The Bear 2025

A not insignificant part of the last 4-5 years of my life has been oriented around my goal to finish the Bear 100. I am deeply grateful to my wife, parents, family and friends who have continued to support me along the way. I would not have made it very far on this journey alone. Some of my most fulfilling and cherished memories are seeing the people I love out on the race course when I'm in the thick of it. So before I dive into my 4,000 word self-centered ramblings about my experience at the Bear in 2025, let me say: thank you!

Setting the stage

The first year that I signed up for the Bear in 2022, I came down with mono in August, a month before the race. That took it out of me completely and there was no way I was even going to attempt to complete the course that year.

So I signed up again in 2023, and this time, I actually made it to the start line. I had a pretty good day overall, but around mile 80, my right hip really started giving me some trouble, and I was reduced to a slow walk in the cold dark. When I made it to the mile 85 aid station, I was so cold and tired that I sat down and wrapped up in a blanket. In hindsight, I think this is what really did me in. I probably could have kept limping my way to the finish, but after sitting for a while, my hip tightened and deteriorated to the point that I couldn't swing my leg forward at all even at a walk. So I made the tough decision to drop out of the race.

This was going to be my year! I quit my job at the end of 2024 to allow myself the opportunity to focus all of my energy on training, hoping to be able to compete at a high level come race day. Training through the winter and early spring went really well. I was in a groove, training twice a day on most days, with my only other major concerns day to day being eating enough food to sustain the training, and resting and recovering to absorb the training and keep getting more and more fit. The training was working, I was getting faster and running more and more miles each week. But then, disaster struck!

If you polled a random sample of endurance coaches and asked them the biggest risk to an amateur athlete quitting their job to focus on training, I think the number one response would be that having that much time available would make it too easy for the athlete to over train and develop an injury. At the end of April and beginning of May, I started having more and more niggles and pains, and I tried to do the right thing and give myself rest and recovery. But I didn't quite get it right, and probably was a too greedy and impatient.

Towards the end of one of my long runs in the middle of May, I began feeling some pain in the front of my left knee. I took it easy for a few days, not thinking too much of it. After a few days recovery, I ran a tempo workout on the Logan River Trail. My previous workouts for the year had mostly been on the roads, and specifically up a really steep mile long hill in Providence. I was excited to be getting out on the trails to see how my fitness was shaping up compared to previous years. The workout went really well! It was the fastest I'd ever run the river trail by a wide margin. But, the last few miles my knee started hurting again. Later that night, as I was going down our stairs, my knee was really hurting, and I was starting to think that I really messed up.

When I tried to go for a run a couple days later, I only made it about 20 min before developing a sharp pain in my knee. I immediately dropped my training volume to almost nothing for a couple weeks and focused on doing some hip strength and mobility exercises. I was hopeful that with some focused recovery efforts, I could be back on track in a few weeks. My hope was misplaced, and even after taking it easy for a while, I wasn't really seeing any improvement, so by the end of June I made an appointment with a physical therapist.

Rehab was a slow and torturous process, and for a few weeks, I didn't feel like I was getting better at all. Thankfully by the end of July, I was starting to see some glimpses of meaningful progress, but I found it hard to stay positive and optimistic, knowing that even if I managed to get healthy by the time the Bear rolled around at the end of September, my training over the summer would leave me feeling woefully under prepared.

August and September became a balancing act of trying to run more and regain at least a little fitness before the race without doing too much and reaggravating my knee. From the perspective of staying healthy, I manged this time well. In the final week or two before the race, I was finally feeling confident that my knee was not going to be the limiting factor for my performance come race day. But I was not feeling confident overall, as my average training volume for the summer was less than 35 mi per week, and I only manged two weeks above 50 mi.

Recap

In The Beginning

On the day of the race, I followed my usual pre race morning routine, waking a couple of hours before the start to make sure I could drink some coffee, eat a bit of breakfast, and clear my bowels. A few final checks of my gear, then Morgan and I headed up to the start line, which is conveniently just 1.5 mi from our house. As everyone was getting lined up and ready to go, I bumped into my friend Mitch and decided to run with him to start the day.

