Tighten your running vests, this ‘bout to be a long one.

As I ran through utter darkness, the bouncing spotlight from my headlamp creating a very limited and Blair Witch Project style view of the immediate trail before me, little flecks of snow like material fluttered about. By this point in my experience with Oregon over the past few days, I knew it was ash but my delirious brain tried to convince me that it was just harmless snow or maybe even, at worst, little gnats. As I crested a small hill, the ridge line of a mountain pass in the distance became visible. The only reason I could see it in the complete black void of the sky was because behind the ridge, a literal chasm of fire, was pooling with a sharp orange threatening glow as it’s outline.

Let me back up a little bit as this was about twelve hours into my 50 miler race and there’s a lot that happened before I got to this alarming point.

Gen and I boarded our two long cross country flights from Asheville, NC to Bend, OR for the Oregon Cascades 50 last Thursday afternoon. This was going to be my “big warm up” before the 100 miler five weeks later. I had completed my first 50 miler two years prior in Georgia and decided to choose Oregon for this race as I was hoping for a completely different environment, views, and challenge than what I would be facing for my hundo in Virginia. We also had some long time friends who live in Portland who were willing to come meet us in Bend and to be honest, I was more excited about our little reunion than the race.

Before boarding, I had curiously taken a screen shot of the predicted weather conditions for the race. Central Oregon was going through a heat wave and there was a warning stating: “caution advised if doing strenuous activity outside.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of doing a very strenuous activity outside in these conditions and tried to remind myself to drink copious amounts of water over the next few days to prepare.
(This was kind of ironic as I had a beer before boarding our AVL flight to celebrate the grand opening of the new airport terminals for our city. We discovered that you can now order a drink and take it to your gate! Crazy but very on point for Asheville.)
At the time, the heat and the slight increase in elevation compared to Asheville was really my only concern about the 50 miler. I felt pretty comfortable with the distance, borderline confident on finishing faster than my last 50 miler, and part of my focus was definitely more distracted with the upcoming 100.

However, during our descent into Redmond, we noticed that the sunset to the northwest over the mountains was very hazy but fierce. As we approached, the startling realization hit that as night was falling, it was accompanied by a stretch of fire along the ridge, glowing intensely like the top of a newspaper when lit to start a charcoal grill or a camp fire. (Gen has a video of this, I’ll upload it here later. She’s out camping in DuPont with a friend right now!)

Both Gen and I watched, and filmed, in total awe and concern but no one on the plane seemed to take notice and even after we landed the flight attendant boredly rattled on about the local time and weather and prodded for people to sign up for the United Airlines credit card. As we taxied, I nervously googled the situation and learned that it was called the Flat Fire and that it had covered about 100 acres but was substantially north of Sisters, which is where the finish line for the race was being held.

*The blue line is the rough race route, the airport is just to the north of Bend, the Flat fire, at this point, wasn’t very large.*

The light smell of smoke was in the air as we stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac but the temperature was a beautiful light chill. The rest of the evening was uneventful as we collected our rental car (huge shout out to the guys single handedly working the Avis and Budget rental lines with kindness and positively, I bet he would thrive at Trader Joe’s!), and then checked in to our absolutely adorable rental in Bend. No notes. 10/10.

We woke up incredibly early, still awkwardly stuck in east coast time, and decided to hit up a breakfast spot nearby. I had a good place picked out the night before (actually the week before because I’m that detail oriented), but it wasn’t going to be open until 10am and as it was freaking 7:30 in the morning pacific time, we opted for another highly rated spot. The air again has a twinge of a smoke to it and when I went to open the car door, I was confused as to why it looked like white paint specks had been flung upon the red panel of our Jeep. It took me a second to identify that it was actually ash.

Being from Western North Carolina, we are not immune from wildfires but it is not a common occurrence. We have had some pretty bad ones ravage nearby areas of Tennessee in recent memory but it is not a threat that holds (well, now, held) much concern to me. I have some familiarity with the devastation they can cause as I used to work for Sierra Nevada Brewing here in Mills River, and in 2018 the Camp Fire destroyed many of our Chico, California counterparts’ homes and devastated the nearby town of Paradise. It was the deadliest and most destructive fire in California history. One employee transferred to our North Carolina brewery after he and his family lost everything in that fire and I couldn’t help but think of him as I wiped my index finger along the car panel, in awe of the ash.

