See the article in The Observer about my (past) Collegiate Peaks Loop Women’s Fastest Known Time: Opelika resident, Auburn University assistant professor records fastest known time on a Colorado trail last month.

Fastest Known Time Link: Collegiate Loop

The path to choosing to attempt to set the women’s FKT for the Collegiate Trail Loop is, as they often are, happenstance and timing. I decided in the summer of 2019 that I wanted to get into the (then) new FKT thing and started looking for trails that wouldn’t be impossibly hot the first week of August and were accessible from Alabama. I always take the first two weeks of August off as a refresh before the next semester starts, so it was the best time to make a longer trail FKT work. After loads of googling and checking routes against the FKT site, I settled on the Collegiate Trail Loop. Because it was in the mountains of Colorado, it wouldn’t be too hot the whole time. I could somewhat easily access it from Alabama via the Denver airport and renting a car. It was settled, mostly.

In retrospect, I’m writing this almost four years since setting the FKT, I can’t believe I went into it knowing as little as I do and leaving as much as I did up to chance. The week prior to the FKT, I didn’t have any crew, any pacers, no support at all. I packed for two outcomes: 1) an unsupported loop where I carried everything on my back; and 2) a support loop where I had someone, at a minimum, at the beginning and end of each day. Packing up, option one seemed much more likely. I’d done some posting on social media about it, but I’d largely received negative feedback along the lines of – why would you want to do this and/or your plan seems bad. Those were pretty demoralizing, but the flight was booked, and I was committed to doing some sort of hike. My flight had me there for 10 days, and I figured I had 10 days to do what I could.

I should stop here to note that, because I’m writing this four years later, that it is likely that some things will be incorrect or out of place. I’ve written about the salient moments, they things that stand out still today, but it is possible and, indeed, likely, that my memory is faulty. Unfortunately, I lost the writeup I did shortly after finishing the attempt, but that account is lost to the interwebs and deleted google account files, somewhere.

Luckily, the week before the attempt it seemed some things were starting to fall into place. Kris (Kargile) reached out and said he might be able to support some parts of the attempt (he ended up supporting the entire loop), and two other people reached out and said they could pace some of the attempts. Since I wasn’t sure heading to Buena Vista, where I’d start the attempt, who would be able to be there, I still packed for options one and two (but I really hoped that option two, a supported FKT attempt) would happen. I was committed to starting, and I decided I’d figure out the rest as I went. I was completely at peace with this unknowing in a way that I can’t quite fathom sitting here today. There is something about ultrarunning and FKT setting that allows me to leave much more up to fate that I would in my normal life. That might be, in part, because I know that each race, each day, will play out as it will without me having any control over it whatsoever. It’s like travel; I could get upset about every flight delay, or I could buy a few good books and settle in until the travels gods decide I have permission to leave. Option two is much better for my soul.

With some plans falling into place, I arrived in Buena Vista totally dehydrated. I was coming from humid Alabama in the summer to dry and high Colorado in the summer, and my body felt the shift. I arrived and checked into my airbnb in Buena Vista, and Kris arrived shortly after. Along with Thomas, the person supporting me from the start the next morning, we chatted about logistics for the start. I immediately felt comfortable with Kris, and it felt right and natural and normal that he would be there. We chatted for an hour or so, agreed on a pick-up time, and I went to bed. The Air BNB agreed to let me leave my rental car there during the attempt (fun fact, they also had canned oxygen for guests as apparently some visitors to Buena Vista can’t handle the elevation. For some reason, I’ve never struggled with elevation; it must be because I spent most of my youth and 20’s living at 5,000 feet or higher. This fact didn’t stop almost everyone from telling me, pre-FKT, that I wouldn’t be able to handle the elevation, nor did it stop everyone from telling me post-FKT how much the elevation affected me despite my lived experience to the contrary).

