Tahoe Rim Trail 100 Race Report 2024
I completed my second 100-mile race this past weekend — Tahoe Rim Trail 100! My 100 was Mines of Spain 100, back in October 2018, and I’ve DNF’d two in between (Javalina Jundred and HURT). It had honestly started to feel like the first one was a fluke. I also felt under-prepared going into this one — except for a few activities (such as the 70 miles over 3 days Western States Training Camp and pacing someone for 29ish miles), I didn’t feel like I had the complete back-to-back build. I tried to hold onto both my coach’s confidence and what the WSER race director said at training camp — it’s way better to go in under-trained and uninjured than the opposite. And it was true, I wasn’t injured — in fact, more healthy than I’d been in a while.
The other part I had tried to really focus on leading up was elevation and heat training. Along with a group of friends, we had rented a place up in Tahoe for a couple of months (~6,300 ft above sea level. The race averages ~8,300, but Tahoe is still a lot closer to that than my regular 50ft), so I tried to stay there as much as possible to get fully acclimated. I also started doing hot tub training — from what I gather, it’s slightly less good than a sauna, but it’s what I had available. Basically, after my runs, I would very quickly rinse off and then jump straight into the hot tub, fully immersed except my head for 10–20 minutes (start with 10 and build up to 20 by the end of doing this). If you want to make hot tubing way less fun, do this. I’m positive both of these things really helped me out.
I knew this race would be challenging, and it was tough in basically all the ways I expected it to be. It starts with a giant uphill — around 3,000 feet in the first 5 miles, and continues another thousand over the next 4 to hit ~9,000ft (the highest point on the course — which you get to twice). It felt like I got passed by basically everyone in this section (although I’m sure that wasn’t true). I’m slow uphill, but I tried to enjoy the moments. The view from Snow Valley Peak (the top) was our first real view of Lake Tahoe, and it was beautiful.
From there, we descended to Spooner Lake, where Yonas managed to meet me. I was excited to see him because I didn’t know if he’d make it. I fell about a half mile before the aid station, which was good timing because I could rinse off (I had a few minor scratches on my leg, but otherwise, the fall was on super soft dirt, so I was fine). That aid station had my favorite food item of the run — smoothies. I loaded up on ice in my ice bandana (Cool Azul) and continued up the hill.
Some of the folks I had passed on the way down passed me again (and this continued throughout most of the race — I tended to pass people going down, and they passed me going up. I went through most of the subsequent sections uneventfully, filling up on ice and continuing to eat. The Hobart aid station was Star Wars themed, and a guy dressed up like JarJar a bit down the trail impersonating him. (when I left the aid station, you could hear him quite a ways up the hill on the other side). As I was leaving the aid station, a sign was posted saying, ‘Want a pacer? Ask for Jar Jar’ I got to roughly the 50k mark (Bull wheel aid station), which did not have ice, and things started to fall apart a little after that.
Throughout this area, I went back and forth on the trail with one woman — she said her name was Kathy (if I remember correctly). She was telling me that 200 milers were her preferred distance. She said she does two things, which both made a lot of sense to me — play it conservative and easy until mile 50 and never make a major decision on an uphill.
The following section had more uphill than I thought it should in my head, and I could start seeing that the lake was clouded over. However, it was still definitely sunny and hot where we were. My stomach also started to feel a little funny (I’ve often run into stomach issues in long, hot races). It wasn’t bad yet, but it felt on the edge of getting there. I tried to focus on drinking and taking in salt (I suspect some of my past issues have been related to low electrolytes). Towards the end of that section, there’s a more technical downhill section into the next aid station, which I felt I ran much more slowly than anticipated. One funny thing to note — at the start line, I heard one person asking another, who had run this race a couple of times, if the course was technical. She replied that the whole course was very technical (she was talking to someone from the East Coast, which is known to be way more technical than the West Coast). Let’s just say that, especially if you don’t count steep (but smooth) uphill as technical, then there are a few shorter sections I would rank as moderately technical, a few more that are annoying but run-able, and the rest of the course is very run-able. This was probably the longest moderately technical section — it’s used by many mountain bikers and has rocky, jump-type things to navigate.
