On August 16-17th, I ran my second 100-mile race, the Eastern States 100.

I had chosen this race because I like to challenge myself on tough courses, and I had just blissfully sailed through my first 100-miler, the OC100, without major problems. So I thought testing my limits on the ES100 course would be a great idea. Especially this

made my eyes light up with joy and excitement. I just love such dental x-rays of an alligator’s jaw! 20,000+ ft elevation gain sounded just about right for this next step.

Little did I know that “ft” at ES100 apparently is not the same as “ft” at OC100…

Training

After the OC100 in October 2013, I significantly reduced my running for about 2 months, mainly out of laziness, and because I wanted to spend more time with my family. Training for a 100-miler takes a lot of time, and I needed to catch up on valuable time with my kids and my husband, as well as on sleep.

In January 2014, I stepped it up a bit, getting back to longer runs, and running 4-5 times per week, as usual. We had a lot of snow this winter in Pennsylvania, so for months, the trails were covered with a layer of snow - sometimes soft and fluffy, sometimes hard as solid ice, sometimes just an inch here and there, sometimes more than a foot deep for miles and miles on end.

I also went snowshoeing in between, enjoying the white fluff on “rails” instead of “wheels”, building leg and core strength, and working on balance.

The winter dragged out into March, and it was fairly, sometimes bitterly, cold. Still I slowly increased my mileage, and made sure I ran on my technical home trails as much as possible, usually at least 70% of the total miles.

April went well, and as May rolled around, I was in great shape again.

Until May 9th, that is.

On that day, I ran one of my favorite loops, a 15-mile double dip with almost 3,000 ft elevation gain. In the middle of the run, I started feeling chills, and it was hard to run the uphills. Soon, I could not run any more, I had to walk even the flat sections. Driving home, I felt pain in my chest, which by the evening had turned into an unbearable, stabbing, burning torture. The doc in the ER confirmed my worst fear: I had pneumonia, in all four quadrants of my lungs, some fluid in my lungs, and pleurisy.

For the first time in my life, I needed prescription pain medication for four consecutive days, on top of the codeine cough syrup. Yay for a legal high! I was in a daze for several days, and off running, and any exercise, for almost three weeks.

Back to square one.

From experience with a similar pneumonia two years ago, I knew that recovery would take 10 to 12 weeks, and that it would be a slow, tedious process. Counting down the weeks to the race, I would just make it in time to start tapering. I was not sure if it was still worth pursuing my goal race, or if I should just back out. Eventually, I decided to keep it on, and just crank up my training a few notches.

In June and July, I increased the weekly mileage again, around 45 to 65 miles, 85% of these on the most difficult, technical trails in my area, with lots of hills, to get ready for the challenge ahead.

But I did not do any really long runs of 20+ miles, or significant back-to-backs. Only my usual runs, 5 times a week, were around 10-15 miles each, and they were almost all fast and hard runs, virtually no easy-going, slow miles. I was not sure if this would be enough.

Originally, I had intended to do a three-week taper, as this had proven successful for the OC100, but now, I decided to go for a 2-week taper instead. I just hoped that this would give my body enough time to recover from the hard running. I could feel that I was getting to my limits, especially as it took several weeks to improve my breathing from the pneumonia setback, and I constantly felt this burning pain in my legs, even after sometimes two consecutive rest days.

Pre-race

Even though the race was just a 90-minute drive from my home, I decided to stay there overnight. We rented a yurt in the state park, very close to the start/finish area. The plan was that I went there Friday night and ran the race, while DH would take the kids there on Saturday morning, enjoy the park’s highlights with them, and crew for me Saturday night and Sunday.

My running buddy Stephen had volunteered to be my pacer through the night, from mile 60 to 78. I did not have a pacer for the last 22 miles, but I was not too worried about that.

Everything I needed for the race was ready by Thursday, and I packed my drop bags on Friday, definitely later than I had planned. I still had not decided yet whether I would run with the hydration pack (which would be good for the two long 9+ mile stretches of no aid on the course, and for carrying extras, like a jacket, or food, but I just hate running with a pack), or if I should take two handhelds, which would be minimal weight, but not allow for any mistakes or redundancy. So I packed for both options.

Things went well, and DH dropped me off at the yurt on Friday afternoon. I instantly fell in love with the place, which had 2 bunk beds for 5 people, and a little kitchenette (if without running water) in it. And, to add luxury to comfort, it had heating as well!

