Congrats to the 2007 Grand Slam Finishers!

The 2007 Grand Slam Finishers (Photo courtesy of Chihping Fu)

Congratulations to Dave and the other 10 men and women who finished the Grand Slam on Sunday!

Over the weekend, I kept monitoring the Wasatch 100 website anxiously to track Dave Yeakel jr's progress. After successfully completing Western States, Vermont 100, and Leadville 100, with about a month between each race, he ran another solid race in 33:14, well ahead of the 36-hour cutoff. Fantastic performance, Dave! I am looking forward to the final race report.


Congrats also to Chihping, who toughed it out at Wasatch to make it to the final cutoff with nine minutes to spare. He did this after finishing TRT100, Burning River 100, and Cascade Crest 100, with only about two weeks in between each race. To top it off, he is signed up for Rio Del Lago 100 in two weeks!

Leadville Trail 100 – The Race Across the Sky (By Dave Yeakel jr.)

Here is part 3 of the Grand Slam journal written by my friend and guest blogger Dave Yeakel jr. This is Dave’s account of his Leadville 100 experience, his third race in the 2007 Grand Slam (Part 1 can be read here, and part 2 here).

Leadville has dominated my thoughts all year. 100 Colorado miles defined by unpredictable mountain weather, altitude averaging 10,500 feet prompting the catch phrase “Got Oxygen?” and some of the toughest miles on any course between 40-60 when runners must traverse Hope Pass at 12,600 feet twice on this out and back course. This race is not the hardest of the summer as that distinction is saved for the Wasatch Front, but it has the least mercy with a 30 hour cutoff and an ability to chastise those who lose focus, or who’s body it senses an exploitable weakness. Every year 50% of the starters never finish this race. Yes, this was the one to worry about because I felt the outcome was beyond my control.

The primary Leadville issue relates to altitude acclimatization, which is so eloquently described by the American Heart Association of Colorado safety brochures.

"A sudden change in environment from sea level to high altitude (above 5,280 feet) can produce symptoms of nausea, insomnia, diarrhea, restlessness, shortness of breath and air hunger. Palpitations or fast heart-beat, headache, nasal congestion, coughing, increased flatulence or “gas”, easy fatigue and intolerance to exertion also may be experienced. If the high altitude experience progresses, more shortness of breath, and increased coughing and edema (fluid accumulation in the lungs) may occur requiring medical attention and possible hospitalization."

The general consensus is to acclimate for a minimum of two weeks or arrive the day prior to a high altitude race and take your chances before the body knows what hit it. Due to personal constraints and a belief that my body would respond to a shorter time period, I opted to arrive eight days prior to the race. Within six hours of landing in Denver I had managed to stock up food & supplies before driving to the parking lot atop Mt. Evans, Colorado - elevation 14,100 ft. This was to be home for the night as I put the seat back & settled in.

The road to Mt. Evans is the highest paved road in North America, and it doesn’t go anywhere except to a parking lot and an observatory. It’s amazing how many people drive to nowhere in the middle of the night as I took note of many visitors coming and going throughout a very blustery night. I lay in the car atop the mountain, all alone with the wind howling and rocking the car. It was so blustery that I moved the car to the center of the parking lot so as not to get blown off the mountain. Yes, a little over active imagination but then again why take chances! By 3am I had a screaming headache, stomach nausea, and knees that ached, but I took mental comfort that the shock-approach was working and I only needed a few more hours before driving to a more reasonable altitude for recovery.

At 6:20am Saturday morning I was finally coherent enough to move about and climb to the 14,268 foot summit, what a beautiful view standing atop the Rockies peering down on Denver miles away with mountain vista’s all around. After 15 minutes or so of soul searching I determined enough was enough and I was ready to go. I could not get to lower elevation fast enough, could not eat food without fear of recourse, and spent the remainder of Saturday afternoon lying in bed drifting in and out of sleep between bad movies on cable TV.

Sunday prompted a return to Mt. Evans, parking at Summit Lake (elevation 12,700) followed by a brisk rock scramble to the summit gaining almost 1,600 feet. In the thin air I should have been more careful as on the return descent I picked up the pace and promptly took a nasty fall banging my back and shoulder against the rocks. It took a few moments to collect my thoughts as my body was wracked with pain and my head was spinning, the mountains had just served notice that this was not going to be easy!

Monday thru Thursday were spent running the ridges of Loveland Pass (11,996 ft), hiking the jeep road to Mosquito Pass twice (13,186 ft), visiting the 50 mile turn-around located in the ghost town of Winfield, checking e-mail at the local university, morning walks with coffee in hand, resting, socializing and relaxing. This part of the prerace ritual I’m enjoying and becoming quite good at!