At breakfast, there were still people sitting outside, apparently not greatly concerned with the air quality. As the day progressed, the skies turned a beautiful blue and the air cleaned up tremendously. We made a quick stop at the Bend Trader Joe’s to pick up some race needed items and Gen marveled at their flower quality compared to our Asheville location, noting a completely different color palette. They had at least three air purifiers blowing in the store, which was appreciated but also made me even more aware of the very real situation we were in. A few hours later, our friends based in Portland (previously Asheville), Katie and her wife, Evan, came to meet us in town and we enjoyed lunch at Bend Brewing with beautiful, yet definitely a bit warm and sunny, weather.

The race director had sent out an email stating that they were monitoring the Flat fire and although the fire itself was not impacting the race route, they were aware of the AQI and would be making a call later that night if the race would continue as planned. This acronym, AQI, would become the phrase I heard the most over the next two days, more than “water”, or “miles” or “hot” or any of the normal race day commonalities.

The four of us drove to the small town of Sisters, a short thirty minute drive northwest of Bend, for packet pickup and as we approached the town, a huge cloud like smoke wall appeared within our view. We all tried to jokingly play the situation off but I could tell everyone was a little unnerved.

*Credit: Evan. View of the smoke cloud on the way to Sisters from the Flat Fire.*

Walking into Sisters Middle School to pick up my race bib and shirt was very eerie. There was ash falling from the sky and the pink-yellow hue around the school truly felt apocalyptic. Fellow racers were all kind of looking at each other with the same vibe of “is this really what we’re going to do?”

*Picking up my packet at Sisters Middle School, no filter.*

I picked up my race items but there wasn’t any formal discussion or announcements about the fire. In my excitement, I had forgotten my drop bag in the car but reasoned that it was probably for the best since if they did cancel the race, we wouldn’t have to drive back out here to retrieve it and my little team could bring my drop back with them to the two aid stations that were crew accessible at mile 10 and mile 35.

We headed over to a nearby bar slash food truck court called The Barn and met our other Portland based friend, and the final member of my badass crew team, Jordan, for dinner. Again, almost everyone seemed to be unfazed that we were sitting outside, enjoying a beer, eating our food, while ash fell around us and the death-like smoke cloud loomed overhead. Te singer of the live band made mention of the apocalyptic surroundings in between songs and it felt like, okay, yeah, this isn’t good.

*Jordan and I’s Chubby shorts from sitting on ash at dinner.*

I enjoyed a very fantastic coconut rice, tofu and pineapple bowl while catching up with my long time friends but I could feel myself withdrawing a little bit. My mind was busy making peace with the very real probability that the race would be cancelled due to the smoke. I was already making mental plans on how I would have to run 50 miles on my own the following weekend in order to qualify for the 100 miler while also secretly looking forward to drinking a bunch of beers with my friends instead of grinding out a painful eleven hour run. I also could tell my east coast brain was getting tired and I should try to get as much sleep as I could so we headed back to Bend.

I woke up unnecessarily early again but felt pretty good with my sleep quality. I quickly checked my email and got the “we are a go” email from the race director. I casually made breakfast and since the race wasn’t starting until 10am, I even spent some time reading outside in the rental’s hammock. The sky was a perfect blue and the air smelled clean and I started to get pretty stoked to run this huge endeavor. The Oregon Cascades also included a 100 miler option, and close to 400 participates had already started their journey at 6am that morning and I mentally cheered them on as I finished off my cup of coffee and began getting ready myself.

As I sat with Gen in the trunk of the rental Jeep in the parking lot of the starting area at Swampy Lakes Sno-Park, awaiting my crew, I mentally went over the race plan. I was hoping to hit 11 hours and had used Ultra Pacer to estimate different segment paces based on the elevation gain to help me hit that goal. I knew the first 10 would be a comfortable slight downhill start, then a very tough climb would await me from 10-20 before the remaining 30 miles were, thankfully, downhill. I felt good and seriously thought I would be finishing at 9pm.

