My last ultramarathon finish was way back in 2015. In early 2016, I suffered a "life happens" injury that curtailed my running career. Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of that injury was that it had nothing to do with running itself and, accordingly, I never got a closure as far as ultrarunning went. Even though I have come to enjoy rock climbing a lot more in the time since that, an inner frustration always remained. That frustration was probably on par with the fact that not a single day has gone by since that day that I have not felt some kind of pain.
However, "resigned to the fate" is probably not one of my primary qualities. I picked up fast walking over the last few years and stayed in shape hiking and, of course, rock climbing. Over time, I added a 20-minute-a-day-every-day exercise routine targeting the injury specifically to keep the pain down and a continued slow recovery. 2020 onwards, I started doing a bunch of hiking and scrambling in the mountains - often with over a 10-hour effort each time. In late 2022, I thought - "maybe I can finally do an ultra and get that closure". With that intent, I attempted two winter ultras in 2023 - Drift 100 in WY (March 2023) and Tuscobia 160 in WI (Dec 2023). For various reasons, I did not finish either. While training for another winter ultra in winter 2024/25, I got sick a few weeks before the race and had to cancel those plans.
In the fall of 2025, I started mulling the idea of Drift 100 in March 2026. Drift 100 is a 100-mile race with close to 10K ft of elevation gain/loss in Wind River Range in Western Wyoming with most of the course above 8500 ft. It can be fairly cold and windy at that altitude in March. Unsurprisingly, it is labeled as a "winter ultra". One has to carry a range of survival gear (think cold-weather sleeping bag, bivy sack etc) that can easily weigh over 40 lbs. The idea is that one should be able to survive in case of issues for several hours/overnight until race volunteers can find you and take you to safety in a snowmobile. Most people on foot use a sled to drag such gear over snow.
Come March 13, I was ready and lined up at the race start at 9 AM. Then, I panicked and walked back to the car to pack the snowshoes just in case the snow was mushy. That meant that I started a few minutes late, but that delay is utterly meaningless if the race itself is over 56 hours. That panic was the theme of the morning before the race start - panic while doing the final packing of my sled at the parking lot, panic while forgetting to put blinky lights on my small backpack etc. My wife calmly reassured me that I will figure stuff out when the race starts and shouldn't panic. She was right - I did figure things out as the race progressed.
The first 9-10 miles of the race are flat, the snow was in okay shape, and the weather fairly pleasant with clouds, light breeze in the valley and around 35F. Under such conditions, the sled slides mostly effortlessly behind you and you don't even notice its presence. After these first few miles, the trail starts to climb a bit, and you do notice the weight of the sled pulling you backwards. I learnt a new trick for pulling sled this time while watching a racer in front of me. The sled is attached to harness on your waist via a cord or sling. One could of course just use their back muscles to pull the sled, but this person was alternating that way of pulling with wrapping her hands around the sling and using her arms once in a while. I began doing the same and found that alternating between these two approaches did help ward off fatigue a bit. I also kept with my pre-race plan of eating some food (that included peanut butter sandwich, cheeseburger with bacon, and nuts) and drinking some water every 1.5 hours or so.
I soon caught up with Chris (a friend who I have known for over a decade) and Mary (who I met then for the first time). Chris needed to take some layers off as it was getting warmer. We exchanged quick words of encouragement and kept going at our own pace.
The first aid station (Strawberry Aid Station) is at around mile 25 from the start and at about 9000 ft elevation (race start is ~8000 ft) and one goes over a minor pass to get to that aid station. I got there at about 5 PM and the section had gone fairly smoothly. As I was getting ready (e.g., refueling, filling up water etc), a few things went wrong. First, one of the buckle straps holding my pack to my sled broke. Luckily, I had packed some extra cordalette and a pocketknife to cut it. I was able to rig up a tiedown using that. Otherwise, my race would have been over then as there was no way I could have carried a duffle back as a backpack for the remaining 75 miles. The second issue that went wrong was more subtle, but with far reaching consequences. I drank half a can of regular coke. That may not sound particularly strange, but, for someone who hardly consumes any sugar, this was a disaster down the road. I had a huge sugar crash in the next section from Strawberry to Sheridan (the next aid station at mile 50). I did not recover from that crash that night.
Before the crash, I caught up with Chris again and we walked together for a bit and caught up on each other's life happenings for the past 2-3 years since we had spoken. After the crash, I slowed down quite a bit. Another racer (Vladimir) caught up with me, and we leapfrogged one another for a bit. About an hour or so later (and maybe around 11 PM), he asked if I could point my headlamp in his bag as he had to change his headlamp batteries. He was having issues changing the batteries and his spare headlamp was not reliable. He asked if he could walk with me. I said sure. So, we walked together the rest of way to Sheridan with the last 7 miles to Sheridan taking us over 6 hours. It was a bit after 7 AM that we got to Sheridan.
That section between Strawberry and Sheridan was the most difficult part of the race for me, and I contemplated dropping out at Sheridan. In fact, if I had gotten there when it was still dark, I probably would have dropped out. In addition, the weather also turned fairly bad that night with temperatures around 20F, some snow, and with 30-40 miles per hour wind. With new snow, the footing was not ideal either. However, getting to Sheridan when it started to get light did lift up my mood.
I had a bowl of hot potato soup made by the aid station volunteers and downed two cups of coffee. I surveyed my options. I asked a biker who had decided to drop out at Sheridan "what time did they say you'd get a snowmobile ride back?". He didn't know for sure but thought it would be after 1 PM as that was the cutoff time for that aid station. That started an internal monologue:
"Hmm... by that time, I will likely be halfway through to the next aid station."