While I had chosen a summer 100-miler because I love the warm temperatures and hate the cold at the start of any ultra, the weather forecast for race day could not have been worse: A low of 46 degrees overnight, and mid-70’s during the day. Rain on Sunday.

But at least the yurt had heating, so I would only freeze into a popsicle later at the start, and melt in the rain on Sunday. Good for now.

We picked up the race packet and dropped off my drop bags - 6 in total, then went back to the yurt, and DH left with the kids. I had dinner, which DD had cooked and packed for me (finally, 11 years of me packing her school lunches paid off!), and went to bed early. I was just about to doze off, when I heard a car outside. A knock on the door, and my family was here. They brought me some fries and more food, just in case I was hungry. I hugged them, this was just so nice and thoughtful of them!

So I stayed up for another half hour just to be with them, and then slept like a log until 2 seconds before my alarm went off at 2:45 a.m..

Race Day(s)

I had my usual race-day breakfast, a triple portion oatmeal with raisins and nuts, then got dressed. For now, I decided to wear my warm-up pants over my shorts, and a thick fleece jacket on top of a fleece sweater, to stay warm. The thermometer showed 46 degrees, a bit low for mid-August even in Pennsylvania.

After a short stop at the bathrooms, I set out to walk the mile to the start, with my hydration pack on my back, and the food bottle in the front pocket. I also chose the backpack because right before I had gone to sleep, I realized I had forgotten to put my lights in my drop bags, so I had to take them with me to put them into the bags before the start.

A mile, on a narrow, unlit road without a shoulder, in the dark, with race-day traffic passing by, that did not sound like a good idea to me. There were several other runners around the bathrooms, who were obviously going to the same race, so I asked two women if they would give me a lift, and they agreed. However, I did not see them again, so I hitched a ride with another runner, who introduced himself as Ali and mentioned that this was his 31st 100-miler.

I could not have chosen a better ride! He wanted to know everything about the trails, and I wanted to learn about his strategy how to tackle them, and so we exchanged some experiences, then we already arrived at the start.

Before the start

The usual hustle and bustle was going on, check-in, bib/chip pickup, weighing in (including a medical check for me, as I had agreed to participate in a research project), dropping off excess clothing, adding the lights to my drop bags, putting on lamps and lights for the first miles in the dark, and at exactly 5 a.m., we were off. I did not even have time to freeze into a popsicle.

The first mile was on road, and we crossed the campground. The trail started right across from my yurt. When I ran by, I considered for a moment to go back to bed and snooze again, but then dropped the thought. After all, I had some work ahead of me!

The trail started out gently, often leading along the side of a hill, very close to the drop-off at times.

I was glad I did not see all of it in the dark.

Along the side of the hill in Pennsylvania means, the uphill is on your left, and the trail is slanted. Always. Just a rule in PA, same as there are no switchbacks, or maybe just some on the newest trails. If you can go straight up the hill, why take a detour?

So straight up the hill it was after the first three miles. The footing was terrible. Big rocks, alternating with loose, slipping soil and gravel, on a 40+% incline, almost a mile long. And all still in the low light of dawn, so that it was hard to see how to best tackle this terrain.We scrambled up, two steps up and then sliding one step back, until we reached the top.

Scrambling straight up the hill

Better not trip here!

I had gotten lightheaded before the steep climb already, and had to stop to eat some hard candy, which usually resolves the issue (which seems to be caused by low sugar). While I sat there, chewing the candy, I saw a huge black beard wafting above me, and I knew, this could only be one person. “Leon!” I had not been aware that he had also registered for this race. Leon stayed with me, and we continued on together up the hill.

On top, I got very dizzy again. It was so bad that I almost fell over off the trail into the brush, and I had to get down on all fours. Leon went ahead to notify the next aid station that I might be in trouble. Several runners stopped and asked if I was ok, and I told them I would recover soon, as I had had this before. Then one lady stopped, put her hand on my back, then held my hand, and said a prayer. I had never experienced anything like this before, but before I even fully realized it, she had continued on. I was baffled, but some phrases from the prayer stuck in my head for a long time.

With Leon and most of the other runners now gone, I was essentially running alone, and that continued for the next 55 miles.

Only every now and then throughout the day, I would pass other runners, and the second hill I mastered with Ali hiking with me, then I left him behind and was by myself again.

