On September 28th, I walked out of the Navy Recruiting Station in Fort Walton Beach. I’d just made the decision to enlist in the reserve component after finding out that I had not been selected to be an officer. When I arrived at my car, I pulled out my phone and saw that I had received an email. “Moab 240: Congrats! You’re In The Race!”. I must have stood in the parking lot for over 5 minutes staring at my phone.
At that point in September I had already ran more miles in 2020 than I had ever ran in an entire year total. I was back in the gym working out with a trainer getting ready for the Georgia Death Race and felt like I was where I wanted to be in my training. So when the chance came to prove myself in a distance I had never even came close to running before arrived, I felt like I had to take it. Anyone that knows me, knows that there was no way I could or would consider saying no anyways.
The sheer magnitude of what I had just committed to set in immediately. The list of required gear, the logistics of drop bags for aid stations that would be spaced out further than most non-ultra distance races, nutrition for fueling myself over several days of running, the list went on. I would imagine that most people plan these 200 mile races out for several months leading up to the race. I was trying to scramble and get ready in a week and a half. I probably ended up spending as much in shipping gear overnight as I did on all of the required items. This ended up being unnecessary for a lot of the items, but I now am the proud owner of enough trail running gear to keep me outfitted for quite some time.
After costs started to mount and it became apparent I would need to spend a small fortune to get myself to the starting line in Moab, I still tried to find a few friends who would be willing to head west with me and crew. Specifically, I was trying to find at least 2 people so that I could plan on sleeping in a vehicle whenever possible. The changes being made to the sleep aid stations for this years race due to COVID-19 had me worried about getting rest, and having a car or SUV available seemed like the most ideal way to get around that problem. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to find anyone on such short notice so it was going to be a solo attempt. I also struck out with trying to find a pacer, despite there being a signup sheet online for those trying to find someone. Looking through the race results for the 200 milers, it appears that several runners come from outside of the USA, and I figured they probably did these without a crew so I might as well attempt to do the same.
I flew out to Salt Lake City on the Wednesday before the race. This was my first time flying since the pandemic started, and I thought Delta did an adequate job attempting to keep travelers safe. There was an empty seat between each passenger, and the plane seemed to be heavily sanitized between flights. The airport was noticeably emptier than usual in Atlanta and Salt Lake. I was able to casually take my time getting between each of my flights, and when I arrived in Salt Lake, getting my checked bag and rental car took about 20 minutes total. Before heading to Moab, I went by the REI store in the city to pick up a few extra pairs of Injinji toe socks. These socks have kept my feet blister-free for years, and seemed like the right choice for a race with this much dust and sand on the course.
Despite my last minute travel arrangements, I found a cheap hotel in the middle of town about 10 minutes away from the start line. The entire town was under construction and the traffic jams getting from downtown to the RV park where the race headquarters was located really wasted a ton of time. Because of the pandemic, the check in times were staggered and there was no official pre-race briefing. I just showed up at my specified time and picked up my race packet, which was a nice duffel bag with a shirt and buff included. The pre-race head shot photos we took was a first for me, and I figured it was because we would all look pretty rough after finishing the race. I also dropped off my drop bags for each aid station that allowed them, including a massive plastic tub with all of the gear I packed to help me get some sleep. *Spoiler Alert, I didn’t use any of it save wearing my comfortable sweats for about 20 minutes*.
While I didn’t get lucky with assembling a crew or arranging for a pacer, I did make a friend from the Moab 240 Facebook group. If you plan on running this race, absolutely make sure you join this group as early as possible. There are answers to every single question you could think of, and it came in handy while trying to figure out which pack to bring to the race. In the comments regarding the pack issue, I noticed a guy wearing an FSU shirt in his profile photo, none other than recent PHD grad and Army veteran Charn McCallister. I reached out to Charn on Facebook Messenger and asked if he would like to run together during the race. When he wrote back, we quickly figured out that we both had a similar strategy for trying to finish the race and agreed to attempt sticking together as long as possible. I met up with Charn at the race packet pickup and we got along right away. I was relieved to feel like I wasn’t going into this surreal experience alone.
