We're almost 2 weeks post-race now. To be honest, I'd liked to have reflected on the race about a week ago, but life has just not given me a great chance to prioritize that.
The Queeny Backyard Ultra is a last-man-standing running event in St. Louis, MO that follows the typical backyard ultra format - 4.167 miles every hour, on the hour, until one runner remains. This year's event was a Silver Ticket race, which means the winner secures a spot on Team USA, and competes at Big's Backyard Ultra in October. This team is compromised of the Top 15 backyard ultra-runners in the country.
I signed up for the race nearly a year ago with the intentions of putting myself in the mix for the silver ticket, even though I knew it would take a far better performance than I'd ever put on.
As if that wasn't enough pressure, in January I decided again to make this a fundraising effort to raise funds for the New Salem Habitat Restoration Project by Menard County Trails & Greenways. Pledge to The Park was formed. I'd set out to collect 60 - $50 pledges, each pledge would then go into a bucket, and after each loop I completed I'd pull a pledge from the bucket - solidifying their $50 donation. I received an overwhelming response of supportive individuals and businesses over the following weeks and was able to fill the bucket with over 90 pledgers come race day. The pressure was on.
The morning of the race, my wife Samantha and our close friend and crew member Rhylee, headed for Queeny Park in our Sprinter van loaded down with supplies to set up camp to keep us going for days. We were permitted to begin setting up camp at 8am, so we arrived no later, aiming to get a spot as close to the start line as possible. When you're running for hours in a backyard ultra, every step matters. A 10 second longer walk to and from camp each hour can add up to several minutes over the duration of the event. We have our camp set-up nearly down to a science at this point, so all went smooth in that regard. My brother, Trey, was also running in the event, so we were all able to team up to help each other set up our camps efficiently.
About 30 minutes prior to race-start, I made a final social media post thanking the Army of Pledgers supporting our fundraiser and informing all to follow Sam's social media coverage of the race. For many, this is the sole reason they follow my stupid running adventures - for Sam's upbeat, unhinged, all-hours social media coverage. Although I'll often roll my eyes as she's got her phone in my face (or other parts of my body), I'm grateful for the work she puts in both on and off camera. In addition, I stated my goals for the race. Although many would have thought my goal was to walk away with a win and the Silver Ticket, the goal in my eyes was different. My goal was to run for as long and far as my body allowed me to; to find my absolute breaking point. If this were to take me to the Silver Ticket win - great. If it would take me to a new personal boundary - I'd have complete satisfaction.
The race was slated to start at 10am on Friday, March 6th. 116 runners gathered in the starting corral and the race director made us take an oath - "If I get lost, hurt, or die - it's my own damn fault!" And then, at 9:58:47am, she rang the bell and we were off on our first loop. At the front of the pack, myself and other experienced backyarders looked at each other with a little confusion. Per the rules of the backyard, each yard is to start precisely one hour after the previous. Typically, yards are started at the top of the hour, down to the second, so as there's no confusion as we all keep tabs on our super-fancy watches and smartphones to know when to be back in the starting corral. While this did cause some confusion and anxiety for some during the first loop, it was thankfully corrected for the subsequent loops, which all started at the top of each hour.
The variety of weather for St. Louis in March can be very broad, and this particular weekend was a great example of just that. Day 1 presented us with unseasonably warm temps with a high around 80 degrees, a nice breeze, and lots of sun. We had to apply sunscreen for the first time of the year, and I was icing down between loops during the afternoon hours in an attempt to keep my core temperature down and preserve some life for the days to come. Despite the heat, day 1 went as expected for me. I met some new faces and the body was holding up well. As the first few hours of night loops passed by, I met my first set of challenges. My brother would drop out just before he was able to complete his 50 mile loop, and I was already starting to get drowsy while running. I tried sleeping in my chair between loops, but didn't have any luck with that. While on loops 12-14, I was really starting to question my life decisions. Why was I doing this? I was scrolling through a long list of excuses in my head - trying to look for ways out. Could I take a fall and fake an injury? Do I just tap out? No. I was on a mission to find my absolute limit, and I had an Army of Pledgers I couldn't let down. I had to troubleshoot.