Thursday evening just prior to the pasta dinner the surrounding mountains were dusted with a summer snowfall as an informal omen to expect the unexpected. All that remained to be done on Friday was the medical check, prerace briefing, and delivery of drop bags to the courthouse lawn. As I had debated what to put in the drop bags all week I was quite anxious to deliver them as soon as possible so I could to end the mental acrobatics.

My room at the historic Delaware Hotel was strategically located just one block from the start/finish providing extra time for sleep and eliminating any logistical issues. Everything that could be planned for had been taken care of to the best of my abilities, now it was time to run. Once again, the 4am start arrived way to early but the adrenaline was pumping for this race and I was ready to test my limits at altitude.

The initial plan was to run comfortable and not push the pace like at Vermont but with 475 runners toeing the line, the top third was calling my name so I could run the trail sections around Turquoise Lake without much interference. With almost an hour of running until reaching the lake section I found a niche within the crowd and made myself comfortable. Early on I happily realized that my acclimation appeared to have worked, although the true test would not arrive until climbing Sugar Loaf Pass (11,000+ft) at mile 19 and Hope Pass (12,600ft) at mile 45.

Leadville’s course was far prettier and entertaining than I imagined as it twisted, turned, climbed and descended thru the mountains. Once again I was immersed in conversation with fellow runners and my mind occupied with a constant measure of pacing and physical energy levels as the miles rolled by. My least favorite section of this course came just after the Fish Hatchery aid station (mile 23.5) when the course travels a road for 7 miles, this section reduced my running strategy to running past three telephone poles before walking to the next followed by a repeat, over and over for almost the entire section until Halfmoon Campground aid station.

The “outbound” 9 miles between Halfmoon and Twin Lakes (mile 39.5) were some of the best as the course rolls across a series of three hills with a constant downhill bias ending in a screaming vertical drop on a jeep trail just short of the aid station. This bustling aid station really got the adrenaline pumping as the crowd was very enthusiastic and I was still full of energy as planned. This milestone brought me face to face with the menacing Mt. Hope indicating that the climb from the lowest (9,200ft) to highest (12,600ft) point on the course was soon to test my limits not just on the first climb but also 5 miles later on the “inbound” return trip.

Soon after departing Twin Lakes and crossing the river and wetlands feeding the lakes we began climbing and climbing and climbing. The ascent was not intensely steep but constant and wet as the mountain skies began dumping cold rain in the higher elevations. I will have to say it started looking pretty bleak from a mental aspect wandering where the top was after leaving Twin Lakes almost two hours prior. Finally, in a clearing, several hundred feet below the pass I could see the aid station and remember thinking I was almost halfway home. It was extremely difficult to summon the energy to re-emerge from that aid station tent into the rain and now hail to climb the final 500-700 feet up and over the pass but it had to be done.

The final push was wet and miserable, but once over the top an enchanted valley lay below. From the pass you could see endless switchbacks littered with runners looking like autumn leaves in there brightly colored rain gear. The initial descent was fairly mild but it was hard to look around as I was having issues with the height and a strange dizzy feeling like when standing on the edge of a cliff. It was best to focus my eyes on the trail and just keep moving.

It did not take long for the narrow trail to plunge to the valley floor, making passing faster runners on their return climb difficult. From the bottom of the mountain it was only 2.5 miles until Winfield and 50 miles (4:03pm). I had purposefully not packed a drop bag for the turn around because I did not want to dawdle too long. My goal was to get back over Hope Pass and put the worst of this course behind me.

Running in the mountains means that temperatures can change in just a matter of minutes. So while an hour ago at the top, it had been raining and hailing, it was now bright, sunny and quite warm on the gravel road between the trailhead and Winfield. Once again the aid station crowd was one of the largest I’ve seen and served to excite the adrenaline, however short-lived. Most of my adrenaline rushes are short lived after 50 miles!

On the road back to the trailhead I began looking for friends and taking mental measurements of their pace and energy hoping that each would make it to the finish. Once I was back on the trail the course got ugly real fast as the return climb was shorter but steeper. Whether it was from the wear and tear of prior races this year, the prior 50 miles, improper training for real mountains, or general fatigue from the higher altitude, I was forced to make repetitive stops along the climb. These were not just stops to look at the scenery these were full-fledged hands on the knees to rest or “tree huggers” to keep from falling back down the steep trail and lose precious ground that I had worked so hard for. It wasn’t my lungs stopping me dead in my tracks, but my legs screaming for a few seconds of rest and recovery. I know it looked pathetic but trust me I had company at more than one stop.