My night of sleep before the race went poorly, and if you find yourself staying at the River Canyon Lodge in Moab, do NOT stay on any floor other than the top floor. It sounded like the people above me were rearranging the furniture the entire night. By the time my alarm went off the next morning, I was already awake just staring at the ceiling. So going into a multi day event in which I would have to run all day and most of the night, I was already pretty tired.
Parking for the race if you are doing this event solo is kind of weird, and requires you to park at the nice hotel about 1/2 mile west of the starting line and walk. Like I mentioned, the city is under a ton of construction right now so in the dark, this was kind of confusing to get from the parking area over the bridge/overpass and to the start line. We were told not to arrive early to our designated start time (every 15 minutes a different group started the race), so I felt like I was cutting it way too close and ended up just running on the actual road to the RV park. By the time I got my mandatory tracking device and filled my water bottles, my anxiety was off the charts. I forced myself to take a deep breath, close my eyes, and tell myself how fortunate I was to be doing this race at all and that I had somehow made it here to the start line on such a short amount of time. Suddenly, the race director Candice told us over a megaphone that we had a minute to go…
We went out fast. I’m sure just about every ultra runner has struggled with the problem of getting swept up in a crowd when a race starts and totally blowing past their planned pace. This happened to me but I told myself that I needed to catch up to Charn anyway, so off I went through the town of Moab as the sun started to rise. By the time I made it to the foothills and began to climb, I was feeling the most relaxed I had been since receiving the invitation email.
We wound through the hills overlooking Moab and up towards the flat rock desert. I was passed by David Goggins a few miles later, and I definitely pulled out my GoPro camera to film him zooming by. I only recently had heard his story and incredible rise from flaming out of the Air Force and rebuilding himself into a Navy Seal and elite ultra runner athlete. “Stay Hard”, I yelled as he disappeared around the next bend. I finally caught up to Charn, and we jogged the rest of the way to the first aid station. There were several runners already there since the race start was staggered to let slower runners begin at 0600, with other waves leaving at 15 minute increments. Charn left at 0615, and I was not given a choice despite asking to also start 0615. Since I was technically taking another runners place who had decided not to run, I had to start at their original designated time, 0645. This 30 minute delay would come back to haunt me.
The first day of the race was mostly across flat rock, which took some getting used to. The patches of rock that lacked sand cover were very slick in some parts, and sounded hollow when our trekking poles would tap on the ground each stride. About those trekking poles. At around mile 10, as we made a steep climb up from the first aid station to the plateau, I decided to pull out my poles. One was perfectly fine, but when I went to unfold the 2nd pole, I noticed it was missing the entire bottom portion! Just a string dangled out from the bend in the pole, making it completely useless. I hadn’t even noticed it fall apart while it was strapped to the side of my pack. This was the first of multiple wardrobe malfunctions, and for anyone wondering, do NOT use Ultimate Direction trekking poles. This damn thing broke without me ever taking a single step using it. Thankfully, a runner named Nick heard Charn and I discussing the problem and offered to let me use his spare trekking poles that his wife would have at the next aid station. So I just needed to make it about 8 more miles using my single trekking pole like some sort of walking staff. Also, at some point in the first 100 miles, my Ultimate Direction trail gaiters broke. The rubber strap split on both shoes, and they ended up just hanging on as a cover over my feet.
The temperature soared into the high 80’s, making this a much hotter race than previous years. All of the race reports and conversations I had with friends who had ran it mentioned the cold temps at night and in the mountains. That was not going to be the case this year, but I still made sure to bring every item on the required gear list, thinking that someone would be checking my pack to make sure I had them. This never happened, and I ended up lugging my almost 20 pound pack with me for 72 miles before ditching some items. I don’t think I saw any other runners with a pack as large and loaded down as mine was. The hours in the gym made sure I was able to hold up under so much weight, but I definitely was feeling it in my shoulders as the day went on. Also, I made sure to use KT Tape on my shoulders and upper arms so the pack wouldn’t rub any skin raw and this worked perfectly.
