My first hundred miler - The 2025 Mountain Lakes 100
Saturday September 20th, 8:00am. Ollalie Lake, Oregon.
One hundred and fifty one of us were there to run one hundred miles, or bust. Over a hundred others crowded the start line: race staff, volunteers, and plenty of families and friends. I overheard stories from veterans, tales from long training runs, and strategies on the arts of fueling and pooping.
It was a beautiful morning. The blue skies felt like a call from the mountains and woods, urging me to explore. And so, we went.
The first 12 miles of the course happen in a loop to the south of the start line. Much of the forest had been destroyed by recent fire, so many of the trees are a literal shell of their former selves. What I'm sure was once lush and glorious was now a little eerie and uncomfortable.
Managing my early efforts was easy to do, there were lots of people in front of me, and we were on single-track trail. I committed to keeping my spot in the line until it was necessary to make moves, and ran and hiked along smoothly, soaking in the sensation of my legs feeling fresh, full of energy.
We went by many lakes of various sizes, and right next to a couple too. I resisted the temptation to splash around, although by 10am the humidity was making this desert dweller sweaty.
I started the race with two bottles (500ml each) to carry on my vest, one was filled with water, the other had TailWind High Carb mix in it (90g of carbs!). I also packed gels, and had one at the top of each hour. My fueling strategy was to have 60 to 90 grams of carbs per hour, and to also supplement electrolytes every hour. After a summer with lots of multi-hour training adventures, I had fine tuned these numbers to find what works for me.
When I made it back to the start line at Ollalie Lake, I was a few minutes ahead of my projected 3-hour time. I changed my shirt, swapped GoPro batteries, and at the Aid Station I grabbed a handful of snacks, and refilled my bottles - one with water, one with electrolyte mix from Precision Fuel.
After leaving Ollalie Lake, the route took me north on the Pacific Crest Trail. After just a bit, the fire damage came to an end, and I entered the forest. I ran past a thru-hiker making the full journey to Canada on the PCT ... all the way from Mexico!
I was moving well and feeling quite great. Conversations with other runners kicked off, with plenty of stoke and high spirits.
By mile 20, I was feeling thirsty, but with little liquid left in my bottles. My pacing chart said next Aid Station was to be at mile 22.4. I had my last drinks around mile 21, and knew I had to push on through discomfort to earn my refills.
My Garmin didn't clock me at Pinheads Aid Station until mile 23.6. By then, I was not feeling so good anymore. I had spent the last couple of miles thirsty, and reflecting on how I probably had needed more liquid for the fist 3 hours of this thing, too. I had hours of under-hydration to recover from, so I committed to corrective action right then and there. I drank 500ml of water on the spot, and then filled up my flasks - again one with water, one with electrolyte mix. I also had some orange slices and Nerds gummy cluster candies, and packed a couple more gels for the way.
As I kept going further north, the forest kept showing off its variety and richness. I thought of my dear mom, who loves gardens and nature, and how she would have admired every fern, flower, and tree I passed. As it usually happens when I'm out in nature, it felt like I was carrying a piece of her wonder with me.
The miles went on, as did the time.
Nearing 3pm, I made it to Warm Springs Aid station at mile 29.6. Almost 7 hours since starting to move, and even longer since I had eaten some real food, I was hungry. The aid station offered sliders, and I made quick work of one. I had a second one, and it felt amazing. Eating something of substance was invigorating, especially when paired with Coca-Cola. With a happy belly, and refilled flasks once more, I carried on.
Burning Man taught me long ago that "piss clear" is the gold standard when getting sweaty for hours, and I was happy to see my urine trend towards clarity on the few pit stops I made along the way, thanks to my commitment to sip and hydrate up.
My carbohydrate strategy seemed to be working. I rotated through a variety of gels and chews that I had packed in my vest, along with the Precision Fuel gels that were stocked up at the Aid Stations. My stomach was also holding up well, and was even yearning for some more of that real food out there.