Never have I been happier to be above tree-line as I was on that climb knowing that it meant only another 1,000 feet or so of climbing. Of course the very cold rain and hail returned (surprise) along with dark gray skies, thunder, and wind to add to the excitement. Once again it was Dave vs. the mountain and my energy levels grew to meet the challenge as the conditions worsened. I was determined to get across that pass. The unfortunate aspect of climbing back up Hope Pass was seeing a large number of runners still coming downhill for whom it was mathematically impossible to meet the 14 hour time cut-off at Winfield. In other words they had already been eliminated by the course and knew it but they still soldiered on. Just as anticipated this return climb up Hope Pass was my slowest section of the course averaging 28minutes per mile – like I said, it hurt!

From the top of the pass back to Twin Lakes it was a fun-filled, fast, muddy trip. The adolescent runner in me attempted to break out again but I reeled him back in so he wouldn’t hurt himself. At the aid station (60.5-miles, 15-hrs, 58-min) it was time to change shoes and socks after a very wet 20 miles. The sun would soon be setting and the next section would take some time, as it was primarily uphill. The energy level in me was waning a little but I still felt strangely content to be headed for home knowing that nothing short of a major problem could stop me.

As expected the inbound section between Twin Lakes and Halfmoon took some time with its uphill bias but even still it proved again to be my favorite as the woods were so dense and beautiful. At Halfmoon (69.5-miles, 19-hrs, 11-min) I had some difficulty, first with the volunteers actually getting my drop bag and then with self motivation to get out of the chair. I could feel extreme fatigue setting in and I knew the next 7 miles were my least favorite of the course.

It is two miles from the aid station to where crews are allowed to meet their runners, and while I did not have a crew I did collect a hug and moral support from Don Halke’s crew/pacer Ellen. Always nice to have a few friends! I had warned Ellen before the race that my only need may be to collect a hug from her and when Ellen’s husband Bill saw me and asked if there was anything I needed there was no hesitancy in my voice, “I’ll take that hug now! I really need it!” After the usual lies about how I was making this look easy, I confessed to them that I was really tired and the last 30 were going to be difficult. No major issues with my body or legs just extreme fatigue like I had never experienced before. I believe this extra level of tiredness was due to the altitude.

At most races the runners seem to “thin out” in the second half as people drop out and the time expands between groups of runners. In this race the number of runners on course seemed to expand in a strange phenomenon brought about by the western landscape with fewer trees on this section, pacers joining their runners, and the constant climb back up to 11,000 feet at the top of Sugar Loaf Mountain (mile 81). On several occasions I took the time to look back at the course and see what appeared to be a parade of lights extending for miles. It was really spectacular and served to remind me I was not alone and that I needed to keep moving because technically this was still a “race”.

From the top of Sugar Loaf the course descends back to the May Queen aid station leaving you at the doorstep of Leadville with 13.5 miles to go. But before you can count yourself a finisher you must first must traverse the rolling and rocky shoreline of Turquoise Lake, get past the Tabor Boat Ramp and back uphill the final three miles or so to the finish.

I had hoped to never see this section around the lake to the finish in daylight but it was already 4:50am when I arrived at May Queen and the sun would soon be rising across the lake. I continued to make good time inspired by a woman and her husband pacer who I had shared the trail with since the top of Sugar Loaf. Neither one of us was talking much but traveling together seemed to spur us on as we changed leads repeatedly but neither of us could break the imaginary rubber band that bound us together for those miles. That is until the Tabor Boat Ramp (mile 93) when my wheels finally came off and my running buddy slowly pulled away.

Once again, extreme fatigue had set in, my feet were now seriously hurting and while I could still power-walk I could not establish a run momentum further than 100 yards or so. Part of it was the knowledge that barring serious mishap I had survived the uncontrollable race. I kept a firm mental picture of how much time was left and pushed whenever my feet would allow so that I could put more “time in the bank”. The last few miles were tough as I had ignored scouting them before the race and never noticed the hills in the early race darkness and adrenaline. Now it was all uphill to the finish – I was determined that if the finish was not apparent by 8:30am I would have to run no matter what, as I could not afford a DNF at this point in the summer.

Thankfully, just before 8:30am the course was benevolent and provided a glimpse of the finish line three quarters of a mile away and uphill but at least I could see it! The entire idea of running went out the window as I walked all but the final 30 yards. One person passed me in that final stretch with a full sprint from about one half mile out, but the announcer said he was from Colorado Springs so I felt justified that he came pre-adjusted to altitude….he should be sprinting! Finally, at 8:38am on Sunday I crossed the finish line with a time of 28-hrs, 38-min, 17-sec.