After this section was the Diamond Peak aid station, the one spot where I was supposed to meet my entire crew, but when I got there, I couldn’t find them. A charming volunteer tried to help me out and asked if there was anything my crew had that I needed, I told him, ‘My pacer.’ He also tried to get my drop bag, but they had that too. The volunteer had been planning to pace someone for the second segment, but that person had dropped out, so he was trying to figure out if he had running clothing there and could pace me himself. We were just about to start going through the pacer waivers to see if my pacer had already checked in when I saw Elena (my first pacer). I was so relieved, especially since I also had no cell phone reception at the aid station.
We charged my watch a bit, got my stuff together, got more ice, and started up the hill. This hill is my least favorite part of the course. When my second pacer, Cory, ran the 50-mile here five years ago, I had done a ‘fun run’ over this part of the course. Even on fresh legs, it wasn’t fun — enough so that I remembered it as terrible five years later. The first part of the hill is actually a lot less steep than I remembered — deceptively so. We got maybe a quarter mile up the hill, and Elena realized she had forgotten her headlamp in all the rushing. She tried to decide what to do, then called back down to the crew and ran back to get it while I continued. Elena’s in slightly better shape than me these days, and I was already 41 miles in, so I had no concerns about her catching back up. Before she caught back up, I saw a third pacer (including Elena) returning down the hill. He tried making some joke to me about why everyone else was going the wrong way, and I responded with, ‘Dude, you’re the third person I’ve seen going down.’
After Elena caught back up, we started to get into the serious part of the hill. It got steeper and steeper. I had been having a bit of trouble breathing, too. Whenever I took a really deep breath, my lungs got itchy. It was definitely worse on this uphill — probably because I was breathing more. I suspect it was from the large amount of dust from the trail and the dry air. So the other reason this hill is so terrible (other than the 30–40% grade in spots) is that it also has a very sandy type surface, so while you’re going up that grade, your feet are trying to slip back down.
We made it to the top, to the Bull Wheel aid station. This was technically a water-only aid station, but they had water, electrolytes, watermelon, oranges, Honey Stinger products (the gel sponsor), and probably a few other things I don’t remember. When I came through the first time, I had sort of wanted some watermelon, but they had cut it in these huge slices, so I didn’t take any. When we got back up there, the slices were still huge, but I convinced Elena to split a slice with me (although I may have given her more than half).
It’s always more fun to have a friend with you, so going back through this next section wasn’t too bad. I’m unsure if she saw it this way, but it almost felt like Elena was making a game out of seeing how many gels she could get me to consume. We had joked before the race when I laid out all of my gels that there was no way I was eating them all, and maybe there should be a betting pool on how many I actually did eat. Apparently, they didn’t place bets, but I was definitely a little suspicious about the gel pushing at first. It later occurred to me that my pacers could try to affect the outcome if there were bets.
While this section was a portion I did multiple times, this entire section may have been the prettiest time on the course. It was no longer the full heat of the day, but there was still light, and the views were beautiful. Then, as we got to Hobart and up towards Snow Valley Peak, the sun started to set, making the sky even prettier. I picked up my waistlamp at Tunnel Creek and my Houdini at Hobart. I didn’t actually use the light until just before Snow Valley Peak and never put on the Houdini. Right near Snow Valley Peak, you come out of the woods onto an exposed area. Because of the height and exposure, it was really windy up there. I got to the point where I was almost cold. Despite that, I still went for the mango sorbet at the aid station. Of course, they gave me a lot, so I convinced Elena to eat half of it for me. I also got some vegetable broth with rice, but the rice felt stale, so I drank the broth but didn’t eat much of the rice. The aid station had neon flamingos lighting the way in and out of the aid station.
Running down to Hobart was a nice downhill, and it was also nice to know that I wouldn’t have to do that section again. I passed a bunch of folks, but my right knee was starting to really bug me. This continued to be a theme for the rest of the time. We also noticed that the temperature was going up again as we descended. It wasn’t warm exactly, but it was warm enough that we completely abandoned the idea of ever putting on more clothing. My watch gave up at the Hobart aid station (roughly mile 57) and died (dead battery). It’s a new watch, and it was supposed to last 40–42 hours in GPS mode, but I had failed to turn off all of the extras to better conserve battery. At that point, I was completely reliant on my pacers, both for information about where I was/how I was doing and also for the data to post after.
A few days before the race, we talked about motivators, and I happened to mention that I’m motivated by affirmations. I’m unsure if they remembered the comment, but Elena and Cory heavily used affirmation while pacing me. It’s funny when you can simultaneously feel like you’re being manipulated but also find that it’s working/helping. Elena also told me the time by which I needed to make it to the next aid station to keep a 33-hour pace and the current time and distance to that aid station. We started to slow down slightly, but I found that helpful.
