The 2019 Yeti 100

We all have monsters.  Those torturous inner demons that terrorize us with negative thoughts and confidence crushing uncertainty.  Some of us deal with monsters more frequently, while others are skilled at keeping them locked up inside.  But they are always there.  And when things get tough, they show up, armed with crippling doubt that can shake even the strongest of us.  They particularly love to feed on big, scary goals, making ultramarathons the perfect hunting ground, and forcing runners to not only overcome tremendous physical demands, but mental ones as well.  In the past, I tried to keep my monster at a safe distance, figuring if I could keep him at bay, he couldn’t do any damage.  That changed in August of 2019, when I watched my daughter go to war with hers. 

August 31, 2019

“I don’t think I can do this!  I can’t get on.  I can’t get on!”  I watched as McKenny navigated some serious mental warfare as the couple in front of us climbed aboard the Loch Ness Monster roller coaster at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg.  She was terrified.  Tears started rolling down her cheeks and her hands began to shake.  You may be thinking I am the worst father to ever walk the earth for taking my 11-year-old on such an intense attraction.  But it is important to note that it was not my idea to ride the coaster.  It was hers. 

Deep down, she really wanted to experience the thrill, but as the moment approached for her to take the physical action to make it happen, she came face to face with her own monster.  He had emerged from the depths of his cave, and although I could not see him, he fully occupied her mind.  He bared his teeth and told her she wasn’t strong enough.  He promised her that if she went forward that he would devour her.  Rationality had gone out the window.  She knew cognitively that the ride was safe, but it didn’t matter.  She was in full fight or flight mode.  It felt like life or death.

The Battle Within

Outwardly it appeared there was no way she was going to win this.  But I knew what she had in her.  I talked her through some breathing and reminded her that if she didn’t conquer this now, she would not be able to enjoy the rest of the day until she came back and did it.  Because that is just who she is. 

Her demeanor did not change, but when the next car pulled up in front of us, she slowly climbed in and sat back.  The tears were still falling.  It took every bit of restraint she could muster to not get up and run towards the exit.  2 minutes later, after clenching her teeth through the climb and descent of the first stomach churning drop, she was screaming ecstatically at the top of her lungs.  “I did it!  I did it!”  She had stared down her monster, and he finally looked away.  It was a beautiful thing.

Becoming A Monster Hunter

Like most ultrarunners, I had spent some time in my pain cave.  That dark place that we descend into when things get tough and the voice in our head whispers compelling arguments about why our goals are out of reach.  I had dealt with various doubts and difficulties, but it donned on me that to that point, I hadn’t ever come in direct contact with my monster in the same way I had just witnessed with McKenny.  I had heard him sharpening his claws in the distance, but had not yet experienced the depth of despair that she fought through when he was front and center. 

So, I decided then and there that I would find him and see if I had what it takes to emerge victorious.  When I lined up at the Yeti 100 just a few weeks later, I could feel the anticipation in the air.  It was time to hunt my monster.  And as the day progressed, I found what I was looking for.      

September 27, 2019 – The Yeti 100 Endurance Run

Fifteen miles to go.  It might as well have been a thousand.  The sun had set hours ago, and I was plodding along in the darkness on the Virginia Creeper Trail.  Looking ahead and behind me, it was clear I was the only runner on this stretch.  I had recently passed through the Damascus aid station, and despite temps in the high 80’s (and running out of fluid twice earlier in the day), the first 85ish miles of the race had gone exceptionally well.  But now, after leaving the energy of Damascus behind, I was vulnerable.  My world had been reduced to the 20 feet in front of me, dimly lit by my headlamp, which made progress feel non-existent.  I knew I was passing by trees, and buildings, and even cows, but they all remained hidden in the pitch-black night. 

I could feel the mental shift taking place, and it was like I had stepped on an elevator that was descending into my pain cave.  My monster was close.  If I listened intently, I could almost hear him breathing in the shadows.  This was it.  We were about to come face to face.  Instinctively, I knew he had been waiting for this moment all day as well.  He had come to dismantle my determination.  But I had a goal. And I was willing to fight for it.    

19 hours and 30 Minutes

Prior to toeing the start line at Whitetop Station, I had set a personal race goal of finishing the Yeti 100 in less than 19 hours and 30 minutes.  It was aggressive.  Like, really aggressive.  But based on my first 100-mile finish at the 2018 Umstead in 21 hours and 39 minutes, I felt that it was achievable.  I was in better shape and hoped to draw from the experience gained at Umstead. 

Also, the Yeti elevation profile is just over a third of what Umstead had (3,000 feet of gain vs. 8,000) and most of the climbing takes place in the second leg.  Since Yeti is an out and back, and out again (running 33.4 miles from start line to finish line, back to start line, and then again to the finish), this means that the first and third legs are mostly downhill.  I was hoping this would really play in my favor.  Yep.  19:30.  That was the goal.  Which brings me back to where I started, lonely and exhausted on the Creeper Trail.

The Showdown

It was just after 11:00 pm.  Some quick mental math told me I needed to maintain a 12 minute per mile pace to ensure I finished before my self-imposed 2:30 am cutoff. That meant consistent run / walking for the next 3 hours.  After 85 miles, the thought was overwhelming. 

