Kodiak 100M
Coming into this race, my "why" was crystal clear: life is hard, but you take the punches and keep moving until your time is truly up. Four days before race day, I had an incredibly difficult conversation with a close friend - his father had passed away unexpectedly. It was the first time I’d heard him cry uncontrollably in all the years we’ve known each other. It hit me hard. While I know that one day I’ll have to face those same emotions, I’m committed to making the most of the time I have until that day comes.
The race started at 1 PM, which was new for me since every other race I’ve done has started early in the morning. I’m still deciding which type of start I prefer - each has its pros and cons. Before the race, we had to take a shuttle to the start line. My dad dropped Seb Hardington and I off just minutes before the final bus left. There were only two open seats, and I found myself next to a guy in a basketball jersey, sipping a Bang energy drink. We made small talk - turns out it was his 5th 100-miler, and he was hoping to collect enough "stones" to qualify for Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc. After a short 15-minute shuttle ride, we arrived at the start line, ready to go.
As soon as the timer hit zero, a switch flipped in my brain - go time. My focus shifted entirely to staying present, not letting myself think too far ahead. It was truly a "one foot in front of the other" mentality.
The start of the race was chaotic, with everyone running off pre-race nerves, weaving and dodging to find their own space. In the past, I used to start in the back, but I knew this time that I wouldn’t be getting any faster as the race went on. So, I leaned just outside my soft edge, planning to get after it sooner rather than later.
The first miles were some of my favorite - flowy single track and beautiful scenery. I met Carl, a single father of two boys who had started with triathlons and worked his way up to his first 100-miler. After a quick chat, I moved on and kept to myself until Seb caught up with me. We yo-yo’d for a bit on the climbs and descents, spending about an hour together before eventually separating. I pressed on ahead.
A little while later, I was joined by a guy wearing a stylish orange bucket hat - his name was Michael Medeiros. He had done several 100-milers, including the Western States. Sadly, he ended up dropping due to medical concerns, but I ran into him at breakfast the next morning. He remembered me as "the good vibes, positivity guy with solid hair." That’s a compliment I’ll hold onto for a long time.
Sometimes I use the excuse of needing to pee as a break from running but it’s also a great hydration gauge. While cruising down a fire road, I pulled to the side to relieve my knees and, well, my bladder. Just as I was about to, two gals came barreling down the trail with huge smiles and glitter on their faces. I quickly gathered myself and held it in, deciding instead to introduce myself. Their names were Tori Sailor and Amanda Paszko, from Salt Lake City, Utah. They had met at a local dog park, and their ultra-running journey started when Tori sent a message to their friend group, asking who’d join her for a race. Amanda was the smart one who took her up on it.
We ended up sharing nearly 20 miles together, including a stunning sunset. If it hadn’t been for Amanda teaching me how to use Matt’s headlamp when the moon rose, I might’ve still been out there, lost in the woods. Kodiak 100 was their first 100-mile race, and before participating, they’d signed up for the Tahoe 200 on a whim - and they both got in…
As we were cruising, I saw Vance Peters barreling down the fire road on his gravel bike. To make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, I screamed, “Yo! What’s your name?!” He quickly replied, “Vance!” and of course we recognized each other. The Florida flow bros who left the east coast for the west and who met outside a diner, exchanging a parking sign to lock our bikes. Oh, how small the world is. We hugged deeply and went our separate ways.
Our party lasted until Tori pulled off, exemplifying what a boot and rally truly was, as I kept on running. It was completely dark at this point and had they not arrived at the aid station a few minutes later, I would’ve told the aid station workers that two gals may have gone off course.
At that same aid station, I re-encountered the Bang energy guy - Brent Bozarth. He made a comment about the race being too fast and how excited he was to pass everyone who went out too hot by mile 70. I immediately knew that he was someone I wanted to stick with. He left shortly ahead of me and after making sure Tori was okay, I moved on as well. When I caught back up to Brent, he was deeply entranced in one of the Harry Potter audiobooks. He told me that music only lasts so long but audiobooks kept him entertained for hours on end.
A few minutes later, Tori and Amanda caught back up to us and the four of us ran together for a while until Brent and I pulled over to pee, and just like that, it was back to the two of us.
Brent and I continued our adventure in the dark - mile after mile, hour after hour, we stuck together. Around mile 50, we crossed paths with Seb on an out and back section. I could tell he wasn’t doing so hot - he struggled to recognize my voice in the dark after I yelled out his name, “Gabe?” he said. I could tell he was hurting but also knew how much of a stubborn asshole he could be at times, so I wasn’t expecting him to stop anytime soon.
Next stop was meeting my dad at mile 60 and his support was critical for both Seb’s and my race. He calmly brought me to the car, where I offloaded unneeded gear, ate a bowl of white rice, and he shook out my legs. By then, it was around 4 AM, and I was fighting to stay awake.
As soon as Brent and I left the aid station, we were greeted by a 1,300 ft, 4 mile climb - not my favorite. We made it to the top with the sun rising and the moon setting, closing another chapter of the race.
I wasn’t too excited about the next 26 miles because it was the same loop we’d just done, except this time it was sunny and 80+ degrees with no breeze. That section kicked my ass, and it’s mostly a blur.
During that stretch, there were many times where I wanted Brent to go ahead without me - I felt guilty for slowing him down. But I knew even if I asked, he’d probably tell me to fuck off and keep going because he was having more fun with me than without.
During that second loop he made two comments that really stuck with me:
“I know you won’t admit you’re fading, but I can tell you are. What do we need to do to get you back in rhythm?” After I mentioned discomfort in my knees: “Deal with it. You’ve still got your feet, hips, quads, back, etc.”
He wasn’t wrong, so I anchored myself in my “why” and kept moving to mile 82, where I met my dad again. He could tell I wasn’t eating enough, so I laid down and refueled with pancakes, a few bites of a McDonald’s hashbrown, and black tea to cleanse my palate. As I got up, Vance was there again, just to say hello before he left for an Ed Op in Joshua Tree.
Per usual, Brent was patiently waiting for me at the aid station. As we headed out, Vance walked with us for a bit before we gave each other our final hugs and made our way up the climb again.
Since I knew I was going to finish, my spirits were high as Brent and I hustled up the second to last big climb. I hadn’t listened to music until that point, but I decided to throw on “When Will We Land” by Barry Can’t Swim. After that experience, I’m convinced we may never land - so just enjoy the flight.
With the finish in the bag, Brent and I savored the final 15 miles together with one rule: no one running the 100-miler would pass us, and if we saw anyone ahead, we’d pass them. We managed to pass five people, sneaking our way into 94th and 96th place.
When I crossed the finish line, I broke down in tears of joy. This race meant so much to me - a comeback story nearly three years in the making. Now, it’s time to rest, relax, and lean into avenues outside of running.
Thank you to everyone who reached out with words of encouragement and who tracked me along the way. I couldn’t of done it without your positivity 💚
Here’s what I learned and was reminded from running my second 100-mile race (in no particular order):
Positivity is a mindset. By not choosing to be positive, you not only harm yourself but the people around you.
Human beings are magnificent and we’re meant to explore our own limitations. Do it before it’s too late.
Discomfort is part of life. Deal with it and move on.
Progress takes time. Comparing my first to my second 100-miler, I’ve significantly improved my mental and physical capacity. It’s taken four years.
Don’t take yourself too seriously. We’re all just a bunch of stardust floating on a rock at moving 67,000 mph.
Connection to humanity is the unfolding of love in action.