimize the time I spent in aid stations, so I didn't sit down, but only refilled my bottle with Ultra and grabbed a tuna sandwich from Rebecca. The strap on one of my gaitors had worn through. We tried to fix this with duct tape, but it came off immediately as I started up the road toward Oscars Pass. Way above me I could see runners near the top of the pass, but I was still alone on this climb. About halfway up the pass, Charlie and Tim suddenly appeared a switchback below me. I thought I had left them far behind coming down Grant-Swamp. They may have been slow on the downhill, but they could really climb, and were closing the gap between us. Near the top I was hailed by John Demorest and Errol Jones. John, who has run Hardrock twice, was showing Errol part of the course while they waited for their pacing duties to begin later in the day. Errol was clearly overwhelmed - I still laugh every time remember him panting "You da Man! I'll never race up nothin' like this. You can tell everyone that Errol is a girlie girl!" Charlie caught me just as we reached the top of the pass, but I left him behind again on the snow slopes below Wasatch Saddle. The snow here was soft and very difficult to run on, as any step might break through to above the knee. Still, it was a fast descent toward Telluride, and again, I was alone on the trail. Once I hit the last two miles of dirt road into Telluride, I started seeing a lot of hikers - some gave me a friendly "hello!", and some ignored me. I caught up to a runner, and was surprised to find it was last year's winner, Ricky Denesik. I slowed to walk with him for a few yards, wondering what he was doing this far back in the pack. "I punched through the snow and twisted my knee on Grant-Swamp. I tried to drop at Chapman, but my crew made me keep going." Nothing like a good crew! My daughters , Heather (12) and Margaret (9) came cheering and running across the ball field to trot with me into the Telluride aid station at 28 miles. I was 19 minutes ahead of my '97 time, but was very surprised to learn that I was only in 16th place. Leader Karl Meltzer had arrived nearly 40 minutes earlier - really burning up the course! The insole of my Montrails had fallen apart, and their unusual sole was quickly chewing through my gaitor straps, so I decided to change into my NB801s here. As it turned out, I never had to so much as unlace my shoes for the entire remaining 72 miles. It created quite a sensation among the aid station crew, however, when I smeared my feet with Desitin (which I prefer to Vaseline) - they couldn't figure out why I seemed to be rubbing my feet in plaster! I declined the turkey sandwich Rebecca had made me. "You BETTER take it - it has the last tomato in the aid station!" Remembering guiltily how I had urged Rebecca to find tomatoes to put in my turkey sandwiches, I took it, and it was delicious. Munching my sandwich, I walked out of the aid station with my friend Dave Dixson. Dave and I hiked together all the way to timberline on the ascent toward Virginius Pass. This is one of my least favorite parts of the Hardrock course - usually hot and buggy. Today, however, the gathering clouds and an occasional cool breeze made it a pleasant climb. My Dad, who was hiking along the course from Telluride to Ouray, had written "Go Blake!" on a couple snowbanks on the ascent, and left word with the Virginius Pass aid station crew that I "better hurry up." Shortly after Dave and I broke out of the trees, it began to rain. On went the rain jackets. I started to get chilled, especially my hands, and broke contact with Dave while pushing the pace to warm up. Topping Mendota Saddle, and making the traverse toward Virginius, I ran into my friend John Cappis, who had just completed marking this section of the course. John is one of the originators of the Hardrock (along with Charlie Thorn and Gordon Hardman), but hadn't been able to run it for a few years due to foot problems, now apparently fixed. It will be good to see him back in the race in 2000. The Virginius Pass aid station has always amazed me. Perched in a 10' wide slot in the headwall at 13,000' elevation, everything is carried up to this exposed location on the aid station worker's backs. It was about quarter to four in the afternoon. I didn't want to hang around in the cold and rain, and so turned down their offers of a variety of foods, gulped down a cup of broth, and began the steep glissade down toward the Mountain Top Mine. It was strange to be sliding on my butt down snow in the rain! Toward the bottom of the second glissade pitch I caught up with Jan Fiala, who had lost the course markers. I didn't see any markers either. "Follow me, Jan. I think I remember which way to go." We picked up the markers again after a short traverse to a bench a hundred yards to the right. I hoped the other runners could find this! I was ready to run faster than Jan, and left him behind as I descended the steep road toward Governor's Basin. At the Governor Basin aid station, I simply stuffed a handful of hard candies in my pocket and continued down the long road toward Ouray. This was a stretch to be careful on - it would be easy to