After loop 14, I went straight back to camp and took a Ketone-IQ shot with caffeine. I'd never taken one of these before, let alone in a race. But I needed the boost and sleep wasn't working. It was just before midnight, I had been really struggling, and we were looking forward to several hours of thunderstorms soon. It worked. I was completely revived during lap 15 and came in the lap about a minute earlier to prepare for the hours of storms that were just minutes away. As soon as I sat in my chair, I hear the race director announce, "We are pausing the race until 4am due to the storms!" That meant a 3+ hour break. I'd never had more than an 18 minute break in a backyard ultra. My crew and I were in a little bit of disbelief. We were unsure whether the race would continue, and if it did, would the silver ticket still be up for grabs? How many other runners would stay to continue? We didn't have many answers, but we had to make the quick decision to secure the tent for the storms and load up a tote of supplies to take to the van - a safer and slightly more comfortable place to get some sleep and rest during the 3 hour intermission. After downing a protein shake and granola bar and a wardrobe change, I laid down on the futon to get some sleep. I struggled to fall asleep as I had just taken caffeine an hour prior, not expecting the storm stand-down, but still managed to get about 90 minutes of sleep - which was far more than I had expected to get all weekend.
As 4am approached, the remaining runners toed the start line once again to resume our stupidity. The heaviest storms had passed, but there were still hours of rain to look forward to. I wasn't sure how I'd feel following the 3 hour break and ~62 miles on the legs already, but once we got moving again, I was renewed. I didn't mind running in the rain, but it did present some new challenges. There were several spots on the course that had become flooded, meaning no way around submerging your feet. In addition, about 0.5 mile of the course turned into a soupy mud-pit. Neither of these bothered me much, but it meant running on wet, muddy, waterlogged feet for most of the day Saturday - which I knew could turn into foot problems later in the race.
At the 1pm hour on Saturday, we'd finally completed the 100 mile loop. This felt a little different than normal, most backyard ultras start around 7am, so you're reaching that 100 mile mark early the next morning. This one, however, started at 10am with an additional 3 hour delay due to the storms. Despite the challenges day 1 presented, 20 runners still remain. At most backyard ultras I've ran, I usually enter with a mindset that the first 12 loops are somewhat of the "buy-in" period; or the entry fee to the real race. I just go through the motions, running my own race, having some fun while stacking brick by brick. For this Silver Ticket event, I considered 24 loops the "buy-in." It was the first time it had even crossed my mind to get an idea of how many other runners were left.
As the loops passed by on Saturday, I was feeling completely locked in. I'd found my rhythm, I put forth my "buy-in," made it through night 1, and everything was hitting on all cylinders. I was also blessed with so many visitors on Saturday - my dad, brother and sister and their significant others, my in-laws, and most importantly - my kids, Denver and Aspen. I don't need much support for these things, I do these things primarily for myself. I do enjoy seeing my kids during these longer events, because quite frankly I miss them after a couple of days. But as I left camp on my 26th loop and saw all of my family who had taken the time out of their weekend to come watch me for a few minutes every hour, it hit me. My cup was so full that it had started to overflow out of my eyes as I led the group of remaining runners up the first climb of the loop. I gathered myself, texted Sam that I wanted a group picture first thing when I returned to camp, and continued to crush the day.
As night 2 approached, I found myself in robot mode. I'd been on a steady caffeine drip as needed, I'd been checking all the boxes, and just going through the motions. While the nights are always challenging, there was no end in sight. After the 36th loop at midnight that night, I'd reached my backyard ultra PR - 150 miles, and 8 runners remained. I was able to get some sleep during night 2, laying down on a cot between loops, logging a few minutes several times throughout the night. We weren't done with the Midwestern spring weather, either. But, instead of 80 degrees or heavy storms, night 2 brought cold temps - getting down to 33 degrees after a wet, gloomy day.
