Just Give Me The Dirt: My Tahoe Rim Trail 100-Mile Endurance Run Story (Part 1)

My mind wanted to sleep, but my body wouldn't let me.  It was 3:00 AM as I sat semi-coherently in a camping chair at the Bull Wheel aid station, hugging myself to keep warm, closing my eyes, hoping to squeeze in a fifteen-minute power nap and restore my mental clarity.  For the last twenty-five sleepless hours I had been traversing through the mountains of Eastern Nevada along with 254 other runners (probably less now since a fair amount had dropped by this point), hoping to arrive at the finish line at Spooner Lake prior to the thirty-five hour cutoff for this beast of a race that I was participating in, known respectively as the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-mile Endurance Run.  As I sat there trying to fall asleep, the cold temperature had reached discomfort levels and runners arrived, got what they needed, and pressed onward.  After ten minutes of trying, I became frustrated and stood up.  "Hey man, I'm outta here" I said to the guy manning the aid station, trying to remain optimistic.  "Cool, see you on the way back!" he answered.  Off I ran, into the night.  As I continued along the switchbacks, the mounting drowsiness transitioned into delirium, and my mind slowly entered a dream-like state.  The transition was not abrupt though, and things got more hazy as I continued onward.  Everything began to look the same to me.  The trail, the trees, the moonlit, star filled sky.  All of it was one big identical blur.  Movie scenes and bits of songs began playing in my head as I continued along the rolling trail.  I was moving forward numbly, completely unaware of my surroundings, and began singing softly to myself "give me the dirt, just give me the dirt.  Just give me what I want 'till it hurts".  Any pain I had been feeling was slowly melting away and my mind was on an acid trip of endorphins.  It felt as if I had stepped into a scene in Alice in Wonderland.  It was actually a pretty fun stroll, until I suddenly stopped in my tracks.  The Alice in Wonderland mind state had abruptly disappeared, and it felt as if someone had slapped me in the face and I had woken up from a dream.  About thirty feet up the trail in front of me, hanging from a tree branch right in the middle, was a florescent orange ribbon.  The course was marked with them every quarter of a mile to keep runners on the right path.  But this one was was brighter, shinier, and more prominent than the others I had recently passed.  I stood there and stared at it as it fluttered in the breeze in the midnight stillness.  Something was strangely amiss.  After a few seconds it hit me that something was very wrong, and I was in trouble.  I had passed by this exact ribbon thirty minutes prior.  Somehow I had taken a wrong turn and effectively traveled in a big circle.  Then I realized that I hadn't gone in a circle; I was going back the way I came.  I had been following the orange ribbons all along, but somehow I had gotten turned around.  I decided to keep going, but the further I progressed, the more disoriented I became.  I had no idea where I was going and the situation was becoming unsettling very quickly. Although the moon cast a silvery-white glow of light on the trail, it was still very dark and there were no other runners to be found.  To add to the chaos, I was now miles away from an aid station and going back for help wasn't an option.  "How could this have transpired?" I thought.  Did I somehow get turned around while I was in La La Land?  I certainly didn't remember turning around or veering from my course.  I finally decided to just stop and try to get my head straight.  Something just wasn't right and I had to figure out what had gone wrong before going any further.  I stood there for a good minute, my headlamp illuminating the trail with the help of the moonlight, and not a sound to be heard except my heavy breathing.  Then suddenly I saw something ahead of me that caught my attention instantaneously: lights.  Lights from other runners probably about a quarter of a mile ahead.  As I looked more carefully into the darkness,  I could see their shadows in their headlamps in the distance and they were moving away from me.  This was a good sign.  I warily began marching forward.  I noticed that they were not directly in front of me, but on an uphill switchback slightly to my right.  After a couple of minutes I arrived at the junction that connected me to this switchback and suddenly, all was good.  As my senses began firing, it occurred to me that I had been going in the right direction all along.  The sleep deprivation and exhaustion from running and hiking for twenty-two hours straight had caused my acute senses to malfunction, and my mind had been messing with me.  As I plodded along, the trail passed over the ridge and Lake Tahoe emerged below to my left, the lights of Incline Village illuminating the hill side that rose from the north shore and into the ink black mountains.  As I admired the night view, I slowly broke out of the delirious state that I had been in for the last several miles and was now feeling much more aware and alert.  I smiled as I approached the junction  where the course began a downhill twisting route to Diamond Peak Lodge.  "Only twenty-three more miles to go" I said. 

