David Holmen 2009
Posted on 05. Jan, 2010 by admin in Ultra Tales
2009 Lean Horse – A Near-DNF Experience
by David Holmen
In 1988, I had a DNF at the St. Louis Marathon. It’s the only DNF I’ve ever had in a marathon,
but it still bugs me. That one DNF has given me the motivation to finish every marathon I’ve
done since then, regardless of the circumstances.
Until recently, I never faced the prospect of a DNF in an ultramarathon. Most of my ultras have
been fixed time races. In a fixed time race, you get credit for whatever distance you complete, so
a DNF is nearly impossible. I’ve also done a couple of ultras where I had the option of switching
to a shorter distance if things didn’t go well.
My first ultra that was truly all-or-nothing was the 2008 Lean Horse 100. The weather was
perfect, and I had a very good race, so finishing was never in doubt. This year I went back to
Lean Horse, but the weather was much hotter, and I was running without a crew. This time,
finishing was very much in doubt.
My first mistake was miscalculating how many electrolyte pills I would need. I forgot to take
into account that I was using a different brand of pills this year. I also didn’t consider that I
would need to take them more often on a hot day. A bigger mistake was only carrying the
number of pills I expected to need. I should have packed extras. When you have a crew, you
can correct for mistakes like this during the race. When you’re carrying your own supplies, you
get punished for this type of mistake.
The temperature at the start was about 50 degrees, but it warmed up quickly. I took off my
gloves after five miles and discarded them at the next aid station. By the time I reached the
Mickelson Trail, I was already noticing how much warmer it was. Around 22 miles, I started to
notice how hot the sun felt on sections that weren’t shaded. Then I saw sweat glistening on my
forearm. The elevation on this part of the trail is about 4900 feet, so the air is fairly dry. The
fact that I could actually see the sweat was somewhat alarming.
When I got to the aid station in Pringle (24 miles), I asked the volunteers to put ice cubes in my
hat. I probably should have started doing this at the previous aid station. As I left Pringle, my
time was about 12 minutes slower than last year. That wouldn’t have bothered me, but I also felt
like I worked harder on the first 24 miles than I did last year.
The Mickelson Trail has a concrete milepost at each mile. As I left Pringle, I planned to walk for
three minutes each time I reached a mile marker and then run the rest of the mile at a pace that
felt easy. By this time, I knew I would be slower than I was in 2008, but I was going to wait
until the halfway mark before deciding what my time goal should be.
The ice in my hat helped keep me cool, but it only took about a mile before it melted. At Carroll
Creek (30 miles), I again asked a volunteer to put ice in my hat. Again, it only helped for about a
mile. I was in the middle of a 12 mile section of trail with absolutely no shade.
The first real sign of trouble came at about 35 miles. I felt some minor muscle spasms in my
calves. It only lasted a moment. It wasn’t serious yet, but I knew it was a warning sign – I
wasn’t getting enough salt. When I reached the Harbach Park aid station in Custer (35.5 miles), I
decided to eat some potato wedges with salt. The only other time I experienced this sort of
muscle spasm, I was able to keep it from getting worse by taking electrolyte pills more
frequently. That wasn’t an option, since I didn’t have extras.
Just before eating the potatoes, I put on my hat. As usual it was filled with ice. The sudden rush
of blood to my head caused me to feel short of breath. I’ve experienced this before, so it didn’t
worry me at first. It’s usually a momentary sensation. This time, I was so short of breath that I
couldn’t eat the potatoes. I sat down at a picnic table in the shade. I managed to force myself to
eat the potatoes and wash them down with some sports drink, but now I was feeling slightly
light-headed as well.
I decided to lie down on the bench of the picnic table while I waited for this feeling to pass. For
the first time in my life I was seriously thinking about dropping out of an ultra. With almost 65
miles to go, I wasn’t very optimistic about finishing. This time, I didn’t have the option of
switching to a shorter race. There were only two alternatives – successful completion of 100
miles or a DNF.
While I was lying down, I had time to think. It occurred to me that I didn’t have to make a quick
decision. If I was going to quit, I didn’t really matter how long I waited before making it
official. The lost time was only relevant if I continued running. The light-headedness and
shortness of breath passed after a few minutes, and I sat up. When I contemplated continuing, I
was afraid of a worst-case scenario in which I would only be able to walk. The next aid station
was five miles away, and that’s a long way to walk. Then I looked at my watch. I realized that it
was only 12:35 in the afternoon, and even if I walked all the way to the next aid station, I would
probably get there well before 3:00. If I still wanted to quit, I could always do it there. My mind
was made up. I told the volunteers I was leaving the aid station, and I was on my way to
Mountain Trailhead.