run it fast enough to burn up my legs, but, conversely, it was long enough to lose a lot of time on if I poked along. Except for occasional 4WD cars on the road, I was alone for the whole, long descent. It was beautiful in the clearing weather, with misty clouds hanging on the sidewalls of the canyon. As I made the final descent into Ouray, I came upon Kirk Apt with two other runners whom I didn't know, on their way out of Ouray. It was good to see Kirk, whom I've always admired highly as a runner and all-around great guy, and I congratulated him and the others on how they were doing. I guessed they must be 45 minutes ahead of me - 15 minutes into and out of the aid station plus 15 minutes in the aid station itself. It turned out to take me 43 minutes to reach this spot again on my way out - pretty good guess! At Ouray, Rebecca, the kids, and my folks had convinced the aid station workers to let them stay out of the rain (which by now had stopped) in the gazebo with the drop bags, by agreeing to retrieve drop bags for arriving runners. It was 5:30 p.m., and I was about half an hour ahead of my '97 time. This was the same time the leaders arrived in '97, but I was only in 11th place this year, more than 80 minutes behind Karl Meltzer! Still, I was very pleased - I was running my own race, just as I had planned. The next step in my plan was to gain on my '97 time with a strong night. To do this, I had to avoid my usual nighttime sickness. I decided to go light on the food immediately before dark, so I limited myself to a half can of soup, which was fine since I wasn't really hungry anyway. I also put a piece of fresh, crushed ginger in my water bottle and took some vitamin B6, both of which I'd heard were good for nausea. I'd been taking a Succeed electrolyte cap every hour as well. My traditional Hardrock pacer, Dave Scudder, apologized that he wasn't feeling well, and wouldn't be able to run with me later in the race. My other pacer, Igor Pesenson, had arrived only minutes before, but was ready to go. After slipping into a long sleeve shirt and deciding to skip taking a day pack this for this leg, we were off. On the way out of Ouray, we passed Charlie Thorn and then Gordon Hardman, who were on their way in. We caught up to Jan Fiala, who had arrived and left the aid station while we were making our preparations for the night. I could have sworn that he had left the aid station with a pacer, but he was alone now. "That was my wife, but she's too short to cross the river." I was pretty leery of the Uncompahgre, as the water was running fast and muddy, and mere days earlier it had been unfordable. When we reached the rope strung across the river, I suggested to Igor that he sling his pack around his neck. "Are you serious?" he asked. "Yep, I expect this will be up over our waists!" I went first, and it wasn't bad at all - only crotch deep. How disappointing! After a short climb to the highway, we started up the switchbacks on the Bear Canyon National Historic Trail. I had briefed Igor that this was a "you trip, you die" trail, but he was impressed nevertheless. It was very spectacular - in places a narrow trail blasted out of the rock, with hundreds of feet of air down to the river roaring and foaming in the canyon far below. I had left my camera with my crew in Ouray, tired of trying to keep it dry, but Igor snapped many pictures. I didn't seem to be able to push the pace as much as I'd like. Igor had no trouble keeping up - being fresh and half my age! Igor is an undergrad student at my grad school alma mater, U.C. Berkeley, so we had a lot to catch up on about how his Junior year had gone. It made the miles pass quickly, and before we knew it, we were making the final climb to the bench atop which sat the Engineer aid station. I had never been in the Engineer aid station in the daylight before - in my four previous Hardrock it had always been dark here, in either direction. This is about the half-way point in the Hardrock. Igor and I gulped a down a couple cups each of ramen soup, and were on our way. The Engineer aid station was at timberline, and we immediately had an unobstructed view of the route ahead to Oh Point. We could see figures on the ridgeline far ahead, but whether they were runners or not we could not tell. The evening turned into a gorgeous sunset, which bathed the mountains above us in a warm alpenglow, and turned the clouds to fire behind us. As we approached the final pitch to Oh Point, we started seeing flashlights behind and below us, the closest set not far behind and apparently closing. As it darkened, I recounted to Igor how, in '94, I had made this climb on a pitch black, moonless night beneath a sky filled with brilliant stars - almost completely without a flashlight, as I'd forgotten my spare batteries at Ouray. There seemed to be no reason to turn on our flashlights during the climb, although it was quite dark when we reached the pass, homing in on the flashing red light which marked the course. From here to the Grouse Gulch aid station was a 4WD road. I felt far better than I had at this point in '97, when my stomach was beginning to get upset, and, although tired, was