After 37 loops, only 5 runners remained - Stephanie Rosebaugh, Cody Eubanks, Jeff Walker, Nick Steel, and myself. The five of us were widely respected as the top dogs entering the race, and the ones that could take the race into deep waters. I, myself, was the least qualified of the five. An hour later, Cody had dropped. That left four of us. As a side note, somewhere in here Daylight Savings Time started and the time changed. It didn't affect the runners much, but it did cause some confusion within the race timing tent, and they would go on to tell us that we'd ran 4.19 miles further than we actually had at that point. As the next few hours passed, I continued in my rhythm. I was running by myself at the front of the pack for the most part, but I noticed Stephanie and Nick started to show some signs of fatigue. After loop 41, Stephanie dropped. 3 of us remained.
As we were nearing the end of night 2, maybe an hour or two before sunrise, I was finishing the last climb of the loop with about 0.5 mile to camp, and I feel something strike me in the back of the head. Granted, I am quite sleep deprived at this point, but I'm 97% sure I wasn't hallucinating. Initially, I thought maybe a tree branch had fallen and struck me, but what hit me almost felt soft. It definitely got my attention and woke me up, but it didn't daze me. I come to a stop to get my bearings and look up to find an owl landing in a tree in front of me. I got hit in the head by a fucking owl. I'm still unsure of whether it was intentional or not, luckily I was wearing a hat and it didn't seem as if the owl was trying to claw me. If anything, it grabbed my attention and sucked me out of my zombie-mode death march.
Shortly after this loop, I spent some time talking to Jeff for the first time. He'd been running his own race towards the back of the pack all weekend, while I'd been running my own towards the front of the pack. He chose to run a faster loop to get back in time to sleep, and seemed like he was in a good state keep going for many more hours. As the sun came up to start day 3, I was feeling revived once again. At this point we were about 42 loops in, and they all started to run together at this point, so I have a hard time recalling when specific moments happened. At the start of day 3 however, it seemed all 3 of us were feeling strong aside from a little sleep deprivation.
I made a wardrobe change to start the day and threw on our new Hard To Kill shirt. It was to be the theme of the day. I kept stacking brick by brick, lap after lap as the day went on. And so did Jeff and Nick. Sometime around the 200 mile mark, Nick mentioned to me that he was dealing with some shin pain, and that he was considering dropping soon. Nick Steel is an incredible runner, attempting to complete 30 - 100+ mile races this year. I knew Nick before Queeny, but not very well. So, when he mentioned that he was keeping an eye on his shin pain and considering dropping soon, I wasn't sure how to process that, so I kept running my own race. Was he trying to play mind games or is he being genuine? Turns out Nick is a very genuine dude, but he wasn't dropping anytime soon.
I continued within my rhythm throughout the day, but fatigue and pain were gradually building. But I'm hard to kill, and that was my mantra. And even though it felt like I was slowing down, I consistently kept laying down 48-minute splits and looking strong. At some point in the afternoon, I caught a look at Jeff back at camp. He was laid back in a reclining chair, and to me he looked sun-burnt and fatigued. Nick was still dealing with the shin pain, I thought I had them on the ropes. For the first time of the weekend, about 212 miles into this ultra, I'd let another runner's race influence mine. I downed a can of Black Rifle coffee, sent Iron Man through my headphones at max volume, and took off the start line near 8:00/mi pace - trying to make a statement that I'm still fresh. Ironically, it would be the turning point of my race.
As I approached the first downhill about 1/4 mile into the course, I immediately noticed multiple blisters on my feet causing pain and what felt like a toenail floating around in my sock - which turned out to be a blister underneath of my toenail. Seconds later, Jeff showed up behind me. He wasn't struggling at all? He was running a fast loop so he could get an afternoon nap. My morale took a 180-degree turn in minutes. I knew that I made a mistake, and on top of that I had to power through excruciating foot pain now. What I hadn't been showing is that I had already been dealing with hip pain, achilles pain, and hamstring pain. To cope with all of these meant altering my running form to compensate for whichever pain was the most extreme at the time, which in turn, would compound the impact on the other areas. I continued like this over the next couple of loops, but my morale (and body) had changed. I went into survival mode, in hopes that something would turn around. The sleep deprivation was kicking in to top things off, but I was still hard to kill, and I needed to finish what I started - to find my absolute breaking point, and to raise as much money as I could for our fundraiser.
