Well, for the second year in a row, the Leadville Trail 100 managed to serve me an especially heaping plateful of humility. I went into this year’s rendition of the event with a markedly different mind-set than what I brought to the starting line last year, but by time my race was over Saturday evening it would appear that the two year’s outcomes were virtually identical. In a strict results sense, that would be true, but in reality the two experiences were indubitably unique, and I am grateful for the opportunity to once again emerge from the race weekend with a valuable, if hard-earned, education.
Despite fairly rampant speculation and assumptions to the contrary, I had no specific intent this year of chasing Matt Carpenter’s 2005 course record time standard. Instead, I planned to employ a strategy that has been working pretty well for me all year long—simply focus on competing well with the other runners in the field and trust that this sort of competitive emphasis will result in not only a victory but a satisfactorily quick finish time.
I was especially looking forward to this particular race strategy at Leadville because I believe that the length and inherent unpredictability of 100 miles can make early split times meaningless (and even harmful, if obsessed over), and, because I am extremely familiar with the LT100 course, it is easy for me to get too caught up in worrying about these intermediate splits. Additionally, after satisfying runs at both the Western States 100 in June and the White River 50 only three weeks ago, any self-imposed pressure to perform at a high level on Saturday was much lower than it was last year. I had two explicit goals for Leadville this year: win, and finish no matter what. I didn’t care if it took me all night, the last thing I wanted to do was DNF at Leadville two years in a row.
Jocelyn and I drove up to Leadville early Friday morning and immediately rushed to the mandatory pre-race medical check with less than 10 minutes to spare. Afterwards we drove down to Sugarloaf Dam for a final pre-race jog out to Tabor Boat Ramp and back. It was the first time I’d set foot on the race course since the race last year and everything felt in order and ready to go. We slept that night in The Roost in my customary spot and rose at 2:30am the following morning to perfect weather conditions and a gigantic, orange, gibbous moon sinking behind the shoulder of Mt. Massive.
With a few hundred extra racers this year, the start was even more electric with anticipation and nervous energy than usual. Right from the gun I felt extremely comfortable with the pace; it was predictably quick through the first couple miles up in the front group but I was very relaxed even as I lost a little ground as a result of several pee breaks. On the short, sharp climb up the Powerline cut to the lake trail I took the lead from Hal, and Bob Sweeney fell in immediately behind him. We crossed the road in 43min or so, which I knew was quick, so I tried to slow down a bit but even so the three of us hit Boat Ramp all together in one hour flat.
 (Jocelyn crewing for me at the 13.5mi Mayqueen aid station. Kelly Gaines photo.) Surprisingly, the three of us were already well clear from the rest of the field and on the rest of our tour along the shoreline to the first aid station I commented to Bob and Hal how this was by far the loneliest run around the lake to Mayqueen that I’d ever had at Leadville where there’s usually a good pack of 10-15 dudes cruising along together in the dark. I led us into the Mayqueen aid in exactly 1:39, which was three minutes faster than my previous fastest split there last year but was encouraging because it felt so much easier. Last year I come into Mayqueen concerned with the effort I was having to put out to just stay with the front group whereas this year I was deliberately holding back, just like one should feel in the first two hours of a 100 mile race.
Like usual, the first 10-15min on the Colorado Trail up to Hagerman Road were a bit tricky after dropping our headlamps at Mayqueen (although, I think Bob kept his), but I like to use that as an excuse to check the pace even further–no use in getting in over one’s head. On the mile-long Hagerman Road section I finally submitted to the need to hit the ditch for a quick pit-stop. Fifty seconds later Hal had caught and passed me, but by the end of the first long switchback on the 4WD road leading up to Sugarloaf Pass I had caught back up and Hal and I ran to the summit together. The sunrise on the top of the pass was exceptional this year, and in general I was just enjoying the opportunity to share some trail time with a good friend on a familiar mountain pass. Whereas last year it seemed like Tim Parr and I were already pushing the pace on each other, this year I was content and relaxed with the tempo Hal and I were running.
Twice more on the downhill I had to head to the side of the trail to lighten my load, thereby sacrificing ~2.5 minutes total on this section over Sugarloaf. I continued to try to relax the pace on the asphalt lead-up to the 23.5 mile Fish Hatchery aid, but even so Hal and I arrived essentially together in just a few ticks under 3:06.
 (Exiting Fish Hatchery outbound, 23.5mi. Brett Rivers photo.) The Halfmoon Road section out and around to Treeline/Pipeline passed in the same manner that it always does: squinting into the rising sun, trying desperately to not go too fast even though it all feels so easy, and eating and drinking a lot while still on tame terrain. At the Pipeline crew access point Hal dropped off while I continued on and that would be the last bit of running I would do with a fellow competitor for the remainder of my race.