We ran up the road to Dry Canyon. I had initially thought I would keep running for about 3/4 mi up the Dry Canyon trail to the green gate, but Mitch and I decided to just settle into a moderate hike right away. As we emerged from the trees out onto the open switchbacks a couple miles up the trail, I looked around and was captivated by the brilliant golden leaves of the aspen forest all around us. Such a privilege to spend so much time in our beautiful mountains!

Going South

It took us about 2.5 hours to reach the Logan Peak aid station, which was right on schedule with the pace I wanted for the start of the race. As we left the aid station and made our way towards Leatham Hollow, I started to feel the first signs of some GI distress. This is a problem that I'm very familiar with during ultras, but I feel like I had been learning how to manage it better over the past couple years. I was quite surprised to have to be dealing with this so early, just 3 hours into the race. I was hoping I could make it down to the Leatham Hollow aid station, but the discomfort grew too big, so I had to pull off into the bushes to take care of business. Mitch continued on and I didn't see him again for the rest of the day.

Even after my pit stop, when I made to the 4 mi descent down Leatham Hollow, I continued to feel severe GI discomfort and cramping. To make matters worse, I got stung by some wasps on my finger and my butt. I was not moving well and not feeling optimistic when I made it to the aid station at mile 19, but I was happy to see Morgan for the first time. She was understanding and encouraging, and I was still feeling determined to keep giving it my best.

A quick stop at the port a potty and I headed out. My bowels continued to feel unconformable, and it felt like there was a black hole in stomach, stretching and pulling all of my muscles towards its gravitational center, like my body was collapsing in on itself. I ran very little of the road along Left Hand Fork towards the Richards Hollow trailhead. I could only manage 20-30 steps of running at a time without the discomfort becoming too much to handle. At the Richards Hollow trailhead there was another bathroom which I made use of, and started up the climb towards the next aid station.

Settling In

After slowly hiking for another hour and half, I started to feel a bit more settled, and even found a bit of a rhythm running without discomfort. I made it to the Upper Richards Hollow aid station at mile 28 a little after 12:30, which was already slower than my slow prediction for the day. I wasn't too worried about the time, because I knew if I could get my stomach under control I could surely move better through the rest of the course than I had been. That aid station was great with an Oktoberfest theme, and I had some mashed potatoes and a few little pieces of bratwurst. This seemed to be just what my stomach needed, because as I made my way down the forest road I was feeling much better and starting to feel more optimistic.

I came to the four corners area up Right Hand Fork where Ryan and Courtney had brought their kids on a side-by-side ride to come cheer out on the course. I was pleasantly surprised that Ty had made it out to the spot as well with Kennedy. All the kids seemed to be having a good time cheering on the other runners and I saw them line up and give several runners a bunch of high fives as they passed. I stopped for a couple minutes to chat with them, but still had a long way to go. I feel so grateful to have people in my life who come and support me at my silly little events.

From the four corners, it was a hot exposed climb up and then a steady descent down Ricks Canyon into the Right Hand Fork aid station at mi 37. I was moving well through this section and mostly feeling calm and confident. Coming in and out of the aid station, there was a volunteer sponging the runners with some ice water. It felt so good! As he went to pour the water on me, I pulled my sunglasses off so they wouldn't get wet, but totally forgot about my nice Bose headphones I was wearing and my phone in my pack.

When I tried my headphones it seemed like one ear was working fine, but the other one was quiet and garbled. I took it off and turned it upside down, blew on it, shook it in the air for a while trying to get it to dry out. Thankfully, when I put it back on it seemed like it was working okay again! My phone was not so lucky, and now has a large deadzone on the touchscreen, which has made it basically unusable. It was 5-6 years old, so I guess it was time to get a new one anyway.