4:00 AM, Saturday, July 22nd, 2019, Spooner Lake - Lake Tahoe State Park, Nevada

Stepping off the bus that transported runners from the hotel to the race start, I inhaled a deep breath of the cool, crisp, refreshing Sierra mountain air.  One hour from then, myself and several other runners would toe the start line of the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-mile Endurance Run, along with the 50-mile and 55-kilometer races that were being held in conjunction with the 100-miler.  I had spent the entire year training for this race and although my mind raced during the days leading up to today, I felt ready.  The Tahoe Rim Trail 100-mile Endurance Run, commonly known simply as Tahoe Rim Trail 100 or TRT 100 is no ordinary 100-miler.  From the start at Spooner Lake, the course travels in two 50-mile figure-eight like loops through alpine wilderness and along mountain ridges near Lake Tahoe, climbing and descending a cumulative total of 18,000 feet.  And just for good measure, the course is run at an average of 8,000 feet in elevation.  Today, make no mistake, was going to be one of the most crucial and defining days of my life up until this point.  My physical and mental toughness would be tested like never before.  I had been longing for this day for quite some time and was looking forward to enjoying the highs I would experience and encountering the lows and having the strength to break through them along the way.  Earlier this year, my favorite band, Motley Crue, had recorded four new songs as a soundtrack to their movie "The Dirt" which had been released in March.  I really liked the new songs, but one of them really spoke to me.  The chorus of the song goes "give me the dirt, just give me the dirt.  Just give me what I want 'till it hurts".  I had adopted this song as my soundtrack to this race.  To the band members, "the dirt" is a two-word phrase that entails everything they've been through together over the years.  Their rise to fame, decline in popularity, return to fame, drug addiction, alcoholism, rehab, jail time, etc.  My meaning of the phrase would be slightly different.  When I said "just give me the dirt", it meant "give me the whole ultramarathon experience".  The highs, lows, joy, pain, elation, despair, feelings of self-doubt, feelings of determination, feelings of hopelessness, feelings of confidence, the whole picture.  I had experienced these emotions in ultramarthons many times before, but today was going to take all of that to the next level.  "Just give me the dirt!" I kept thinking to myself.  After walking down the trail and arriving in the starting area, I grabbed myself a paper cup of coffee and took a seat in an empty camping chair under one of several canvas tents that covered the area.  A steady cloud of steam rose from my cup and fluttered off to the right before evaporating in the slight breeze.  The morning air was chilly, but not cold, and although it was barely warm enough that I wasn't shivering, I knew that I would warm up when I began moving.  I admired the Christmas lights that hung from the canvas tents as volunteers prepared coffee and checked runners in.  As I enjoyed my piping hot cup of paradise, George Ruiz, the Race Director spoke over the loudspeaker:  "Five minutes until race start!  100-mile runners, please make your way to the start line".  I took one last sip of coffee and merged into the crowd as we made our way to the blue archway that marked the start line.  After the National Anthem and a few brief announcements, the final countdown began.  "And, go!"  George shouted into the microphone.  The crowd of volunteers and spectators went wild as the group of two-hundred and fifty-five runners charged forward through the start line at 5:00 AM on the dot.  The adventure had begun.  "This is going to be a great day, or day and a half for some of us" I said as I ran with the tight pack of runners.