Charn and I didn’t do much running after reaching the high desert area after the 2nd aid station. While we were about 2 hours ahead of each cutoff at both of the aid stations, we figured a conservative approach was going to save our legs for the mountain sections. Also, we began to pass several runners suffering from heat exhaustion. 2 runners were out of water entirely, and Charn refilled their bottles with some of his surplus water supply. Seeing this made me feel a little better about my pack being loaded down with so much water. This looked like a serious situation in one case, with the runner being over 10 miles from the aid station and no real road in sight. When we reached the most photogenic spot in the entire race, Jackson’s Ladder, we told the photographer what had happened and he called down to the medic waiting on the desert floor below us. We eventually saw the medic speed by us with the runner passed out in his passenger seat later that day. As for Jackson’s Ladder, this was the most technical and rocky descent I have ever made in my life. It took a while to get down and I always felt one step away from sudden death. That being said, it was exhilarating!
Once we made it down to the bottom of the desert, it was a relatively flat road with soft sand all the way to the next aid station, the famed Base Camp, complete with a gigantic turtle roaming the property. This aid station looked like a mash unit. There were runners sprawled out everywhere in various stages of exhaustion from the heat, and I heard multiple people mention they had been resting there for over an hour. Charn and I found some chairs and tried to pick through what was left of the food that was available. I was mostly interested in the ice that was being broken up in smaller chunks by an aid station volunteer, so I could finally cool myself down. While Charn and I were talking, we saw our first sweep arrive at the aid station. I was surprised to see them since we were so far ahead of the cutoff, but they explained to us that most of the people behind us had now dropped from the race. It was that hot. Still, it unsettled us to know we were now almost at the back of the pack and we wanted to get moving again. I said hello to the turtle and snapped a few photos, then we headed out on the longest damn stretch of race I have ever heard of, a 24 and a half stretch through the canyons to the next aid station.
The sun was beginning to set as we followed the Colorado river for a few miles. I was still trying not to freak out about how far away this aid station was. Almost a damn marathon! There would be a water stop about 5 miles in, but after that it was a winding route through the canyons. I was also surprised that despite the sun going down and being draped in shadows, it had not cooled down very much at all. I don’t think I have ever experienced a night on or near the West Coast that was as hot as that first night in the Moab 240.
Now, I live and train in Florida. This past summer was absolute hell on earth temperatures, and I had just finished 2 brutal all-day and night ultra distance runs the previous month. So I felt like I was more prepared for this enveloping heat than most runners, but the surprise of how hot it was at night still had me shaking my head. We made it to the water stop at Chicken Corner and made sure to fill up all of our bottles. Again, at this stop there were multiple runners sprawled out and suffering from heat exhaustion. The sounds of runners puking resonated off the canyon walls. We would hear these noises all the way until the next aid station. The trail through the canyon was well marked, but Charn and I still had to pull out our phones to use the GPX file loaded into the Gaia App to double check ourselves a few times. No one wanted to get lost out here. About halfway through this stretch, we sat down so I could change my socks. I tried to make sure I changed socks frequently, especially on these parts that were so dusty. While I was changing socks, I pulled out a fortune cookie that I had picked up at the last aid station. I think it said something along the lines of, “You will be going on a great adventure soon!”. Spot on! Unfortunately, a mouse ran out from behind a rock and snatched the cookie so we didn’t get to enjoy the precious calories.
Finally, mercifully, we saw the lights from the Breaking Bad aid station. Music blared down the canyon path as we got closer and closer. Being a huge fan of the Breaking Bad show, I had planned on putting on some music from the show soundtrack and enjoying the moment, but the DJ aid station volunteer had the music needs covered. It was LOUD. I felt pretty rough at this point 57 miles into the race, but I was exactly where I had wanted to be approaching 24 hours. I wanted to run between 55 and 60 miles each day, so that was going to be obtainable with an hour to go before 0700. Hot food at the aid station and a few smiling faces worked wonders, and Charn and I seemed to be in pretty good spirits. However, it was 15 more miles until the first “sleep” aid station, and I was beginning to wonder how we would get any rest with the sun out and the heat ramped back up.
We set back out onto the course across the desert as the sun began to rise. We were still almost 2 hours ahead of the cutoff, and felt like we could maintain this current pace of movement. The crazy rock formations and desert landscape was beautiful as the sky began to change colors into daylight. There was a water stop along the trail a few miles into this stretch, and filled up my handhelds just to be safe. The further we got along this trail, the more the temperature rose. The medical ATV sped by with yet another person who had dropped from the heat.