After a few more minutes of flat running on the Pipeline road the course turns right towards Mt. Elbert and ever-so-slightly uphill as it begins to climb towards the ~10,300′ contour of the Colorado Trail. On this nearly imperceptible incline I started to feel the first twinging aches of effort in my legs. At nearly 30 miles into the race, this is typical and acceptable. There is no real fatigue or discomfort yet, just the gentle reminder from my hamstrings that I’ve been running for almost four hours now. However, after a few minutes, the feeling progressed from acceptable fatigue to the beginnings of a bona fide rough stretch of running. As such, I consciously paid very close attention to my effort level and made sure that the pace was still as easy as was reasonable.
I passed through Box Creek at 4:09 with nothing more than a topping off of my half-empty bottle and continued plugging away towards the Colorado Trail and Twin Lakes. At this point I was determined to run extremely relaxed, never putting out any more effort than what felt absolutely necessary. I wasn’t concerned with course record pace or really even the positioning of my competitors; all I wanted to do was get to Twin Lakes and complete the double-crossing of Hope Pass with as little damage as possible.
A short while later, I came to a path up into the woods that I very vaguely remembered from last year as being the route that the new course takes up to the CT, but it was explicitly flagged left/straight ahead, so without breaking stride I continued down that track for approximately three flagless minutes until my altimeter confirmed that the trail was indeed going downhill (I knew we needed to be heading up), so with a good shot of adrenaline I flipped around and charged back the way I’d just come. As I headed up the correct trail part of me was sure that I was now in at least 2nd place (due to my 5min excursion) but I soon realized that I wasn’t seeing any tracks on any of the muddy patches, so within minutes I relaxed again and ended up almost completely putting the little mishap out of my mind. I would later learn that, unfortunately, Hal and Bob both went much more significantly off-course at this very turn.
On the CT I continued to monitor my pace in an effort to stay relaxed and keep working through what was now starting to feel like a fairly extended bad patch. My energy levels improved on the 20 minute downhill into Twin Lakes, but now my always tricky right knee was beginning to ache and twinge a bit, something that made me pause at the thought of entering this race at all. Fortunately, the knee twinge was only intermittent and by time I made it down to Twin Lakes in 5:17 I was on the exact same pace as last year if I subtracted the five minute diversion off-course.
 (Dropping down into the Twin Lakes aid station at mile 40. Rob O'Dea photo.) Seeing the crowds and my crew at Twin Lakes significantly lifted my spirits and I headed over to the base of Hope Pass feeling confident and looking forward to the break in pounding that the uphill would afford my legs, and more specifically, my knee. The run up to the Hopeless aid station went well. I would occasionally mix in a few short stretches of hands-on-knees power-hiking on the steepest stretches or whenever it was time to eat a gel and mostly just made sure I wasn’t inadvertently crossing over any sort of red-line in my system.
However, from the very beginning of the race, I hadn’t been able to eat quite as much as I usually do in ultras. Typically, I’m taking down three GUs almost every hour, but on this day it was all I could manage to take one every 30 minutes and a couple of times I went 40-45min at a time to eat because my stomach was a little off. This only worsened as I gained altitude, but I was heartened to see that I arrived at Hopeless in 6:25, a split from Twin Lakes that was essentially as fast as I’ve ever done it during the race despite feeling like I was taking a deliberately conservative approach the whole time.
I stopped very briefly to refill my water bottle at Hopeless and then power-hiked most of the remaining trail to the summit of the pass except for a few of the flatter switchbacks. Like usual, it took me 5-10 minutes to find my rhythm and downhill legs on the other side, but eventually I was most troubled by increasingly pounded toes and my twingy right knee. I made sure to drain my bottle in time to refill it at the creeks half-way down the south side of Hope (I finally remembered to do this after suffering up the hot, exposed Winfield road for each of the previous three years), babied my quads on the steepest lower sections of the trail and was soon running up the road to Winfield. This road didn’t seem nearly as interminable as usual and before I knew it I was striding into the Winfield aid in 7:26 feeling maybe the most fresh I ever have there.