At the time, I thought I was just postponing my decision to quit. In fact, this was a defining
moment. I didn’t realize it yet, but as I left Harbach Park, I became emotionally invested in
finishing the race no matter what. It was no longer about trying to run faster than last year or
trying to run as fast as I could under the conditions – it was about finishing the race! The longer
I suffered, the more I would want to finish.
The five miles from Harbach Park to Mountain Trailhead is all uphill, but at least there would be
some shady spots. This gave me something to look forward to.
I walked for a few minutes, and then I eased into a slow run. On my way out of Custer, a female
runner caught up to me. She said she was surprised to find out that she was leading the women.
I picked up my pace to keep up with her. I told her she was the champion on the course, and I
wanted to run with a champion for a while. I also told her not to let me slow her down if I had
trouble holding the pace. Then a male runner caught up to us. I remembered seeing him leave
the aid station ahead of me. Apparently, he somehow took a wrong turn, but now he was back
on course.
We weren’t running together for very long before my calf muscles started having brief muscle
spasms again. I had to back off to a walk again, so I told the others to go on without me. When I
told them what I experiencing, the male runner told me I needed more salt and he offered me two
Succeed S-Caps. I took one immediately and saved the other.
They continued running, while I started walking. It was at this point that I realized why I wasn’t
getting enough salt. I used to take S-Caps, but I recently switched to Lava Salts. They’re
smaller pills, so I should have been taking twice as many. I was effectively taking only half as
much salt as last year, even thought the weather was hotter. As soon as I realized this, I took the
S-Cap I was saving. I still had to ration my original supply of Lava Salts, so I wouldn’t run out.
I knew I didn’t have enough, but I would have to worry about that later.
As I was walking, more runners passed me. Each one asked me how I was doing, and I told
them I was working through a bad patch. I told one runner I had a “near-DNF experience” in
Custer, but now I was moving again. With practice, I sounded more and more optimistic, even
though I didn’t have any objective reason to think things would get better.
I had been walking slowly, but after a while, I felt like I might be able to pick up the pace a little
without inducing more muscle spasms. About that same time, I saw a mile marker. I decided to
clock my next mile to see if I could walk it in less than 20 minutes. At 20 minutes per mile, I
could still beat the 30 hour time limit. Unfortunately, if I wanted to get back to Rapid City in
time to catch my flight home, I needed to finish in about 27 hours. Even then, I’d be hard
pressed to get cleaned up, bandage my feet, get dressed, pick up my drop bag, pack, and check
out of the hotel in time to get on the road. I never really thought about this before, because I
finished in 18:09 in 2008. Even in hot weather, I thought I would probably finish in 20 hours. I
had taken a 24-hour finish for granted.
When I reached the next mile marker, my time for the last mile was about 17:30. I beat my 20
minute goal by such a wide margin that I decided to see if I could run. My “run” was more of a
shuffle. It was much slower than my usual running pace, but it also felt noticeably faster than
walking. I was curious to how much faster, so I decided to clock myself on another mile, even
though it meant forcing myself to shuffle-run an entire mile that’s all uphill. I’m an engineer, so
I’ve always felt the first step to solving any problem is to get some data.
I reached another mile marker in about 12:25. That’s a big improvement over 17:30. Now I had
a reason to be optimistic. I decided to resume my original pacing strategy of walking for three
minutes and then running (or shuffle-running) the rest of the mile. I clocked this mile at 13:35.
Incorporating a three minute walking break only slowed me down by a little over a minute. At
this point I figured I must be within a mile of the Mountain Trailhead aid station. I took another
three minute walking break and ran the rest of the way to the aid station.
When I got to Mountain Trailhead (40.5 miles), they refilled my bottle and asked me if I wanted
ice in it. Previously, my water or sports drink was getting warm by the time I reached the next
aid station. This way, it would stay cold. I wish I would have thought of that myself, so I
could’ve started doing it earlier. I again opted to put ice in my hat, but this time I waited until I
was done eating and drinking. I sat down and told the volunteers I had some trouble the last time
I put ice in my hat, so I was going to wait to see if I was OK before leaving the aid station.
While I was waiting, I washed my legs with a wet paper towel and re-applied vaseline. When, I
was done, I still felt OK, so I got on my way.
As I left the aid station, my elapsed time for 40.5 miles was eight hours. I was pleased to see I
was still on pace for a 20-hour finish. I knew that was misleading, because the last five miles
were much slower than the first 35.5, but I felt pretty optimistic about beating 24 hours.