A note about the ‘fit:
Shoes: Altra Lone Peak 8. This is my third Lone Peak buy, they treat me good.
Socks: Tarn Tough thin boys, switched at mile 35 with same brand, just different pattern.
Shorts: Patagonia Strider Pro 3.5” (these were the 2024ish version, ended up giving me issues, might have to switch to my older version for the 100)
Bra (new and a huge fan): Janji Infinity. No issues. Didn’t even notice it.
Hat: Sprints-Madtree Brewing Edition (this is a Cincinnati based company and brewery. I lived there from 2012-2016 and loved every minute. Support them, it’s a good product. I own five of them, one pattern is parrots, the other Bigfoots, both get tons of compliments!)
Vest: Salomon ADV skin 12 (Unisex S) No complaints, performed perfectly, worth the pricey buy.
Shirt: Rabbit High Country Mens Small (Buttoned up all the way of course. I’m obviously a lesbian from Asheville.) Fantastic shirt.
Sunnys: Goodr. Duh. Wore these almost 70% of the time.

*Gen, Evan, me, Katie and Jordan at the start!*

The race start came up quickly and a huge pack of family and friends cheered all 150ish of us 50 miler runners as we crossed the start line, which also served as the 33 mile aid station for the 100 miler runners. This aid station was fantastically sponsored by Vantucky, a Vancouver based running club, and they had an comically full bar setup, complete with Rainer. I loved their energy and with the beautiful sky, smokeless air, and moderately warm weather, I was 100% stoked to be doing exactly what I was doing.

*Me walking passed the absolutely fantastic Vantucky aid station bar setup, ignoring Katie’s jeers to just have a quick beer to kick things off.*

The first ten miles were pretty smooth. Very quintessential PNW trail running, pathways that were so sandy that I was thankful for my brief Myrtle Beach training run, but then rebounding with views of huge dramatic trees and idyllic rivers hustling through. I kept up with my pace goal, even with the slow start in the beginning due to the mass of runners all jamming up the single track. The only thing of note was that I was getting ready to pass a female runner when she suddenly cried out in pain and started bouncing on one foot. Finally her cry of “fucking bee sting,” made me realize what happened. I have a horrible history of severe swelling in many parts of my body from bee stings and even have been prescribed an epipen just in case the the symptoms decide to hit anaphylactic status. Where was my epipen? Oh, in North Carolina, of course, so I then became hyper aware of bees for the next 15 miles.

At the 10 mile aid station I was welcomed by my crew. Gen went right to work attacking me with sunscreen and refilling my GUs. The rest of the guys cheered me on as I really didn’t need much else. I filled up my water at the aid station and then proceeded on, mentally gearing up for the upcoming climbing section.

At mile 13, my crew surprised me with another visit. I found out later that this was totally unplanned as they were actually heading to a waterfall after seeing me at mile 10 and happened to discover that we were running near the intersection that they had parked at. This extra boost was a treat. Especially because after that moment, things got pretty fucking tough.

*Don’t let the smile fool you, I was not feeling well at this point (roughly mile 15).*

The trail began to hit a section of switchbacks as we climbed the steep side of a mountain. This area was pretty exposed and it was around one pm and the heat and the sun were brutal. I admitted at this point that, fine, yes, the West Coast could get just as hot as our humid southeast, it just effects your differently.

I ended up having to walk the entire time, especially since a few parts of the trail lead through a gravel bed of large rocks. I was so fatigued, the heat and elevation really getting to me, that I actually had to sit down on a log for a beat. I almost rarely do this as going forward is always the best strategy, but I was so spent that I truly felt like I just needed my heart rate to come down for a second. I’m sure there were a ton of things I could have done differently to prevent me from getting to this point. Perhaps the heat was to blame, the jet lag, the elevation increase, the beer the night before, the poor diet leading up to the race, or maybe it was just a tough ass course and I was doing the best I could!

A concerned fellow runner stopped to ensure that I was okay, which I appreciated, as not only a few miles later, I passed a runner who did not look well. He was stopped, putting his pack back on, but his movements seemed odd and haphazard, almost like he was drunk. I asked if he was okay and he said he was but his face was unreadable.

