In June 2023, I ran the Bighorn 100 in Wyoming. It’s a classic race in the remote Bighorn Mountains and one that I’d had my eye on for a while. I had been working with my coach Adam Campbell for some time and I was hoping to have a competitive day. Unfortunately I made poor training and life decisions in the months leading up to the race that set me up for failure. This led to both a disappointing result and some serious burnout problems that lasted the rest of the year.

It’s taken me a while to write this one. For months after the race, I was too burnt out to want to relive it. But there are plenty of lessons to be learned when things don’t go to plan.

The Build-Up

In May 2023, a month before the Bighorn 100, I was nervous that I hadn’t been logging enough miles. I had been consistently running 80-100km per week with ample vertical gain. Adam had been giving me some harder intervals and tempo runs over the winter, but heading into a 100 miler, I felt that I should be doing more volume. I asked Adam about this and he told me he was giving me as much as I could handle given my availability. And he was right. My plate was full.

For context, earlier that March, Anne and I went to Argentina for a month. We split our time between hiking in Patagonia and soaking up the vibrant culture in Buenos Aires. I mostly stuck to my training plan, but enjoying our time there was the highest priority. After the trip, Anne flew to Montreal and I flew to California to stay with my folks before driving to Arizona to stay with Derek. Anne and I would be apart for most of April and May while I did some much needed renovations on the van.

In Arizona, I lived with Derek’s parents and spent my free time ripping out the back half of the van, rebuilding the walls and putting in a new bed, along with various little upgrades that I had been neglecting.

My days were packed. I’d get up at 6am, drive to the “office” (the Starbucks in nearby Kingman), work solidly until about 3pm, drive back to Derek’s, work on the van for a few hours, then head home. I’d run on the dirt roads nearby or dodge rattlesnakes on the local trails, often running in the evenings to avoid the heat.

On the weekends, I’d drive out to Hualapai Mountain Park to get in some vert and enjoy the cooler air at elevation. But even after a 3-4 hour run, I’d still head back to D’s to do more van work. My days were long and my head would rarely hit the pillow before midnight. Downtime to relax? With the exception of sharing the occasional beer with D, I rarely sat down for more than 5 minutes.

At the end of April, I drove to Scottsdale and spent the week there for our company’s annual work “summit”. The Friday after the event, I did 50 miles in the Grand Canyon. It was a modified version of the Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim because of snow on the North Rim. My version involved going down South Kaibab, up and down Bright Angel and then back up South Kaibab. It was pretty hardcore. Great training, but probably more than was necessary.

At the end of the month, I flew back to Montreal for a bit to see Anne. In between helping her move and catching up with friends, I did workouts and runs on Mont-Royal. After a particularly hard weekend of training, I felt tired. I rested Monday, then went for an easy recovery run Tuesday, but again, tired. I felt groggy and low for the rest of the week, but chalked it up to other factors like sleep and jet lag.

After the Montreal trip, I flew back to the desert, said goodbye to Derek and his parents and set off in the van for Colorado where we’d be living for the summer. The drive was long but beautiful and I didn’t worry too much about running along the way. I squeezed in a few easy efforts here and there.

Anne landed in Denver a couple days later and we spent the following two weeks exploring our new home in Colorado Springs. I ran the trails in nearby Red Rock Canyon and up the famous Barr Trail of Pikes Peak. The trails were beautiful, but there was a small problem: I was exhausted.

I felt okay on the flats and downhills, but going uphill was brutal. My breathing was heavy and my heart rate would quickly jump above 160 (zone 3), even when going very slowly. Unless I’m doing a workout, I shouldn’t be anywhere near zone 3. I knew the elevation was a factor (Colorado Springs sits at 6000ft), but this felt worse than anything I’d ever felt at much higher altitudes. Kingman is at 3500ft and I’d been training as high as 8000ft, so I expected the adjustment to be relatively easy.