Day 1

I didn’t sleep well the night before the attempt. It was hot in my room, and I’m a hot sleeper. It didn’t matter, anyway – the night before a big attempt is hardly the time to start recouping sleep. I woke up as planned the next morning, and packed everything up to head to the start. I left a suitcase full of my post-FKT attempt attire in my rental car, and we headed up to the mountain. Thomas was ready and waiting, and after taking a few photos and recording a video, I started my InReach and my watch, and I was off. The weather was perfect; cool but not too cold, and I quickly warmed to the trails. The first 20 miles flew by. We were running in terrain that Thomas was very familiar with, and as we got close to Leadville, he talked about the portions of the trail we were on that were also a part of the Leadville races. Whenever possible (e.g., with road access), Kris met us to refill water and snacks.

Thomas left around mile 26, and I headed off on my own. While I was sad to see him go – we’d had a wonderful time running together, and I’d made a fast friend – it felt right to finally have a chance to process all of the emotions I’d been feeling the past 24-hours. In part, I couldn’t believe this was actually happening – I was doing this. Day 1, I reached the turnaround of the loop (I’d been heading North), and as I started turning south for the longest leg of the loop, it felt like a significant moment in the attempt.

A few miles after Thomas left, I started up my first big climb of the day – and, really, my life. I was climbing to the top of Hope Pass. I don’t want to say that I went into the attempt overconfident – that is definitely not true. I had no idea if 160 miles plus extreme elevation gains was even something that I was capable of. But I definitely had no idea what it was like to climb past 12,000 feet. I started up the pass feeling good, but unlike anything I’d ever climbed before. The ascent was steep and never ending. I’d never before (and never since) had to stop on a climb, but I found myself wanting, needing to stop. It was hard, and I was working too hard to eat. The hardest part of the ascent took over two hours (maybe more, maybe less, I can’t remember exactly), and I arrived completely spent. I rested for a second to eat, and headed down.

Which was worse. It was so steep and after a long day of running, I had nothing left. I finally gave in and sat on my heels and left gravity slide me down the mountain. When I finally reached the bottom, I felt like I had given everything I had. I looked ahead on the trail and decided that I wanted to stop six miles earlier than I’d planned (and where I told Kris I would stop). This was a most terrible plan. Despite years of training on both of our parts on navigating with a group in the outdoors, we hadn’t established a plan for the end of the day nor had we established a safety protocol (basically, what we will do if either person doesn’t arrived to the agreed-upon spot at the agreed-upon time). And, because we were in the mountains, we didn’t have particularly good cell coverage. Messaging Kris from my InReach would do nothing if he didn’t have cell coverage to receive those text messages. So, while I messaged him to let him know where I was going to stop; he was setting up camp at the place we agreed that I’d stop. I reached my new stop point and sat down in the parking lot to wait for Kris and waited. And waited. 45 minutes later, I decided he must not be able to find me, so I started walking down the road in the direction I thought he would be coming (another #fail, I should have stayed where I’d told him I was so once he found coverage, he knew where to find me). As I walked, I reckoned with the fact that I totally could have taken this same route… on the trail. Yet, I’d committed to this shorter day and, finally, was picked up by a total stranger who took me to a ghost town nearer to where Kris was setting up. I sat there for another 30 minutes, taking pictures, until Kris started to get worried that I hadn’t arrived yet, and drove down from his spot to find me. Upon reflection, it was pure luck that we managed to find each other without cell coverage. Once we got to camp, he made me the best stir-fry I’ve ever eaten in my life, complete with fresh avocados. Over dinner, we established our safety protocol, and I went to bed.

Day 2

Despite the knowledge that I absolutely could have made it to the originally agreed-upon stopping point the day before and that this meant I’d have much longer days ahead, I let the shorter first day be what it was, and I started day 2 with a ton of energy. Kris got me back to the trail where I’d stopped the night before, and while he headed back to pack up, I headed along the trail. There was a moment of regret when I passed our campsite an hour or so later, but I was feeling good as I headed along the trail. I don’t remember much about the first part of the day except that I realized about mid-day that my plan to fuel with Picky Bars was not working. They are absolutely delicious, but the sticky texture that had worked so well for me in training felt like it was just getting stuck in my throat. I couldn’t face eating them, but as they were all I’d packed, I didn’t have much of a choice. Otherwise, I pushed on.