We got to Tunnel Creek and I grabbed a rice ball, but then they mentioned they had salty tater tots, which sounded amazing, so I also grabbed a couple of those. I also took my first drugs at this aid station (Aleve). It may have actually been the Aleve, but when I ate the tater tots, my stomach instantly got angry. So now I have a second food (in addition to oranges) that is dead to me during races. At that point, I was just carrying the rice ball, and I made a comment that I was a walking bear lure. I then convinced Elena to eat it for me. At that point, we joked that the pacer duty we hadn’t discussed before was eating all my leftovers. I pointed out that it was only fair that since she was forcing me to eat gels, I was making her eat things, too.
There was a pair of guys through this section whose names I never got, but one was wearing an orange shirt and the other yellow. Anyway, I passed them on every big downhill, and they passed me back on every big up. We kept up the back and forth far longer than I expected us to. My stomach bounced back some, but I still gagged slightly while eating one of the caffeinated Maurten gels right before Diamond Peak. I managed to keep it down, though, and things were fine soon after. My knee was by far my biggest concern at this point — going down that fairly steep, technical section was wreaking havoc.
I got into Diamond Peak and saw Kevin and Katie (two friends from Belmont Runners), Humberto, and my next pacer, Cory. I wasn’t sure I’d get to see Kevin or Katie, so it was a fun surprise. However, I failed to get a picture with them, so as I told Katie later, it was almost like this weird 4 a.m. hallucination of them.
At Diamond Peak, I ate some grapes (that I had requested and my crew valiantly procured from somewhere in the middle of the night). Then I changed my shorts — my shorts had started chafing me everywhere. I’d never had major trouble with those shorts before, but then I’d also never done more than probably 50 miles in them before. So, at roughly 74 miles, chafing was perhaps fair. I guess my legs/hips had swollen quite a bit because the new shorts were really tight to get on (these shorts had never been tight on me before). I was supposed to switch out my waistlamp for a new headlamp here, but I forgot. Elena had taken my backup headlamp when she returned for one. Still, her headlamp (or some other one) should have been available for me to grab. I realized we’d forgotten when I was maybe a quarter of the way up the hill of death, but I wasn’t about to go back down. For some reason, Cory had two lights, including a Ra, and assured me it would be fine. My light did die about halfway up the hill. Luckily, there was probably only half an hour when I was relying on Cory’s light before it was light enough to see, and all of that was on the terrible hill (which other than being very sandy, doesn’t really have obstacles out to get you).
As we neared the top, I had promised Cory that I’d eat a gel the next time it leveled out a bit, so when it did, I tried to. I managed to entirely swallow it (another caffeinated Maurten), but the gag reflex returned, and this time it instantly came back up. Then, I proceeded to puke up the rest of my stomach contents. Unlike other races, there was very little liquid this time, which means I did a much better job managing electrolytes, and fluid wasn’t pooling in my stomach. I immediately felt better and soon tried to start again. I have no idea how it could possibly be related, but I noticed that big breaths were no longer itchy after this point. The one miserable thing about the timing here was that right near the top, right when I was puking, was pretty much the only spot on the course where there were significant numbers of mosquitos. So, as I was standing there puking, Cory and I were getting eaten.
One of the nice parts about the section with Cory was that although I had already run most of it before, I wasn’t going to have to repeat any of it again after the point he joined me. So, all of those trails were my last time seeing them. At Hobart, I used the bathroom and almost fainted in there. I think it was the combination of not moving to pump the blood back out of my legs and the fact that it had started to heat up again already (and was way hotter inside the portapotty). Bit of a scary moment. After that, I changed my shirt to a clean sun shirt that I had in my drop bag. I had left my light at the previous aid station. I re-picked up and filled the fourth bottle I had left there during the night, put some sunscreen on my face, filled up all my bottles, put ice in my ice bandana, and headed out.
We were told both at the race briefing and at the aid station that this next section was 10 miles of smooth, nicely shaded, downhill singletrack. It turned out that the first roughly 3 miles were mostly uphill and mainly in the sun. Even after that, I would call it half-shaded at best, and apparently, it was further than 10 miles, too. I’m sure there are many commonalities between a runner 80+ miles into a race and a young child. I could tell Cory was throwing some of his parenting tricks at me — giving me the illusion of choice when he was simply trying to get me to do the thing. For example, ‘Would you rather eat a gel or an Oreo?’ ‘Would you rather eat your next gel at the next uphill or down?’ At 1.3 miles before the aid station, we ran into a volunteer who had hiked ice up from the aid station and was handing it out to runners. Cory and I both got some and continued on to the aid station. It was already so HOT.