I’d been in Colorado a week and we had another week to go before Bighorn. I shared my concerns with Adam who told me to take it easy and to skip any workouts if needed. Adjusting to altitude is supposed to take a week or two, so I crossed my fingers that a few days off would smooth things out before the big race.

Wyoming

It took us about 8 hours to get to Sheridan, WY. We left on Thursday morning and went directly to packet pick up. The atmosphere was lively and the volunteers were friendly. We finalized my drop bags in the parking lot, dropped them off, then walked towards Main Street to explore the town. It was quaint and rustic and embodied the kind of cowboy charm I expected from a small town in Wyoming.

There was a street festival of sorts going on so we grabbed some lemonade and then walked towards the nearby park where the pre-race talk would be hosted. A two-piece band played folk music while people ate BBQ and drank beer from a local food truck. I felt relaxed and excited. I forgot about my fatigue and started looking forward to the day ahead. 100 miles! Let’s do this!

The race talk was typical, covering course conditions, the bus schedule and other miscellaneous stuff. Afterwards, we walked back to the car and drove to our Airbnb nearby. We spent the evening preparing Anne’s crew bag and choosing gear for the race start. It was cloudy and rain was expected for the next couple days, so I packed cold weather gear and options to change into.

I printed off some splits for Anne so that she could anticipate what time to meet at the major accessible aid stations. I had splits for 22 hours, 24 hours and 26 hours. Bighorn is an out-and-back course with 3 big climbs and descents in very remote terrain. I’d see her at the following points, if everything went to plan for a 24-hour finish:

Aid station	Mile	ETA
Dry Fork Ridge	14	1pm
Jaws Trailhead	49	9pm
Dry Fork Ridge	83	5am
Finish line, Dayton	100	9am

The race didn’t start until 9am so the morning of the race was fairly relaxed. Anne and I drove to a park where the buses would pick us up and later serve as the finish line. The bus ride was only a few miles long and Anne came out to the start line with me. They dropped us on a dirt road beside a river. We watched the other runners getting their gear sorted and making small talk.

I saw Jeff Browning warming up on the road ahead of the start line. A few people asked him for photos once he settled in near the front. Andy Glaze appeared out of nowhere with a giant grin on his face. The race director said a few words and a woman stood on the back of a pickup truck and sang the American anthem. The start line was buzzing and I remembered why I love this sport.

A few minutes before the start, Seth Swanson appeared out of a bush and joined the crowd right next to me. Two podiums at WSER, a two-time winner of Bighorn. In his mid-40s now, but a favourite to win the race. I smiled and tried to act cool.

Anne went ahead and found a spot further up along the road. At 9am we set off.

Out to Jaws

I started slow, slower than I might have usually. We ran on a wide road for a while before peeling off onto some single track. The Tongue River was to our left and jagged rock walls towered above us on both sides. We soon reached the first aid station at mile 2 but no one around me stopped. My guess was this stop was going to be more useful on the way back to the finish line the next day.

The trail started to undulate and climb high above the river. I walked the hills and took it easy on everything else. Before I knew it we were at Lower Sheep Creek at mile 4. I filled up my water bottles here and grabbed a snack before we started the first big climb. I was feeling better than I expected, but I was moving conservatively. High above me I spotted the rock formations that inspired the Bighorn race logo. What incredible scenery.

We started to climb through the middle of a wide meadow. The trail was steep and muddy already from the rain overnight. I was glad I brought poles as they provided better traction on the steeper, muddy bits.

I hiked hard, but the effort was exhausting. I just couldn’t keep up with the people around me. I’m usually a strong climber, but today I felt flat. My watch showed a heart rate in the mid 160s which was far too high for a race this long, so I slowed up and let people pass. I reminded myself that it was good to start slow.

I was relieved when I reached the top. First big climb done.

The trail down to Upper Sheep Creek was surprisingly steep (and I dreaded having to hike back up it later), but it felt really good not to be climbing any longer.

The aid station at the bottom was pretty basic so all I did was fill up my bottles and push on. Dry Fork Ridge, a major aid station, was only 8km further and I’d be able to see Anne and eat something more substantial.