When I was at Red Wolf aid station (mile 35, 8h 35m), I added a pack of TailWind (regular, not high-carb) to my water bottle, and took electrolyte mix in the other. Since the next 5 miles were going to be downhill, I wanted to be able to drink my carbs/calories. I knew the next Aid Station was the biggest one on the course, so it have plenty of food. My craving for something substantial to eat grew stronger.
Mile 40 Clackamas AS - 10 hours in, 6pm.
As I entered the Aid Station, dozens of spectators clapped and shouted encouragements. Music played, and delicious food smells filled the air.
I had access to my own drop bag here, which I had prepared in advance (many times over, indeed). The weather forecast showed some rain starting in the middle of the night, and temps dropping into the 40s combined with humidity higher than I'm used to. So, my drop bag was stuffed with layers, of which I made use: I changed out of the short sexy Janji tights I started the race with, into underwear and sweatpants. I also swapped shirts again, to something a little warmer and less sweated-soaked. I packed shorts for the morning time, and a jacket for the expected rain.
As I was doing this, a familiar feeling emerged. In a premeditated reaction, I reached for my GoPro and captured close-ups of the Tailwind that was coming back out from my insides. The race director -Todd- saw this happen, and commended me on my agility as I navigated small-sized obstacles to find a puking spot between cars, and away from the crowds.
After this sudden little event, I washed my face and hands, and went back to the Aid Station to pick up where I left off: Drop Bag stuff. I grabbed my headlamp and belt light, a portable battery to charge up my Garmin, and eventually the flashlights too. I left behind my little drone: I knew I wouldn't record anything at night, and the likely rain was also going to prohibit its usage.
The Aid Station was cooking Pierogies and Quesadillas. I ate one of each, slowly, washing them down with a cup of warm broth. I did not have trouble eating or drinking after the little incident. It was an excellent little display of the "boot and rally" technique... but I spent almost 25 minutes here, not moving. I had to go, and so I did.
As night was falling, the temperatures started to drop. It was chilly, but being on the move generated plenty of heat. I ran for 20 minutes with sweatpants on, and then I just could not take it anymore: in the middle of the trail, I changed to shorts and stuffed my pants into the back of the vest, next to the rain jacket. My legs enjoyed the fresh air, and stayed uncovered until the end.
It wasn’t fully dark yet, but thick sections of forest turned into caves of shadow, and I switched on my lights. I relied on a headlamp and a cheap waist-belt light, both LED based and rechargeable with the same USB-C cable running to a battery in my vest. A spare headlamp in my pack gave me another three hours of backup. With no moonlight and heavy tree cover, I depended on these lights — but I was well prepared.
At 8pm, twelve hours into the race, I reached Little Crater Lake Aid Station at mile 46.5. Volunteers were dancing to house music, and the overall vibe was super positive and encouraging. I once again filled up my bottles, grabbed a variety of small snacks, and made my way back to the trail. On the way out, passing by the Little Crater, another runner and I shined our headlamps into it, admiring the crystal-clear water and how far we could see into its depths. It's probably a LOT cooler in the daylight.
A little later, walking on some platforms across a marshy meadow, I stopped, turned my lights, and looked up to the open sky: stars in every direction, even the Milky Way was noticeable. The New Moon contributed no light to the nightscape, which made the stars stand out even more.
From here, the trail climbed 1,248 feet over 6 miles to the next Aid Station. The night was quiet, and the forest was too. I put on my headphones and queued up Incubus, my wife’s favorite band, to keep me moving through the uphill. Each song that played reminded me of live performances of the songs, with Kelly singing her heart out by my side.
I was starting to feel some fatigue in my legs, especially the hamstrings and glutes. Since this was an uphill section, I was hiking and using poles. Another runner just in front of me was using a tree branch as nature's pole. We exchanged words a few times; we shared awe about the tall trees, acknowledged each other's efforts so far, and made jokes about taking Fireball shots at the Aid Station. I pointed out a better branch to use as a pole, and he trusted me and went with it.
There was a fallen tree log blocking the trail, so I had to step up to get over it and to the other side. As I pushed off my left foot to get to the top of the log, a grapefruit-sized cramp seized my left calf.. I managed to shift my balance mostly to my right leg, and lowered myself off the log back to stable ground, then focused on immobilizing my left leg and doing some deep breathing.
