Third time’s a charm? Gorge Waterfalls 100K

Gorge Waterfalls 100K. A scenic course in the Columbia River Gorge. Part of a 3-day event put on by Daybreak and Freetrail.

And for me, an elusive goal.

Prologue

Round 1. I first signed up for the race in 2023. I ended up injured a few weeks before and was just returning to running by race weekend. Could I do the distance? Probably. Would it hurt? Definitely. I didn’t want to jeopardize a trip of a lifetime just a week later, a trail running retreat in Nepal and Bhutan, and decided not to start. I got in a little 4 mi test run on the PCT and felt good. I connected with an acquaintance’s son to take him out to crew his dad, while I headed out to support G and a couple of friends running the race at the 33 mi aid station. I could tell the course conditions were taking a toll. I told G that I could jump in and pace him at 50 mi aid station if he needed it. He did. The weather turned nasty—hail, sleet, cold rain. I got him through his final checkpoint 3 min before cutoff.

Round 2. I added the 2024 edition to my schedule, looking for my Western States qualifier. Training was going well, no injuries. But my dad, who’d been diagnosed with metastatic melanoma more than a year earlier, was declining rapidly. I made the decision to head east to see him a few days before Gorge. Another year, another DNS (did not start).

Round 3. For a while, I knew 2025 would be challenging professionally (oh how little did I know…), with intensity picking up in the latter half of the year. So I decided to throw my hat in for Gorge yet again, with the intention of it serving as my A-race for the year.

I was a little slow building back mileage after Teanaway, with G and I taking 3 weeks vacation in November and December. But the training was coming together.

I was starting to feel stronger and cranked out a solid 26 mi run the last Saturday of February. The next day, the first sign of trouble. I soon realized I was experiencing the same injury I had in 2023. I looked back, 2 weeks off running had been good enough, and I had 6 weeks to Gorge this time. I tried to be thoughtful and patient. Two weeks of rest… and I still wasn’t ready for running. I laid off the walking too. I got a PT appointment—some exercises and a recommendation for no running until I could walk pain free for at least 30 min. I started to process that I might not make it to the start line of Gorge yet again.

Fortunately soon I was running again, short, slow paces. I kept pushing off the decision about Gorge. I got in a 12 mi easy effort trail run with a friend the weekend before and felt OK.

Show up

The night before the race, I opened the notes app on my phone and wrort.

I’m feeling weird going into this race. 

Excited to be starting, sanguine about the outcome, oddly calm. 

I wonder about all the emotion under the surface. I have unfinished (unstarted) business with this race. Third year registered, first year lining up. 2023, injury paired with caution to preserve more meaningful projects. Last year, Dad dying. This year, injury nearly kept me away again. I felt it slipping away, I shed the tears.

But then, somehow (not magic but rest & rehab), I’m here. I told my PT I was doing something stupid & he didn’t even try to talk me out of it. 

And then there’s all the other emotion, unconnected to this race. The horrible of the world. Of my job. The stress, the strain, the heartache. 

Am I ready? Maybe not. But I’m here. That’s all I have to do right now. Show up. Take a step. Take another step. Until I’m done. Maybe that’s enough to get me to the finish line, maybe not. But I know it’s enough to be who I am, who I want to be.

Tomorrow it’s less about where I get to, more about how I get there. 

Take a step

I was feeling in a space of being grateful to start, having some dreams of where the day might end. We started in the dark. I took in the gorgeous full moon peeking through the trees a few miles in, later the lovely, gentle lighting of the sky. We marched up the first climb, a steady stream of runners along single track. Then we were descending, nothing too steep, but I was feeling a little unsteady. I used my poles to stabilize. I hadn’t been on technical trails much for a month, but my body and brain had a lot of prior experience. Silently I reminded myself to trust in that.

I had put some scenarios in ultraPacer and put the splits on my phone screen. But I decided to just run to how my body. Which was feeling fine. Until mile 28. Then my legs were heavy & achy. On the flat(ish) road section, I was cranking out 18 min miles because I just couldn’t get myself to run more than 20 or 30 seconds.

This is it, I figured. 90 min to grind out 4-5 miles & make the next cutoff. The math wasn’t working in my favor. Even if I made the next cutoff, it seemed unlikely I’d make the 50 mile cutoff. I was done & just needed to hike it in to the next aid & get a lift from Gene who was waiting there. I was already processing the DNF. I wasn’t upset, not even disappointed really. Today, a DNF was a win. Four weeks ago I wasn’t sure I’d be starting, and I was going to get 33 mi done. I wondered if I’d come back and try again or if I’d had enough of trying to find my way to and through this race.

The course has pretty good mobile coverage, so I texted G to give him a heads up. I didn’t want him to worry, coming in late, and I didn’t want him to be surprised when I strolled in and called it a day.

Make the turn

But weird things can happen in ultras. 