AS1 (mile 5.6) came and went, and I was still in the race (after a short check by the medics at the station).

We passed some nice vistas, but could not see anything except thick fog.

On the downhill, I found my rhythm and made up several places.

After a few more hills, scrambling and hiking up, then bombing down, I put AS2 (mile 11) behind me as well. This is where I dropped my headlamp and handheld light into a bin which would be taken back to the start/finish area. I was glad to get rid of the excess weight, as meanwhile, it was full daylight again.

I picked up gels at each aid station and refilled my “food” bottle with Gatorade (alternating with Sustained Energy when I had access to my drop bags), dutifully took Endurolytes, and refilled my “drink” backpack with water (alternating with HEED from my drop bags).

Up to mile 20, I was still nauseous and could not eat anything else but a few gels, which I had to force down, and Sustained Energy or Gatorade (this one was making me even more sick if I had too much of it) from my food bottle.

At mile 13, I was sure I’d drop out at the next aid station. I felt like I had felt at mile 60 or 70 in my previous 100-miler, and I was sure I would not finish, considering that the trails would not get any easier later in the race. My legs felt good, but overall, I was already exhausted, breathing was hard (asthma, still a gift from the pneumonia, had set in and bothered me a lot), and mentally, I was in a bad spot. However, in my head I kept repeating the phrases from the lady’s prayer, and slowly but surely, things turned around.

AS3 (mile 17.5 miles) made me feel a little stronger, and I knew that at least I would soon have access to my first drop bag. I was craving more calories and some protein by now.

The next two hills were hard, but they passed eventually.

AS4, and I had reached my first drop bag. I had a protein shot, exchanged my food bottle and replenished my hydration bladder, ate some watermelon, and was out quickly again. Soon the protein kicked in, and I started feeling much better.

One of the longest climbs of the course was next, but it was not steep at all, just a long, sustained uphill, broken up by several stream crossings, at most of which I hopped across on stepping stones without getting my feet wet. The plateau was very runable, gently rolling terrain, very pleasant.

Meanwhile, I was feeling great and picking up speed, even though I could feel my left knee starting to hurt. I was not sure if this was from taking the downhills too fast, or just from the distance, and I tried to run a bit gentler, giving it some time to recover. It did not help much, though, but I was still running.

After a “desert-like” stretch along a power line, I dropped down to the Hyner Run aid station (AS7 at mile 40.9) below.

You're in the desert now...

I exchanged my food bottle for a new one, refilled my pack, ate some, and was about to head out again, when I remembered to check the time. At this aid station, I had a headlamp in my drop bag, which I had planned on putting on if it was past 5 p.m., as that meant that I would reach the next drop bag with my other lights in it after dusk. It was 4:57, but I decided not to take the chance, and put on my headlamp, just in case.

Later, this turned out to be a wise choice.

Some fun thrown in between

The next climb was easy, only a few stretches were hard, where I had to climb down very steep, long descents into a hollow, cross a stream, and then climb out on just as steep and long an ascent on the other side again. Still I loved this section.

Steep down, cross, and up (doesn't look quite as steep in the picture, but it was very steep!)

I crossed two gates, which had been mentioned in the course description as somewhat tricky to open, but I found them pried open, so I only had to climb over a two-feet high fence to get through.

Up and down, gently rolling, more up than down, one more aid station at 48.3 miles in between, trip over a root and fall onto soft, pine-needle covered ground, get up, move on, turn on the headlamp, and then I reached AS9 at 51.8 miles.

As I rolled into the aid station, I saw my pacer Stephen, and my husband waiting for me. I was overjoyed to see them, as I had been running alone for such a long time by now. They encouraged me, and I knew that now I had to keep going and could not drop out. I did not want to disappoint them and have them wait for me, just to tell them I’d drop.

So I just ate some melon and potatoes at the aid station, refilled my bottle, exchanged my headlamp for the new one from my drop bag, picked up my handheld light and a pack of spare batteries, grabbed several gels to be prepared for the 9+ mile stretch without an aid station ahead, and moved on.

A little more than halfway done, and the day was already over, night had fallen.

Alone in the dark (the bright spot is a reflective course marker)

My left knee hurt a lot now, and my right knee, which had received a minor cut from my fall, was not pain-free, either.

This could turn into some ugly night.