After a minute, I started to move very slowly as I evaluated the sensations coming from my left lower leg. It felt tight, but I had felt much worse. I took some extra electrolytes in the form of salt tablets, and decided to turn down my effort a little bit for at least 30 minutes.
I made it to the Frog Lake Aid Station at mile 55ish at 10:33pm. This was the turn-around point of the course, the northern-most point. I sat down and took extra time to stretch and massage my calf. It felt nice to warm up by a fire (or maybe it was just some propane heaters?) while eating a few yummy snacks and sipping on some soup. But I didn't let myself too get too comfortable. After 15 minutes total stoppage time, I got back to the trail in the middle of the night.
Now going downhill, I was able to do a gentle run to take advantage of the pull of gravity. When I got to the log that needed to be stepped over, I moved like a slot to avoid a repeat cramp. I succeeded, and resumed my jogging. I was feeling pretty good, finding a good rhythm and generating enough heat to be comfortable in the chilly night.
Now going backwards on the course, I was going to re-visit all the aid stations. Little Crater was now mile 62ish, and I got there around 00:50am - of Sunday 9/21. 90s Rock music played, and the mood was a little less festive than before. Some of the race carnage was starting to become evident; 2 people were sitting down with a thousand-mile stare, and a couple of runners were exchanging encouragement to keep pushing on.
Soup (broth, really) was essential by this point. Not only did it provide warmth, but also some noodly carbohydrates, and a good chunk of sodium. This Aid Station also had Gourmet Grilled Cheese sandwiches, with Dave's Killer Bread and a very generous usage of butter and cheese. I had 2 of them, and grabbed a handful of Oreos for the road out.
The route back takes a small detour to do a loop around Timothy Lake. It's the middle of the night, so the little I can see with my flashlights does not change much: trail and trees. But it was noticeably more humid and therefore chilly in this area, and the vegetation was much richer and more varied. There were mushrooms glowing in the dark, adding to the Lord of the Rings vibes that sometimes mix well with epic trail runs. I ran by a sign for someone's "22nd secret birthday party", and heard the corresponding party noises not too far from the trail, toward the lake.
Since this terrain was mostly rolling little hills, I was finding my slow flow, and fine tuning the form to the fatigue that was starting to set in. I also celebrated that I was now running the furthest I had ever run, with each extra step that I took.
There was another aid station on the Dam of Timothy Lake, at around mile 67. I arrived at 02:20am, and followed my now ritualistic steps: get soup, fill bottles, sit down, eat snacks while sipping on soup, time limit of 15 minutes.
When I arrived at Clackamas Aid Station (now Mile 71.7) it was 03:37am. I felt like the night leg had just re-started. Aided by lots of caffeine, my mind was feeling strong and confident on the ability to keep the body going for 30 more miles.
I grabbed my drop bag, took a seat, and calmly resupplied. I changed socks and shoes, even though I was not having problems there. I checked for blisters, dirt that could become a blister, toenails... everything looked healthy and unharmed, which brought relief. My confidence and determination were reinforced.
As I refilled my bottles and grabbed snacks, a volunteer recommended I spend a few seconds by the heater before heading into the cold night again. I stepped into the tent that had a heater making it very cozy, and saw at least 5 runners that had decided to drop from the race and were waiting for a ride back to the start line. They wished me luck, and then I was outta there just as my legs were starting to enjoy the artificial heat.
I did not have any hallucinations, like some (most?) ultrarunners do when they near 24 hours of activity. But there was some sort of special chemistry happening nonetheless. There were moments where I felt intensely present, some of them long easy flows, and others as brief as a single footstep.
When the legendary runner's high hits me, I tend to have verbal outbursts in the form of a "woooop!" or a "yieeheey!". I was making some sort of noise every few minutes, not just to externalize the joyfulness I was feeling, but also as a beacon for other runners out there, and perhaps even to spook away any nocturnal animals that might be looking at me, but I couldn't see myself.