"But what about the new, annoying snow with suboptimal footing?"
"I guess I have snowshoes that I can try for this next section."
"What about the colder and windier weather they are calling for tonight? You barely handled last night!"
"I do have a warmer, insulated jacket than the one I was wearing last night."
As you see, I talked myself out of dropping out. I got back out to my sled and bag, took out my snowshoes, refilled my water, refilled "day food" in my day pack, put my snowshoes on, and headed out towards the next aid station (Warm Springs at Mile ~67). Although there was never any sun that day (again), this was perhaps the most enjoyable section for me. I was not going particularly fast but settled into a rhythm and maintained a steady pace. I barely even checked my progress on the map, except to make sure I was going the right way at a couple of trail intersections. "I will get there when I get there!"
It was about 5 PM that I got to the Warm Springs aid station. They have a nice setting there with the aid station itself inside a warm building. And, cheese quesadillas! I chomped on the quesadillas made by the aid station volunteers as I took of my socks to get my feet dry and put new socks on. It took a while to get organized for the trek through the upcoming night - change headlamp batteries, change the flashing red blinky lights on my reflective vest, get my warmest jacket near the top of the bag for ease of access later in the night, refill water bottles, put easy-access food on my daypack, and so on. Given how cold the night was going to be, I wanted to avoid dealing with things like headlamp battery change on the trail - even though the current batteries were still working.
At about 6:30 PM, I headed out of Warm Springs towards the next aid station (Strawberry again at mile ~84). As I was heading out, I noticed that one could not quite see the top of the mountains in the general direction I was going. "Ah, probably already storming there." However, one thing the night before had taught me was that the racecourse had amazing reflective trail signs that made it extremely unlikely to get lost even in whiteout conditions. So, I marched up the hill. Soon, the wind picked up and the temperature dropped substantially. Even by 9 PM, it already felt way colder, windier, and blizzardly than at any point the night before.
Even though I was going up towards a pass while dragging my sled, I was having trouble keeping warm. Time to put on my warmest jacket. That required opening the zippers of the duffle bag - a task not quite feasible in insulated mitts. I had to take my mitts off and just use my liner gloves for the required dexterity. The process was painstaking - face away from the wind, take off my insulated mitts and open the duffle zipper halfway. Put my mitts back on to warm my fingers and avoid frostbite. Take my mitts off again and open the bag all the way. Put my mitts back on. Take my mitts off and take my warmest jacket out of the bag and step on them to stop them from flying off. Put my mitts back on for a minute. And so on until I had my warmest jacket on, the bag zipped up, and my insulated mitts on for good. It took about 20 minutes to manage this process. But, no frostbite, blown-away gear/clothes!
The next stop, I decided, will be down by the tree line and out of wind. On my way down to the tree line, snowmobile volunteers came up to me and asked if I was doing okay. "Yeah, but can someone please turn off the jet fan?" They laughed and realized that I was indeed okay. "You are about a mile from the trees and it is better there." I was heartened to hear that, thanked them for being out there, and carried on. When I did get to the trees, I took a bit of a break to eat and drink more heartily. It was still really cold, but lack of wind made the process much more manageable.
The rest of the way to Strawberry aid station was mostly uneventful - except for some cursing at the length of it and some entertainment at seeing rabbit footprints followed by fox footprints. I wonder how far the rabbit made it. Oh, and this was where I first noticed mind playing tricks after been awake for almost 2 days now. Generally, when you see a trail marker as you walk, your mind corrects for the relative motion between the eye and the marker so that you see the marker as fixed. Not anymore! My mind had stopped doing such corrections and the m*****f***ing markers were bouncing away with abandon! Up, down, left, right! And people were talking all around me - first a man, then a woman, and then a man again! It was entertaining.
After some more entertainment and cursing, I got to the aid station at about 3:45 AM. I had hoped to get there by about 2:30 and take a short nap, but the later time meant that I decided to chug some more coffee and keep going. The next stop was the finish! I still needed to make upwards to 18-19 mile with a substantial climb up Union Pass before the downhill and the last flat section.
The climb up Union Pass actually turned out to be mellower than I had dreaded. It was slow going, for sure, but not difficult, Further, the wind had died down almost completely. The first section of the downhill did not make for the best sledding, but the second downhill section had some of the most exhilarating sledding! Mostly out of control and probably hitting 30-40 miles per hour. At that point, it felt like a "victory lap" with just a few flat miles remaining and the sun becoming visible for the first time throughout the race.
About those flat miles - yeah, there are over 10 miles of those and do NOT feel like a victory lap when you are on those. At this point it has been solidly over 2 days since I last had slept, and the slow progress started to create its own "thought process". First, I saw on the map that there was a bridge one had to cross a bridge 4 miles further along the trail and 4 miles from the finish. "Maybe if I find a bridge now and cross it, I will just be 4 miles from the finish." I kept looking for such a bridge but, luckily, did not find it and, thus, stayed on the course. Second, I thought that if I start a slow jog instead of just walking, I will get to the finish faster. But why? I could not come up with a reason why jogging will get me to the finish faster than walking. If I were a founder of an LLM company, I would probably have claimed AGI at that moment.
Despite the last few miles of slog, I did eventually see the finish line and my wife waiting for me! A bit over 52 hours and I had finished a 100 miler that felt as hard as Badwater to me. Not a bad one to finish as the first since my injury. It felt like the perfect closure I was seeking. I said to my wife "Now it doesn't matter if do an ultramarathon again or not, I have found the closure I needed. Even if I don't ever do one again, I have ended it on my own terms and not let the injury dictate how my ultra career ended." She looked at me proudly, knowing how much it meant to me. Then she simply said, "you'll be back here next year."