He began walking again as I passed him but once I reached the aid station at mile 18 and took an ample amount of time to eat some pickles, drink some electrolytes, and try to down a pb&j sandwich, I heard a few other runners telling the aid station volunteers that they might need to go down and get him. Apparently this distressed runner had told another runner that he was “just going to lay down for a second”, which is absolutely not okay only 18 miles in.

He soon after stumbled into camp and they immediately got him under the tent but he looked pale and as if he was on the verge of passing out. I was so thankful he made it up. I felt as though I truly wasn’t that much better off, I had run out of water for the last half mile before the aid station and could have easily been just a little bit more under fueled, which would have probably lead to me being in a similar state.

I left that aid station felling only marginally better than when I arrived but I had some serious apprehension about how I would manage to run another 30 miles after that tough stretch. I could tell my thoughts were heading into the negative direction and I even contemplated for a while about calling it quits at the next station if I wasn’t moving any better. I felt like I had little to nothing in the tank and was just hopeful that the food, soda, multiple water chugs, and electrolytes would eventually help give me a second wind. Thankfully, the course began to hit the downhill section at mile 20 and I could tell I was starting to feel a little better. I started jogging a bit more here and there and eventually started to feel pretty good but unfortunately the air quality was starting to get smokey, it’s grey haze unmistakably settling around me.

I hit the next aid station at mile 25 and these wonderful volunteers were definitely in a tough spot. This station was incredibly dry, with sand and very little vegetation around them. It was very exposed, with only their tents to provide shade. The air quality was horrendous though, with many of the volunteers wearing masks. I was so appreciative of their energy and theme though, they were wearing tuxedo shirts and had put out a red carpet to welcome us in. I should’ve taken a picture but I was so focused on getting water that I missed it. It’s here where there were some rumors or conjecture that the 100 miler was probably going to get cancelled. The aid station volunteers were being subjected to such horrific air quality conditions that it seemed inevitable. One of the volunteers said the air quality was currently around 215 (“very unhealthy”) but had been in the 320’s (hazardous) earlier that day. Some of the runners at this station were contemplating pulling out themselves due to the conditions.

I was feeling pretty strong and knew I could at least get to mile 35, which was the next aid station that my crew would be able to meet me at, and although I was concerned about the smoke and the air quality, I didn’t feel as though it was affecting me in that moment and that getting to my friends was the best strategy I had. So I continued on and the next ten miles went by relatively well. This section was almost all consistently downhill or flat, which helped propel me forward. I ran through a previously burned forest and the scenery was incredibly creepy but beautiful, it honestly resembled a scene from the Lord of the Rings. It was so quiet, not a single animal crossed my path besides a few insects, and I only passed or was passed by four runners this whole stretch. Shockingly, the lead 100 miler came flying up behind me. I was in complete awe at his pace and strength as he passed, his running poles barely touching the ground as he strode along.

*Lord of the Rings like view around mile 30, Park Meadow Trail.*

Around mile 34, I was on this particularly lonely spine section of a mountain and the view was absolutely beautiful. I knew I was close to seeing my friends and I could feel myself smiling at the pure insanity of what I was doing. I knew, at that moment, that I would be able to finish this damn thing and I was already so proud of myself. A photographer appeared up ahead and I’m waiting for them to post the photos and I hope she captured that incredible feeling I was experiencing.

I reunited with my crew at mile 35, two hours later than I was hoping for unfortunately, and a hazy-orange sunset draped us all as I jogged in. I changed my socks and my crew helped me get my GUs and water refilled. I took a quick bathroom break (I had been holding it for a while but hadn’t come across a porto and never found a private enough space to feel comfortable), ate half a quesadilla from the aid station, and drank a perfect iced filled cup of Coke. I kissed my wife and then headed on towards the last big push.