As hours passed, the distance eventually totaled thirty miles as I rolled into Diamond Peak Lodge around noon.  We had traversed along the Marlette Lake trail, ran past Marlette Lake, and followed the Tahoe Rim Trail to the Hobart aid station which, to my surprise, was stocked with not only great provisions and awesome volunteers, but a full bar, even at 6:30 in the morning.  From there we ran along a ridge past Harlan and Marlette Peaks with spectacular views of Lake Tahoe before arriving at Tunnel Creek aid station and hammering through the notoriously challenging Red House Loop, which featured a disco themed aid station, complete with costumes, a disco ball, and a sign on the way out that read "as you pass, we're checking out your ass".  Once I'd survived Red House Loop, It was up to the Bull Wheel aid station, followed by an eight-mile stretch through tall conifer trees and along ridge line that offered more great views of Lake Tahoe and Incline Village, before a three mile descent to Diamond Peak Lodge.  Diamond Peak is a well known ski resort in the Incline Village area and the aid station was fully stocked with plenty of food, drinks, chairs for runners, and restrooms.  Looking at myself in the mirror in the restroom, I took mental note that I hadn't looked too beat up, but then again, I was less than a third of the way into the race.  I splashed some water on my face, headed out to the aid station to have some food, and soon began the arduous climb up the Diamond Peak Ski Resort.  This 1,700 foot climb over a span of just under two miles is the section of the race that many runners dread the most.  As I sluggishly made my way, step by step, up the steep, sandy grade, I looked on as other runners stood off to the side of the trail, vomiting.  It's not uncommon to see runners puking during ultras.  Often times, runners will either eat too much, eat something that doesn't sit well with them, or simply push themselves too hard, which can quickly result in their guts becoming unstable.  When running extreme distances, our bodies are putting all of their energy into keeping us moving, including energy normally used to digest food.  If too much food is consumed and our digestive systems can't keep up, it will come right back up.  Typically, runners will carry on after doing their business, however prolonged vomiting can lead to dehydration, cramping, and an eventual withdraw from the race.  Periodically, I would turn around as I made my way up this monster climb.  The view was the best I had seen yet.  The dirt path that I had just climbed disappeared below into the dark green conifer trees in the distance, and the horizon was dominated by the dark blue water of Lake Tahoe and the snow-capped mountains that rested along the shore on the opposite side.  The view made the brutal climb worth it, and after a fifty-four minute struggle in the sun and heat, I made it to the peak, where I scarfed down some watermelon and had some cold drinks back at Bull Wheel.     

I made my way through the mountain wilderness, passing through Tunnel Creek and Hobart aid stations once again, where I consumed smoothies, ample amounts of solid food, and kept my handheld water bottles full, thanks to the awesome volunteers.  Between my two water bottles, I was holding a quart of fluids, and I had been peeing throughout the race, so I felt confident that I was properly hydrating.  Every once in a while I would see peculiar squiggle marks in the dirt as I ran, and eventually it dawned on me that runners were peeing on the run rather than going off to the side of the trail.  The only logical reason I could think of as to why people had adopted this method was to avoid wasting time stopping to relieve themselves.  I wondered if I would get a chance to witness it first hand.  I was feeling the effects of exhaustion and fatigue as I arrived at the Snow Valley Peak aid station, mile forty-three, at approximately 4:45 PM.  It had been a warm and sunny day, and much of the course was on exposed ridge line.  After sitting in a camping chair eating fruit and drinking electrolytes for a few minutes, I felt slightly more energized.  Just as I was making my way to the exit, a runner staggered into the tent and collapsed into a chair.  She was barely able to speak and the aid station crew surrounded her, taking her blood pressure and asking her questions.  She said that she had been puking for the last couple of hours.  I gave her some words of encouragement as I headed out, fully aware that soon enough I could be in just as bad of shape.  Although the remaining seven miles to the halfway point were mostly downhill, I took a reserved, cautious approach.  Running a hundred miles was going to be a new experience for me and I wanted to make I was conserving energy for the next fifty miles.  I would need it.  The second fifty-mile loop would be a repeat of what I had just done, but it would feel very different.  I would be running through the night and into the morning, hoping to finish by the thirty-five hour cutoff at 4:00 PM the next day.  Covering the last few miles to the halfway point back at Spooner Lake, I was fourteen minutes over my projected pace, which wasn't of grave concern.  My projected pace was based on a thirty-hour finish, so I still had plenty of time.  The question was could I make it another fifty miles? Or would I crumble in a heap on the trail and be forced to quit?  Could I make it through the night on my own before my pacer joined me at mile eighty?  Could I push through the pain and despair that would be lurking in the miles ahead? I wasn't sure, but I hoped so.  There comes a point where physical endurance can only take us so far.  After that, it all mental grit and determination that gets us to the finish line.  Covering the last bit of distance to the halfway point, I had since passed this threshold.  From here on out, I would be relying on mental strength to get me the rest of the way.