The day had been pleasantly warm (around 80 degrees), somewhat humid, but not too bad for August. Now the temperature was dropping, but still good for running.

The course was very well marked, with bright orange surveying tape, and reflective flags on the night section, so it was easy to follow. One by one, the markers lit up in the light of my headlamp, and I just kept following them.

The course was nice in some places, and very rocky and technical in others, some hills in between. In some places, the trail was slanted, leading along drop-offs, and I wondered if any of the runners ahead of me had fallen off these cliffs. I did not find it difficult to run, I was actually having a blast, just my knees were giving me a hard time now.

Still I kept up a good pace, passing some runners again (I remember two women who found it very difficult to run the technical sections in the night), and I arrived at the next aid station (AS 11 at 60.9 miles) earlier than expected.

I picked up Stephen, we exchanged the batteries in my lamps, I grabbed a new food bottle (which my husband had accidentally dumped out, but I just filled it with Gatorade), had another protein shot, refilled my hydration pack, refused to take along a jacket, and off we went.

18 miles without crew access lay ahead of us.

The next section was supposed to be the most difficult of the whole course, although in hindsight, I disagree - I found the beginning just as challenging, at least in terms of difficulty of the trail. Funny enough for the pacer, who starts out from the aid station with dry socks, the section starts with a knee-high creek crossing. The water was nice and cold, and the current was stronger than I had imagined, but we got through it and started to run.

After having run almost 10 miles in the dark on my own before I picked up my pacer, it was not easy at first for me to trust Stephen and follow him blindly. Usually, I prefer my pacer behind me, so that I can pick my pace, but this time, I had him ahead of me, so that I could simply follow his footsteps without having to think about it. After 3 or 4 miles, it worked perfectly. Stephen kept up a good pace, and we were making great progress cruising through the night.

We climbed up a steep hill, which seemed endless, until finally, we came out at the top. Apparently there were some vistas along the way, but it was just pitch black dark all around us. The top was rolling terrain again, somewhat rocky, technical, and exposed, with several sections of the trail leading along the side of a very steep hill, just inches from the drop-off, slanted, muddy, slick, and just a tad wider than my shoes. It had started to rain, and that did not make it any easier to cross these sections.

Once I looked down on the side, and not a single photon from my headlamp was reflected back. That’s the definition of a black hole.

Another time, I could see the tops of the trees below, just several hundred feet of vertical cliff separating us from them. I tried not to think about what would happen if I slipped, or, even worse, tripped there.

The rain intensified, and thunder roared around us. We tucked our heads between our shoulders and just kept going, silent, each in our own thoughts, and highly focused on the footing. We zoomed through the next aid station, just changing batteries and taking care of our beaten-up feet (from the wetness). Not much time to lose there.

The next downhill was the trickiest section of the course.

Rocky, steep, and with several hollows to climb. But not only hollows and creeks, some of them were blocked by logs, so that we had to climb over, or rather through, these, too. Several exposed sections again, and cliffs, with lots of opportunities to fall off. And all in a torrential downpour, in the middle of the night.

I was glad my protein shot still lasted.

After we had made our way down to the bottom, we had to climb up again to the next aid station at mile 73.2.

I don’t remember too much of this climb, only that we passed a porcupine on the trail, politely yelling out “on your left”, but the prickly waddler did not seem impressed.

Eventually I must have made it all the way up, because the aid station appeared sooner than I had expected.

The usual routine, including foot care, and lubing up some sensitive spots in unspeakable areas, and we ploughed on.

I had not changed the batteries in my headlamp on purpose, to save time, expecting it to last another hour at least, before it would die, and then I would use my handheld light, which I had only rarely turned on since the last battery change. It was a bit of a gamble, but I decided to take it. Meanwhile I knew the batteries and my lights well, and what their life expectancy would be. And just in case, I still had that spare battery pack in my backpack.

My vision started tricking me, as my glasses were fogging up in the humid air. Everything blurred, and the white-ish, reflecting rocks left long bright stripes in my field of view, making me dizzy and confusing my mind. More than 8 hours running in the headlamp bubble through rain and fog had done their work.

I was glad my light was slowly getting lower, so that my eyes could focus just on Stephen’s heels and relax somewhat.

Eventually, for the last 1 or 2 hours of the night, I used my handheld light only, as planned.

The rain stopped, and things were good. Except for my knees, which hurt badly and had swollen up to the size of a camel’s knees. Each step was torture, especially downhill.