*The Crew at the mile 35 aid station. Beautiful sunset and, of course, haze).*

As darkness started to creep in, I turned my headlamp on and consulted my race plan on my phone. It was then that I noticed the next aid station’s cut off time was listed as 9:30pm. It was 8pm, which meant I had to cover 7 miles in an hour and half, which is something I could do during my road marathon training but not something I was capable of with my trail running pace, or at least, not after 35 miles. I was so confused. No one at the previous aid station had mentioned that we were getting close to the cut off. I started to panic a little and I tried to pull up the race website to confirm the cut off time as it didn’t really make sense compared to the times for the aid station I had just left nor the one after. However, I couldn’t get any service so I had to assume it was true. I picked up the pace tremendously with the very direct mantra of “I’m not getting fucking pulled after all that” and luckily this section was extremely similar to what I train on here in the southeast. The trails were lined by a moderately dense forest and had a mountain bike pump-track feel to them, and it was thankfully downhill. I hit a 10:00 pace at one point and felt like I was flying. I felt strong and with the temp dropping, I really pushed myself for a few miles and I felt great. It was actually fun weaving through the winding coaster like trail with only my headlamp and the trail markers guiding the way.

However, right around mile 39, this is where everything fell apart. I could see some flecks of ash in my headlamp and it just generally smelled smokey. I caught up to two other runners and we were about to cross a busy road when a woman in a red pickup truck rolled her window down and shouted out to us, “hey! You guys better get off the trail, they are evacuating Sisters.” The three of us kind of looked at each other in confusion as the woman said something about her runner getting pulled at a previous aid station. Since I knew there were only a few miles until the next aid station, and I had service again and had nothing new in my inbox regarding the race status, I decided to keep pushing forward but I was extremely panicked.

I called Gen and asked her if she knew anything. They were back in Bend and after some research said that it looked like the northeastern parts of Sisters were being evacuated but that where I physically was and where the finish line was were not a part of this zone. I was somewhat comforted by this but I was still apprehensive. I kept trudging along in the darkness but that’s when I came across visually seeing the fire. It was absolutely terrifying. I didn’t take a photo, out of both just fear and not wanting to stop, but someone later posted one on instagram that captures how intense this situation felt.

*(All credit to instagram user mikmediros. This was the only photo I could find that accurately represented what I was seeing.)*

I called Gen again, this time I couldn’t contain my panic. She could tell I was freaking out but again assured me that downtown Sisters was fine and that I wasn’t in danger. After I hung up, my other three friends started texting me encouragement as well. My guess is they must have heard how stressed I was on the phone.

As I approached the the last aid station, mile 41, I could hear them blasting “Hells Bells”. Part of me was comforted by the fact that they were making light of the situation, and part of me was still absolutely terrified. Other runners were questioning what was happening as they had received an email from the race director saying that the race was being halted due to the air quality and evacuation conditions. However, the aid station guys insisted that they had communicated with the RD and were instructed to let us finish as shuttling us out would take a while and the fastest route back to Sisters was to just finish and that Sisters was still safe and they were actually directing residents to the middle school (finish line) to evacuate.

I still was not convinced, my Asheville Hurricane Helene trauma definitely showing through, and I worriedly expressed this to one of the volunteers. He was extremely kind, calm, and supportive, mentioning that he understood completely how I was feeling as he went through the Redding Fire (which I assume he was referring to the Carr fire in 2018) and asked if I wanted some Coke. He filled up my reusable cup, with ice, and simply said, “don’t worry, you’re fine, we got you, and you’ve got this.”

That single act of confident kindness convinced me to push through. I gave Gen a call as I left the aid station, telling her I was going to finish but that I was going to be “booking it” because I just wanted to be back in Bend as fast as possible. They hadn’t left Bend yet and I prodded them to start heading out to Sisters just in case I needed to be rescued as I approached town. (Reflecting back now, I know this seems hyper-cautious and it ended up not being an immediately dangerous situation, but I think I remain justified in my concern and survival instincts. It turned out that Gen knew me better than I knew myself and that my pace was horribly slower than I expected and they made it to Sisters at the exact right time.)

This was the evacuation map the morning after the race. The race route was south of Sisters, Bend is located 30 minutes Southeast of Sisters. The airport is 20 minutes to the east, along the evacuation line through Colerdale.

The last nine miles became a bit more normal. I was able to run for a large portion of the last push but I realized I was starting to really tank around mile 47, definitely a repercussion from totally abandoning my fueling plan amid all the panic. I tried to suck down another GU and once I hit the main gravel backroad that lead to Sisters, I even let myself relax a little and put my headphones back on and listened to Dispatch to try to chill out.