able to run relatively fast down the road (although Igor offered several times that "you can go faster if you want".) We were pulling ahead of the flashlights above us on the road. Soon we could see the aid station ahead and below us, and as we pulled into it there were several sets of flashlights beginning the climb up Grouse Gulch above. It was about 10:30 p.m. - a very good leg from Ouray, and now we were about an hour ahead of my '97 pace. So far, my plan to prevent the nighttime nausea was working. Which of the four remedies (light on food, ginger, B6, and Succeed caps) was the "magic bullet", I can't say - it may have been a combination of several of them. But it did work - this turned out to be the first nighttime race I've ever completed without feeling sick. Igor was willing to continue with me over 14,000' Handies Peak, but I waved him off as he was unfamiliar with the route (particularly the hazardous descent into Boulder Gulch). I didn't want to worry about him if we got separated, and he would have either been left in Sherman without transportation, or have needed to cover another 25-30 miles in addition to the 15 he'd already run, to get out at Maggie or Cunningham. I suggested instead that he get a good night's sleep and join me for the final leg from Cunningham to the finish. I was still in 10th place - this was definitely one of the loneliest Hardrocks I'd ever run - there just didn't seem to be any other runners near me! As I climbed the switchbacks leading out of the aid station, I could see the flashlights of several other runners on their way in. I took a caffeine pill to help me stay awake - particularly effective since I'd laid off coffee for the previous three weeks. Staying awake at night was my other nemesis beside getting sick. I was counting on great things over this upcoming leg - this is where I had lost a lot of time in '97, taking 5:30 to get to Sherman. Tonight I hoped to beat 5 hours. Crossing over the pass and heading down into American Basin, I could see lights ahead in the distance at various points on the ascent of Handies. One light was close below me - I'd been chasing it all the way up the final pitch to the pass. There was as much snow in American Basin as in '97, but it was soft on this relatively warm night, and I felt no need for the crampons I'd used here in '97. Glissading down on my feet, I quickly caught the runner ahead - it was Andy Lapkass, who seemed pleased to see me. After chatting briefly, he waved me on, and I pushed ahead, although Andy stayed close enough behind that I could still yell to him when I reached the number punch at Sloan Lake on the other side of American Basin, perhaps half an hour later. Now I was on the final switchbacks leading out of American Basin to the ridgeline on Handies. The stars shown brightly above - beautiful! Ahead were two more flashlights - Jim Nelson and a pacer, I learned when I caught them before topping the ridge. As I climbed higher, I seemed to be getting stronger, and this nighttime climb was a joy - much better than the blowing snow we endured here in '97. The final climb up the ridgeline to the summit of Handies seemed to take forever, but I reached the high point of the Hardrock course at 1 am. Only a breeze was blowing, and although I carried a polypro sweatshirt, I was comfortable in my shorts and long sleeve cotton shirt, and felt no need to put it on. In the trail briefing, John Cappis had said that the summit number punch was a bit below the summit on the ridgeline we would follow down to Boulder Gulch. I didn't see it, and yelled back to Jim Nelson for verification that I remembered correctly where it should be. I started down the ridge. No joy. A hundred yards or so down, Jim yelled from the summit, asking whether I'd found the punch. I yelled back that I hadn't, but when I turned around, there it was hanging from a rocky prominence a few feet ahead of me. I yelled back to Jim (whom I think I was accidentally calling "Pat" at that point), but couldn't get an acknowledgement from him. I yelled some more, and contemplated climbing back up to tell him I'd found it, feeling guilty for telling him it wasn't here when I was standing right next to it. I decided against this, and continued down. Soon I saw his flashlight above me and successfully yelled to him that the punch was down here. The descent down this "Up-Chuck" ridge was exhilarating, even at night when I could only sense how exposed it was. Below I could occasionally see flashlights in Boulder Gulch Basin. After a long descent down the ridge, during which I pulled steadily ahead of Jim, I found the entrance to the chute leading off the ridge down into Boulder Gulch Basin. This had been an SOB to climb in '98, and it was even worse to descend at night - sometimes loose, but not loose enough to simply slide down, sometimes firm, but not firm enough to trust. I slipped and fell a lot, scraping various parts of my anatomy. Finally I was down, and trotted as best I could across the tundra and down the steep trail in Boulder Gulch. I managed to run nearly all the road into the Sherman aid station - much better than my sleepwalk/stumble down