 (Still running conservatively. Rob O'Dea photo.) At Winfield I picked up my pacer–the talented Dakota Jones, whom I’d met for the first time after his stellar 2nd-place performance at the White River 50 only three weeks earlier–and when he asked me how I was doing I said pretty good except for the fact that it seemed like I’d been going through a bad patch for the past 25 miles. I told him I wasn’t feeling like eating much so it would be important for him to put me on a strict gel-every-25min schedule. I also told him that I’d felt like I’d run this road section too fast last year so I was just going to continue to take it easy and not repeat last year’s mistake of competing hard too soon. Dakota assured me that I’d had more than a 20 minute lead at Twin Lakes and that no one else in the field was going to climb the north side of Hope Pass faster than I just did so relaxing seemed like a great strategy.
So that’s what we did. The south side of Hope Pass went by the easiest it ever has for me in this race. Dakota and I hiked almost everything up to the streams just below treeline and while I grunted a few times, by and large it was a virtually conversational effort. Every other year I’ve run this race I would climb the south side of Hope pretty much as hard as I could, sweating, grunting and swearing the entire way. This year was markedly different. We crossed Duncan in 2nd place at the very base of the climb, so I knew I had more than a 40 minute lead, which was a huge confidence boost. Above treeline I began to run a lot of the flatter stuff but all the while making sure I wasn’t pushing too hard yet. The plan was to conserve, conserve, conserve until at least after Twin Lakes inbound and so far it was working pretty well.
At the summit I was surprised to find that I climbed the south side of Hope as fast as I ever have in the race, but on the short descent down to Hopeless things weren’t great. Mostly my toes were killing me, but my twingy right knee would also strangely give out/collapse every now and then. I began to be worried that it wouldn’t survive the trip down Hope and I’d be forced to call it quits at Twin Lakes. I ran through the Hopeless aid station in 8:46, which was exactly equal with my best ever race split from Winfield but with less effort than in previous years, and the soft tundra was a nice break for my toes and knees and set me up for a relaxed, encouraging run back down the hill to the soggy meadows and crowds of Twin Lakes.
 (Running across the meadows into Twin Lakes inbound, mile 60. Rob O'Dea photo.) Last year my pacer Alex and I had definitely run this stretch too hard in a best-ever split of 42 minutes and I had arrived at Twin Lakes in pretty rough shape. This year, Dakota and I just cruised this section in an un-pushed 44 minutes and coming into Twin Lakes I felt relatively great. Other than my knee and toes it was pretty easy to convince myself that I hadn’t been running anywhere near the 9:30 it took me to get there.
Again, while leaving Twin Lakes I told Dakota that I was determined to not start pushing yet. Even so, I was feeling so good that there were several shallower stretches of trail on this climb that I ran with no prodding and as we got off the jeep road and back onto the beautiful singletrack up in the pines and aspens I was beginning to think back to the 2007 edition of this race when I ran this section strongly with Kyle Skaggs as my pacer during my 16:14 PR effort.
 (Running into Twin Lakes at 60mi with my pacer, Dakota Jones. Brett Rivers photo.) Just before the crest of the climb near the South Elbert trailhead, however, I started having another bad patch. Dakota had to start encouraging me to run some of the flatter sections of trail and I was having a harder time eating and drinking. There are two short uphill sections of trail between the top of the main climb and the beginning of the long, gradual descent down to the Box Creek aid station (69ish miles?), and as we neared the top of the second one of these I told Dakota I needed 30 seconds to regroup. So I sat on a rock, ate a gel, chugged our remaining water (~30 oz), got up, and ran every step from there down to the Box Creek aid (probably 3mi or so away) while Dakota refilled our bottles at the final stream crossing on the CT.
Last year I fell apart horribly on this hot, exposed section, so it was a huge mental boost to be moving so well through there this year. At Box Creek (reached in 10:51), we refilled our bottles yet again and then I stopped for another 30 seconds or so to empty out the sand-box that was hanging out in my right shoe. That helped immensely and soon Dakota and I were rolling at a solid mid-7s pace towards the Pipeline crew access point. I slowed some on the flatter/slightly uphill approach to the crew access point, but by and large was in comparatively good spirits here where I’d experienced a complete meltdown the year before.
Next, however, was the paved Halfmoon Creek Road section back over to Fish Hatchery and it went fairly miserably. This is hands-down, without a doubt the worst section of the Leadville Trail 100. I’ve never run this race without this flat, hard, black, windy, exposed road at least putting some serious dents in my mental and physical armor. This year was no different. Dakota and I crawled along at a pathetic 9-10min/mile pace with the only thing keeping me from walking being sheer shame. Once I stopped to stretch a cramping hamstring and once Dakota let me walk for a few seconds as I ate a gel (poor, weak, weak excuse), but other than that I simply endured, repeatedly glancing longingly over at the dirt surface and uphill grade of the Powerlines climb as my salvation from the unvarying monotony and pounding of the road.