The trail rolled up and down on a forest road and was rather pleasant to run. I came up beside an Aussie and we started chatting. He had run an impressive number of races including Western States and had some good stories. It was nice to have company to keep my mind off things. We ran together until Dry Fork Ridge where I saw Anne waiting for me at the road.

She asked how I was feeling. “Not good, not terrible,” I replied. I restocked my vest with fuel and fresh water bottles. I lingered there for a couple extra minutes before saying goodbye as I wouldn’t see her again until the halfway point at Jaws later that evening. Once prepped, I set off down the road to catch up to my new Aussie friend.

The following two sections, roughly 20km, were a mixture of runnable road and muddy trails. There are no big climbs but the trail was surprisingly slow because of how waterlogged everything was.

We passed through two minimal aid stations, the aptly named “Cow Camp”, and “Bear Camp” where a friendly group of volunteers were stationed. I moved through these spots efficiently, planning to spend a bit more time at Sally’s Footbridge at 48km, the last major aid station before the big climb up to Jaws.

The trail after Bear Camp included a very steep, technical descent which was going to be a brutal climb on the way back in the dark on tired legs. My quads weren’t thrilled by the descent.

I reached Sally’s in a little over 6 hours feeling okay. I was actually making decent time on my 22-hour A goal. The question was going to be how much I’d slow down on the back half.

Anne could have met me at Sally’s, but it’s a difficult spot to access, so I sent a drop bag here instead. This was a shame as the aid station is nestled in some trees up against a roaring river and would be a great location to spend some time at.

I grabbed my drop bag, filled up everything, and ate what I could. I didn’t have much pep in my step but I had been fueling well all morning. It was about 3pm and I felt confident heading into the next section, a really long slog of a climb up to the Jaws Trailhead.

I was mostly alone by this point, no one directly ahead or behind me. The trail followed the river for a while before veering off into the trees. I reached the first aid station quickly, but didn’t stay long.

Even though I was steadily gaining elevation, it didn’t feel like it because the trail undulated up and down. It wasn’t technical and was generally rather runnable, but I still had to walk much of the uphill which was frustrating. Given my training and fitness, I should have been able to push harder here, but I was grateful to still be moving.

The trail got muddier as it climbed. Progress was slow at times, but the views were stunning. I traversed a wide, green meadow with ridges in every direction. Beautiful untouched wilderness.

I hiked as fast as my body would let me until I reached the Spring Marsh trailhead. It was manned by a team of folks that had hiked in all the gear and spent the night in tents. A young girl gave me a flower as I filled up on pretzels and gummy bears. It was such a charming aid station and the volunteers were so helpful and friendly. I was happy I would get to see this one again on the way down.

The next section was similar to the previous one, only muddier. My feet were soaked pretty quickly and running was almost impossible in spots. Nothing too steep, but it was arduous.

I soon arrived at Elk Camp which was just as inviting as the previous one. We had left the meadow and were now under a canopy of tall trees where a delicious spread lay ready to be devoured. As I arrived, I saw Seth Swanson, in first place, already on his way back down. “Very impressive, Seth,” I said to him as I collected various finger foods. One of the perks of an out-and-back course is seeing where everyone is and how they’re looking.

I was eager to get to the half way point so I got in and out of there quickly. I was only 7km from the top and I wanted to get there before sundown. Five minutes later, I saw Jeff Browning coming towards me, looking surprisingly smooth on a particularly muddy section of trail.

As I traipsed through the mud up to the ridge, more lead runners passed including a guy I recognized from my time on the PCT in 2016, but whose name I couldn’t place. I counted roughly 20 runners ahead of me.

Having only one gear meant I couldn’t really be strategic about when to run or walk, or when to push or conserve energy. My legs had started to ache on the last section and the constant mud and water everywhere was working other leg muscles.