this in '97. It seemed to take a long time to reach Sherman, and I occasionally stopped and checked for any runners catching me from behind. There were four runners in the aid station when I arrived (one a pacer), none of whom I knew. The aid station seemed somewhat disorganized, like they were having trouble handling five simultaneous runners. It was about quarter to 3 am - I'd accomplished my fast Handies leg in 4:11. Alright!! Only 31 miles to go. I was feeling good, and ready to move up Cascade Creek. There was only one problem - I had left a small AA flashlight in my drop bag, anticipating no more than one hour of darkness. Now I had three hours of darkness left, and neither the big D cell light I'd been using all night nor the AA light would last that long! I didn't want to carry both, and elected to go with the smaller one. Two of the runners (Hans Put and Curt Anderson, although I didn't know that at the time) got up and left the aid station soon after I arrived. The other two (Scott Gordon and pacer Tom Stahl, both fellow New Mexicans) got up at the same time I did, and we left together. It was 3 am. After shinnying across the log on our butts over the river (it was too scary to walk upright), I started to push ahead, but stopped, suddenly realizing that it would be stupid to try to race them when I had a flashlight that wouldn't last until dawn. I let them go by, explained my flashlight situation, and asked whether they'd mind if I tagged along by their light. They graciously agreed. Following a round of introductions, we had a pleasant climb with Scott and Tom setting a pace that was as fast as I could wish for. This was a good trail, and I only occasionally needed to flash my light to check it out. We had a couple minor episodes of losing the trail, which seemed poorly marked through this section. I apologized for not being more help at finding it, but I'd never been over this section in the dark before. It was cooler in this canyon, and I had changed into a T-shirt at Sherman, leaving my sweatshirt behind. I started to get chilled, and pulled on my rain shell, then my wind pants, which I'd intended to leave at Sherman, but luckily forgot to. We reached a dangerously slippery river crossing just above a large waterfall, which we'd been warned about in the trail briefing. Scott slipped, and went completely under, luckily scrambling out without being carried downstream. I managed to find a less slippery spot. Scott was going to be COLD! I didn't have clothing to offer him, but luckily Tom could spare a jacket, and we were all about equally uncomfortable. A slight glow above the canyon wall to the east held the promise of morning and warmth. The trail now cut alternately through thick brush and across open meadows, but seemed always to be soggy and muddy. I took a turn leading the march, until my flashlight gave out completely, but by then it was almost light enough not to matter. By the time we skirted the lake astride the continental divide, and began our descent into Pole Creek, the sky was bright. I started to run, lost the trail, waited for Scott and Tom to catch up, found the trail and suggested we all start running. They waved me ahead, and thanking them for their help, I started jogging where I could. Soon I caught another runner, Dale Petersen, whom I didn't know at the time, and his pacer. They seemed to have no inclination to follow me. The trail improved as I descended toward the Pole Creek aid station, and my pace quickened. This leg from Sherman to Pole had been a fast one for me in '97. I knew it would be slower this year, but I didn't want to lose too much of what I'd already gained. As I exited a narrow section of canyon, and could see the aid station a half mile ahead on a rise above the creek, I noticed two other runners crossing the creek below me and took off, intending to catch them. They were in the aid station when I arrived, and, looking surprised that another runner had caught up with them, they immediately left. I had a cup of poorly mixed soup, gagging slightly on the salty goop at the bottom of the cup, grabbed a handful of potato chips, and took off after them about five minutes behind. The climb up the West Fork of Pole Creek was gentle enough that I could run nearly all of it, although no one else seemed quite that enthusiastic. I steadily gained on the two runners who left the aid station before me, while they, in turn, caught and passed two runners in front of them. A couple miles out of the aid station, I caught up to the latter two. Until this point, I had only a vague idea that I was somewhere between 6th and 10th place (I was in 6th), and knew I was running a good race, but figured I was still a long way from the leaders. Suddenly, I realized that I had caught my friends Kirk Apt and his pacer Virgil. They were obviously surprised to see me, and both gave me a hearty "Way to go, Blake!" Kirk was a five (now six) time finisher, and in four of those races he had placed 3rd or 4th - a truly remarkable runner! I was doing REALLY good! Although I still didn't know (and didn't ask) what place I was in, this was the moment I first realized that I must be near