Finally, finally, we reached the 76.5mi Fish Hatchery aid station right at 12:06 and I told Jocelyn all I wanted to do was sit down for 30 seconds. Of course, good crew that she is, she said no, absolutely not, but that I could do so five minutes down the road with Alex (Nichols, my new pacer; he’s been at every Leadville with me) so that at least no one would see me. Surprisingly, this was enough incentive for me, and it made me realize that of course I wasn’t as bad off as I thought I’d been. Even so, on the 1mi+ of asphalt over to the base of the Powerlines I hiked the tiny little rollers. In retrospect, this should’ve been an indicator of the direction things were about to head for me (way, way, way down) but in my mind I was simply conserving and trying to stave off any sort of dramatic blow-up a la 2009. I knew I had nearly a 90 minute lead on Duncan (meaning he’d have to average 3min/mile faster than me for the rest of the race in order to catch me) and all I really needed to do was keep moving in order to achieve my primary goals of finishing and winning the race.
With these goals in mind, Alex and I headed up the steep lower section of the Powerlines at a strong hike as race photographer Rob O’Dea went ripping by on his dirt bike. On this initial steep stretch I knew I was no longer hiking with the authority needed to really nail this climb, but I also knew that I didn’t need to, all I needed to do was keep moving. Alex was dutifully pushing water and gels but especially on the climb my stomach headed south in a hurry and I kept telling him “Soon” or, “In a couple minutes”.
At the top of the first false summit I gamely broke into a jog down the gentle decline, but something about this took me completely over the edge. Once the grade flattened out I almost instantly felt terrible. Within the matter of a few hundred yards my hike waned to a casual walk and eventually degraded to a pathetic stumble. It was bad. I became increasingly mentally foggy and unresponsive, eating and drinking were out of the question, and whereas lower on the hill I’d been deliberately laboring up in the shade trying to avoid the sun, now I was alternately freezing and sweating feverishly. Soon it was really, really tough to even keep my eyes open and I eventually convinced Alex that a five minute nap right there in the middle of the trail was the best course of action. We were staggering along so slowly that it seemed to me that lying down motionless would hardly be any slower anyhow.
Within a few seconds I conked out with a water bottle as a pillow and before I knew it Alex woke me and was doing everything he could to get me moving again. I imagine it was like trying to roust a drunk. My body simply quit functioning. The desire to close my eyes and sleep was profoundly overwhelming, so much so that I was constantly swaying and tripping over my own feet almost losing consciousness while standing up.
And that was pretty much it. After two and a half hours of staggering, stumbling and sitting (in year’s past this section from the Fish Hatchery to the top of the pass has typically taken me an hour), Alex and I made it to a point maybe a hundred yards below the top of the pass where Rob had parked his dirtbike one last time (he’d been leap-frogging us all the way up the climb, unfortunately documenting my embarrassingly weak state) and I finally collapsed for good, 81+ miles along the course. Even though the sun was still plenty high in the sky and Alex was comfortable in only a singlet I was now getting uncontrollably cold and increasingly unresponsive. Up until this point, my plan had been to simply keep moving at whatever snail’s pace I could manage to get to Mayqueen where I would stay until I could keep down food and water, bundle up in all of my clothes, change my shoes, and simply walk the last 13 miles into town with Jocelyn. I had long ago stopped caring about winning (though Duncan had yet to pass us) and was hoping to simply survive and finish.
Unfortunately, the hope of being able to make it down to Mayqueen under my own power essentially evaporated on top of Sugarloaf, and with my feeble, foggy sanctioning of his bidding, Rob beneficently zipped down the mountain on his bike to go get some help from the aid station. A short while after Rob left, Duncan and his pacer, and then a few minutes later, Zeke Tiernan and his pacer, finally came hiking by. Much to their credit, from what I remember, both offered whatever help they could before continuing on their way to successful finishes. Soon after that, race staff on ATVs who were hanging glow sticks came by, and after talking with Rob–who had returned from Mayqueen with warm clothes–gave me a ride down to the Mayqueen aid station where I was determined to be hypoglycemic and hypothermic and was administered an IV. Obviously, by submitting to an ATV ride and an IV I was officially disqualified from the race. Within a few hours, however, I had essentially made a full recovery.
The biggest difference between not finishing Leadville this year and DNFing last year was that this year I’d run myself into a state where I really no longer had a choice about finishing or not. Last year I never lost my mental faculties or ability to take in food or water. Instead, I simply lacked the mental commitment to continue with the race after my quads quit functioning. If I had started Leadville last year with the intent of finishing at all costs (like I did this year), I would’ve finished. This year, unfortunately, I got myself to a place where it really wasn’t even a choice for me anymore.