Where was that walker rental?

Sunrise was nice, and contrary to the experience in my first 100-miler, this time the light re-energized me.

We staggered into the mile-78 aid station (AS14), where we had planned for Stephen to step out and me continuing on my own. However, Stephen felt great, and so did I, except for my legs, and so we decided that he’d stay with me for the rest of the distance, as there was no option to drop out before the finish.

We stocked up our packs and bottles, dropped off the lights, ate some, took care of feet and other sensitive spots, and then continued on.

In the haste, I forgot to ask my husband for a jacket, and meanwhile, my clothes still wet from the rain and fog, I was freezing and shaking quite a bit. Contrary to Stephen, I did not have arm panties or a vest with me (great planning, I know). But luckily, the first few hundred feet after the aid station were road, and it was just the road where the crew vehicles had to return from the aid station.

And just as we were jogging along, my husband’s car came up behind us. I waved him down, and he threw me my jacket. I did not want to take off my backpack, so I just put on the jacket backwards. It must have looked funny, but honestly, at that point I did not care any more. All I knew was that now it was nice and warm, just right and comfy.

Along we trudged, up another hill, and as I warmed up, it was easy to take off my backwards jacket without losing time. We were in high anticipation of the Sky Top aid station, which since mile 4 had been announced every now and then by funny signs as the best aid station of the race.

However, it just did not come up, and I sure was not happy about that. There just seems to be something about the time around sunrise which makes me a bit irritable, to say the least. But just like Jamie at OC100, Stephen proved to be patient and impartial, unwilling to argue with me, and that’s how we conquered my bad mood in this section.

It was still not bright daylight, just shortly after sunrise, and on top of the hill, we were greeted by a stunning view. Pink clouds below us, partly hiding the valley way down there, and the hills surrounding us, majestically making their statement through a peach-tinted haze. It was breathtaking, amazing.

View from Skytop, shortly after sunrise

Still happy, somehow

We stopped for a moment, and I suddenly remembered the lady who had said the prayer for me, which had turned my race around.

I wondered where she was, and I somehow knew that now I would finish my race. I quietly said thanks, being humbled by the whole experience.

As we went on, the miles dragged on. We were moving very slowly now, with my knees hurting very badly. So it took us a long time before we reached the “best aid station on the course”. I am not sure if it really was the best aid station, as I was not hungry and did not take advantage of any of the good foods they offered. I just grabbed a few more gels, lubed up, and on we blazed.

Up and down, up and down, with my knees screeching and creaking with every bend (at least, that’s what it felt like).

Several creek crossings, most of them over stepping stones, some of them through ankle-deep, nicely cool water. It was actually a nice section. The trails were easier now, not so technical, and the 9 miles without an aid station passed quickly.

AS16 at 91 miles came into view earlier than I had anticipated. I re-stocked my pack and bottles, had a few gels, and searched through my backpack for something that would help me with the pain. A candy maybe?

Then I found the best “candy” of all: Four Tylenols in a tiny ziplock bag. Hallelujah!

What I did not know was that probably they were Tylenol PM, from my husband’s supply…

I had never taken a pain pill during a race, and I had not planned to do so. I only had the pills with me in case I broke an ankle or such, so that I could mask the pain while hobbling to the next aid station. But now, it seemed like a good option to help me get through the knee pain. And so I swallowed the first two pills, planning to have the remaining two several hours later.

This would almost turn into my nemesis.

As the pain started to fade somewhat, I became very tired. I had not been tired up to that point, but now my eyes were falling shut while I was walking. I wobbled along, happy that my knees were giving me a break, so that we could move along faster, but that faster pace was annihilated by my body drifting off to sleep every now and then.

Once I even bumped into a massive tree - I had not seen it coming, how did it grow out of the ground so quickly?

We conquered a few hills, then the pain started coming back with a vengeance.

So, quite against my plan, against better judgement, and despite the fact that I was happy that together with the pain returning, the tiredness had tapered off considerably, making it easier to move along, I swallowed the next two pills.

Bang, there hit me again, and I was sleepwalking once more.

I don’t remember much of this section, but I do remember that at one time, I had to hold on to a log because I was falling asleep. My knees were giving out, I almost fell to the ground, then woke up again, and fell asleep again for a second or two. Only with major willpower, fighting the effects of having already been awake for 30+ hours (on 4 hours of sleep the night before), having run 95 miles, and having taken 4 Tylenol PM within 2 hours, I remained awake eventually, and we kept on walking.

