The Bear 100
It’s all fun and games until the sun sets.
Training for my first hundred
“What the hell!” I blurted as the doc stabbed a needle in and out of my glute. “My toes are going numb!”
“It’s your sciatic nerve. Breathe through it,” he said.
After about 20 seconds of bizarre pain I turned over and he demonstrated how when he pressed on the outside of my foot, my glute was now engaging.
“See, now he’s playing along,” the doc commented with a satisfied look on his face. “Come back next week for your final tweak. You’re looking good.”
Just when my confidence began peaking, about two weeks before the race, I felt the pain in my knee get sharper. Since I’d hired a coach, Cindy, to help push me in my training and get me to the point where finishing a hundred mile race in less than the cutoff time of 36 hours actually felt plausible, I’d been told many times to take care of any injuries asap. Now, on my last build before tapering I was cruising the Pawnee-Buchanan loop getting in some higher altitude work (even though The Bear only peaks around 9,000 feet). “It’s just like running this loop four times,” I’d say to myself when I finished. (Running a hundred is all about putting the distance into perspective). With a bag of Cheetos and a pint of chocolate milk in my lap, legs elevated, knee covered in ice, I decided it was time to acknowledge I needed fixing. Cindy suggested I try dry needling, and with encouragement from my friend Michel who’d been through this, I gave Action Spine in Denver a call. I won’t go into the details, but I was impressed at the immediate results.
A week of tapering, needling and testing the knee with new shoes (I know, risky) I felt like my body was tuned and ready to go.
Trust the Method
The Monday of the race I spent a lot of time trying to memorize the course and make lists. I also tried to coax a few friends into pacing me after one of my original pacers unfortunately had to bow out. No one could pull off the trip so I told my lovely hubbs Sam that he was going to have to pace me through the night by himself. “Just a little 75k, no biggie,” he replied. Damn that man is a machine! He already ran Miwok and the Vermont 100 this year, but his love of sport just doesn’t let him stop. Plus, he was the one who got me into this whole Bear 100 mess, it was his job now to see that I finish.
A nice call with Cindy got me super excited and focused. She outlined each phase of the course, we talked through the pacing schedule, and she let me know that if I needed to drop I wasn’t allowed to do so until I called her for approval. Yes ma’am!
Then off to one more visit with the sports doc where he gave my hips and neck a good crack, then afterward asked me if I had any questions. “Got any pre-race stretch routines I should try?” I asked, imagining a genie in a bottle had offered me three wishes.
“Just do what you always do. Routine is your friend. Trust the method, trust your heart rate. You’re going to crush.”
Not exactly specific, but helpful nonetheless. The message was not to let your brain get in the way. Trust that you’ve done everything possible to prepare for this race and you have a solid plan. Don’t question your abilities, don’t let yourself imagine phantom knee pain or expect the worst to come. Visualize a smooth, smart race. Done!
Get it done
The best part about the pre-race briefing was getting a text from my mom. “Get it done,” she said. I was delighted. Usually when I head off for an adventure she tells me to stay safe, be careful, etc. This time she had no such advice.
Five fifteen in the morning, a nice cool 50 degrees, and my heart rate was creeping upward. The pre-race jitters were kicking in. I knew once I was running I would settle into a focused zen, but for the next 45 minutes I would have to pee three times and put in my earbuds to turn my nervous energy into focus.
I didn’t hear a countdown but at some point the herd of 300+ runners began to move. A minute after that I saw Jen Shelton come into the pack with one water bottle and haul towards the front on a mission. Ya girl!
Once we hit the trail our pace slowed and I leisurely passed those who were taking it a little too easy. One lady of short stature and large vocals yelled in a thick southern accent as I power hiked past her, “why is everyone in such a damn hurry?” I didn’t even know where to begin. As I hiked onward I heard her proceed to state her slow start strategy (yes, that’s everyone’s strategy, lady) to the man next to her and then list all the hundreds she has done before. Her voice echoed far but eventually I managed to get out of earshot. Finally some peace and quiet! About 20 minutes in I opened up my first pack of berry Stinger chews and sipped some Tailwind. The morning chill was absolutely perfect, and as we gained elevation the vibrant red maples kept my lips permanently arched into a smile.
To Logan Peak (mile 10.5)
By the first summit I had already taken a handful of pictures, all of which turned out terribly because I never stopped running. The sunrise beyond a foreground of bright red and yellow flora was inspirational. It was exactly the reason I chose this to be my first hundred. I knew the beauty would keep me motivated.
I grabbed a few chips and filled up on water from an unmarked jug. A couple minutes later I took my first sip and nearly gagged. No! It was orange-vanilla flavored Heed. I guess I won’t be drinking much for the next 9 miles.