Kris, in addition to his support duties, was also taking care of all of the social media for the entire attempt. As a part of that, he’d been reaching out and posting in local running groups to see if he could find anyone who was willing to support the event. That is how, mid-afternoon (around 5 or 6 pm), I met my next running partner who only knew that he was going to go with me for what turned out to be the most difficult part of the entire attempt. I was over a marathon in at that point, and because of my early stop the night before, I still had 12 + miles to go before dark. 12 miles in the mountains isn’t normally a big ask, but in the dark and over steep, technical, and snowy terrain (yes, snow in August), these were going to be hard. I knew I had to go, and I was grateful for the support. We headed off. He asked me what I needed from him, and I asked him to just tell me stories. Anything. I just needed someone to talk to me to keep my mind off the pain.

At first, I don’t think he knew exactly how to respond to that request, and he fell back to take pictures (the best pictures of the entire attempt). We were in one of the most beautiful and remote parts of the world that I’d ever been in, and the vistas were stunning. We were also high, and it was really cold. I was wearing shorts after getting unbearably hot the day before, but now all I had was a light jacket. I shivered as I moved and crept across snow and ice fields. Across a notch, I watched a mini avalanche grow in strength as it gathered speed along the slope from me. I watched my step even more carefully so as not to set up an avalanche on my path. I just kept moving as it got dark and colder. Four hours in, we finally started to descend, and as it warmed up, I started to pick up speed). We sprinted into camp after 10 pm. Kris had set up my tent, and I was exhausted, but he had to bring my running partner back into town. I was so cold and had bought a sleeping bag not realizing what temperatures I’d see in the mountains of Colorado in August, and I couldn’t imagine being cold and along in the campsite. In another oversight, I decided to go with Kris instead of packing in, and we drove the hour plus drive into town over bumpy terrain that didn’t allow any sleep. Hungry and tired, we finally arrived into the town after midnight. Realizing that another long drive in would mean an even later bedtime, we got a hotel in Buena Vista for the night.

The hotel was absolutely wonderful, but by the time we checked in and got settled, it was way past midnight. I hadn’t eaten any dinner, and the road had been so bad that I couldn’t sleep.

Day 3

We maybe got four hours of sleep(ish), before we had to head back up the road (an hour or so’s drive, by my recollection) to get back to the trailhead where I’d stopped for the night. I didn’t feel good – my stomach was a mess. I should have stayed at the campsite and focused sleep (maybe borrowing an extra blanket). But, the trail from where I started was really beautiful, and despite the tired everything, I started well for the day.

I don’t remember much about Day 3. I just pushed and focused on forward progress. By this time, my legs were both well and truly thrashed but also starting to adapt to the hills. Kris’s selection of Salted Caramel Honey Stinger Waffles had finally created a fueling system that worked for me, and my taste buds didn’t tire of them (and still haven’t, four+ years later). While Day 4 was going to be my longest day, I also had someone slated to be there for most of it; we were meeting him at our final camping site that night, so I knew that today was just a day to grind and push.

Early in the afternoon on Day 3, Kris met me around Monarch Pass, and we decided it might be a good idea to try to use the trekking poles I’d brought with me but hadn’t used yet. Although it might have been mental, heading up the next pass with those poles made a world of difference; suddenly, my arms were bearing some of the weight, and it made the pass feel good (although not easy, but differently hard). Kris and I had arranged to meet at the point of the loop where it turned north again, but upon arrival, I discovered that the only vehicle that could have made the turnaround point would have been a helicopter or a bike. Communication was always rough, but I figured that Kris would have figured this out (he had), and I made the turn and headed to the campsite for the night.

Heading north again felt like a major milestone, and my spirits were high as I headed into the camp. Brian, who was joining me for day 4 was already at the campsite. It was my earliest night so far, and I enjoyed getting to know Brian a bit while Kris cooked dinner (the same as night one, my requested vegetable stir fry with an entire avocado stirred in). Once the bugs got too bad to sit outside, I headed into my tent to eat a Perfect Bar and read a bit before falling asleep. Again, I was cold but not as cold as other nights, and it felt good to be almost to what I hoped would be the final day.

