Katelyn Kommer

Sprinting down a mountain, I finally caught a glimpse of the mile 24 aid station and felt some sort of relief. For the last couple of hours, black clouds had gathered ominously over Gunnison Valley, where hundreds of runners were climbing up and over mountain passes. As I descended, the sky finally broke. First, a swirl of yellow leaves engulfed me as I floated down a beautiful singletrack trail. Preoccupied by the beauty of this moment, I didn’t notice when hail first pelted my exposed face. As I fought to shield myself from these stinging, relentless ice balls, a crack of thunder boomed loud enough to shake me to my core. Seconds later, I watched a lightning bolt strike a hill across the valley. All pain disappeared, and I concentrated on getting to that aid station as fast as possible. The Crested Butte Ultra Events put on by Mad Moose were grit testing at its finest; as all runners exposed themselves to treacherous weather conditions at lung-bursting elevations.

Life didn’t quite go as planned for me this summer. I signed up for a 55k on October 1st in Crested Butte Colorado last spring, with the intention of training hard and racing my heart out. While I did dedicate many days off to long runs and sacrificed social plans in order to wake up early, the few weeks leading up to the race took a serious toll on my body. I’m constantly trying to strike a balance between living in the moment and celebrating life with friends and family, while prioritizing training. Though I don’t regret one day of it, I spent most of September regressing in fitness, while race day loomed over my head.

Living in Salt Lake City, I sleep every night at about 5,000 feet and within 30 minutes can train at 8,000-10,000 feet in elevation. I’m extremely well positioned to tackle a high-altitude race, and compete. However, travel plans lined up that put me at sea level for three weeks right before the race. The town of Crested Butte, Colorado is at about 9,000 feet, and the race climbed up to 11,500 feet. Though I certainly didn’t lose all of my fitness and acclimation while traveling with friends and family, I felt out of breath after climbing the stairs to our airbnb the night before the race. I chugged plenty of electrolytes, tried to get some sleep, and vowed to just focus on the beauty around me during tomorrow’s adventure.

I toed the starting line with four amazing friends. We all caravanned from Salt Lake together, and spent the morning discussing potential weather outcomes and how we could possibly prepare for being wet and cold for 7+ hours. Though conditions were less than ideal, I was excited in a masochistic way to test my limits as it comes to mental strength. I knew physically I would be able to cross the finish line, but running through hours of rain in ~40 degrees is a different kind of challenge. I loaded my running vest with an extra layer, hand warmers, an emergency blanket, and enough snacks to last me a few more hours than anticipated.

Though all the runners were anxiously awaiting the forecasted storm, the first few morning hours were absolutely divine. We were treated to an amazing sunrise, and temperatures in the high 30s, as we slowly climbed into the Gunnison Valley. Snow-capped peaks dotted the landscape around us, while bright yellow aspens flooded my vision everywhere I turned. A couple hours in, the dirt road turned into lovely singletrack that wound through huge aspen groves, as the sun filtered its warmth through clouds. It wasn’t until most runners were well over halfway done that the storm hit. I was fortunate enough to have the brief respite of an aid station canopy for a few minutes during the worst of the hail downpour, but absolutely everything was still soaked. The trail turned into a river, and I unknowingly ran the last 10 miles with a pool of water in my rain jacket hood.

I left that last aid station with a group of five other runners, as we chanted “strength in numbers” before taking off into the deluge. When I crossed the finish line a couple hours later, I was able to pour water out of my shoes and my vest still weighed about five pounds. However, I wouldn’t have been able to wipe the smile off my face if I wanted to. All five of my friends and I finished the race through some pretty horrendous weather, and we all had our own stories of how we managed the hail and rain onslaught. My mom who was there to spectate told us that the thunder clapped loud enough to set off car alarms in town. We all shimmied into dry clothes, and enjoyed a post-race PBR around gaggles of soggy runners.

Though I am immensely proud of myself for finishing this race, I’m so glad it’s over. For the last couple of months I’ve felt burned out with running, and hardly logged any miles in the month of September. This lack of excitement indicated to me that I needed to shift my priorities, and stop obsessing over weekly mileage and vert counts. I’m really looking forward to spending this winter primarily on skis and in the climbing gym, while I let my love for running return to me. I know it won’t be long before I’m perusing local races and scheming new routes.