My new "survival mode" mindset would result in taking less care for myself. I was eating less calories and stopped addressing the growing pains. As the bell rang for the start of the 55th loop, my stride became a limp, and it would be the first time I'd show any signs of weakness to my peers. My hamstring had become tight after compensating for the other pains, and each step would send a shock through my leg. I continued on in this limp/walk/run for about half of a mile before approaching the first big climb on the loop. I had struggled to make it this far and looked down at my watch to see that my average pace was about 18:00/mile. I wouldn't make it back within the hour at that rate. After a short internal battle with myself, I decided to call it quits. I tried finding a shortcut back to camp, with no luck, so I turned around the way I'd came and texted Sam, "Heading back."
Within seconds she replied, "No you're not" "CAM HANES" "Just messaged me," with a screenshot of an encouraging message from Cameron Hanes - a well-known bowhunter/ultra-runner that has inspired me for years. What the fuck. I didn't know what to think. How did he know this race was going on - let alone that I was struggling? I listened to my wife, turned around, and started digging for every ounce of life left. I didn't know if it would be possible to make it back in time, but I decided to give it everything I had. Minutes later, I got a phone call from Nick Steel. I was so far back that he could no longer see my headlamp, and he called to encourage my to keep going and finish the loop - a true testament to the real person that Nick is. The pain hadn't subsided, but my willpower had returned. I finished the 55th loop with 2-3 minutes to spare.
Sam and Rhylee had moved a chair and some aid to the start line in anticipation that I may not make it back in time to get to and from our tent. I was in a little bit of disbelief and a load of pain. I downed some Tylenol and ibuprofen, took some sips of caffeine, and hobbled to the start line for loop 56. The bell rang, and I limped off the line while Jeff and Nick seemed to have taken advantage of the life I lost as they ran off into the darkness. Loop 55 had taken everything I had. This time I made it less than 1/4 mile down the course before I decided that it was all that was in the cards for me that weekend and that the "hard to kill" had been killed. I turned around and limped back to camp. I met the race director to deliver the news and met my wife with a long hug.
I wasn't upset, I was content. I went back to the tent to gather my thoughts. I was a little irritated with myself over the mistakes I made, but I was still content. Part of the backyard is a game, it can be a chess match, and I made the wrong move. At the end of the day, though, my goal was simple - to run for as long as my body allowed me to; to find my absolute breaking point. While there's still a little bit of internal debate, I do believe I achieved that goal. In addition, I completed 55 loops and 230+ miles to crush my previous backyard ultra PR of 35 loops and 146 miles. More importantly, I'd raised awareness and drawn 55 names to donate to our local trails. This sparked several separate donations as well, to bring our group donation upwards of $4500, for which I am most proud of.
Queeny '26 is just a great example of what you can do when you show up, believe in yourself, and live in the moment. I encountered several setbacks during my training block leading up to Queeny, and I could write a long list of excuses as to how I wasn't as prepared as I could have been for the event. But when the show starts, none of those things matter. We'd rallied our troops and prepared for war. And that Friday morning, I threw on the mesh cowboy hat and locked the fuck in - willing to leave everything I had out at Queeny Park to reach my goal.
After 55+ hours of running and 230+ miles completed, I found my new backyard ultra "limit." But to reiterate what I stated in my Cocodona blog, the limits don't actually exist. Someday I'll return to the backyard scene on a hunt to unlock a new limit. And when that day comes, you best bet I'll show up in a mesh cowboy hat - Hard To Kill - and willing to fight until my dying last breath.
Thank you all for your support.