“There’s no way.  You’ll never make it.  Just slow it down and save yourself the pain.”  My Monster had launched his attack.  But rather than using fear, he was playing a smoother angle.  Instead of threatening to devour me, he pretended to protect me.  “There is no shame in slowing down,” he whispered persuasively.  “You gave it a good shot, but 19:30 is not going to happen.  You’ll feel better if you walk it out for a while.  And you’ll still have a great chance at hitting a PR.” 

Hmmm.  Tempting.  Maybe he was right.  Or maybe this wasn’t even my Monster at all.  Maybe it was just the truth.  The emptiness around me made it difficult to find hope in the situation.  I slowed to a walk.  I felt the energy draining from my legs.

“And even if you don’t hit a PR, coming in under 24 should be no problem.” 

And that’s where he blew it. 

Oh, Hell NO!

The sudden realization that I was considering lowering my standard from 19:30 to 24 hours, nearly a 5-hour slip, snapped me back to reality.  My monster was a liar.  Whatever his motive, his mission was to convince me that I did not have what it takes.  That I had met my limit.  But I had prepared for this moment.  I had visualized my response.  My ability to overcome doubt and despair.  And I wasn’t giving up that easy.  Anger suddenly burned inside me.  “No!” I shouted at myself in the darkness.  “Shut the (insert expletive here) up Reynolds and get moving!”  And move, I did.              

Pain and Suffering

I wish I could tell you that once I made the decision to go all out, everything got better.  It didn’t.  There were moments of relief, but for the most part, it was agony.  Minutes felt like hours and every step was a battle with my monster. 

“You Can’t,” he would scream.  I held my ground. 

“Stop!  It hurts!”  That’s what I came for, I answered back. 

“Your body can’t take it!”  But it is. 

Every time I pushed, my body responded.  Every time I demanded just a little more, it delivered.  Physically, I was able.  I focused on strengthening my mental defenses.

I thought about my wife and daughter and the distance they had traveled to crew me.  I pictured them waiting in the dark at the next aid station, sleep deprived and anxious for my arrival.  I refused to quit on them.  They deserved better.  I thought about all the support from friends and family on social media when I had shared my goal of 19:30 or better.  Nobody would criticize me if I fell short, but I wasn’t about to face them without knowing I had given it my all.  I replayed my conversations with Jeff about how hard this would be, and whether I could find the strength to persevere.  He had faith in me, and I was determined to honor that.  I buckled down and pressed on.  My monster was just as relentless. 

Light at the End of the Tunnel

With 8 miles to go, I stumbled into the Alvarado aid station.  Shannon and McKenny were standing by to help refuel my pack and I could feel the surge of energy as soon as I approached.  Just seeing them filled me with pride and gratitude.  I was wrecked, but this was a major mental milestone.  The last aid station before the finish.  I also had the huge benefit of seeing Jeff and his wife, Cathy, before I headed back out on the trail.  Jeff’s race had come to an end earlier that day and I had been worried about him.  “What are you doing?  You should be running!  You’re killing it!”  His words had power and put a huge smile on my face.  Just the pick-me-up I needed.  With a renewed sense of purpose, I set out for the final leg. 

Not this time, Monster.  Not this time. 

Live to Fight Another Day

After what felt like an eternity, I pulled my phone out of my hydration pack and clumsily sent Shannon a text: “1 mile out.”  Since leaving Alvarado, I had picked up steam.  Everything hurt, and the trail seemed to go on forever, but I was fueled by determination.  I had even passed 2 other runners in the last few miles and had a sneaking suspicion that I was somewhere near the top 10.  My monster slinked along in the shadows, occasionally reminding me of how terrible I felt, but to no avail.  He knew he had been defeated.

A few minutes later, I could hear music through the trees, and my legs almost gave out as I realized how close I was to the finish.  I convinced myself to break into a final run and as I rounded the next corner, I spotted the rainbow-colored archway that I had been chasing all day.  I crossed the finish line in 19 hours and 8 minutes, which proved strong enough to land me in 7^th place overall.  I was stunned!  Shannon was there to greet me, along with Jeff, Cathy, and Jason Green, the one of a kind Yeti Trail Runners race director who is famous for hugging every single person that crosses his finish lines. 

My monster was nowhere to be found.             

Until Next Time

“I met my Monster today.”  They were some of the first words I spoke after finishing that race.  It meant that much to me.  I had set out to find him, and he left quite the impression.  And although I walked away victorious, he hasn’t given up.  He will wait patiently in the deepest, darkest parts of my pain cave, eager for the next opportunity to wage war on my will.  I am confident we will meet again.  In fact, I insist upon it. 

The 2019 Yeti 100 will always hold a special place in my memory.  Not only did I end up conquering my monster and exceeding my personal expectations, I was able to do so with friends and family, which made it all that more special.  Oh yeah…and shortly after, I was admitted to the hospital for rhabdomyolysis and complete kidney failure, but that’s a story for another day.  I guess my monster had inflicted some damage after all.  

Have You Met Your Monster?

Have you met your monster? Or witnessed someone battling theirs? I would love to hear from you.  Drop a comment below or hit me up on Instagram at @go_be_awesome. 

You can also shoot us an email at [email protected]. And don’t forget to head over to our Video and Blog pages for more content!