Old Dominion 100 (2021)

My alarm startled me awake as I laid there confused in the dark and unfamiliar room of the rental house. I quickly grabbed my phone to turn it off, hopefully not waking Christa up in the process. It was 2:00 AM, just as I had hoped, relieving me of the stress I felt the night before about the possibility of oversleeping.

I made my way to the kitchen where my friend and training partner, Tony, was already present—both of us clumsily getting coffee, food, and thoughts together. We wasted no time and were out of the house and on our way to the start/finish by 3:00 AM.

After the usual prerace shenanigans were handled, we found ourselves standing at the starting line with the rest of the runners, awaiting our countdown to the 4:00 AM start. We began the 2021 Old Dominion 100 right on time.

Tony and I had a plan heading into this race where we would look to pace together through as many miles as possible to try and keep us both on track for a sub-24 hour finish, earning us a silver buckle. We would walk the big uphills, maintain on the flats, and try not to be too aggressive on the downhills while working to help keep each other from falling victim to any low points.

The first 3 miles were a grid of roads taking us through downtown Woodstock, VA, which was a pretty cool vibe at 4:00 AM, and an easy way to warm up the legs for the onslaught that awaited us. From there, we hit our first climb, a gravel road that continued for what felt like 4 miles. We kept it easy, taking in the occasional views of the horizon starting to light up beyond the town below.

By mile 7, we had reached the top of the first big hill and were now going down the other side, controlling our pace and being kind to our quads. This section continued down for roughly 2-3 miles until we hit our first aid station, In Boyer, at just under 10 miles. From here, we made our way to the first section of singletrack, which quickly became a steep climb back up the mountain before it topped out, and we were able to enjoy some ridge running. We passed a few runners during this stretch, but we were still very conservative and sticking to our original plan.

After about 4 miles of singletrack, we were spat back out onto the gravel road that we came in on and made our way back to the aid station we were just at for another checkpoint before the course took us out into the farmland section.

The following 5 miles are rolling country roads that wind their way through the beautiful farms tucked in the valley. We were both enjoying the views, pacing well, and being positive. Momentum was on our side as we were approaching the 770/758 aid station around mile 20. Here we would meet up with our crew, Jeff and Christa, for the first time. I was looking forward to it.

We came into the aid station, met up with our crew, and we were moving quickly. We wasted little time here, as we would link up with our crew again at the Four Points #1 aid station at mile 32. I ran out of the aid station a minute ahead of Tony, giving in to the excitement of everything. I slowed down a bit until he was back with me, and we continued on with these rolling country roads.

The sun was now up in the sky, and it was making its presence felt. The forecast for the day showed a high of 90 and heavy humidity. It was undoubtedly warming up for us out there on those exposed roads.

We sweat it out for the next 11 miles, going past many different farmhouses, livestock and incredible backdrops of the mountains surrounding us. Tony began using ice wrapped in his Buff headwrap around his neck to cool himself off while I watched and dismissed the method. Little did I know this would prove to be a foolish choice by myself in the coming miles.

We met up with our crew at Four Points #1 and spent a couple of minutes eating, chatting, and making sure we were prepared for the next stretch of the course. We wouldn't see our crew for another 15 miles when we’d come back through this same aid station. But first, we’d have to hit our second stretch of singletrack.

I was looking forward to more singletrack because the exposed country roads were taking a toll on me. But, when we got on the singletrack, I began struggling to keep up with Tony. It wasn’t that we were going fast, I was just starting to succumb to the heat, and my legs were beginning to feel tired. We were both getting beat up on this trail section, and we were noticing our mile splits getting longer and longer. It was at this point where we began questioning our sub-24 hour goal. But we both agreed to not focus too hard on the time goals and remain positive and present.

Eventually, we were greeted again by some gravel roads, mostly downhill after having struggled uphill for the last few miles, and we took it as an opportunity to pick up the pace and try to make up for the slower miles we just endured. We were fast approaching the Four Points #2 aid station at mile 47, and we agreed that we would spend a few minutes with the crew here to get prepped for the second half of this race, but would need to begin limiting our aid station time after this one to try and save time wherever we could.

We got to Four Points #2, ate some food, changed our socks, tended to our chaffed areas, and head back out onto more gravel roads. We would see our crew again in just 9 miles.

As we left Four Points #2, I began feeling nauseous but chose to try and ignore it while I focused on trailing Tony. He was power hiking the uphills at a pace that was hard for me to sustain, but I kept telling myself I was just in a low spot, and soon I would find the energy to pick it up and dig myself out of this hole. We crossed the 50-mile mark, and I smiled. I’ve never run more than 50 miles at one time, so everything from this point on was uncharted territory for me. It felt exciting.