I hit the last (unofficial) aid station around mile 48, it was meant for the 100 miler race but they allowed me to grab some Coke and eat a quick orange slice. I talked to the volunteers and they were so excited to see us come through and asked about the air quality we had gone through. It was pretty visually clear by this point, a very weird thing to experience after having that light haze around me for the past seven hours.

The gravel road ended up being a little disorienting in the night as it was very wide and I was running in complete darkness. The view in front of me almost resembled driving into oncoming snow on the interstate, feeling as though you aren’t really going forward. I had to alternate jogging and walking for the last few miles, some of the discomfort unfortunately from some chaffing from my shorts, but I also used the slow periods to text my crew on my progress and thew a few jokes in there as well.

As I approached the middle school, I was very taken aback at how little light pollution there was. I could barely make out the school, even as I crossed the main road to enter its’ property. As I approached the track, I could see multiple clusters of people, including runners limping back to their cars in the parking lot. I finally rounded a corner and heard my crew cheering for me. I had to do a lap around the track and as I jogged through the finish line after 13 and a half hours of running through Central Oregon, I was greeted with a nice little wood medal and a hug from my wife.

I sat in a fold out chair with my group, Evan handing me a beer in a koozie and Katie handing me an adorable puppy to hold. I then took my shoes, socks, pack and shirt off, so happy to be free of the extra weight. I tried to just take it all in as I sipped on the beer. I don’t even remember what I told the guys except apologizing for panicking and for being so late. A few more runners also finished behind me and I was so stoked to see a few familiar faces make it through.

I managed to pull myself out of the chair (and returned the puppy) and I made the way to the car, very slowly and painfully. The only thing I really wanted was a shower and to be horizontal, and I still wanted to get back to Bend as I did have a smidge of concern still about the evacuation zones spreading.

I said goodbye to my friends as they were spending the night elsewhere and Gen drove me back to our rental as I finished my beer. I immediately got in the shower and Gen kindly threw my clothes and running pack in the wash. Afterwards, I awkwardly laid down on the couch in the living room while attempting to eat a few leftover pierogis that Gen had saved me from their dinner out. I was a combination of hungry and not hungry but mostly just wanted to get in bed and try to sleep. I felt delirious, proud, happy, tense and exhausted all at once.

We crawled in to bed, the portable fan directed immediately at me. Gen massaged my neck and shoulders as they were honestly the part of my body that hurt the worst. This rental, like most of Oregon, did not have air conditioning and the heat wave definitely made it a bit toasty in our room but I was so exhausted that after only a little bit of time reflecting on the race, I was able to fall asleep.

I did not sleep well, waking up numerous times in the night to switch positions. Everything hurt. Everything was sore. I also could not stop having bouts of intense sweating. Sweat would just be absolutely speckled all over my stomach, almost like a fire sprinkler had suddenly doused me, and the sheets were soaking wet. But then I would let the fan cool me off and I would be frigid, welcoming the gross wet sheets back onto my body. This happened again the next night and according to some research it’s quite common after exerting such a huge athletic effort like this. I also had two separate dreams/experiences of falling forward on the trail, only to be awoken with that scary crashing sensation as you hit the mattress. Thankfully, I only had three close trip experiences the whole race so I was totally okay with this little whisper of a memory trying to manifest itself instead of something much worse.

The next day, my knees and ankles were incredibly sore and I had to painfully walk to the bathroom. Sitting and standing back up were almost impossible. I took advantage of the rentals’ hot tub during the morning and downed a LMNT salt packet after an iced coffee and a solid breakfast and started to feel a little more comfortable as the day went on. I relaxed in an Adirondack chair (on theme) and recounted the race with my friends who had returned from their nearby camping adventure to meet up for the afternoon. We then walked (yeup…) into downtown and enjoyed a lunch at a satellite Deschutes brewing location before making one more stop at the river and an additional bar before saying our goodbyes. I felt pretty okay walking back to the rental, probably a little aided by the few beers I had consumed but was so grateful to have all my toenails relatively healthy, which I could not say after my 50 miler in Georgia.