First Exhaustion

From Right Hand Fork to Temple Fork, my physical condition really began to deteriorate. Before the race, I was feeling like I would probably be okay for first 40 mi or so, but I was scared of how I would feel after that. This was also the hottest part of the day. Even though the 4 mi leading into the Temple Fork aid station are a gradual downhill, I was not running. It is always so demoralizing to be reduced to a walk on easily "runable" terrain. My legs were just feeling exhausted, and my mental headspace was turning quite negative.

About a mile out from the aid station, I saw my dad walking up the road to meet me. I told him that this was reminiscent of the end of my first 50 miler at the McDowell Mountain Frenzy. At that race, he hiked a mile or so out from the mi 42 aid station to meet me, and I was really struggling. To this day, the final 8 miles of that race was the most pain and suffering I have pushed myself through at one of these ultras. So feeling that way now, at the 45 mi aid station with another 55 mi to go in front me... well, it was looking bleak. I was sick of it, and I wanted to quit.

At the aid station, I pulled my chair into the shade and sat with my head in my hands for a long time. Morgan and my mom and dad were very encouraging and supportive. Morgan reminded me that leading up to the race, I said I had a finish at all costs mentality, and that I wanted to keep going even if I wanted to quit. I was really regretting making that pre-race declaration, and never again will I allow myself to indulge in such grand statements of hubris. I sat at the aid station for nearly half an hour, but finally felt my resolve harden, and decided to keep moving. As I stood up from my chair, I said "I'm quitting at Tony Grove," and I meant it.

Second Wind

Leaving Temple Fork and going up Blind Hollow is the second biggest climb of the course. So I was trying to take it as easy as possible, settling into a slow hike, and being passed by other participants every 5-10 minutes. Thankfully Blind Hollow is quite narrow, and the sun was getting lower as the afternoon turned to evening, so I was in the shade for the whole climb. About 3/4 mi from the top of the climb, I decided I could try running again, and was surprised to find that I was once again moving pretty well, even uphill! More evidence for one of my favorite mantras when I'm struggling: "it doesn't always get worse."

And as I started down the 1 mi descent into the Tony Grove aid station, I was again met by my dad. He said he was relieved to see me running and not limping it in. He ran with me down to the aid station, which was one of my favorite parts of the whole day. I joked that quitting at mile 51 felt much more respectable than quitting at mild 45, but I knew I had more left to give and that I would make it at least to Franklin Basin because it's basically all downhill from Tony Grove.

Morgan and my mom were also glad to see that I was feeling better and in an improved mood compared to Temple Fork. I changed my shoes and into a new shirt and took some extra layers with me as I left Tony Grove since it was starting to get dark and the temperature was dropping. I continued to feel good all the way to Franklin Basin. I was moving along to another of my mantras: "do what I can, when I can." So I was taking advantage of feeling good and I was so grateful to still be able to run, when several hours prior I had been so close to quitting.

When I left Tony Grove, my dad said they would see me in 3-3.5 hours, and I told him I would be faster than that. I don't think they believed me because I made it into the Franklin Basin aid station at mile 61 faster than they were expecting, and they didn't have my stuff ready. The long day was taking its toll on my own mental capacity and on that of my crew. We did our best to muddle through getting my gear changed up and reloading my nutrition.

Even though I knew the climb out of Franklin Basin was going to be hard, I had just enough optimism (delusion) to keep going. My plan for the rest of the night was to have Morgan as my only crew at Beaver Mountain, Beaver Creek, and Ranger Dip, so I told my dad that I hoped to see him a mile out from the finish line sometime Saturday morning, and my mom said she would be waiting for us at the finish.

The End

The climb out of Franklin Basin felt as hard as I feared, but I just tried to take it really easy, even taking a couple of breaks to let my legs and mind recover. Even so, as I made it to the top of the steepest part of the climb, 2 miles and 50 min later, I was feeling totally exhausted. I recalled how hours earlier, I was nearly ready to quit at Temple Fork, but I just kept moving, taking it easy, and eventually bounced back. So even after I made it past the steep climbing, I kept moving, trying to take it easy. I was clinging to a sliver of hope that I could repeat that experience. It soon became clear that this was a false hope.