At some point, we reached the last aid station at mile 97.1.

Not much to say about it, other than the people there told us the worst was over, and from now on, it would be all downhill for the last three miles. So we set out, and after a few more creek crossings, with some climbing down and up, we walked about a mile uphill. Now that did not coincide with what the aid station people had told us, nor did it match the elevation profile, of which I had a copy in my pocket.

Strange.

Were we lost?

How can you get off course when you have stuck with the markers (and they are still there) on a single-loop course?

Weird.

So Stephen and I turned around and walked almost the whole mile back, until we met another runner and his pacer, who were coming up from the aid station. They confirmed that we were on the right course, and so we doubled back again, toward the finish line.

Y-a-y us!

After more uphill, we passed some nice rock formations.

Stephen caught in a rock formation

Only the last mile was a downhill, quite steep and rocky, but doable even on wonky knees.

At the bottom, we crossed a gravel pit with several rattlesnakes, and I stopped to admire them. They were neither the common black, nor the yellow color pattern of the PA timber rattlesnake, but a reddish-brown hued pattern on black. Very beautiful.

Rattlesnakes hiding behind trees and rocks

After passing the snake den, I started running again, as it was only a few hundred yards to the finish.

I did not care what my time was, all I knew was that I would finish within the official cutoff, and that was enough. My knees had cost me about 3 or 4 hours, so my goal of a sub-32-hour finish was blown anyway, but that did not matter much to me.

My kids ran the last 100 yards in with me, and I crossed the line in 34:something.

A few minutes later, Ali crossed the line, and when we saw each other, we smiled, happy that each other had succeeded in completing the course.

Unfortunately, I later learned that Leon had dropped out.

I received my buckle, and a finisher’s jacket. DH arranged for massages for me and Stephen, and I really enjoyed mine. The drop bags had already arrived back from the aid stations, and we picked them up. Unfortunately, I forgot to pick up my headlamp and handheld light from the drop bin. I am still trying to get these back.

DH drove me to the yurt, and Stephen back to his car at the 60-mile aid station. My physical state at that point becomes obvious by me making a comment about a sign on the side of the road, which I read as: “COFFINS FOR RENT”.

Actually, it said “cottages for rent”.

First off, it's not an official 100 mile race report without a picture of the buckle!

It sounds like you did a great job grinding it out. I'm glad you got to spend some time with Leon before he dropped. That dude has a way of making everything ok for everybody but himself.

Thanks for sharing and congratulations on your race. You should be very proud of yourself.

First off, it's not an official 100 mile race report without a picture of the buckle!

 

It sounds like you did a great job grinding it out. I'm glad you got to spend some time with Leon before he dropped. That dude has a way of making everything ok for everybody but himself.

 

Thanks for sharing and congratulations on your race. You should be very proud of yourself.

OK, here it is:

And here's the nice finisher's jacket:

And - something to laugh - this is what I treated my aching knees with after the race. My daughter made this "socksickle" for me!

I am sad that Leon dropped. He is such a kind guy, and a great runner with a lot of spirit. Seems when I finish, he drops.

Wow!  Congratulations on a wonderfully run race.  Great write up, felt like I was with you (except for that pain part ) the whole way.  I've said it before, but I'll say it again, the East has some brutally tough country- not to take away what we have (plenty of brutal), but I think a lot of folks don't realize how tough of country there is East of the Mississippi.

I'm seeing a reoccurring theme w/ rattlesnakes in several of the last RR's!

Thanks for the great write up.  I was expecting you to write more about the section between AS #3 and #4. When I got home and checked on your progress I saw that your pace for that section was really slow. A little more checking showed that a lot of runners were slow on that section so it must have been hard.

I really had wanted to see that section of rock formations there at the end. I've seen several pictures of them and they look interesting. Maybe someday I'll have to go back up and hike that part of the trail.

Marie, you said you were prepared to run the last long stretch without a pacer.  How much do you feel you were helped by having Stephen stay with you for the last section?  Do you think you still would have made the cut-off without him?

Great pictures!

Congrats. 100 miles is a long way, but I can't even fathom it on this course.

Great job Marie, congratulations on a great race on a tough course!

That stinks  about the Tylenol PM!