By the time we made it into the Indian Creek aid station at mile 72, it was blazing again. Much to my disappointment, there was not going to be any feasible way to sleep here. The tent set up was right next to the food and water tent, and there were a ton of people coming and going at all times. With all of the commotion plus the heat, we decided to just change socks and refuel. I also unloaded every piece of gear that I had not used up to that point, which was a ton of items. I just tossed it all into my plastic sleep bin. One thing that I was glad to have packed was my massage gun. I hammered my leg muscles and changed my base layer shirt before setting back out. I think this is when we realized the lack of sleep was going to become a problem, and we began to look for some shade to lay down under. Charn, being a military veteran, had experience sleeping in all sorts of rough conditions and was snoring immediately. I could not get comfortable, and made the dumbest decision of the race so far: I got up and started walking down the road. Now, you need to realize that unless you are finishing these 200 mile races in less than 3 days, you WILL need to sleep or at least lay down. Laying down gets your body in a horizontal position and allows things to reset. If you try and stay upright and moving for over 2 days, your feet and ankles will begin to swell from overuse edema. At the very least, I should have made myself lay down and elevate my feet to try and prevent this. This was a painful lesson to learn as the race went on.
I guess the feeling of laying down but not being able to sleep caused me to get anxious, as though I was somehow wasting time. It would have been time well spent, and Charn still caught up to me just before the next aid station, The Island. This was after going down a long straight stretch of highway and then into a dried out river area. By the time we made it to The Island, everyone behind has had dropped out of the race except for 1 person. We were now officially the back of what was left of the pack. That being said, hot food and the always cheerful aid station workers had us feeling good again. I was just tired. We chatted with the race photographer Howie while he snapped a few photos of us hanging out. By the time we were ready to depart, the sun was down and it was time to venture out into the Bridger Jack Wilderness Area, and it was about to get WILD.
The Bridger Jack area is considered a “Dark Sky” park. Meaning that at night, there is zero light pollution, making every star in the galaxy visible. I will remember that night sky for the rest of my life. Maybe it was the total darkness, maybe I was just too damn tired, but we didn’t make it very far before I felt like my eyes just could not stay open. I was crashing hard. Charn and I laid down in the middle of the trail for a “trail nap” and set our alarms for 15 minutes. I felt like I was finally starting to doze off when I suddenly heard a noise. It was faint, but sounded as though something was very close by. I sat up quickly and turned on my headlamp. As I turned in every direction, I realized that Charn was no longer beside me. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck as I couldn’t help but feel as though I was not alone out there on the mesa. Something was watching me.
I quickly got up and started heading down the path, trying to put distance between me and where I had been laying down. About 1/2 a mile down the path, I came to a halt. There in front of me, seemingly flying in mid-air, were two large green, glowing eyes. Confused, I started to try and decipher what it was that I was looking at. An owl? What could possibly be that high up with eyes like that? I took a few steps forward as the eyes floated a few feet to the left. I turned my headlamp onto the brightest setting and pointed it up at the eyes. My heart leapt into my throat as things came into view. The eyes were not floating, rather they were above me on a ridge that I hadn’t been able to see in the dark. They were also attached to a large mountain lion.
I don’t think I have ever been as scared as I was in that moment. The lion shifted its head, trying to get a better look at me, and then vanished from my view as the huge predator ducked down behind the ridge. I took off running like I was back at FSU on the 4×400 relay team. I swear I was running 8 minute miles. I didn’t stop running until I finally caught back up to Charn, who I could see well before I even got close to him. I screamed his name, and he yelled back, “Hey man! We’re good!”. “No, we’re not good, there’s a fucking cat out here with us!!!!”
We decided to stick together at all costs the rest of the way to the aid station, but even after that intense episode, we had to lay down from exhaustion about a mile out. We were woken up by the sweeps, meaning our time we’d saved up was quickly dissipating. When we made it to Bridger Jack aid station, there were 2 other runners leaving and I told Charn to just let me have 5 minutes to close my eyes. I didn’t sleep, but it just felt nice to close my eyes while laying on a cot. We were at mile 102, almost the furthest distance I had ever ran, and I just had to put that out of my mind and not make a big deal out of it. When the time was up, we both trudged out of the aid station and onto a road that led us down to a dry river bed, which we followed for several miles towards the first major elevation of the race. Shay Mountain, which peaked out at 8,000 feet above sea level.