Back to Dayton

I reached Jaws at 8pm, 11 hours after starting. I was so relieved to see Anne. She immediately went to get me some hot food and some coffee and ran through the list of items on my crew checklist. Headlamps, fuel bag, salt tabs, feet status? Check, check, check, fine. My shoes were wet and muddy so I changed into a dry pair and some fresh socks. I knew they’d inevitably become wet and muddy again, but it felt good to change. It also felt good to sit down for the first time of the day. As I sat there I quickly started to get cold. The sun was setting and the air was cool at 9000’.

I was more or less still on my goal pace which surprised me but also meant I didn’t rush out of there. I felt fine and had been enjoying myself. In all, I spent 10 minutes recharging and preparing for a long cool night. I wouldn’t see Anne again until sunrise.

I left Jaws ready for an “easy” descent down to Sally’s Footbridge, but the mud made things slow and tiresome. I soon had to put on my headlamp which always has a tendency to make me sleepy.

I quickly reached Elk Camp where a glorious fire was burning. It was so tempting to sit down on a log, soak in the warmth, gaze up at the stars, but I quickly squashed that idea and marched out of there.

It was on the descent down to Spring Marsh that my headlamp started to misbehave. Every 5 minutes or so, it would gradually dim and I’d have to turn it off and on again to restore full brightness. I tried pressing different buttons to change the settings, but it wouldn’t respond. I was using a cheap Black Diamond backup because I’d forgotten spare batteries for my main one. I had to squeeze out 3 hours with this dumb thing before I could safely switch.

I pressed on like this, stopping, resetting, and waiting for the next dim, until an hour later I arrived at Spring Marsh. It had taken me 1h10m to climb up that section on the way up, and 1h to get down so I was hardly crushing this downhill. At the aid station, the kids were all asleep, so there would be no more flowers. I picked at items on the table and drank some coffee.

The next two sections down to Sally’s Footbridge were tough. I was struggling to stay awake and not running very quickly. I saw lots of headlamps of runners making their way up to Jaws. Even though I felt slow, I was grateful to have made it up this way in the daylight.

In the muddy clearing, a headlamp came up behind me and I moved to the side to let them pass. A friendly voice started to chat and so I fell in behind the guy and asked if I could run with him. I wanted some company to stay awake, and to piggyback off a decent headlamp.

His name was Greg. We were a similar age. He was American, had a wife and a young son and lived somewhere I do not recall. Perhaps he lived somewhere forgettable, or perhaps, pushing 14 hours on my feet, some details have been forgotten. I don’t remember much we chatted about beyond other races, but the time flew by. We stopped at the small Cathedral Rock aid station where another fire was roaring. I drank some broth and coffee and continued on.

Greg and I got separated, and I arrived at Sally’s alone just before midnight. The trees were lit up and little tented areas were set up for people to sit and grab drop bags. There were several worn-out bodies sitting in camping chairs. Casualties after 107km and 4200m of up and down.

I got chatting to one of the volunteers who grabbed my drop bag. She was kind and encouraging. I felt flat physically, but I was mentally still in the game and refused to sit. This was a literal low point of the course and given the terrain ahead, it would be easy to drop here. She said I looked good and seemed motivated (they all say that), but she was right. Objectively speaking, I was doing fine. I spent almost 15 minutes at this stop, but I finally got my ass out of there.

The next section was rough and almost broke me. The mud was slick from 300+ runners on the way in and very steep. It took me 42 minutes to come down this part and 1 hour 20 to go back up it. When I finally reached Bear Camp, I was cooked. I didn’t linger, drank some more coffee and kept moving. I still had 20km to Dry Fork where Anne was waiting.

Somewhere in the dark between here and Cow Camp, I reconnected with Greg. We decided to join forces and run together. We were three quarters of the way through this thing and both of us had been struggling.

We continued our conversation from hours earlier with ease. He told me about his family, what it was like training with a little one (“only” one destination race a year, he explained), and I told him about adventures in the van, where Anne and I had travelled and nomadic life in general.