To Leatham Hollow (19.6)
Note to female runners: If you have to pee, you’re not going to find a good place through most of this section! Skinny single track on steep terrain doesn’t give you much opportunity. So just suck it in and try to forget about it by watching the valley views sail by below you.
My excitement peaked upon seeing Sam and my dad for the first time when reaching Leatham. When I saw them they immediately got to work for me, Sam replacing the poison in my pack with fresh Tailwind and my dad spraying me down with sunblock. What a team!
To Cowley Canyon (29.9)
Oh hi, Sun! After weather watching for the last week I knew it would get hot — at least into the 90’s — but I thought the real heat would come a bit later in the day. Nope! I’d planned on completely skipping the Richard’s Hollow AS but after a few miles on the exposed hot road leaving Leatham I decided to grab a bag of fruit to keep me happy.
Growing up in Alaska doesn’t really afford you much time in the heat to prepare for exposure like this, but since we watched Unbreakable the night before, seeing Geoff Rose pull through extreme Cali heat and crush the record at Western States, I figured as long as I had water I could manage.
I passed a few folks who really looked affected and came up on a man with a big white sun hat and decided I would keep pace with him. Every time I felt too hot to continue, I’d pop a strawberry or a few grapes into my mouth and focus on sunhat man’s feet to keep moving. Thanks dude!
To Right Hand Fork (36.9)
I honestly don’t remember anything about this section. There were probably cows and/or sheep grazing. And almost definitely some repetitive singing of Sia’s Chandelier song which was stuck in my head since the previous morning.
“Hey, you’re only 30 minutes behind Shelton.” Sam said as I came into the aid station. Shit! I’ve gone out way to fast! Are you serious? Turns out she had a major blister and was hit by the heat. Sam offered her a seat while she tended to her foot and my dad apparently proceeded to tell her “we watched your movie.” She was rightfully confused given that she only had a short pacing cameo in Unbreakable. Oh dad, you’re so awkward sometimes.
To Temple Fork (45)
Cindy suggested if my dad wants to pace me he should do this section since it’s fairly flat and easy. So after stuffing my bra and pack with ice we headed back out together. Now the heat was getting serious. I made myself walk any minor hill and forced myself to keep eating.
A while in I heard my dad take a tumble and ran back. You okay pops?! He held his knee and said he was fine, but that I should go on ahead while he shook it off. What a trooper! I went on ahead yelling to him that if he needs to he can try hitchhiking to the next aid station.
About a quarter mile from the aid station I heard Sam’s signature “Yaaaooowwww!” (I think he was also doing a push-up or humping the ground or something) and saw him with another body — Dad? Turns out my dad eventually jumped on the back of a four wheeler and got a ride to the aid station. I was glad to see that he was okay and in good spirits.
A sloppy wrap of sports tape around my ankle and I took off.
To Tony Grove (51.8)
“It’ll probably be like doing acid. Just a theory.”
Wahoo! This is so sick! (I think that was the soda talking) Per Cindy’s amazing tip, I had a hand bottle full of ice and Coke to sip on. Rather than chugging at the aid station I took small sips along the climb. I cannot tell you how amped I felt! Having kept on my calorie plan all day through the heat, once I hit the canyon and got into the shade I was hyped. Passing people left and right reassured me that I had at least done one thing right today by keeping fueled.
I looked at my watch toward the upper end of the climb and saw that I had passed 50 miles and was about 12 hours in. I was officially into the unknown, running farther and longer than I ever had before. I remember telling my brother I was nervous to get to this point and had no idea what would happen. He replied “It’ll probably be like doing acid. Just a theory.” So far no hallucinations. But it’s only mile 52 and it’s not dark yet. I think the psychedelics will probably kick in a little later.
The final stretch of this section is crazy stunning. Rounding a lake with some jagged peaks behind it reminded me of the Maroon Bells in Aspen.
Eyes wide and proud I came into the aid station 20 minutes or so ahead of the time I was expected. My dad ran in with me and Sam was putting on his shoes getting ready.
I changed socks just for the hell of it and grabbed a good amount of food before taking off. It was also time to grab the headlamp and a warmer layer, so my pack was pretty full by the time I was out of there.
To Franklin Trailhead (61.5)
If only the Pepto marketing team was on the trail to see that.
And the night descends! Almost like clockwork, when the darkness fell, my ankle began burning. The tendon at the top of my foot which engages when I flex my ankle was beginning to swell. The frustration began to build inside of me as I had so much energy to burn but couldn’t use it on the downhills because of the pain. My talkative spunky self turned silent as I tried to stay focused on moving, and my cumbersome Petzl headlamp received the brunt of my projected anger. “I fucking hate this thing. Gah!” I’d say many times throughout the night while I’m sure Sam was giggling behind me knowing full and well it wasn’t the headlamp I was angry with.