The good new is, I’m hardly even sore from the race. Whereas last year I was crippled for days afterwards, this year, even on Sunday morning at the awards ceremony, my main sources of discomfort were the superficial skin cracks in my feet and a few battered and swollen toenails.
I have yet to completely process all the lessons I’ve learned from this one, but I want to make it abundantly clear that this wasn’t another all-or-nothing attempt at running a super-fast time. Leading up to and during the race itself I was completely emotionally and mentally prepared to finish it out by just hiking it in. Instead, this was a failure to sufficiently address my non-desire to take in enough calories over the course of the day that eventually caught up to me in an extremely inopportune spot. If I had bonked that hard just a little sooner and had stayed at Fish Hatchery for a long enough time (you know, say, an hour or two) to get my body caught back up, I think I could’ve finished. Or, if I’d been able to make it to Mayqueen before my body completely shut down. But, I was on top of a mountain, and I needed assistance, and that’s how it went. Obviously, with the lead I had on Duncan at Fish Hatchery, in retrospect it seems like that if I were merely interested in winning the race I would’ve spent a considerable amount of time there making sure I was ready to tackle Sugar Loaf. However, during the reality of the race, that would’ve seemed like a ridiculously conservative thing to do. I was weighed at Fish Hatchery and I was a mere three pounds down. There was no way to know that I was going to crater that badly only a few miles later.
I’m just extremely grateful that my pacer and Rob O’Dea and the race staff were there to bail me out. I said in a pre-race interview that running a race is an opportunity–granted by the support of others–to explore a different aspect of my running psyche. While during training I am sure to be as self-sufficient as possible, on Saturday, during the race, I took the liberty of inadvertently flirting much closer with the edge of my limits and taking myself to a dangerous place that I would never go alone during training. For this opportunity I am grateful, but it’s not a privilege I take lightly, or for granted. Thank you to everyone who had a part in bringing me back to health so quickly.
If I return to Leadville next year, maybe I’ll require that my pacer from Fish Hatchery carries a sleeping bag over Sugar Loaf, just in case.
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Well done for taking a wise and impartial perspective on your outcome in the race. It must have been annoying to feel fine again after a few hours though!
Glad to hear you are well Tony.
Well, Zac, “fine” and “full recovery” are fairly relative terms…the eeriness of those few hours were/are etched pretty distinctly into my mind, so no, I can’t say I was especially annoyed. Mostly grateful.
A colleague said to me today, “If God has a sense of humour, it’s ironic.”
Unfortunate that your completely contrary approach led you to the same place. But you’re young, you can still attain your goal at Leadville.
Happy to hear your recovery was so quick.
You’re still the man and I admire the way you keep your ego in check. Ran Green Mountain today and it was absolutely gorgeous. With trails like this and class starting today, hopefully it will be pretty easy to get past this.
Anton,
Great report and a bold effort. See you down the trail.
AJW
I’m impressed by your lack of bitterness. If I had set out with the seemingly reasonable goals that you had and raced in the seemingly conservative fashion that you did, I’d be really irritated with the outcome. I think your acceptance of it indicates a maturity and a mindset well-suited to these ridiculously long races.
Thanks for taking us with you on your journey. I make the mistake of thinking that ultra race winners are near gods and your honesty and openness remind me that you are human. Can’t wait to hear about your next bath of training runs and your next race
Hey Tony,
I was bummed to hear the news that the race came undone as you looked super strong climbing up Hope. Sure glad that you are okay though. I’ll leave that race for you Colorado boys. Not much air up there for me….
Rod B.
I think it is possible that a runner can have the bad luck to have a virus or something on Big Race Day and that can mess things up.
Sounds like Race Mgnt. had a problem that happens now and then-vandals or pranksters moving ribbons,misdirecting the runners off course.
Tony,
Humbled by the race report, thank you. Just more evidence of the attributes needed to win a 100 miler. Inspiring and gripping race. Heal up and get back out there.
Thanks for the report, which was interesting and keenly analytical, as always.
Sorry you weren’t able to finish. So it basically came down to energy level on course. Wow.
“…a pathetic 9-10min/mile pace with the only thing keeping me from walking being sheer shame.”
Some of us can only dream of this pace for a 100 miler (or K).
Nice report. You know you gave it your all. That’s what matters.
Anton, you did a great job on Saturday…and when I saw you coming inbound on Hope Pass you were eating a gel and almost seemed to be smiling! Take that time to explore your journey…there are probably more lessons to unpack. Your writing is great, though. Almost made me feel like I could see the whole race from your perspective. See you on the trails. Elliott
Thanks for sharing so fully how your race went. I’ve been following your blog for a while now and find it really interesting to see what goes in to be a top class ultra runner.