I knew we were running out of time, but we still figured we could steadily hike our way up Shay and to the aid station well before the time limit. We must have miscalculated, or maybe it was just tough sledding on a much more technical mountain trail than we had been on up to that point, but about 8 miles out and still not on the main ascent, I decided we were cutting this way too close for comfort. We said goodbye to the sweeps who had been hiking with us the past few miles and set off on a death march. The temperature on Day 3 was once again hotter than advertised and there was not much of a breeze making it through the packed forest around us. We passed 2 runners that were looking totally spent, done in by the heat. I kept wondering when we would finally start our climb, but I shouldn’t have bothered. Once we started our way up, it was a straight shot upwards for what felt like at least an hour. I kept calling up to Charn asking where the top of this damn mountain was, and every time we thought we had made it, the path went back up. Finally, we made it to the top and realized the way down would be a much quicker descent. It didn’t take long at all until we were at the bottom of the mountain and onto a road, which gave us a false sense of security. I guess after trudging across desert and steep cliffs, a well paved road seemed like a walk in the park. Big mistake.
I couldn’t keep up with Charn’s brisk walking pace and quickly lost sight of him as the road winded down through the forest. I pulled out my Gaia App and realized I still had at least a few miles on this road before I would see the aid station. The wind began to pick up and dark clouds flew over me at a rapid pace, making it seem like I was inside of a time lapse video. The road continued to wind, and then shot straight up at a steep grade. I couldn’t believe it. My time to spare dwindled, and I lost out on any hope of sleeping at this aid station. I even began to run uphill, trying to give myself at least some time to eat before I had to leave the aid station. Finally, the road leveled out and I made a sharp turn into a flat area where the aid station was. I was the last runner that would make it there in time. The volunteers asked what food I wanted, and pulled out my sleep bin for me. The wind was still gusting, so I took out my sweats and my eyemask and tried to remain prone and comfortable for a few minutes. I didn’t rest for long, as the hamburgers were brought out to me and a medic took a look at my feet. I was beginning to have some of the dreaded swelling, and this caused a slight blister to form on the back of my right heel. Other than that, my feet had no blisters.
I left the Shay Mountain aid station at the last possible moment, knowing I just had to keep moving to make it to the next aid station nearly 19 miles away. I had plenty of time seemingly, as the cutoff times seemed to be loosening the further we got into the race. Deciding it was a gamble I had to take, I tried to lay down underneath a tree and sleep for a few minutes. I hadn’t even been there 5 minutes before I heard the sweeps approaching. These were two new sweeps, and seemed really friendly, and that gave me a boost of energy just to talk to them for a few minutes. I decided I could press on, and we all 3 set off down the road. After a few miles of road, we turned into sparse forest area and followed a trail until we found Charn asleep under a tree. As I mentioned before, he seemed much more adapt at sleeping in the wilderness than I was, so he was able to rejuvenate slightly each time he rested. It was apparent I was in much worse shape and my conversations began to drift off. I felt like I was in a daze. Charn told me he needed to press on, and I totally understood. I didn’t know it at the time, but that would be the last time we were together officially in the race.
The two sweeps tried to keep me in good spirits, but I just couldn’t keep it together for very long stretches of time. As the sun began to sink down, we went back out into the desert and traversed a dried out riverbed. There were a ton of loose rocks that I kept kicking. Each rock that I kicked seemed to make my pinky toes explode with pain. My feet and ankles were massively swollen, and I hadn’t noticed this at all back at Shay Mountain. It was a deteriorating situation. By the time the sweeps and I crossed the highway and made it to the Dry Valley aid station at mile 140, I was limping badly.