G has a mantra of sorts for races: food, water, salt, music. They’re the things that can pull you out of a hole. Caffeine is another one. I thought I’d give it a try, maybe find a little boost to make these final miles a little less grindy. 

And then a little magic. The caffeine? The gravel under my feet? Literally as I turned onto trail, I glanced at my watch. About 70 min to cutoff, 3 miles to go. I might be heading up a hill now, but there was a descent on the other side. A switch flipped. I wasn’t giving up yet. I would keep going until someone pulled me off the course and told me my race done. 

One by one, I started overtaking people who’d passed on the road section. The aching was gone, or at least pushed out of mind. I had work to do. 

I hit the top of the descent to the Wahlclella aid station with about 10 min to cutoff. I moved as quick as I could on the steep grade. When I spotted the aid station through the trees, I gave a call & heard G’s unmistakable voice call back. 

I hit the bottom & rolled into the aid station with 5 min to cutoff. You want to glimpse what is so incredible and endearing about the ultra trail community? Hang out at an aid station in the shadow of a cutoff. We will do whatever we can to get that runner through in the best position possible. It’s not just the logistics, filling bottles, bringing food. It’s the energy & the spirit boost. We will tell you you’re crushing it (because you are). We will tell you that you can make the next cut off, with absolute conviction & telling you what you need to get there. 

I got out of the aid station 3 min before cutoff. Time to climb again. I was happy to find I still had legs for descending, which surprised me as much as it did other racers I passed. 

After Wahlclella, I was laser focused on getting to the next aid station not just ahead of cutoff but in position to improve my chance of making the one after. I was all business. At the next aid station (Cascade Locks), I changed shoes & got out 5 min ahead of cutoff. I had a little over 3 hours to make the next cutoff but knew I needed to bank time to make it back to Cascade Locks before the 10 pm cutoff, a section with rocks that I’d have to navigate in the dark. 

Go far

Around mile 43, a racer pulled up behind me. We’d been chasing an earlier cutoff together. I offered to let him pass, but he demurred, saying I’d been solidly pacing all day. From that point on, Doug & I were in this race together. We cranked through the climbs, cruised the downhills & smooth flats where we could get them. We’d had 3:05 to make the cutoff. We did the section in just over 2:35. A few minutes to fuel, restock, grab headlamps & layers. We were back on the trail again with 3:10 to the next cutoff.

This was Doug’s first 100K. Technically I hadn’t finished a 100K before, but I have two 100 milers under my belt. I worked through the calculations, through trail math is always tricky. We needed to aim for 18:30 min/mi average to leave a little buffer for the 10 pm cutoff. I also knew from pacing G in 2023 that it was tempting to think your were done with slow stuff at the top of the first climb out of the aid station, but not so. We should crank hard but not panic if we our paces on the ascent were slower, because I knew there was some runnable downhill on the other side of it.

Then a little more climbing and the rocky flats/descents that were not fast in the dark. Doug started getting nervous about the cutoff. I, though, was feeling calm. We had the time. I knew there was a log bridge that marked about 2 miles to the aid station. I felt more confident as I heard the streaming water in the dark, approaching the crossing in a few minutes. There was a little more annoying rocky trail, but finally we were out of it.

Soon I could make out the lights of the aid station. We had made it back with 12 min to spare. From here, it was just over 5K to the finish with 2 miles on relatively flat paved surface. Once we hit the pavement, we gave each other the space to celebrate. 9-10 hours earlier, we both thought our days were done. Here we were in the home stretch, finishing 20+ minutes before the cutoff. 

Celebrate

G & I were quickly off to bed so he could get some sleep ahead of the 50K the next morning. I slept in, packed up and checked out of our hotel. One challenge of finishing late? There wasn’t much food left at the finish line, and everything in town had been closed for a couple of hours. So I needed some serious refueling Sunday morning.

I had some time to reflect while I ate and waited for G to reach the nearby Cascade Locks aid station. I jotted down my experience throughout the race (in fact, much of the above was in my notes app on my phone).

The day offered reminders of lessons learned over the years. These long efforts can turn on a dime. You can be convinced you’re done, then suddenly you’re ready to go and no one is going to stop you. After that 45+ min of making peace with a DNF, I had no doubts in my ability to keep moving the rest of the day. I wasn’t totally sure I’d make all the cutoffs, but I knew damn sure I was going to keep moving with purpose until I finished or missed the mark. I had not just my partner but all the incredible volunteers out there on my side, giving up a gorgeous Saturday and doing what they could to get me to the next stage.

Looking across the race, it wasn’t the start or the day I wanted when I signed up for the event. Yet what I achieved still felt amazing. I did what I had said. I showed up. I took a step. And another. That was enough. Even as I accepted on the road section at mile 28 that I was not finishing, I knew I was enough, and this was enough.

But ultimately, this time, it was enough to get me to the end.