Hope you recover well.
Thank you for the insight Tony. I took a lot of wisdom away from this post.
Good luck in future races and we’ll see ya at the starting line.
Cheers!
Christian Griffith
you are the (coherent) j. kerouac of ultrarunning writing. . . enjoyed it immensely man, and look forward to the next trail-spin narrative.
Anton, thanks for the race report. For those of us who dream of one day completing an ultra, your writing allows us to get a peek into what really happens on the trail. Motivating and inspiring.
Anton,
I am a huge admirer of yours and I am in awe of how you train for and run your races. I am so impressed with your balanced perspective on this race and its outcome. Good luck in your future races.
You dream big, dare big and give it your all each time you toe the Start line. Life is nothing more than that.
Rajeev
Hi Tony,
Thank you for your report and for sharing your adventure with us. Glad to hear that your are well and ready to prepare for the next one. My only question is, did you ever determine why you became hypoglycemic? Too many simply sugars, just not eating at all? Just curious and wondering what your next stategy will be when it comes to nutrition during the race. Hope to see you out on the trail someday. Take care.
AJ Johnson
Ocean View, NJ
Thank you, all, for the kind words; I really appreciate it.
Greg,
Yeah, I’m not sure why I’m not more bitter/frustrated with the whole experience. I think a big part of it is because my mistake(s) are fairly clear (mostly, not being insistent enough with my eating despite a bad stomach) and by time action urgently needed to be taken, there wasn’t much I could do for myself anymore. It all happened so quickly, too. Plus, I can’t see much to be gained by just being pissed off about it all.
Rod,
Ha! Altitude tent not enough? Looks like you still had a strong finish, man. I WAS feeling really strong on Hope Pass; I actually felt reasonably well right up until the Powerlines…happy recovering back in Oregon!
Tony, quite glad that you’re well. We read this in awe of both the physical undertaking and your ability to maintain a good perspective on the race.
Thanks for the report, Tony. Wondered what happened to you out there. Sounds utterly miserable. I spent a fair amount of time camped out on the side of the trail on Powerline myself but somehow was able to rally. Sorry your day didn’t go to plan but you are still an inspiration. Keep it up.
~stubert.
Thank you for writing such a detailed race report. I always enjoy your writing and try to learn from your experiences. Your easy going attitude and your running seems to be more about the journey in most cases is what makes me keep coming back to your writings.
Recover Well,
Eric
DNF means did nothing fatal. A valiant effort and a great report. As a back of the packer it’s very enlightening to find out that sometimes the elite have some of the same struggles. You rock!
Anton,
I’ve been a volunteer at the intersection of Sheep Gulch (south side of Hope Pass)trail and the Winfield road for many years now. Being a Leadville lifer and avid backpacker (never a runner), I’ve got huge respect for what you do out there on those trails. Thank You for your informative writing about your race experiences, I enjoy reading them all. Hang in there and we’ll see you next year, hopefully crossing the finish line in first place.
Steve Tritz
Leadville, CO
Anton, you are my all time FAVORITE ULTRA RUNNER. I was honored to get a photo with you and worked MAYQUEEN AID STATION both in the morning and you were the first I asked about when I got there at 9 pm. OUR crew helped you. I think you are still super amazing. DNF..you had to do what you had to do.
I have a pic of you and I if you would like.
My email is laurelisme@yahoo.com.
Take care my friend.
One of your biggest fans:)
Laurel
Davenport, IA
ONE LAST THING..you should get t shirts made that says “I saw the LORD or JESUS on the trails in LEADVILLE!” You would make a killing. Trust me everyone knows that Anton in Jesus in running. Get Tech shirts made..and when you do I want one.
HAHAHA
Laurel
Two suggestions, Tony: (1) When you get to staggering and you can’t keep your eyes open, always sleep til you wake up on your own, and always have your pacers carry a couple space blankets for that eventuality. (2)When you get to a rough spot in you race physiology, don’t push through it. Slow down enough that it’s no longer a rough spot. You can only run as fast as you can run. If you run faster than that, you’ll only end up running much slower later.
Two suggestions, Tony: (1) When you get to staggering and you can’t keep your eyes open, always sleep til you wake up on your own, and always have your pacers carry a couple space blankets for that eventuality. (2)When you get to a rough spot in your race physiology, don’t push through it. Slow down enough that it’s no longer a rough spot. You can only run as fast as you can run. If you run faster than that, you’ll only end up running much slower later.
Wise words, Gordy, wise words. Of course, you are right on both counts. If I’d followed (2) I’m pretty sure (1) wouldn’t have happened…
Tony, I was humbled by this course this year as well, though I don’t dare compare my race to yours. It was a pleasure to share these trails with you and I look forward to it again in the future. Take your medicine and get back on the horse and keep ridin’, we all support you!
Great report Tony, as usual; thanks for putting the words down.
Deborah wrote:”As a back of the packer it’s very enlightening to find out that sometimes the elite have some of the same struggles.” As I read the comments, I was thinking exactly that when I saw her remarks. The difference is that the elite runners do it in double time.
Tony, I never know what to expect in any of the Leadville 100 Trail Races. I am so happy that you are OK and thank all the wonderful people that know what to do when we have a problem. Keep up the great racing!
Tony,
It’s amazing how quickly that crash happens! Last year, I was on top of the world and 30 seconds later, the wheels came off entirely. It took me over 2 hours to crawl down a hill that normally takes 8 minutes or so. Obviously, you’re in much better shape than most, but be careful in the next couple weeks. After my crash, I felt relatively good for a few days, then got sick for a couple months. I’m NOWHERE near the shape you’re in though…
Thanks for a great report! I think we can all learn a lot from what happened to you at Leadville!
Really, I mostly want to say that I’m inspired by your running and wish you a speedy recovery!!!
All Day!
~Ken
Outstanding summary of events and frightening just how quietly a severe Bonk can sneak up on you. I am sure Tony’s blood glucose was in the 20′s, which is life threatening. He is right, a few minutes a Fish Hatchery, sipping a Coke and eating some soup, probably would have prevented this. I am so glad to hear you rebounded so quickly.
Enjoyed reading another great race report. I had wished for a better outcome but am very glad your health is in order. Best wishes for your next attempt at Leadville.
[...] “Within a few seconds I conked out with a water bottle as a pillow and before I knew it Alex woke me and was doing everything he could to get me moving again. I imagine it was like trying to roust a drunk. My body simply quit functioning.” by Anton Krupicka @ Running Times [...]
Thanks for the race report. Very inspiring for those that strive to run at that 9-10min/mile pace. Good luck.
Tony it’s always so emotional to read your race report even if it’s not for a win. I introduced myself friday after the meeting, I was the italian guy. I saw you fliyng downhill back from hope while I was diyng uphill, you looked strong and I thought you could win and break the course record. I’m sure you’ve never quit this year if not for health reasons, you seemed very relaxed and in good feeling. Next year you’ll have a new chance to get the job done in this wonderful race. Hope to meet you this week up to GM in Boulder
Hi Anton,
Last night I kept Google-ing for four hours for any report of what happened to your race on the weekend. Me and my wife were at the finish line at 7:30 PM waiting for you. I appreciate a lot your closure and I will finally sleep well tonight knowing you are ok.
I knew your strategy was to compete and finish but when I crossed you coming back on the uphill out of Twin Lakes my race strategy changed a bit: I just wanted to quit and drive back to the finish line in time to see you crushing Matt’s course record. (Also, I thought switching to ping-pong would be a good move for me…)
Two or three years ago, I wrote a post on the PPM site (I don’t remember the context) saying something like “Matt Carpenter ‘owns’ the Pikes Peak race and nobody will ever beat his performance”. Few hours later, he humbly replied that time will prove me wrong and he is sure somebody eventually will…
While I still disagree with that, I sure think that one of the few gifted people ever born that would ever dream of that is you.
I now also think that beating his LT100 time would be far more impressive than beating his ascent or marathon time.
I also don’t think failing at this task 10 years in a row for example will diminish any of the respect that people have for you…
Let me put it this way, and as a disclaimer, I want to mention that I love Duncan and he has been an inspiration to me more than many other accomplished ultra runners: if you are planning of “jogging” the race in 17:40 next year, I will not be there cheering for you. On the other hand, I will gladly pull out of the race and drive to the finish line to see LT100 history if you plan on winning AND getting the course record!!! And that is true no matter how many DNF’s it takes you. You won it before for God’s sake, why would you just win it again???
I am thinking that you saying you just want to “compete well” is just a way of fooling yourself and relieving the pressure. I just don’t buy it. You probably had to repeat that a thousand times to even start to believe it!
You see, I only call myself an “ultrarunner” when there is nobody else in the room and the lights are out (and I whisper) and I would really love (and pay money) to be hauled out of Sugarloaf on an ATV while there is still light outside (dead or alive). I would add a bonus if next runner was an hour behind.
I am telling you one thing though: if you think you had a bad race, it means that your brain has not recovered that fast and your sugar level is still in the 20′s…
Tony, what you have to realize is that you are at the top in a rare sport where people are not making millions and becoming obnoxious and a hundred fans mean more than 20 million NY Yankees fans. This is a rare sport that allows you to be the same when you are popular and a sport that makes me respect you more rather than less when I see you have a hole in your shirt sleeve…
If it wasn’t for people like you, I would be out having a beer rather than torturing myself on the Hope pass.
In my opinion, it takes a lot more to be an ultrarunner than any other sport and you cannot imagine how much of an inspiration you are to people like me.
While I don’t think you owe anything to us, you owe it to yourself to show that you are the best and push to the limit what nature or God gave you.
At least that’s what I would do but hey, I am not even a real ultrarunner…
See you next year, ’cause I WILL be there..
Tony,
You are a stud. You’ll get Leadville next year. Stay healthy.
M
Hi Anton,
When I started working at Colorado College in 2004, I heard stories bandied about a legendary runner who could often be found circumnavigating the campus like a ghost on speed. It is awe-inspiring to watch you do your thing. Although the what-ifs and the could-haves undoubtedly crop up, we are confident that you will continue to be that legendary runner, compelling us to challenge ourselves and defy expectations. Best wishes from all of us at Colorado College!
Ah, Tony, I’m very sorry about the outcome of your race, though relieved you’re well. We (my runner and I) were coming down off powerline and the atvs were hovering around and finally asked us if we’d seen another runner near. I had a bad feeling but wouldve never guessed it was you.
You looked so smooth and strong when I saw you at pipeline and again on the road to Winfield that I was certain you were in for a big race.
So, move on and focus on future events. You’ve got plenty to tackle over the years. See you around the flatirons.
Tim
Odd to see all the retrospective advice. I’ve never come close to running the way you have, so I’m a little hesitant to dole out pearls of wisdom.
I presume that, given your experience, you’ve bonked before, and will likely again. From your description, this one came on with surprising speed and fury, and perhaps somewhat deceptively, as you mentioned that mentally you did not realize what was going on and were just trying to run conservatively. Was there anything different about this one that suggested to you, in the midst of the race, that it would be so sudden/horrible? That is, which cues will you watch for next race, that may tell you that no matter how you good you “feel”, your body disagrees?
Also, I’m wondering about your pacer. It sounds like he did a fantastic job, but it was his first time running with you. Do you think that someone who knew you better, or had run with you before, would have been able to spot the signs of impending collapse?
(of course, now that Dakota’s seen it, he may be the best pacer you’ll have for that)
Thanks
,m
Melissa,
A lot of days, I miss CC and the COS/Manitou trails. Whenever I’m in town you can usually still find me sneaking in some barefoot running down on the CC soccer fields.
Tim,
Thanks for the kind words–I did feel really good both times you saw me; I’ll probably be back at Leadville, but as you allude to, there are lots of other events out there, too.
Mitch,
Nah, nothing to suggest that it would be sudden/horrible. The main thing is that I went from feeling pretty terrible while on flat/unchallenging terrain (Halfmoon Road) to having to tackle one of the toughest climbs on the course (Powerlines). This change in terrain is plenty to savagely exploit any weakness or depletion that was already obviously beginning out on the road. Next time I’ll just force calories more diligently, and if it causes me to throw up, slow down and work on getting those calories back in me. Dakota did a fantastic job. It was the first time we’d run together (other than White River, where we didn’t technically run together at all), but for such a young runner he’s very mature, race savvy and knows what’s needed to run fast. My blowing up had nothing to do with his pacing tactics. He did everything he should’ve done and I’d use him again in the future without hesitation.
Your DNF is a huge surprise after seeing you way off the front on the 2nd Hope Pass descent (as I was crawling up it). I assumed you had it in the bag. BTW…I hate that paved run into Fish Hatchery, too. But I sure don’t yearn for Powerline to ease the pain! Anyway, awesome way to ride the crest of your spiritual wave. Falling into the churning water is just a consequence of pushing the limits. Next time, you’ll ride the wave in!
Tony,
Still waiting for an answer…are you coming back to Squaw next June?
AJW
Hi Anton,
We meet at the gym on friday, and I ask you about leadville 100 you told me “Have no expectations” and I want to thank you many time during this amazing race I felt rally bad because I was a little off my plan. Nut I kept on going just thinking about your advice. I end up finishing in 21:43
Thanks you, at the start I started a little fast to have the opportunity to see you running and you are an amazing runner !!!!