It's hard for me to write much about the next 4 hours. Each time that I've talked through it with a few family and friends since the race, the raw feelings of that night have resurfaced and I've become emotional. Even now, typing this in the comfort of my office, weeks removed from the event, I feel tears building in my eyes as the memories wash over me.

The night grew colder, my thoughts grew darker, and the last vestiges of my strength and determination fled my body and soul. Every step was pain. I just wanted it all to be over, but I couldn't stop. I was in the middle of the backcountry in the middle of the freezing cold night. There was no solace to be found in simply stopping. So I knew I must continue. The only thought propelling me forward was getting to Beaver, seeing Morgan, and going home.

As people came past me, many would inquire how I was doing, if I was doing alright, if I needed anything. I told them all that I was just trying to get to Beaver so I could quit. This was always met with answers of encouragement and support. I tried to get myself to believe that I could bounce back. I tried to remind myself that "it doesn't always get worse." But I kept asking why I was doing this, why should I keep going for another 10+ hours, why did it matter if I finished, why, why, why...?

...I never found an answer.

When I finally made it Beaver, I hugged Morgan and told her I was done. She must have sensed in my voice or my haggard appearance the finality of my decision, because there were no attempts to change my mind. I went to the radio crew at the aid station, filled out the paperwork for my second official DNF at the Bear 100, and we went home.

Thoughts on another DNF

Another attempt, another failure.

I am a failure.

I quit my job for this?

I just wasn't tough enough.

It's easy to second guess yourself in the days and weeks following a DNF. Now that I have not finished the Bear twice, maybe it was selfish of me to keep my spot in the event, when I could have dropped out prior to the race, and someone else could have gotten in off the waitlist. Maybe my hypothetical replace would have actually finished. (There's only a very small part of me that actually thinks that way, but I figured I would write it down anyway.)

When things are hard and you don't feel good during an event, a common piece of advice/ultra endurance wisdom is to look around at the other participants and realize that they are all hurting too. I suppose this is meant to be encouraging in some way. I kept thinking about this while I was struggling out there. I think there were others in as much pain as me that still pushed on and finished. So why did I quit?

There's another one of those 'why' questions! And that's really what I think it comes down to. The why of it all. Ever since I started doing these ultra things, others have asked me and I have asked myself why? I've given various answers at various times, but as I've gained more experience doing these events, I've observed what I am willing and not willing to push through while doing them, and a couple of themes have consistently emerged as my motivations for why I do them.

Why do I do ultramarathons?

1. I view ultramarathons (and all sport) as an act of self-expression.
2. I enjoy the competitive outlet: competing against myself and others.

Conspicuously absent from this short list is any sort of Goggins-esque staying hard, taking souls mentality. I embraced that mindset for my first 50 miler, and I did push through some significant pain to get my finish. And as a result, I couldn't run for more than six weeks afterwards due to sharp IT band pain. Maybe I've grown softer (hopefully wiser), but I haven't ever wanted to repeat that experience.

When I hurt my knee and had to rehab all summer instead of put in solid training, I could easily rule out number 2 as a possible motivating factor to get me to the finish line of a tough race. I knew I wouldn't be at my best, and I knew I would be surrounded by people that if we were out for an easy run or a hard workout, in most circumstances I would be faster than them. So all that leaves me for a motivating factor is self-expression.

So what do I mean by self-expression? I typically have goals or expectations for these events that require a long process of consistent training to have any chance of success, and therefore, training and racing becomes a creative process. The person I am prior to training is incapable of doing the thing that I'm training for. The weeks and months of consistent training shape and mold my body and mind, transforming me into the kind of person that can achieve the big goals that I set or myself. In this way, a race becomes the blank canvas with which I can express and share with others the new person that I have become.

With that lens, I have no regrets about my decision to DNF. I think my level of training and fitness was fully expressed by the time I made it to Temple Fork and was thinking about quitting. I then continued for another 10 hours over 30 miles. About half of that time was suffering. And as I kept coming up empty out there on the frozen, dark trail, asking myself why I was continuing to hurt myself, I realized to continue would only prolong my meaningless suffering.