2nd time at Silver State 50/50, first DNF
Saturday, June 7, 2025, marked the 40th edition of the Silver State 50/50. This race takes place on my proverbial backyard trails — Peavine Mountain — where I do much of my running. It’s organized by the Silver State Striders, a local trail running group I’ve had the pleasure of joining a few times for long runs. The Striders emphasize looking out for one another during these long efforts across remote terrain, and it genuinely felt like every runner and volunteer I encountered embraced that spirit. Even the smallest gestures can mean the world when you’re in a vulnerable spot… more on that later.
The race started at 6:00am, and up, up, up we went. The first 12+ miles of the course are uphill, climbing about 3,400 feet. My strategy was to power-hike and fuel up, and save the effort for the flats and downhills.
The ghosts of plantar fasciitis from the last few years did not join me, nor did my knees give any signal of discomfort. This pleased me, and I looked forward to the many more miles to come.
I made it to the Poeville Aid Station at 9~ish miles, and replenished my fluids and snacks. I grabbed a handful of pretzel sticks for the road and marched on. There were a few other runners around me, including a buff shirtless dude being chased/cheered on by his girlfriend - on a totally stock sedan casually going up Peavine road.
Then the unexpected hit. I took a couple of pretzels, but after a few seconds of chewing, I could not swallow. The infamous dry mouth of ultras came on fast, and I panicked. I puked — a lot. The girlfriend of swolebro got a pretty good show, and was horrified (lol) at the colorful and pressurized vomit that erupted as I continued slowly jogging uphill while giving her a thumbs-up.
I knew that my race had changed in an instant, and now it was not about performing, but about enduring. My new strategy was to rehydrate, and keep moving. With longer distance events ahead on my calendar, I figured this would be a training session in what the second half might feel like.
Three hours and five minutes after the start, I reached Peavine Summit — about 12 miles in — and the consequences of my nutrition mishap were becoming more apparent. My legs tingled with the threat of cramps, and my confidence was shaken. I took a seat, resupplied energy gels from my drop bag, changed shirts, and abandoned the GoPro — there would be no cute video coming out from this adventure.
After some lovely encouragement from Strider friends, I headed out toward Jimmy’s Loop. Downhill running was barely possible — my upper legs were threatening to seize and send me tumbling down. So instead of “sending it with no brakes”, I relied on my poles for stabilization and shock absorption to keep me upright and safely moving.
Near the bottom of Jimmy’s Loop, I stepped into a shallow rain pond — and immediately regretted it. My right calf seized up with a fist-sized cramp just as I discovered the water was nearly knee-high. I laid by a tree, immobilizing my right leg with both hands to avoid further ouch. After a few minutes of slow and deep breathing, I got up, shook it off, and resumed the march.
I looked around to take in the view and distract myself from the inner chatter: vistas for miles — mountains, trees, rocks, and a million wildflowers.
It worked. The beauty, the splendor, the reminder of how fortunate I am to be able to do this.
When I made it to Peavine Summit for the second time (around mile 19), I was feeling better than on my first visit. It felt like some of my legs were coming back to life, thanks to all the fuel and salt I had been taking in. The friendly encouragement from the Striders was once again highly effective, and my spirits were still strong and positive.
However, I was definitely letting go of my 12 hour goal, or even beating my previous finish time of 12:13 (video from Silver State 50/50 2023 here!). My new goal was much smaller and simpler: make it to the next aid station, and repeat.
As I ran into Long Valley, the heat became noticeable — it was probably somewhere in the 90s. I’ve run this section of the course a handful of times before and loved it; it offers a wonderful sense of solitude and smallness among timeless trees, rocks, and dirt. I managed to find glimpses of that joy, but I couldn’t find flow. Most attempts to run were cut short within minutes by cramps — calf, thigh, quad, groin—on both legs. Oof.
The Long Valley aid station (mile 25.5) was Tiki-themed, and I was introduced to the unexpected delight of Roctane mixed with pineapple juice. There were also popsicles, chips, watermelon, a sponge ice bath, a massage gun to the legs, and, of course, more Striders encouragement to relentlessly move forward. So off I went again.
The Dog Valley Aid Station (mile 29.3) was a special kind of awesome: it was hosted by a couple celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. They chose to spend the day in a shade structure in the middle of the woods, handing out drinks, snacks, and encouragement (!) to 50 runners on a hot day. Just amazing. Pure vibes.
At each of these aid stations, the temptation to quit was strong. I could’ve just tapped out and caught a ride home with the volunteers when they wrapped up... which was soon, I was pretty sure I was at the back of the pack by now. But my stubbornness — or maybe my determination — kept those thoughts from sticking. I would go as far as I physically could! The strategy was simple: one foot in front of the other, keep drinking, keep eating, fuel the effort.
And so onwards I went, with a wrecked lower body but spirits still high. It was around the California/Nevada border that I cracked the code on how to swallow food despite the bone-dry, moistureless ultra-mouth: a tiny sip of water to finish the last few chews, a swirl, and down it went. Suddenly, I could handle things like sweet potatoes with salt, quesadillas, and PB&J sandwiches. I giggled to myself as I realized how such a small, obvious trick could make such a big difference — if only I’d known or practiced it earlier, maybe the day's events would have been playing out differently (better??).
At mile 31~ish, a strong cramp took over my left quad. It caught me by surprise, since I was still doing a walk & run combination. The poles I had been using to help me move forward became critical load-bearing infrastructure, allowing for a controlled descent to the middle of the trail. As my eyes scanned for the ideal landing zone in a split second, I recall getting a glimpse of one of the poles bending like a bow. Luckily, this section is mostly loose dirt so it was a harmless fall - though I imagine it kicked up a little dust cloud.
I dragged myself over to a shady spot and once again waited out the cramp while focusing on breathing deeply and slowly. This stillness helped once again re-contextualize: What a day I was having! Could I keep going? Was there even another option at this point? I was not about to hike backwards to the Anniversary aid station to drop out.
Climbing out of Dog Valley, I found entertainment in the wildflowers and shifting clouds. I’d never moved this slowly through the area before, so I truly had a chance to soak in its beauty. Curiously, I had a side stitch for most of it, despite staying in Zone 1.
I reached Sandy Hill Aid Station 10 hours and 6 minutes into this whole saga — 35 miles down, 15 to go. The volunteers gave the usual friendly and warm welcome, but the tone was different here. They dished out tough love in spades, urging me to move quickly out of the aid station, and up the hill since the Summit cutoff was at 11 hours and 15 minutes. I had just over an hour to cover roughly three miles and climb nearly 1,500 feet.
I arrived at the summit aid station 10 minutes too late. As I handed in my bib, I immediately felt at peace with my race being over. It had been hours since I was ready to quit, and I was satisfied with having covered 38 miles in total — almost 30 of those miles feeling like hot garbage in fun running gear.
The Striders at Peavine Station hooked me up with a cold beer. Their friendliness and warmth once again reminded me how much I appreciate being part of such a unique and wonderful event.
I’ll be back for a third attempt — determined to finally break that elusive sub-12-hour mark. This race pushed me to my limits, but it also reminded me that persistence beats perfection.
Here’s to many more miles and lessons.