the front, with two more runners just ahead. After slogging through the mud at the Pole Creek crossing, I pushed up the hill ahead to catch Hans Put and Curtis Anderson, although I didn't know who they were at the time and didn't say more than "Hi!" as I jogged by. They both gave me a "Who are you and where did you come from?" look. I pushed hard past them to discourage them from trying to stay with me, and they didn't. The trail began climbing more steeply, leaving Pole Creek to ascend the divide leading to Maggie Gulch, and I couldn't run much of it. A few hundred yards ahead I could see a lone runner. I wondered if it could be my good friend Randy Isler, as I thought he must still be out ahead of me, but he was too far off for me to tell. On this steeper terrain, I caught up to him very slowly. Topping the divide, I could run again, and caught him a short distance below the top. It WAS Randy! I stopped to talk to him for a few moments, and couldn't resist asking "How many runners are still out ahead?". Randy held up a finger. "Only one, but he's already down in the aid station. I've been trying to catch him for a long time." Fifteen minutes ahead, I guessed, with 17 miles left. I could get him! I took off running as fast as possible on the steep trail leading down to the aid station, both to catch Karl Meltzer and to put some distance between myself and Randy. Randy is an excellent runner, and always has a very fast finish at Hardrock. He might easily catch me later on. As I pulled into the Maggie Gulch aid station, I could see Karl and a pacer ascending the switchbacking road above the aid station. I only stopped to grab a handful of candy. "You're looking mighty strong! But the first place guy looks strong too." said the guy filling my water bottle. "Well, I guess we'll see if he can still run downhill" I replied. I was only on the first switchback in the dirt road leading out of the aid station when Randy ran into the aid station, and immediately started out after me, less than five minutes behind. After climbing less than a mile on the road, which I tried to run as much of as possible, I started a horrendously steep climb straight up the mountainside. This was scrambling on all fours, only occasionally broken by a short, walkable section. I felt like I might be catching up to Karl, but it was hard to tell. Randy was giving me fits, however, since every time it got really steep he would pull to within a stone-throw of me, even though he was probably not closing in time-wise. Karl and his pacer disappeared over the top of the steepest section. When I topped it, I could no longer see them out ahead on the ridge we were on nor on the final steep climb to the summit crest. I ran along the top of this ridge as much as I could, knowing that Karl could get way ahead of me when he hit the downhill section on the other side. I climbed to the crest. Ahead the route dipped down briefly, then went up a hands-and-feet steep, water-soaked section of loose dirt. Karl and his pacer scrambling up this spot, certainly no more than five minutes ahead! They soon climbed out of sight. I pushed up this section as fast as possible, and took off across the downsloping meadowy section beyond. Karl wasn't in sight immediately, but I soon spied him ahead, already on the 4WD road leading down to the Buffalo Boy Mine. He was walking! I had him now! When I was a few feet behind Karl and his pacer, they turned around with a start, surprised to suddenly find another runner behind them. I slowed to a walk for a few steps, introduced myself, and said "We've got a long downhill in front of us. Come on! Run with me!" As I took off down the road, I heard Karl's pacer ask "Do you want to run some?" Just as I was getting out of earshot I heard Karl reply with something like "I don't think I can" followed by some indistinct comment about how fast I was running. And I WAS putting on an extra burst of speed, because although I would have been happy to have them join me, I was really hoping they'd let me go. As it turned out, my extra burst of speed lasted all the way down the 2,900' descent to Cunningham Creek, fueled by paranoia about Randy catching me. I looked back over my shoulder every couple minutes, expecting to see him there behind me, but he never appeared. Fifty yards from the bottom of the road, '96 Hardrock winner and friend Rick Trujillo went by in a car. I called out a hello to him as he drove by, heading uphill, but he only looked at me like he didn't know who I was, or certainly didn't expect to see me there. A minute later, he had turned around and slowed down beside me. "You're doing great, Blake! You're in first place!" "Yeah, but I don't know where Randy Isler is - he still might catch me!" "Don't worry, he won't!" Rick yelled as he drove off, making the turn up the road toward the Cunningham aid station. I wondered how he could know this - he certainly didn't drive far enough up the road to see where Randy was, unless Randy was right behind me, in which case what he said wouldn't be true! Even with gravity on your side, running fast down several thousand vertical feet takes a lot out of you. I was pretty tired