I rounded a corner and started the last slightly uphill mile before reaching the highest elevation
on the course. I remembered exactly where it is. As I reached another mile marker, I looked up
to see a great view of the Crazy Horse monument. I forgot we would get such a nice view.
I’m not sure exactly what triggered it, but I had my second “near-DNF experience” of the race.
Suddenly, both calf muscles went into spasm. This time it wasn’t momentary, and I didn’t know
if the spasms would subside while I was standing. I decided to sit down on the trail, so I could
get my calf muscles into a relaxed position. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the
transition from standing to sitting made things worse. Suddenly, both calves cramped up
violently. The pain was excruciating, but I knew it wouldn’t go away until the cramps subsided.
Even though I was in what looked like an optimal position for relaxing my calves, the cramping
continued for several minutes. As I looked down at my legs, I could see different parts of the
muscle contracting violently at different times. The muscles seemed to be dancing. If it wasn’t
so painful, it would have been fun to watch.
Earlier, I had considered quitting because I was feeling pessimistic. Now, it occurred to me that I
might not be physically capable of finishing the race. In fact, I might not even be able to get
back to the aid station without assistance.
Another runner came around the bend and asked me if I needed help. I asked him if he could try
massaging my calves. He massaged them briefly, but stopped because he didn’t think he was
helping. In fact, he helped a lot. The cramps stopped, and I could even flex the muscles without
them cramping up again. He also offered me two more S-Caps, which I happily accepted. This
time, I took them both immediately. Just as he left, two other runners came by and saw me on
the ground. They asked if I needed any S-Caps. I told them the previous runner already gave me
two. I should have asked for more, but I kept assuming the other runners didn’t really have
enough to spare. I was reluctant to accept any more than I needed at the moment, even though I
knew I didn’t have enough for the remaining 59 miles. They asked me if there was anything else
I needed. I told them the previous runner had massaged my calves and now they were no longer
cramping. Shortly after they left, I realized I should have asked them to help me back up off the
ground.
Standing up was a painful and clumsy experience, but I somehow got back to a standing position
without any more cramps. I knew my calves would be very sore for the rest of the race. I knew
ibuprofen would help with the pain, but I was reluctant to take any, because I didn’t know if I
was also dehydrated. Taking ibuprofen when you’re dehydrated can be hard on your kidneys, so
I decided to hold off for now.
I started walking again. Just like before, I went through a gradual progression from slow
walking to slightly faster walking. For a long time, I was afraid to try running because I didn’t
know if my calves could handle it. When I eventually did try some running, I was so afraid to
work my calves, that I was barely getting my feet off the ground. Instead of doing a shuffle-run,
it was more of a shuffle-drag.
Despite my recent setbacks, I was very patient. I told myself I would need to do more running
eventually, but I could afford to walk all the way to the turnaround, if necessary, as long as I
eventually recovered and could maintain a better pace in the second half.
About a mile before the Oreville aid station, I met a runner named Karen and a member of her
crew. (She had a large crew, and they all wore T-shirts that said “Go Karen.”) They noticed
how bad I looked and asked me how I was doing. I explained about my calves, and they gave
me two Endurolytes. Karen’s crewman told me to chew through the capsules instead of
swallowing them, so the salt would get into my system faster. This made sense, so I did. They
tasted awful, but you do what you have to. Karen asked me if I had enough or if I needed more.
At first I accepted only a few more. After Karen convinced me that she really did have plenty to
spare, I was willing to accept a whole handful.
This is where I made my last really stupid mistake of the race. One of the pills fell on the
ground, and without thinking, I bent down to pick it up. This motion immediately caused a new
round of cramps in my calves. This was my third “near-DNF experience” of the race. Karen’s
crewman grabbed me to keep me from collapsing and held me steady until I was able to stand on
my own. He told Karen to continue running, and he would stay with me. He had me chew two
more Endurolytes. I had already emptied my water bottle, but he gave me some of his to wash
them down. He walked with me until we were within sight of the aid station. Then another
member of Karen’s crew came back to meet me with a 16-oz. water bottle. I drank the whole
thing before we got to the aid station.
At the Oreville aid station, I had my bottle refilled with water and ice, I ate some food, and I got
my hat filled with ice. I also finally took some ibuprofen, since I just finished drinking an extra
pint of water. I asked if there was anyone who could walk with me for a few minutes to make
sure I was OK. They sent two young boys with me. As soon as I felt like I was safe, I told them
they could go back. One said he’d see me again in a few. I knew it would be closer to a few
hours than a few minutes. After they left, I realized there was one thing I wanted to do at that aid
station that I forgot. I wanted to ask if anyone could massage my calf muscles.