It was 5am and the sun was due to rise shortly which meant this was the coldest part of the day. We were climbing up a road through a wide clearing between two ridges and the wind was funnelling right through where we were walking. It quickly went from cold to freezing and we had to stop to put on jackets, gloves and beanies.

The wind was so cold on my face, I started to get a headache. When you’re tired, the cold can feel painful. We pushed and pushed until we finally reached Dry Fork Ridge.

I found Anne and sat down in a large tent out of the wind, trying to warm up. I didn’t feel great but Anne was a star and pumped me up for the final leg. I got up, gave her a kiss and then ran to catch up to Greg. I was there for about 12 minutes (hardly efficient), but I was in survival mode.

I fell in line with Greg and we pushed up the road together. The sun was out and starting to get warm. At first this was welcome after the brutal cold, but I was still wearing the long sleeve thermal shirt I wore during the night. Big mistake. I had left a short sleeve shirt back at the last aid station for exactly this period of the race, but I’d forgotten to change into it, and soon the heat was unbearable.

I finally decided to take off the shirt and run without one. The relief was instant, but I was worried about my nipples chafing on my vest. My hope was that we’d finish before that became an issue.

Greg and I reached the final climb up to the ridge line before the long descent down to the finish. The climb was steep and it sucked, but when we got to the top, we felt like kings. It was a beautiful day, we had views in every direction, and we knew we would finish. It was quite literally all downhill from here. It was about 8:30am and we had roughly 20km remaining. We decided we would aim to finish in under 26 hours.

Even though we were running downhill, we were moving slowly as much of the trail was very muddy. On the occasional dry patch, we ran fast, feeding off each other. We soon came up behind the lead woman and her pacer. She commented on how well we were moving so late in the race.

When we finally reached the Lower Sheep Creek aid station at the bottom, I asked the volunteers if they had any tape for my nipples. They only had very sticky Leukotape. It was going to hurt to take it off later, but my nipples were inflamed so I was happy with the tradeoff.

We continued to move well along the river even though it was surprisingly hot. I probably should have been drinking and eating more because when we reached the Tongue River Trail Head at 150km, I wasn’t feeling great. We were so close to the finish, but I was fading. We had roughly an hour to complete 8km to reach our goal. It was doable, but we couldn’t walk.

We were on a wide gravel road, totally exposed to the sun. Even though the course is an out and back, there’s an extra 2 miles from the start to the finish through the town. The terrain is mostly flat, but it’s a bit of a mindfuck as you think you’re finished, when you’re not.

We were running, but only barely. More of a shuffle than anything. At the slightest incline, I had to stop for a walk break. Greg was moving better than me, and encouraged me to keep moving. After a few minutes, I would resume my shuffle.

A few houses had put up signs in their front lawn with messages of encouragement for the runners. We even passed a few people who cheered us on, but mostly it was quiet. A river ran along the right side of the road, and I knew it would lead us to Scott Park.

We were down to the last 2 miles and I was spent. I wanted to be done so badly, but I had to stay present and keep my feet moving, however slowly. Just as I was getting ready to walk, we neared the final turn towards the park, running side by side. The clock was ticking and we only had minutes to spare.

I felt like shit, but when I finally saw the finish line (for real this time), a familiar smile crept across my face. We were going to do it! We were going to finish under 26 hours! We crossed the line together and gave each other a big hug. Anne was there to greet me and Greg’s wife was there to greet him. We were both elated. Our final time was 25:58.

Reflections

Looking back, it’s a small miracle I finished that race at all. A few months later, some blood tests showed I was low on iron and several B vitamins. My body had been seriously compromised for a while from overtraining, under-fuelling (I was eating like shit, frankly, and nothing like an athlete), not sleeping enough and the constant stress of work and travel. I had no business running 100 miles in that state. I got to the finish line in Dayton on grit alone, with a lot of help from Greg. I’m proud of that finish, but next time I’d like to show up with a full tank.

Ross Noble is a software developer, ultrarunner, podcaster and former van-dweller with a passion for the outdoors. He writes about running, cinema and anything else that interest him.

Montreal, QC