A tagline used by the race this year, “There are no Shortcuts – The Leadville Trail 100” absolutely says it all and causes me to ponder the craving I have to return to this course in the future. A course that looks so deceptively benign on paper with only 15,600 feet of climbing and descent, but which exploits and chastises the challengers every year.

What’s next? Wasatch Front 100 mile Endurance Run and the final race of the Grand Slam
“Wasatch is not just of distance and speed; it is adversity, adaptation and perseverance.”

Dave Yeakel, Jr. (#293 – out)
139th of 210 finishers with 475 starters (yes, that’s a 44.2% finish rate)

Grand Slam Update – 30 registered runners:
05 DNF’s at Western States
02 DNF’s at Vermont
10 DNF’s at Leadville with–the “Lucky 13” still running

Way to tough it out, Dave! Now, rest up and bring it home at Wasatch!

Maturing at the Vermont 100 Endurance Run (By Dave Yeakel jr.)

Here is part 2 of the Grand Slam journal written by my friend and guest blogger Dave Yeakel jr. This is Dave’s account of his Vermont 100 experience, his second race in the 2007 Grand Slam (Part 1 can be read here).

At 43 years of age I am not mature. OK I said it and I feel better! The little boy in me still enjoys playing in the woods, running thru puddles and creeks, jumping over fallen trees and returning to society totally exhausted, dirty, and dreaming about the next time.

But that is not the maturity level that I am referring to. Instead, it is my adolescent period of running which after 7 years I find myself wanting to do more than I’m probably trained for. A time when as my mother often told me “your eyes are bigger than my stomach,” but I still pile the food higher on my plate.

As I returned from Western States at the end of June I became convinced that my obsession with not posting a “DNF” (did not finish) has hindered my finish times and left me guessing at my true ability. Crazy and random thoughts surged thru my head; questions about my desire to suffer late in a race, questions about what I’m trying to prove to myself or anyone else, questions about why I’ve become obsessed with these new found challenges that exhaust both my physical and mental abilities, questions that sometimes just should not be asked by any sane person.

This is but a glimpse of a runner suffering from an obsession and returning to the 1st 100-mile race he ever ran. Vermont was a race that I foolishly lost some respect for after 3 feet bruising years on the rocks at Massanutten. Certainly, I could run under 24 hours at Vermont with its modest elevation changes and very run-able road surface, especially with my new attitude! Only one problem arose for me “there is no easy 100” and when you begin losing respect for something that’s when you get hurt.

The plane trip to New England found me in a sophomore slump, which only worsened as the day progressed and the gray skies began dumping rain. For some reason I was having problems getting excited for this run. I enjoyed continuing friendships made at the Western States (WS) but still did not find the emotional spark I so desperately needed to run well.

Friday morning I slept until 8:30 before having a leisurely breakfast and reading the local paper, taking a walk and a mid-day nap. Now this was a lifestyle I could get used to! Pre-race check-in and medical check ended around 3 pm so I planned to arrive at 2pm, take care of requirements, eat from the pasta buffet and return to the hotel by 7pm for as much sleep as possible.

2am Saturday morning I was awake before the alarm ever got close to sounding. Preparation was quick with a final gear check, packing the car, and exit of the hotel since there would be no need for a room on Saturday night. By 3:15am I was standing in the main tent just 20 yards from the start line. Yep, still no emotional spark, no butterflies in my stomach, nothing – just conversation with other runners and a clear understanding that it was going to be a long day.

4am we were off and running downhill, I tried to settle into a rhythm and soon found other runners that I knew to team up with and banter about life and running. The race unfolded rather quickly and I mean quickly as I ran a bit faster than anticipated or within good judgment for my adolescent skills. 25 miles rolled by in 4 hours/25 minutes and 30 miles in 5 hours/38 minutes. Neither of these times was reasonable for me to sustain over a 100-mile course, especially with two races of equal distance within the past nine weeks. I should have slowed myself down but immaturity prevailed.

Other than a goal of finishing in 24 hours I had not set any major targets for myself. I carried a split sheet in my pocket just like WS but never looked at it. One nice aspect of running faster than I should was the large number of people I talked with in the first 50 miles. Runners whom I would never normally have opportunity to talk with because they should be miles in front of me, which they were by the end of the race! Another nice feature was seeing more of the horses sharing the course with us on the same day. Vermont is the last remaining 100-mile race where horses and runners co-exist.