We had been ping-ponging with a nice man in a kilt who at some point came from behind us asking for ginger chews. Sam offered him Pepto and literally immediately upon consumption kilt man screamed with joy. “That hit the spot!” he yelled as he bolted past us. If only the Pepto marketing team was on the trail to see that. After the race Sam shook his hand and asked how he did after the Pepto burst. Apparently he went into shock and was forced to stay at an aid station for a few hours before continuing. What a savage!
Coming into the aid station I still felt great aside from my hot ankle, but for some reason I decided to move on without dealing with it. I squatted and stretched as I swallowed down a hot potato in broth and my dad looked at me with shock, “You’ve already gone like 60 miles and you haven’t even broken a sweat!” Yes! I’ve officially impressed him.
A woman I’d been with most of the day came by asking for something. She seemed really under fueled, so we offered her an Ensure. She grabbed it with the last bit of energy she seemed to have and we took off into the unknown.
To Logan River (68.6)
I left feeling good, feeling pretty happy to have come so far already. I was still on 28 hour pace and felt like I was in no rush since my goal was sub 30. It’s a good thing, too. During this stretch my tendon really started flaring. The first few miles were ok, but the last two were brutal. I slowed to a walk and held tightly onto Sam’s words that once we got to the aid station he would wrap my ankle and I’d be good to go again.
Those endless two miles were the beginning of a very long night.
I’m not gonna lie, a few tears were shed at the first thought that if this pain gets worse it might do permanent damage to continue. After Sam attempted a football wrap with tape, a medic went to find an ace bandage that wouldn’t cut my circulation. He wrapped and re-wrapped my foot into a mummy trying to make it perfect and finally I just had to get up and get going.
“Look, I want you to finish this race, but if your foot starts tingling you need to promise me that you’ll re-evaluate.” He was a good guy and I can’t thank him enough for the time he put into tending to me.
To Beaver Lodge (75.8)
Why the hell am I doing this?
First thing when you leave the aid station is a river crossing. In any other circumstance there wouldn’t have been much ado about this, except I hadn’t gotten used to not being able to bend my ankle and my eyes were still foggy from leaving the bright aid station. I decided it would be the worst if I slipped in and soaked my bandage, not just because it would be wet for seven miles, but because I was freezing. Since the day was so hot I figured it wouldn’t get cold enough at night to need my bigger jacket, so all I had was my Patagonia Houdini which is essentially a layer of windproof tissue paper.
I hobbled and crawled like an idiot across the logs and rocks trying not to fall in while Sam was cracking up and taking a video behind me. Once I made it across I took a second to laugh at this ridiculous situation. Why the hell am I doing this? This is ridiculous! But alas, the arbitrary goal of running a hundred miles isn’t supposed to make much sense. There’s never really a good reason to do it, aside from proving to yourself you can.
Once we crossed the river I decided not to look back and we finally began to get warm again as we headed into the climb. It was not an easy climb, but I was happy with it. I love feeling my legs do what they do best. Climbing is where I excel, and passing people is motivating, so it’s a nice feedback loop of positivity.
The trail began to roll, up and down and up, and we hit an exposed summit that was absolutely freezing. I looked at Sam with curled brows and sad eyes and said in my most desperate of voices, “I’m freezing.” He looked back at me with a nod of agreement, which was all I needed, and we kept moving.
At one point Sam asked me if I wanted music. Right, music! I jammed the earbuds into place and played the album I’ve been playing all summer which for some reason gets my blood flowing. Macklemore! As soon as the music struck my ear drums I started hauling. For that entire hour I didn’t think about a single thing aside from moving my feet to the beat. At one point I stopped to pee and took out an earbud. “Sam, it’s a miracle! Music is a superpower!” He smiled and hurried me, always keeping up the pressure to stay moving.
Finally we made it to the lodge where Sam stopped at the car to grab my Hokas. I was desperate for some cushion. My dad had been waiting there for quite some time since we were at the last station for a good 30 minutes, but I’m glad he didn’t leave thinking he missed us! Cindy warned me not to enter the yurt because it sucks people in and they never want to leave, so he had everything laid out for me in the parking lot as directed. But after that cold stretch I just really needed a refresh, so I went in.
I sat with a cup of coffee, staring into the distance with a completely blank head. I was literally a zombie. My dad was concerned for me but he’s ultra competitive and didn’t give me any chance to say I wanted to quit. He warmed me up and made me a sandwich then reassured me this next section was super short. I grabbed all of my warm layers plus the down jacket my dad was wearing and took off into the sagebrush.
To Gibson Bason (81)
I bent over myself and let the demons take me
Where the hell are we? The blazes were meandering through a field of tall grass and there was a strange light structure in the distance. Sam said it looked like a huge Connect Four game made of fire. The hallucinations were beginning!