At 5:30am, I arrived at Red Wolf Aid Station, now at mile marker 77. I quickly moved through this one, to keep the momentum I had been building for hours now. Refilled, Refueled, and anticipating the next segment: 2+ miles of gentle downhill.
I got reacquainted with the pull of gravity, and opened up my stride to build up speed. I looked at my GPS watch: 22 hours, 78 miles logged. It also showed that I was running at under 12:00 minutes per mile. This felt fast, and this became a mini-game to play. Could I sustain this "fast" effort for the whole downhill? As I got closer and closer to the eventual answer of "yep", my grin probably grew wider and wider.
Downhill running at the edge of my comfort zone is one of my favorite aspects of trail running, and this moving like this at mile 80 felt like an accomplishment of its own. I knew I was considerably slower than the typical epic send, but I also knew I was playing a little bit with fire by pushing my muscles to move relatively fast and aggressively.
Feeling relatively awesome at this point, I visualized my remaining doubts being left behind me, as I swiftly moved through narrow single-track lined with waist-high bushes and plants.
The sun started to come up, but the light was very dim and soft. The clouds covered the forest in every direction, but the occasional ray of light did sneak through and shine like a beacon from the heavens. A breeze started to pick up, and the skin on my face felt the variations in humidity as low-flying clouds drifted past - or was I the one going moving through clouds?
At 7:00am, I made it to Warm Springs Aid Station. This was previously mile 29.6, it was now mile 82ish. I put all my lights away, they were not needed anymore. I sat down to rest my legs, and ate bacon, and a little bit of fruit and candy. I refilled my bottles and chatted with volunteers and a couple of other runners. I packed some more snacks for the road, and when 10 minutes had gone by, I made a move onward.
Sunday 9/21 8:00am
When the 24 hour mark hit, I was somewhere around mile 85. I took inventory of my adventure so far, and admired how the forest looked so alive with the fresh moisture, from the morning dew and the incoming and changing weather.
A bit later, it started to rain and I finally had a real need for my jacket. The rain was light and thankfully didn't make the trail muddy. My knees and shins caught most of the moisture as I brushed through low vegetation, flowers and leaves heavy with droplets.
The Pinheads Aid station (mile 88ish) had fresh breakfast on demand, consisting of pancakes, syrup, and hash browns. I took a full plate and sat down to enjoy it as the rain made playful sounds all over the shade structures. When I was done, I closed my eyes and took a few long breaths to refocus for a final push. I was tired. But I was not broken in any way. I mentally visited times I had felt much worse, and still carried on, during races and training. Inhale. Exhale. I opened my eyes, and put one foot forward, then the next. It was time to keep going.
On the final stretch back to Ollalie Lake, there's a little 1.2 mile detour into Olallie Meadows, to one last Aid Station. This segment was lovely, with fall colors beginning to pop, and the feeling of a finish line nearby. At the Aid Station I ate more bacon, topped off my bottles, and grabbed potato chips for the road.
The trail began to change as the burned forest came into view again. I was getting really close. My watch showed I was into the 27th hour, and I ran through the math: if I held pace, I could still finish under 28 hours. It was possible.
Without a canopy, the forest offered little shelter from the weather. The wind pressed in, noticeable but never oppressive. Above and around me, gray clouds hung low, visibility was limited to less than a mile. The poor weather felt like an appropriate companion to the moment; the sunrise stoke had faded, replaced now by determination, commitment, and a growing excitement to be done.
My GPS ticked past the 100-mile mark. The course still had nearly a mile left, and I did not stop.
My official finish time was 28:00:46. When I crossed the finish line, I felt many things, most remarkably pride and accomplishment, relief and joy, hunger and thirst, and many more. The cup was full, as they say.
I finished 44th out of 151. Well, 44th out of 80 finishers. 71 Did Not Finish.
This race was super well organized, and run by people that genuinely care. I recommend this event to anyone considering running 100 miles! The route is quite runnable, and the aid stations are stocked and staffed by incredibly generous volunteers.
Race page: https://gobeyondracing.com/races/mountain-lakes-100/.
Strava https://www.strava.com/activities/15893311342/overview.
Video I captured with GoPro and drone: