“Are you having fun?” Heather asked me after I arrived at Lamb’s Canyon aid station at 9:30 pm. It was about midway through the Wasatch 100. Further than I’d made it in the previous year.
When I finished the Hennepin 100 in early October I felt lucky running with a number of first-time 100-milers. The Hennepin 100 bills itself as flat, very doable, 100-miler. A good first 100 for you to notch in your belt. First time 100-milers have a certain excited curiosity. They ask questions like, “What do you recommend for the overnight portion?” I replied, “Drink lots of Coke.” Then the first-timer said back, “You see, I have epilepsy. So I can’t have any caffeine.” I was awestruck. And in love with his audacity. An audacity so pure. Often only found in those who don’t know what they are really in for.
As you age you need to increase your practice to maintain the same fitness level. Like 15 minutes more per week for every 5 years. In the past year, I’d increased my Tuesday morning run from 4 to 7 miles. And my Thursday morning run went from 7 to 10 miles. The increase in volume came easy.
Back in 2019 I set my sights on the Hardrock 100. A supremely hard 100-miler with elevations above 14,000 feet. It has a qualification and lottery system that are equally hard. I’d been focused on this goal for 6 years. With a grip getting tighter and tighter each year.
In the summer of 2025, I started actually enjoying biking. I got a new (used) bike. Which made riding easier. I did a number of 50 mile rides with friends. I even did some 30ish mile rides on my own. I’d always shunned biking because I don’t like equipment. When I go out to be physically present in the world it’s a process of peeling away the layers. Finding something simpler. Equipment is just one more layer. Hell, I don’t even wear a watch on most runs.
Was I having fun? The question bounced around in my head for the next 30 miles. A dark, overnight period that has welcoming aid stations like “Desolation Lake” – ha! I started throwing up about 10 miles in. Definitely not fun. But it’s part of the high-elevation, 100-mile game. A runner and his pacer passed me at about 1 a.m. The pacer said, “Gnarly, throw up back there!” and offered me a fist bump. Niche communities have their own ways of establishing credibility.
In 2025, I’d signed up for two 100-milers. Both the Bighorn 100 and the Wasatch 100 were Hardrock 100 qualifiers. I was doubling-down on my odds of getting into the Hardrock. Narrowing my focus. Putting one thing in my sights. Grinding. Working.
The conversations I had in the Hennepin 100 were some of the most fun I’ve had in an ultra in years. The course, stupid flat and boring as hell, was on a trail wide enough to run side-by-side with folks. That makes it easy to talk. I met another Mike, a former rock-band drummer from Nashville who’d just moved to Illinois. I talked to another first-time 100-miler from Decorah. He asked me, “Why do people do multiple 100s?” I said, just wait until you finish. There’s nothing like it in the world. So addictive.
I should’ve finished the Bighorn 100 this year. I know what it takes to do that race. I’ve finished it twice before. I never get stuck at Jaws, the halfway point that most people drop at. But I got sick again on the way back down from Jaws. Spending a lot of time throwing up and not eating. The grind got to me. I came into mile 66 with about an hour to spare. I didn’t want it anymore. I dropped.
When I signed up for the Hennepin 100, I wanted two things. To finish a 100-miler in 2025 and to have a nice crisp, cool, fall run. It was in the 90s during the daytime for much of the Hennepin 100. It sucked. So I still needed my crisp, cool, fall run.
In mid-October I signed up for the Des Moines Marathon the day before the race. This would be my crisp, cool, fall run. What a blast that was! Less than 4 hours of hard work on a Sunday morning. Great weather. Easy logistics with Heather dropping me off 10 minutes before the start and then I walked home. Intense. But fun.
David Foster Wallace has a famous essay and book titled “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again”. It was originally an essay about going on a luxury cruise published in Harper’s magazine. The forced fun on the cruise lead to thoughts of despair.
I have physical copies of Harper’s magazine in my basement dating back to 1990.
My Mom asked me “Why do you run 100 milers?” One of her friends asked her that question for me. She told him, “He does it to try to find his limits.” That’s partially true. But it’s also kinda fun. Where else in life do you have a singular focus for more than 24-hours? Where else do you get to be outside on the trails? All that is pure joy to me.
Lately I think I run these races so I have stories to tell.
Mile 3 of the 2025 Wasatch 100 has an epic story. Heading up the 4000 foot ascent of Bair Canyon towards of 9200 feet, the conga line of runners came to a stand still. Up ahead in the dark I could hear people screaming and swearing. Finally, someone ahead of me said, “There’s a wasp’s nest in the ground.” Now I understood the stoppage. My group of 10 in the conga line was stopping about 20 feet back from the nest. Queuing up for each person to run the gauntlet. This portion of the trail was tight. On the right was a flowing creek. But not like “step off and get your foot wet” – more like “step to the right and fall 20 feet down a cliff into a creek”. On the left was thick oak brush and trees. There was no alternative path. I watched as each runner took a different approach. Some would try to sneak by the nest. Some would sprint as fast as possible. Some would re-queue at the back of the line to must up courage. I decided to just go for it. Full speed. It was dark, so you couldn’t see the nest or the flying wasps. You just had to run and hope. I was lucky, I escaped with only a single sting in my thigh. The guy behind me got stung 10 times.
Stories like that are hard to experience in our sheltered world.
I wasn’t having fun. I got so fixated on the Hardrock – signing up for qualifier after qualifier – that I forgot what I was doing.
Last time I remember having fun was when I ran over the Bighorns in 2024. I designed my own 30-mile route. My son dropped me off at 14A and the intersection of FS 10 at about 10,000 feet. I ran my way back to Shell, WY. It was insane. Moose. Snow drifts. Disappearing trails along Horse Creek. I don’t know what I was thinking. But it was fun.
Chasing an elusive goal is not always fun. The journey can be. Keeping only the goal in mind obfuscates the journey.
2025 was the first year I wasn’t able to enter the Hardrock 100 lottery. I would’ve had 16 tickets. But I didn’t qualify. No luck at Bighorn or Wasatch.
I got pulled off the course at Brighton. About 70 miles into the Wasatch. Not success by my measure. But far from failure.
The previous year, I dropped out at the Alexander aid station – mile 40. People who know the race asked, slightly accusatory, “What happened?” But when you drop at Brighton, those same people say, “Good job! You’ll get there.”
Based on the description of the 2025 Hennepin 100 it doesn’t sound like fun. Hot. Stupid flat with the boring scenery of a corn field. Somehow it was fun. Talking to the first timers meant a lot to me. Helped me understand why I do this.
It’s time to set the big goals aside for a bit. Have some fun.