I got another smoothie at the aid station — this one was non-dairy again. Cory confirmed what he had found out at the previous aid station. Someone had laid out the boxes of gels and stroopwafels on the tables there the night before, and when they showed up to open the aid station, they found that a bear had had a party. So, the aid station had many snacks, but none of the Honey Stinger products that were supposed to be there. Luckily, I hadn’t eaten or taken any of these so far and hadn’t been planning to start at the last aid station, so it didn’t affect me.
I re-topped off my water bottles and ice, squeezed water over my head, and tried to get excited about heading out again. This next section, they had warned us, had no shade. There was a bit of a breeze here and there, and at some point on the way down, a few clouds showed up. It was amazing how different it felt in the shade vs the sun. When Cory checked his watch later, he said that the temperature after that aid station never dipped below 95 and got into the 100s before the finish. I was trying to run but was hot and tired; my knee hurt, and this section had more loose rocks than anywhere else on the course. All that is to say that it was probably the slowest run ever, and I was definitely getting passed. I tripped roughly 5 times in this section. I managed to catch myself every time so that I never actually fell, but it was still a bit scary every time. The last of these was less than a mile from the finish, and I think I popped a blister when I stubbed my toe on the rock because my left big toe and pad near the top of the foot all felt like it was on fire after that point. I’m so glad that happened as close to the end as it did — I’m not sure what I would have done if it had happened earlier.
About 2.5 miles from the end, we met up with a stream. This small section was more shaded, but because of the stream’s proximity, it was much more humid, so I’m not sure how much better it actually was. The good part is that I did manage to get into the stream. It turned out there were much easier spots to submerge if I had waited another half mile or so, but I have no regrets. I was so hot and moving so slowly by this point, but I did know that I was going to finish, so it was this weird combination of misery and happiness.
I finished in 33:52:18. Right after crossing the finish line, the first thing they did was give us a race-branded glass of ice water. And took back the trackers they had given us. They had us sit, and they were sorting through buckles and writing times on the boxes. The guy who hand-crafted buckles was on-site etching finishing times onto the back for folks, so they wanted to ensure the times were correct. After getting my buckle, I stumbled back into the sun to find my friends (in the shade of a different tent). As I got over there, though, I started to feel really faint — I was yawning, feeling a bit unsteady, dizzy, and nauseous. Natasha got me more ice for my ice bandana, and then when things weren’t improving, she and Yonas convinced me to go over to the medical tent, and they walked me over there. I started feeling better quickly once I was over there — they had fans going, and it felt cooler than the main tent. They had me sit down in a lounge chair type thing and took all of my vitals while talking through what I had eaten and taken during the race. Then they told me my blood pressure was just a bit low, which made sense, given how I was probably a bit dehydrated. So they gave me an anti-nausea medication so that I’d keep liquids down and had me sip a drink while they also elevated my legs (so that I was in an almost lying position). After some of this, they retook my blood pressure and decided I was okay (it was still low, but I guess it was higher than before). I saw the numbers the second time but not the first, so I have no idea what it was the first time. I sat for a bit longer in the main tent and worked up the courage to look at my feet. I had brought clothes and originally planned on changing before the hour-long drive back to where we were staying in Tahoe. However, given the thought of how hot the porta potties must have been (which seemed to be the only changing space), I couldn’t bring myself to. So, I changed my shirt and called it a day.
Going into this race, I had been simultaneously feeling like it really might not happen, but also like I could do it. As I mentioned to a friend, every time I looked at the elevation profile graph, I thought for sure I couldn’t do it. However, I thought I could when I looked at the chart with the times I needed to maintain at various points throughout. It definitely felt more doable than HURT had when I started, and I knew I was better heat-trained than I had been for Javalina. I also managed it much better than any of my first three hundred milers — much more steady. All of that said, I still hadn’t been sure, so it was still an amazing feeling to have accomplished it. I’m also incredibly thankful to my crew, friends, pacers, and all the fantastic volunteers on the course. All of them helped to make it just a little bit more doable. I’m not sure I would do this race again, but I have no regrets; I’m glad I ran it.