We both kept using the ice on the neck technique to keep ourselves cool, but I just couldn’t seem to get the heat out of my head or keep my stomach from feeling questionable. But we kept pressing on and were moving at a pretty good pace. We were making our way downhill again, almost to the Edinburg Gap aid station at mile 56.5, when it happened. I threw up.

I immediately became concerned. I’ve never thrown up in a race before, and we weren't even halfway through this beast of a race; this became a very serious variable that I now had to consider. Would I bounce back? Would I be able to replace all the calories I just lost? Would I start slowing up even more? I tried not to worry too much and told myself that I’d just try to eat, drink, and rally when I got to Edinburg Gap.

We arrived, and I told my crew about what just happened. They remained positive and did all the right things. We knew we were cutting it real close to stay on track for the sub-24 hour finish, so we tried to remain as efficient as possible here. Before I knew it, we were heading out of the station, covered with ice and some fresh calories in the stomach.

From here, we made our way up a steep ATV trail, more vertical than we were expecting, and the reality of our situation made itself present. We weren’t going to earn a sub-24 hour finish. Not at the pace we were going and knowing that the worst of the steep climbs was yet to come at Sherman Gap (mile 75+). That’s alright, though; we defaulted to Plan B—finish the race in under 28 hours.

We were both getting our asses kicked on this ATV trail, but I could tell I was holding Tony back. I couldn’t seem to find the gas to fuel my legs, and I was beginning to feel very nauseous again. I was starting to think I was dealing with a caloric deficit that would be very hard to overcome at this rate. I squashed it down and tried to be positive, but my mind started to wander into the negative.

I caught up to Tony at the next aid station, and I told him to continue without me. I told him that I would see him at the next station or catch him at the finish. He could see the weakness all over my face and kept telling me that I would finish and not drop. He knew how bad I wanted to drop, but he did his best to encourage me. I wished him well and watched him disappear down the dusty trail.

Then I threw up again. I was shot.

It took me almost an hour and a half to walk the next 4 miles into the Little Fort aid station at mile 64, where I’d link up with my crew once again. During that 4 mile walk, I was convinced that I’d be dropping the race once I got to Little Fort. But as I approached, I was confronted by a few different crew members and volunteers, along with Jeff, and they all were trying to talk me off the ledge. They all had confidence that I could continue, at least until the 75-mile mark. After much deliberation, some food, and a crucial yet quick conversation with Christa, I decided to get my shit together and push on despite the suffering.

They told me I could make it another 10 miles, and then I could reconsider my decision to drop. I believed them.

I had my headlamp on, ready for the impending darkness that was on its way. I continued trying to eat things that I had snagged back at Little Fort. I had my headphones in, trying to gain some energy from the music. Things were starting to feel relatively good for about a mile or so. And then I threw up again.

The following 10 miles were the most difficult I’ve ever experienced. I was nauseous. It was dark. My feet were battered. My spirit was crushed. Those 10 miles took me almost 4.5 hours to march, giving me ample time to go through all the emotions I needed to in order to process all that had happened and all that was coming to an end.

By the time I arrived at the Elizabeth Furnace aid station at mile 75, I didn’t have to worry about dropping the race—they were going to tell me my race was finished. You have to reach Elizabeth Furnace by midnight, or they won’t let you continue since it’s essentially impossible to finish the race in 28 hours if you don’t make that specific cutoff. I was relieved. We sat there for a few minutes and joked with the volunteers before thanking them and switching gears. Now I was part of Tony’s crew as well.

We made it to the Veach West aid station at mile 86 with time to spare and waited for Tony to come through. It took him longer than we expected, so we anticipated him to be in rough shape but hopefully still on track to finish his race. When he made it through, he was in good enough shape, physically and mentally, and didn’t waste much time. He had 14 miles to go, and while it was undoubtedly doable for him, it was going to take some digging for him to get it. We were confident he would.

We made our way to the finish line just before 7:00 AM to wait for Tony to come through, and we were treated with the opportunity to watch a handful of the runners I was suffering with from earlier complete their races. It was beyond inspiring, and all I could feel was pride. I was so proud of these amazing strangers. I know where they went, what they experienced, and how much it took for them to get across that line. Then came Tony; right around 7:30 AM, he completed his victory lap. Badass.

Although I was unable to complete what I set out to do that day, I’m not mad. Humble, for sure. But not mad. I went further than I ever have before. I went further than I thought I could that day. I felt incredible love and support from my crew. I got to witness my great friend achieve another 100-mile finish. I got to see the human spirit in its most authentic form. I suffered. I learned. I grew.

I walked away with a burning desire, greater than I’ve ever felt before.

I’m not done yet—just getting started.