I walked all the way from Oreville to the Buckaroo aid station. Once again, several runners
passed me, and I told them I had made it through two bad patches, but I was still moving. One
woman said “you’ll have another.” This was a dose of realism that I didn’t want to
acknowledge. I still believed I could finish in 24 hours, but to do this I would have to reach the
halfway mark in 11 hours and then average about 15:30 per mile for the second half. If I could
get some running back into the mix and maintain that throughout the second half, I would do it.
If I continued to mostly walk, I would run out of time.
The Buckaroo aid station is less than a mile before the turnaround, so you go through it twice in
rapid succession. The first time through, I asked for ice, but they were all out. I sat down and
self-massaged my calves. I figured this would be the best time to try some running, because I
wouldn’t get too far from the aid station before turning around. I was afraid at first, but I finally
started running about three minutes before the turnaround, and it felt OK. My halfway time was
under 11 hours. All I had to do is average 15:30 in the second half. I knew that was possible,
but I couldn’t afford any more bad patches.
I was taking enough salt now, and had a sufficient supply to make it through the rest of the race.
Also, the sun was getting lower in the sky, so most of the areas that were sunny earlier in the day
would be shady for the return trip.
As I returned to Buckaroo from the turnaround, I did about half walking and half running. When
I got to the aid station for the second time, their delivery of ice had just arrived. I left the aid
station with ice in my water bottle and ice in my hat.
All the way from Buckaroo to Mountain Trailhead, I forced myself to walk only three minutes of
each mile and run the rest. On the descent from Mountain Trailhead to the turnaround, I had
averaged 18:30 per mile. On the climb from the turnaround back to Mountain Trailhead, I
averaged 13:30 per mile. I was out of my bad patch, I had enough salt to last the rest of the way,
and I was now on a mission to finish in 24 hours.
From Mountain Trailhead to Harbach Park, it’s all downhill. I ran the entire thing. Now I was
occasionally passing runners. As I left Harbach Park, it was starting to get dark. I had a drop
bag with a head lamp at Pringle. Pringle was still 11 miles away. It was disheartening to know I
would have to run that far in the dark.
My pacing through this stretch was erratic, because I didn’t always see the mile markers. Also, I
couldn’t read my watch without using the built in light, and I didn’t want to use the light because
I was afraid of wearing out the battery.
With about 33 miles to go, I started to notice sporadic lightning in the distance. At times it
seemed to be southwest, but at other times it seemed straight south. I couldn’t tell how far away
it was, but I could tell it was a pretty strong storm. I now feared that after everything else I went
through, I might still have to run through heavy rain as the temperature was dropping during the
night. It was supposed to drop to about 50 in Hot Springs and even cooler at the higher
elevations along the trail. I didn’t have any warmer clothes, and even a few miles in a heavy rain
might be enough to bring on hypothermia if the temperature was in the 50s. After bouncing back
from my heat-related problems I could still have a DNF because of cold rain. The only good
news was that I couldn’t hear the thunder. That probably meant it was a long distance away.
I remembered Jerry Dunn mentioning at the pre-race briefing that they always had grilled cheese
sandwiches and tomato soup at the Carroll Creek aid station (70 miles). When I got there, I
asked if they really had grilled cheese. They did. When they asked me if I wanted tomato soup,
I asked for a small amount in a cup, so I could dip my sandwich in it. It was about 9:30, and the
temperature had dropped enough that warm food felt good now. I also knew the tomato soup
would give me both sodium and potassium. While I sat down to eat, I asked the volunteers if
they knew how far away the thunderstorm was. They didn’t know for sure, but they agreed that
since we couldn’t hear the thunder yet, it was probably pretty far away.
About a mile after I left the aid station, I started to hear the thunder. I saw one flash of lightning,
and started counting while I waited for the thunder. Before I heard it, there were more flashes of
lightning. All I could tell for sure is that it was more than two miles away. I couldn’t correlate
individual flashes of lightning with the corresponding thunder.
I did a lot more walking in the next two or three miles. I knew I would soon approach a section
of trail that’s right next to the highway, and I wasn’t looking forward to the constant distraction
of headlights. By walking more, I gave myself a short tranquility break. While I was away from
the road, there was just enough ambient light that I could see where the trail was. It appeared
lighter than the surrounding grass. When I eventually started running alongside the highway, I
sometimes got blinded by headlights and couldn’t see the trail for several seconds. A few times,
I felt myself starting to run into the grass.