as I started the mile and a half of uphill road to the aid station. I allowed myself to walk the first, steep quarter mile. "This is going to hurt" I told myself at the top of the steep section, "But I'm going to run all the rest of the way to the aid station!" And I did. And it DID hurt! But I doubted Randy would run this section, and this would give me a few more precious minutes of cushion. This was usually a hot and difficult section of road. Luckily, it was still early enough (a bit after 9 am) that the road was still in shadow. Rebecca later told me that all Hell broke loose when Rick Trujillo reached the aid station. Since Pole Creek and through Maggie, I had been imagining how excited my family must be to hear how I was moving up in the pack. I didn't know that there was no radio contact with either aid station, so the last my family knew was that I had been in 8th place at Sherman, six hours earlier. Rebecca was incredulous when Rick told her that I was in first, and was sure there must be some mistake. My Dad and both daughters ran down the road to meet me and lead me into the aid station. My arrival at Cunningham was especially sweet because beside Rick and my family, several other of my friends were running this aid station: Aaron Goldman, Dave Scudder, and Igor Pesenson among them. They were all pretty excited to suddenly find me in the lead. I had forgotten that I'd invited Igor to pace me on this final section of the course, and was glad to see him ready to go. I decided to drop my running belt, and just carry a water bottle in my hand from here on. I had neglected to take the sunglasses in my drop bag at Sherman, so I was glad to have my other pair available here. Rebecca smeared some sunscreen on my arms and legs, and Igor and I were off after less than five minutes in the aid station. As we ran off, Rick Trujillo yelled "If you can do this in 2:30, you'll break 30 hours!" Not a chance. I thought I remembered doing this section in a bit over 3 hours in '97 (to the old finish - the new finish was on the far side of town). I hoped to beat 3 hours today, but didn't expect to go much faster than that. My goal now was to finish under 31 hours, something I thought I could comfortably do. After splashing across the creek, Igor and I started up the rough trail which climbs the wall directly above the aid station in long switchbacks. I told Igor the names of the flowers we passed, and he translated the names into Russian for me, or told me the Russian names for them if he knew them. Igor grew up in Russia, although you'd never know it from talking to him. He works on the same project I do at LANL - yes, we really DO have an assistant named "Igor" working in our pulsed power lab! I didn't feel like we were climbing very fast - the miles were catching up to me. I kept a close eye on the road leading to the aid station for Randy Isler - it would be a great comfort to know where he was. Just before we climbed over the lip of a cirque, out of sight of the aid station, we saw Randy walking up the road. Rebecca has this very loud sort of shriek-howl that she uses to call the children in from playing out in the neighborhood - we call it a "monkey in distress", which is as good a description as any. Earlier, in the Telluride aid station, Rebecca had warned everyone "I'm about to make a loud noise!", and they still all jumped a foot in the air when she let it rip. A few minutes after we disappeared over the lip of the cirque, I heard this call loud and clear, wafting up from a thousand vertical feet below. Although it was completely unplanned, I turned to Igor and said "I bet that means that Randy just left the aid station." I learned later that I was right. I checked my watch - he was 25 minutes behind us. I began to relax and believe that I really was going to run this dream-come-true race - Randy might do this last leg faster than us, but not 25 minutes faster. However, I still looked over my shoulder all the way to the finish line. After climbing over another rocky cirque, the trail disappeared and the route lead straight up the grassy slope, steep enough to require hands for balance. We reached the top sooner than I expected and did the short traverse over to Little Giant Basin. Now began another 3000'+ descent toward Arrastra Gulch, first on a steep, rough trail, later on a steep, rough 4WD road (steep and rough describes most of the Hardrock.) I hoped to blast through this descent just as I had on the one down from Buffalo Boy, and Igor and I got a good start on the trail section - leaping, sliding, and fast stepping down. By the time we reached the start of the 4WD road, by a beautiful decaying mine structure at the outlet of a lake, I was very tired. Igor waved me on ahead while he refilled his water bottle from the stream, but I took the opportunity to stand still for a moment and try to let the tiredness drain away a bit. Igor was back in a minute, and we were off running again - fast. In '97 I thought this road would never end, but now I knew what to expect and at least didn't suffer through miles of THINKING I was almost down. We finally reached Arrastra Gulch. "They shoot horses, don't