Pacing the Heartland 100

View From Ridgeline Aid Station - 36.5 miles from the finish line of the Heartland 100.

I flew back from a quick business trip to LVNV on Friday. I had caught a very early flight on the heels of a late dinner with clients - ergo I had only a couple of hours of sleep.

I dropped my business suitcase in the garage, replaced it (in the back of my Element) with a duffel bag and two grocery sacks of running gear and sports nutrition stuff (and coffee), and immediately took off for points west accompanied by my running buddy, Paul.

Paul's an interesting cat. Besides having sailed solo on many occasions in a 26 ft boat across the Pacific, Atlantic, (and much more impressively) the Southern Ocean, and having hiked (again solo) across the Himalayas to Everest Base Camp, Paul is also an ultra-marathoner.  He's the same guy I paced about a month ago over the last 25 miles of the Hawk 100 Marathon. This time, he was signed up for the (on paper at least) easier Heartland 100 race.

I had agreed to pace him from an aid station manned by my Lawrence Trail Hawk running club buddies. The station, called Ridgeline, sits exposed to the elements, atop a plateau of sorts, 36.5 miles from the finish line.

Friday night we attended the pre-race dinner and meeting in the little Flint Hills town of Cassoday. There was not much in the way of vegan food available - an oddity for (vegan-filled) ultra-races these days. I ended up eating a pasta salad and lettuce with no dressing. We stayed at a motel in Emporia that looked a bit dodgier than it actually was. We occupied the room from 8 p.m. until we left to return to Cassoday at 3:30 a.m.

Saturday at 6 a.m. Paul took off with the other runners down .4 miles of paved road. It would be the last blacktop they would see for 99.2 miles. I chilled for an hour or so in the burg's community center - a metal pre-fab building that serves the small community's needs well.

As the sun rose, I drove to the Ridgeline aid station where I helped set up the tents and lay out food for runners who would be arriving on the way out and back for the next 18 hours. I remained there the rest of the day, alternately assisting runners and resting up for my upcoming pacing stint.

At 8:30 p.m. Paul came through the station for the second time on his return trip. He was an hour and a half ahead of schedule. I was suited up and ready to go. The weather was cold with a slight breeze. We took off along the wide ridge (pictured above). It was night. If it hadn't been cloudy, there would've been a huge moon. But as it was, it was really dark.

What followed was hours spent running in what truly felt like the middle of nowhere. Open spaces were warmer but a bit windy, and valleys were still, yet 5 - 10 F cooler. This Morton's Fork (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morton%27s_fork) made keeping our core temperatures consistent a maddeningly difficult effort. The shocking hardness and rough rock/gravel surface of the back country roads made running (or walking or jogging) all very difficult on joints as well as the soles of our feet. I was using my Salomon Speed Cross 3's. They performed well, but I might've benefited from a trail shoe with a sturdier (or alternately, more-padded) sole. Hokas were in use by about a third of the entrants. Still, when I finished the 36.5 miles, I had nary a blister - something almost unheard of for a distance that great. Props to Salomon.

I won't go into everything that happened over the long dark night other than to say it was probably the hardest running Paul or I had ever had experienced. While we were prepared for the race, I was operating on a dearth of sleep, and Paul was running his second 100 miler in a month. These things factored into our night in a big way.

When the sun finally rose in the morning, the soles of my feet as well as my ankles were sore, but I was in a glorious mood. The vistas over mist-filled valleys were truly spectacular. I pointed out particularly beautiful views to Paul and Gary (a runner who hung out with us from around mile 85 onward). Both though, were a little less than enamored with the scenery and more focused on what was underfoot.

The last 8 miles were possibly the hardest of the run as I kept the pace as fast as Paul could take it. I chatted, encouraged, told jokes, cajoled, and yelled to keep him moving.

With .4 miles left in the race, Paul was able to pass two runners ahead of us. I stopped to assist a runner who was in some difficulty and make sure he got to the finish in a decent time as well.

I don't really have a take home from this race. On paper it should have been easier than the Hawk 100. Yet it proved what every hundred mile race probably does - nothing that distance is ever easy, and none should be taken lightly.

Paul stated many times during the race that he did not plan to ever return to the Heartland 100. I don't doubt that he meant what he said. But races that truly challenge you sometimes get into your bloodstream. My bet is that he'll be back next year. If he is, I'll up my pacing ante, and join him for the final 50.