Day 4

I woke to a beautiful morning. While I didn’t know what the day would hold, I really wanted to finish in four days. I was excited to run with Brian, an experienced ultrarunner and running coach, and I was ready to get on the road. I felt hopeful as I settled into a slow jog that morning. I’d warned Brian that I’d be slow, and he must have been very accustomed to the role of pacer, and he settled into a gentle rhythm where he was content to do most of the talking while I enjoyed the companionship and distraction from the pain and distance that day.

We were at lower elevations for most of the day, so it started to get really hot. I got a more than a bit dehydrated and really wasn’t doing well as we met Kris mid-morning. He assessed the situation and got me a lot of very salty nuts, and with a handful of nuts in my hand, I headed back onto the trail. It was still hot, but the salt and food helped (I’d never run out of water, I’d just likely stopped being hydrated by it). We kept moving, albeit slowly.

The next and perhaps biggest challenge hit as we started ascending again. As is typical in the Western Mountains, a thunderstorm moves in around midafternoon, and it’s a good idea to be below the treeline before the storm hits. So far, while storms had hit, they hadn’t been bad or I’d been low enough to avoid them. My luck would end today, so as we started heading up the second to last major climb of the day, it started to rain and then to pour.

Because it had been so hot, I had been in my most minimal gear with just a rain jacket in my pack. As we climbed, it got colder and colder. We were moving the fastest I’d moved the entire attempt, but I was so cold that I couldn’t stop shivering, even at the pace I was moving. I’d put on my light rain shell pretty early in the storm, but I couldn’t get warm as the temperature dropped. Brian was hurting too, both from the mileage that day but mostly from the cold, and when I thought we were four or five miles from where we were slated to meet Kris, I told Brian to go ahead and meet Kris – I was worried about him, and I hoped that he could tell Kris to get things ready for a very cold me.

At the time I didn’t realize, but now I know that I got dangerously close to scary levels of hypothermia. Once alone, I had to stop a few times to make sure I was on the right trail, and I could barely figure out how to use my phone. My fingers were claws and mostly useless. I ran for what felt like forever until I finally reached Kris and Brian. Kris was ready for me (and Brian was already in the back of Kris’s truck, warming up). Kris bundled me into the front seat of the truck with the heat on high. I knew I had to get out of my wet clothes and into my warmer gear, and while I awkwardly did that without changing in front of anyone, Kris made me hot chocolate and sent food my way. I ate an entire can of Pringles and gratefully drank the hot chocolate, but it still took 30 + minutes to stop shivering so badly that I couldn’t function. I was so close to the end that I knew I had to get back out there, so I put on fresh socks and readied myself for the final push.

Brian was in bad shape, so I headed to do the final 9 (or so) miles alone. Since Pringles seemed to be working well for me, I took a baggy full of more Pringles, and I headed into another climb. It was still cold, but I was warmly attired and dry now, and I welcomed the climb for the heat that it would hopefully bring back into my body.

While it might have been nice to have someone for the final miles on the trail, at this point, I knew I was going to finish in four days. As hard as it had been, and despite the accumulated miles in my legs, I was suddenly sad to be leaving the trail. While I wanted to be done, desperately, I also wanted this last little bit to stretch out a bit longer. As I climbed and descended, over and over, and night fell, I went back through the last three days. It was hard to imagine how much had happened and how far I’d gone in just four days. It felt like a lifetime, and I felt different somehow. I was different, but it would take a few months to figure out how.

As it got later, I started to look for evidence of civilization that would tell me I was almost done. I wasn’t moving well, and my headlamp was dying, so I was half stumbling down the trail. Finally, I could hear Kris and Brian cheering, and I hobbled into camp. My official time was 3 days, 16 hours, 32 minutes and 0 seconds. A little less than a year later, it was beat. The current record is held by Courtney Dauwalter, and it is an amazing 1 day, 16 hours, 14 minutes, and 20 seconds.

I’ll go back, someday.