Thankfully, mercifully, the aid station medic let me sleep in the front seat of his car for almost a full hour. I was dead to the world. By the time I was woken up and told I was out of time, I slowly felt myself out and figured I could try and make it to the next aid station 13 miles away. I left with the sweeps and tried to stay positive. It was a straight dirt road, and I don’t know if it was just the monotonous, boring cadence for this portion of the race, but I just could not stay engaged. I kept having to lay down, and felt like I was moving in slow motion. I listened to a podcast but it was just a blur to me. I put on the highlights from the Seahawks game earlier that night since I finally had service. Nothing I did worked, and I kept laying down frequently. By the time we made it to the next highway portion, I was up against the cutoff. 2 miles of bad road separated me from the next aid station, Wind Whistle. We trudged along the highway, and I kept waiting to at least see the aid station and try and jump start my body. When I finally got to see it, I had about 15 minutes to spare. It was located at the top of a small mesa, and the distance was hard to calculate in my tired mind. I sent one last command of RUN down to my legs, but it was like the connection just fizzled out. Nothing happened. I was beaten.
We trudged into the Wind Whistle aid station at mile 151.3 about 8 minutes after the cutoff. I unceremoniously dumped my body onto a cot and pulled a heavy blanket over my face. I’m not sure how long I slept, but when I finally came back to the realm of the living, the camp was packed up and the aid station volunteer was telling me they would drive me back to my car at the start line. Adding a bizarre twist to this situation was the fact that the volunteer was wearing a Wazzu buff, and I had put on my U Dub beanie before I passed out. The volunteer drove me back to Moab, and we talked about college football and each other’s backgrounds, which I really appreciated since it took my mind away from what had just happened. This was my first ever DNF, and even though I went into it with a lot stacked against me, I absolutely had planned on fighting until the finish line. The final stat line: 153.1 miles, 73 hours, 1 total hour of sleep.
I woke up early the next morning and immediately checked the race tracking website to see if Charn was still running. He was! My wife texted me to see how I was doing, and told me to see about driving up to the next aid station he would be at. I began to formulate an even better plan as I went out of the hotel to find something to eat. There were several breakfast and coffee spots close to the hotel in downtown Moab, and I settled on getting in line at Love Muffin Cafe. I don’t know if it was my lack of a real meal after running 3+ days, but this was the best breakfast burrito ever. While I was in line waiting, an ominous event occurred as well. I was standing behind someone with a running pack on that had a race bib attached to the back. The bib said PACER on it. I knew what had to be done.
I drove back to the RV park and found my friend Steve, who was in town to pace his friend Dave. Steve had ran the stretch from The Island all the way to Shay Mountain and was waiting on Dave to finish the race in the next few hours. We talked about Charn still being out on the course, and Steve said he would take me up to the last aid station, 16.5 miles from the finish line. I went to the start line tent and asked Candice the race director if I could have a pacer bib, and she told me the aid station should have one. After making sure I had all of my gear, which was unceremoniously still dumped into the back seat of my rental car, Steve took me up the dusty red hills to Porcupine Rim, the final aid station of the Moab 240. When I got there and asked for a pacer bib, I saw so many runners looking absolutely brutal. This was the final stretch, the kick to the finish line. I imagined this is how salmon feel swimming upstream. I didn’t have too long to wait before I saw a familiar figure walking up the trail. After Charn realized it was me waiting to greet him into the aid station, we went over how far he had left and how much time he had to do it in. He had just under 8 hours until the cutoff time of 11PM.
The last 16.5 miles of this race are brutal. The trail is technical, there are a ton of small dips that seem a lot steeper than they really are on shredded leg muscles and swollen feet, and the sun was high in the sky. The 2020 Moab 240 was going to be remembered by all as a unseasonably hot race. We were in good spirits though and Charn filled me in on what I had missed in the La Salle mountains. Not much apparently! I will have to go back to finish the race someday and see those missed 72 miles of the course. We were making good progress until the sun began to set.