Thinking we only had four miles to the next station felt great, but it didn’t stop my tendon from screaming. Finally we checked the watch and it was a little over four miles in. Fantastic, the aid station should be coming around one of the next turns. Okay not this one, the next one. No, the next one? Where is it?! Well past four miles in we accepted that we were given the wrong distance. Either my dad told me a fib to get me up or he just read the wrong information. Either way I was frustrated to not know how much longer it would be.
It turned out there were two more miles to go, and during those two miles my brain collapsed. I slowed to a snail pace and just waddled through the woods in a stupor. No words came from my mouth, only noises. Sam talked me through it and stayed strong, reminding me once we get by the fire I’ll feel much better.
I didn’t. Hated everything. It was around 5am and the darkness of night had seemed endless. Cindy had told me once the sun starts rising I’ll get a second wind, but in this pre-dawn fight for life I felt like a slug trying to move through a salt mountain.
A cute kid said cute things to me by the fire then mentioned the tent behind us with cots and a heater. “Dare I?” Yes, yes I dare. I bent over myself and let the demons take me. Sam sat by my side and smiled. “Jenna, of course this is the worst you’ve felt all day. It’s pre-dawn, the coldest part of the night. Just remember how much better you’ll feel when it’s light again.” Sam really was the only person on the planet who could’ve pushed me through this.
To Beaver Creek (85)
I scarfed like a churchgoer at IHOP on Sunday morning
The approaching sunrise plus the fact that now we really did have only four miles to the next aid station eventually got me going. By the time we left the tent it was starting to get light out and the bright aspens welcomed us into the morning. I was still moving at a snails pace, but at least I was no longer in that dark place I’d been in the last section.
For this entire section and through to the end I was convinced that there was no way I wasn’t in last place since I’d been essentially walking for the past 20 miles. So every time someone passed me (always on the downhills) I was shocked and then confused as to why they were behind me but still able to run. It was hard to comprehend this.
We reached the aid station and I glared at my dad for giving us false information. “Four miles, ay?!” It had since been ten. He smiled, but I still couldn’t tell if it was a lie to keep me going or if it really was a mistake. I didn’t care though, I was back in business.
There was a pile of warm pancakes and bacon which I scarfed like a churchgoer at IHOP on Sunday morning, then took off without saying anything.
A volunteer yelled “Amazing job runner!” as I left the station. “I’m not so much a runner anymore, but thanks.” “Listen,” he demanded as he came closer. “No one’s a runner anymore, you’re doing amazing. Stay strong!” What a nice guy.
To Ranger Dip (92.2)
Deep breathing and lots of sarcasm got me through this section. It felt long and the heat came on again, but we kept moving.
Once again when we were close to the aid station we didn’t really know where it was. We passed a few people all of whom had different thoughts on how far it was. Eventually it came and I demanded Advil. Without stopping I snagged a salted potato and began the final push.
Check out those Aspens!
To the finish! (99.7)
The last climb was definitely steep but I was loving it. My ankle never hurt on the uphills and my legs were completely fresh after having taken it so slow throughout the night. Me and Sam were joking and laughing the whole way up, passing people and ready to cruise into the finish.
But this is The Bear, it was not going to be a breezy finish. One stat I’d not known about was that after the steep climb came a 3000 foot drop in five miles. Dear god, just kill me. Each step down the canal-shaped trail full of rocks and slippery gravel was pure torture. My tendon had swelled to a point where if I stepped slightly crooked it would pop out of place and crunch itself back in again. I tried moving in all directions, walking backwards down some sections and sideways down others. The cherry on top was watching runners I’d passed on the uphill sail right on by, happy to be descending.
The descent was so long that I became delusional and thought I was going to miss the final cutoff (I’m most definitely in last place, I figured) so when we hit the ATV trail I started pushing the pace as fast as I could. Sam thought I just got a burst of energy, but in my head I was thinking we really weren’t going to make it. I guess when he told me we still have 5 hours until the cutoff I just didn’t listen.
Once we finally came in sight of the road I shut up and focused on finishing. The last two miles of flatness sailed by and we caught up to a pack of folks who’d annoyingly cruised by on the downhill. We made the final turn onto the main road and saw the spectators cheering. I saw my dad and smiled, and remember thinking “holy shit! holy shit!” but my face was not sharing the expression. I stared at the finish line like I was coming into fight it.
There I was, a day and a half after taking my first step, and feeling so grateful. Grateful for Sam and my dad for being there because without them I had absolutely zero chance of finishing. Grateful that I pushed through the pain and the doubt, and grateful that I discovered this whole crazy sport in the first place. What a ride.
[See my snail pace splits on Strava]