After they left to return back to Portland, Gen and I stayed an additional very casual night and enjoyed a surprisingly good take out sushi dinner and an early night in. We left the next day and although we ended up getting stuck overnight in a Dallas hotel after our flight back to Asheville got cancelled, we eventually made it home the next morning. (Side note, I used my breakfast voucher at the DFW airport Dunkin Donuts and had a ham and cheese croissant roll up, a glazed donut, and two cinnamon sugar ball things, and treated myself to a Starbucks latte and it might have been the most glorious meal I had ever consumed in my life, especially at 5:30 am central standard time. Definitely finally getting my full appetite back at this point. Gen used hers for Chick-fil-a, of course, an ATL girl through and through.)

It’s been almost a week since the race and my body is recovering pretty well. I did get a nasty blister on my right pinky toe and it’s still tender to walk on. But other than that, I am almost back to normal. I even went on a three mile run this morning (Friday) and it felt okay, besides the blister of course. I was supposed to have done two six mile runs this week, according to my race plan, but I chose to recover instead.

I’m scheduled to do 14 miles tomorrow and I am going to attempt to do so but I plan on taking it very easy and if my toe becomes a problem, I’ll call it quits. It’s so crazy that I’m even thinking about trying to knock out a long run tomorrow but the 100 is coming up quickly and it’s time to put the pedal down. I had a few days to relax, recover, and celebrate. I can’t let almost a year’s worth of training cumulate to a bad 100 just because I let off for the last five weeks.

I’m so incredibly proud of what I did in Bend, it was definitely one of the top most challenging races, actually, experiences rather, that I’ve ever been a part of. I wish I would’ve known how I would have performed if the heat wave hadn’t been in effect, or the wildfire. I truly do think I might have been able to finish in twelve hours but it doesn’t matter. I would like to think that the extra challenges this race threw at me made me even more prepared for the upcoming 100. With the Virginia race reaching only 2,000 feet of gain, which is half of what I just did in Oregon, I’m pretty confident on being able to maintain a more consistent pace. Barring any more natural disasters, the race should hopefully be a bit more of a smooth, normal, experience.

And reflecting on the air quality hazard that I ran through, I reluctantly did some googling about my experience. It classifies the exposure as “acute” and of course, like anything else not good for your body, could impact me later. I started freaking out a little as I scrolled and decided it was best to close the browser. I made the decision to run in those conditions and I think I would have regretted it if I would have pulled out of the race. Perhaps this was foolhardy, stupid, or irresponsible, but I absolutely had such a phenomenal experience persevering through this particular race that I feel the positives outweigh the potential negatives (or at least that’s how I feel in this moment in time).

I commend the race director and team for trying to make the best of an absolutely awful situation. Only three 100 miler participants out of the 400+ were able to finish due to being pulled from the course or DNFing. Only 86 of the 150+ fifty milers were able to finish. They followed up with a very well spoken email explaining their decision making and sympathizing with the runners who were not able to finish. I could not imagine the difficulty it took to try to communicate with so many people spread out amongst areas with no service. I also can’t help but just feel incredibly awful for any person who was in those evacuation zones and who ended up losing property or were in grave danger. I have a very strong familiarity to this feeling of sudden loss and immediate change in normal life with my experience with Helene.

My view of the planet in general has been absolutely rocked in the past twelve months. I knew it was bad, but these two experiences within a short amount of time have made me wonder if I’m just unlucky or if this is the new normal.

So…

With the 100 only four weeks away, I am taking away multiple learnings from this 50 that will absolutely help me be better prepared. My motivation and excitement are building again and I am looking forward to finalizing the pacing and crew plan and knocking out the next few weeks of tough training.

I still can’t believe I’m about do literally run DOUBLE the amount of miles that I just slogged through. Albeit, hopefully, this time without the wildfire. Please.

Huge thanks to my wife Gen and my Asheville turned Portland crew, Jordan, Katie and Evan. You guys seriously got me through this.

Kenny and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad air quality index (The Oregon Cascades 50 Recap)

Type II Fun - 2 weeks until my 50, 7 weeks until my 100