I ran more when I was alongside the highway. Now I wanted to get to Pringle as quickly as I
could, so I could finally get my head lamp. The first time I did Lean Horse, I was using an old
head lamp that wasn’t very bright. I could only see a small spot directly in front of me, so I had
trouble seeing where hills and turns started on Argyle Road. When I was shopping for a new
head lamp for this year’s race, I wanted one that was as bright as possible. I had tested it
indoors, but this would be the first time I could really see how bright it was while running in the
dark.
When I got to the aid station, I told one of the volunteers I had a drop back. While he was
looking for it, I refilled by bottle and ate a gel packet. Before I put the lamp on, I turned it on to
make sure it was working. I wasn’t disappointed. This lamp has two brightness levels. On the
lower setting, it was as bright as the low beams of a car. On the higher setting, it was like the
high beams on a car. I switched it to the lower setting and headed out. About a mile down the
trail, I passed two runners who were walking together. I asked them how they liked my new
head lamp, and said I wanted one that was bright. I didn’t hear any reply. Those would be the
last two runners I saw before the end of the race. I ran the last 23 miles by myself, so I was glad
to be able to see well.
As I approached each remaining aid station, I turned off my head lamp so it wouldn’t be shining
in anyone’s eyes. When I left the Lime Kiln aid station, I did a quick calculation and realized I
could finish in 24 hours by averaging 18 minutes per mile the rest of the way. My last few miles
were 12 – 13 minutes each.
When I got to the Argyle Loop aid station, I asked them if they had tomato soup. I was delighted
to find out they not only had tomato soup, but they also had grilled cheese sandwiches. I sat
down to enjoy my soup and sandwich. As I started Argyle Road, I need to average slightly better
than 20 minutes per mile to beat 24 hours. I also realized that if I could continue running 15
minutes per mile or better, I could break 23 hours.
On Argyle Road, I paced myself by walking the uphills and running the downhills. I also ran a
few sections of uphill that weren’t as steep. Without mile markers, I no longer knew where to
stop and drink, so I took a drink every 15 minutes. With my nice bright head lamp, it was easy
to see where the downhills turned into uphills and where the road started to turn. I started to
notice small yellow reflectors on each side of the road that always seemed to coincide with the
start of a hill. I later noticed that these were used to mark the locations of drainage pipes. These
pipes are generally located at the lowest point of the road, so looking for the yellow reflectors
was an easy way to see where I should switch from running to walking.
The last long downhill before turning to enter the campground seemed to go on forever. Before I
reached the campground, I was noticing lightning in three different directions, and I could hear
thunder again. When I got to the last aid station, I asked if I would be able to finish before it
rained. They thought I probably would, but they weren’t sure. I was hopeful that with just four
mile left, I could endure a cold rain if I had to.
With four miles to go, I still needed to average 15 minute miles to beat 23 hours. The first mile
was mostly uphill, so it was probably a little slow. When I got to the downhill section, I forced
myself to run as much as I could. I was excited to get into town, and I turned off my head lamp
after passing Evans Plunge. A few blocks later there’s a spot where we have to go down two
steps. I had to stop and step down very gingerly. My calves were doing much better, but going
down steps was almost more than they could handle.
As I passed the American Legion, I was mindful of the change in course to follow the road,
instead of the path on the other side of the stream. I knew I had less than a mile to go. I was
afraid to look at my watch. I just poured it on for the rest of the race. When I was almost to the
last turn into the parking lot, I yelled that a runner was approaching. As I crossed the line, I saw
that I beat 23 hours with almost 5 minutes to spare.
Although I was working to beat 24 hours for most of the last 50 miles, I was mostly excited
simply to have finished. I’m not an elite runner, but I’ve had just enough success in other ultras
that I usually try for a fast time or to place as high as I can. This race allowed me to rediscover
the joy of simply finishing. Sixty-five miles after my first of three near-DNF experiences, I
finally finished the race. I even earned a sub-24 hour belt buckle, but that was a bonus.
I regret that I never learned the names of most of the runners I met along the way. After getting
cleaned up, etc., I got back to the Mueller Center at 9:00 AM. I visited with other runners for
three hours before I had to leave for Rapid City. I regret that I wasn’t able to stay for the award
ceremony. I wanted to see every runner who finished.
This story wouldn’t be complete without a list of thank yous:
To the runner who gave me S-Caps as we were leaving Custer: Thank you.
To the runner who massaged my calves and gave me two more S-Caps: Thank you twice over.
To Karen and her crew: You guys rock! You totally saved my ass!
To all the volunteers: You guys also rock! Especially the boys who walked with me at Oreville.
To Jerry: Thanks for a great race, and thanks for telling us about the grilled cheese and soup.