At Camp 10 Bear aid station (“C-10B”, mile 47.2 – 1:19pm) the Vermont heat and humidity was beset upon us but not nearly as oppressive as prior years and I was still ahead of my planned pace feeling reasonably strong and confident. The next 23.8 miles would bring us through a complete circle of the Vermont countryside before returning to C-10B and a final push for home.
This loop is where I lost control in 2003, neglecting to pick up my flashlights and warm clothing from an aid station and having to return several hundred yards to retrieve them or DNF in the fading light. No worries this year as I found my way to the famed Margaritaville aid station (mile 62.1) and enjoyed a few moments chatting with the party goers and eating a cheeseburger in paradise, after all it was named after the infamous Jimmy Buffett. As I rolled out of Margaritaville the clock was still in my favor and my mental stamina remained strong believing that 24 hours was within my reach.

The second time through C-10B (mile 70.1 – 7:07pm) I had budgeted a significant amount of time to compose myself and change equipment for the last 30 miles. Shoes, socks, warmer shirt, lights and complete restocking of nutrition were all planned for and completed. The aid station was bustling, as it becomes the location from which most runners collect their pacers for the final miles and support crews offer emotional support.

While I had run Western States with Pete Lubbers as my pacer and had a blast, the remaining three Grand Slam races I am running without support crew or pacers. Yes, I have become intensely aware that crews and pacers can save time in aid stations and help protect a runner from suffering the consequences of “ultra brain” and “stupid mistakes” often even saving one’s race. I suppose a significant part of the challenge to me is completing these runs as man (or adolescent) against the trails. Because of this I knew the last 30 miles would be dark and lonely.
The next major mental target was to reach the aid station named Bill’s (mile 88.6). In 2003, the 90-mile mark had brought me to my knees, well actually my backside as I succumbed to my desire for sleep at 2am in my first 100-mile race. Since then I have not surrendered to the sleep monster but have fought with it on many levels.

This race, this night would be no different as I began fighting the desire to stop and sleep. Soon, I was walking with my eyes shut only to “awaken” with the fear and nausea that I had possibly missed a turn or gone off course. Getting lost in one of these races is a large personal fear because even though my legs may be well enough to run I may never find my way back on course or could be eliminated for erroneously and without intent, cutting out part of the course.

At Bill’s aid station I received my first glimpse that the 24-hour goal was in serious jeopardy. I had slipped from running 45 minutes ahead of pace at C-10B to 30 minutes behind with only 11.4 miles to go, it was now 1am and 21 hours into the race, 3 hours to go. Once again the race was on and I was beginning to feel emotionally distraught, as I so desperately wanted to finish within my goals.

Sleep--walking was interspersed with running as I would summon up the energy and force myself to engage the internal battle for more speed. For hours my brain had tried to calculate splits and finish times based on different scenarios playing out in my head but with only a few short miles left there were less and less scenarios to play out and trails that seamed to stretch longer and longer beyond my small tunnel of light.

Upon reaching Polly’s aid station (mile 95.5) I believe my will and desire finally gave in as the reality of needing to cover 4.5 miles within 37 minutes (an 8.25 minute per mile pace) became impossible for my weary legs. This was just not going to happen, so I mentally conceded defeat of my 24-hour goal and drank another cup of soup to warm my body and replenish salt and fluids. The remaining miles took 23.5 minutes per mile, my slowest of the day.
Perhaps a significant slowdown over the final miles of a 100-mile run should be expected as the combination of sleep deprivation, emotional drain, and physical trauma catches up but those reasons do nothing to calm my lingering dissatisfaction with personal performance still resident within my mind weeks after the finish line has been crossed.

Am I upset? Only by missed opportunities. To run 100 miles and finish in 25 hours, 9 minutes is still quite an accomplishment for many and as an immature runner becomes my second fastest time at the distance. Upon review of the numbers I’m convinced that the goal was not lost in the final miles but in the first 30 when the little boy in me took control and I played with my friends in the woods of Vermont.

What’s next? – Leadville Trail 100, “The Race Across the Sky”.
How will my body react to no oxygen? This race’s historical finish rate is less than 50%!!!

Dave Yeakel, Jr. (#212 – out)
77th of 144 finishers with 199 starters

Grand Slam Update:
30 registered runners / 5 DNF’s at Western States / 2 DNF’s at Vermont – 23 still running.

Note: Meanwhile, Dave has already successfully completed part 3 --Leadville trail 100. Dave: Congratulations on finishing Vermont. As you said, there is no easy 100-miler! All the best at Wasatch!