they?!" I moaned to Igor, but he didn't recognize that saying and it sort of lost its punch when I had to explain it to him. We waded the creek, and headed off along the interesting, spiral-welded pipeline which led to the bench above the Animas River that we'd follow back to Silverton. I looked at my watch, and realized that we had a shot at Ricky Denesik's course record, which I thought was 30:12. We had about 45 minutes left, but this section from Arrastra Gulch to the finish had taken me that long in '97, and today we also had to get across town to the new finish - an additional 10 minutes, I guessed. It was worth going for! The route followed a rolling dirt road, then turned onto a trail that wound through forests and meadows, fording streams and, in places, turning into shoe sucking mud. I didn't care anymore, and splashed and slogged through it all, while Igor picked his way around. He had no trouble keeping up with me - I was REALLY tired, and frequently had to pause, bent over with hands on knees, to let the exhaustion ebb for a moment. It didn't help much - at this point in a hundred, it hurts more to stop than to keep moving. The latter part of this trail was a heartbreaker - you keep thinking that on top of the next rise you'll break out of the trees above the ski hut (the old finish), only to head back down into the trees for another section. In '97 I had unknowingly gained 40 minutes on my friend Mark Heaphy over this section, to finish only a minute and a half behind him without realizing I was so close. I didn't want to do this again with the record, so I ran every yard of trail that I possibly could, even if it was only a few steps. I kept a tight eye on my watch, figuring that if I was going to beat 30:12, I had to break out above the ski hut at 30:00 (high noon) to give myself 12 minutes across town. That time came and went. Maybe I could make it across town in 10 minutes? 30:02 came and went. Eight minutes? 30:04 came and went, and I realized I wasn't going to make the record. Oh well, this was still a dream come true! Finally, there we were above the ski hut. I had made it from Cunningham in 2:40 - pretty good! I could see my family and a number of onlookers below, cheering and clapping as I ran down the steep hill. A police vehicle pulled in front of me, and another behind, to escort me through town. I couldn't resist stealing a glance back over my shoulder to make sure Randy wasn't sprinting down the hill behind me. After crossing the bridge over the Animas, we headed toward Silverton's main street. This was a very slight up hill grade, but it felt like I was running through waist deep water - I just couldn't go fast! Igor couldn't figure this out, as he and I had sprinted all-out through Silverton at the end of last year's Hardrock. I desperately wanted to walk, but the desire not to be SEEN walking was enough to keep me jogging along. There were many people out and about, all yelling encouragement and congratulations. I turned the corner onto Greene Street, and could see the school gymnasium a couple blocks ahead. I looked at my watch. It was ticking away in the 30:09's - I could still get the record! This section was very slightly downhill, and I could run again. I shook RD Dale Garland's hand briefly as I went by and broke the tape - 30:10:58! We'd done it! I kissed the Hardrock, then kissed it again, and again... at the request of people snapping pictures. After kissing Rebecca and my kids, I sat on the Hardrock, and everyone stood around and looked at me. This was kind of weird - people were politely giving me plenty of space, but it made me feel like a circus animal, like they were all waiting for me to DO something. Pretty soon, however, people started coming over to congratulate me, and that was fine. After snapping a few more pictures with my family, I talked to reporters from the local Durango and Silverton papers. After a few minutes, however, I had to quickly excuse myself and bolt for the bathroom as a sudden wave of nausea swept over me. I had expected this, as it had happened to me after several previous hundreds that I ran very hard over the final few miles. When I finished the Pueblo Nuevo 100 a few years back, the paramedics invited me into their ambulance as it was late at night and they had nothing else to do. They said to me "you're probably feeling sick now..." and I had said "No, I feel fine", but within 10 minutes was making good use of the barf bag they so thoughtfully handed me. They told me at the time that this was a natural reaction to having my body pumped full of endorphins (natural opiates) for so many hours. "Just like any junkie coming down and drying out." Interesting, if true. Over the next day, I heard many questions like that of Mike Dobies that I quoted at the start of this report. "What happened?!" was a common one. My truthful answer was "I don't know, I'm still trying to figure it out." I was as surprised as anyone. This really was a race beyond my wildest dreams - more than two hours faster than my "best possible" prediction, in a race I'd run five times. Miracles CAN happen. I guess now I'd better start working on that Nobel Prize!