With such a narrow path and Charn running on fumes, we really had to be careful with each step forward. I gave Charn a 5 Hour Energy shot that I had brought and that seemed to bring some life back into him. We passed the race photographer who told us we were about 1 mile from being off the trail and onto the paved road into Moab. This ended up being a little further than we anticipated, and each step we took on the trail was a walk through hell. We got to the point where we could see the highway far below us, but it was so dark that we had no idea how or where we were going to descend down from the trail. Seemingly out of nowhere, we sloped down and onto a foot path that lead us to a tunnel passing underneath the road. The trail was officially behind us. As we walked along the road back into town, we finally found someone at this race who could accurately tell us how far we had to go. 3.5 miles. That was it. We had 2 hours to spare and we were going to do this. When we got close to the where the road passes over the river, a friendly voice called our names. It was Steve, a runner who we had met on the first day of the race. He had driven back to his home in Las Vegas and returned just in time as we were about to finish. He walked with us the final mile in, and things just seemed surreal. I was happy for Charn, and very glad I went back out to pace him to the finish line. My goal had ended up not being achievable, so I had adjusted to make sure my friend’s goal was accomplished. We turned into the RV park to the sound of cowbells and cheers. Charn walked across the finish line and accomplished one of the greatest physical and mental feats I have ever witness in my life.
A month has passed since that weekend in Moab, and I still wake up thinking about what went wrong and that awful feeling of knowing I had failed. There will be a chance at redemption, I promise you that. I just finished the hardest race on the East Coast, Georgia Death Race, and am signed up for the Tahoe 200 next summer. I plan on tackling that before going back to Moab the following month. I learned some valuable lessons from my experience, and I am sure those will be key in ensuring I do not fail this time. If you are reading this and plan on trying to run the Moab 240 and lack experience with running a race over 100 miles, take heed to my advice.
Moab 2020 thoughts & notes less than 24 hours after DNF at mile 153.1 hotel - stay at one of the modern ones near the start line. all of the old places close to downtown are noisy. socks - either wear tights all the way to ankle, or get socks that go higher up the calf to avoid bug bites and chaffing from gaiters. gear - I will make a thorough list later, but I did not even use 50% of what I packed. I was stuck carrying the majority of it for the first 72 miles because there are no drop bags in a 65 mile stretch. face cover - use a loose buff and attach it to hat, this would protect face from sun, cover mouth and nose from dust and sand particles. my lips got burnt, and my nose was constantly bloody and producing chunks of hardened black mucus. gloves - needed gloves entire time, to prevent blistering from holding pole handles. would protect hands from sun as well. trekking poles - black diamond seems the way to go. gaiters - saw a lot of Altra brand, need to check these out KT tape - worked great, no chaffing from pack on shoulders or lower back/sides shoes - buy an extra pair either 1/2 or 1 full size bigger than normal. feet swell around mile 100, and pinky toes are constantly hitting side of the toe box, and back heel starts to do same. sleep station - this was a weird year, but seemed impossible to sleep easily in these areas. tons of noise, tents were constantly flapping with high wind, and if no wind they would be stifling hot. did not even get to use sleeping bag, sleeping pad, or pillow. they had cots so I just laid out on those. hydration - the full amount was needed the first 100 miles in the desert, but afterwards I could have definitely dropped down to 2 L as we went up in elevation and the temps dropped. water is heavy. sleep - no matter what, no matter how far you have gotten, sleep 2 hours each 24 hours. sleep deprivation is one of the most difficult physical feelings i have ever encountered. aid stations - well stocked for the people at the front and middle, but if you are towards the rear it seemed like they were running out of real cooked food the first 100 miles. the next 50 miles, they were much better. strength training - if you are going to be walking the majority of the latter miles or will be needing to carry almost all of the recommended gear entire time, get stronger in your legs, lower back, and shoulders. I could not imagine making it as far as I did without the strength training I have done this year. food - once you have to walk the majority or entire distance between aid stations, start snacking frequently. you are burning fuel and taking longer and longer between your source of cooked high calorie meals. the Shay Mt aid station gave me a gigantic ziplock bag of snacks, I should have packed one earlier in the race. That is all for now. I am disappointed that I did not finish the race, this was my first DNF in over 30 ultras. If I had to pinpoint the main reason for this, it was lack of sleep. I simply could not press like I usually do when faced with a cutoff because I was barely able to keep my eyes open. I missed the Wind Whistle aid station by less than 10 minutes. I fully expected to be able to run once I knew it was in striking distance, and it was like my brain could no longer relay instructions to my body. It was weird and surreal to know the end was coming while still being coherent and not injured, I always assumed if I DNF'd it would be because I bonked. This was different. My legs and muscles actually feel fine today, and if my friend is able to make it to Porcupine Rim with enough time to realistically finish, I am going to ask if I can pace him to the finish line.
