Down to the Very Marrow: My 2016 Hardrock 100

[Author’s Note: Last Friday, for the first time in over four and half years, there was not a Friday column here in AJW’s Taproom and I apologize to all of my loyal readers for that. In my anxiety over the start of the Hardrock 100, I simply didn’t have the bandwidth to write a column. I am back at it, however, today, and I hope to not miss another Friday for at least four and a half more years.]

Real real gone
I got hit by a bow and arrow
got me down to the very marrow
And I’m real real gone

Real real gone
I can’t stand up by myself
Don’t you know I need your help?
And I’m real real gone

Some people say
you can make it on your own
Oh, you can make it if you try
I know better now
You can’t stand up alone
Baby, that is why

I’m real real gone.

-Van Morrison

AJW's TaproomAt about 3 p.m. last Saturday, after covering 91 miles of the Hardrock 100 course in 33 hours, I arrived at the Cunningham Gulch Aid Station scared, shattered, and sad. After a Friday filled with excitement and hope, the night had turned to a whirling pile of despair. I walked slowly down the road stripping off my shirt and dropping my pack by the car. I slumped in a chair and began to cry.

I had dreamt of this day for seven months. Recovering from major hip surgery, I had been focused and disciplined in my rehab and recovery. Once I gained back a fair amount of fitness I had committed myself to getting into the best shape that I could. I thought, in the week leading up to the race, that I was as fit as I had ever been. Then, about half way around the most beautiful race course I had ever run, everything began to unravel.

2016 Hardrock 100 - Andy Jones-Wilkins - Grant-Swamp Pass

Consistent climbing up Grant-Swamp Pass. Photo: Nicklaus Combs

The first two climbs of the day, Putnam and Grant-Swamp, had gone by uneventfully enough. However, upon arriving into Chapman Gulch at mile 18.1, I felt anxiety creeping into me. I wasn’t tired, just uneasy. My normally calm demeanor was being taken over by panic. I am not sure why, but self-doubt was beginning to surface in my mind.

2016 Hardrock 100 - Andy Jones-Wilkins - Chapman

Anxiety creeps into Chapman. Photo: Leon Lutz

I tried to relax on the long steady climb up Oscar’s Pass. I fell into stride with a small group and tried to enjoy the scenery. I was attempting to will myself back to hope, but melancholy dominated. Understanding that side of me well, I knew that digging out of this hole would be difficult if not impossible. On the long descent into Telluride I could not find a rhythm, I fell twice, and seemed to be unsteady on my feet and unfocused in my brain. Arriving in Telluride I felt completely off my game.

2016 Hardrock 100 - Andy Jones-Wilkins - Oscars Pass

The melancholy climb up Oscar’s. Photo: Joe Azze

Even on a good day, leaving Telluride is difficult as I knew I was facing the prospect of the long, and this year, hot, climb up to Virginius Pass. I took solace in the fact that good friends Roch Horton, Jared Campbell, and Ty Draney were awaiting me up there, but it didn’t seem to help keep the fatigue from pouring inexorably into my body. Nothing hurt, everything was just slowing down and becoming more labored.

From the top of Virginius, I enjoyed the snow and scree slide down to Governor’s Basin and after a quick stop at the aid station I really did enjoy the seven-mile road descent down Camp Bird Road into Ouray. Once in Ouray, I tried to convince myself I was coming back to life. I arrived there at 6 p.m. on the dot, so was pleased with that split and after fueling up a bit I was looking forward to jumping back on the trail with my pacer and good friend Scott Wolfe. Scott has paced me on some of my best days, so I was hopeful that his positive spirit and great sense of humor would help me turn a corner. And, for a couple of hours, it did.

The long steady climb out of Ouray and up along the Bear Creek Trail was fun. The sun was beginning to settle behind the ridge to the west and the running was smooth. Scott and I chatted away and as the sky darkened we arrived at the Engineer Aid Station (mile 51.5). It was shortly before 9 p.m. and I was thrilled to see several familiar faces as Timothy Olson, Nick Coury, Scott Jaime and Scott’s pacer, Darcy Piceu were all there. My melancholy spell subsided quickly as the thought of running the next few hours with friends emerged.

After a nice big snack, Scott and I set our sights on the climb up Engineer Pass. We kept a steady pace throughout the climb and maintained contact with the sets of lights ahead. Upon cresting the pass we were ready to make time on the descent into Grouse Gulch. Sadly, my body, most specifically my legs, had other ideas. As I attempted to settle into my downhill running stride my hamstrings locked up. It was a feeling I had never felt before. I popped an S! cap, downed a bottle of water, and walked a bit. “Maybe I was a little crampy?” A few minutes later I tried to run again. Same deal. Locked up legs. Damn!

Scott did his best to cajole me down the nice smooth road to Grouse Gulch, but to no avail. When I arrived at the aid station (mile 58) I was discouraged and spent. And my three friends were beginning their ascents up 14,000 foot Handies Peak. Once again, I needed to re-group. I entered the aid station and slumped in a chair, grabbed some soup, and began to mutter to my crew. After about five minutes I thought I was ready to get going, but after standing up and putting my pack on I did something I’ve never done in 31 other 100-mile races, I said I wasn’t ready to go yet and sat back down. Clearly, something was awry. Shelly and the boys did their best to keep me positive, and, eventually, we began talking about changing expectations, but it was clear that much of the levity of the day was gone.

A decade or so ago, while running the Wasatch 100 Miler in Utah, I spent the middle part of the day running with the late Dave Terry. Dave was a 10-time Western States and Wasatch finisher and one of the great ultra running dudes of the ’90’s. That year at Wasatch, as we were cresting Bear Ass Pass at about mile 58, Dave said something to me I’ll never forget. He said,

“You know what AJ? One thing ultrarunning has taught me about life is that we always need to be willing to adjust our expectations. That’s what I am going to do right now.”

And with that, Dave slowed to a walk and ran the last 42 miles of the race on his own terms and in his own way.

As Scott and I began the long hike up Handies, I thought back to Dave’s comment all those years ago and began to adjust my expectations for the day. And, not only that, in the midst of the dark and the cold of the stunning San Juan Mountains, I reflected on my life outside of running as well.

Where did I need to adjust my expectations?

What were the answers I was looking for?

How could I turn devastating negatives into constructive positives?

This disassociation didn’t necessarily help me climb any faster, but it did give me a bit of solace to know that even in the midst of great suffering, ultrarunning could be there as my teacher. And, man, at this moment, I really needed a teacher!

Scott and I finally reached the summit of Handies three hours after leaving Grouse and we picked our way down the trail to Burrows Park (mile 67.5). After a relatively brief stop there we made our way down the road to Sherman. A few steps into this leg I knew there was no run left in me. Even on the relatively smooth downhill of this buffed out road, I was reduced to a wheezy walk. And so we walked. Arriving at Sherman right around 5:45 a.m. I thought, “OK, just under 24 hours to go 72 miles. Not terrible. Maybe we can salvage a decent finish.”

I enjoyed Sherman. The volunteers were great, the food and drink delicious, and the Forest Service bathroom had been transformed into a palace. When we rolled out of there at exactly 6 a.m., I felt rejuvenated. We had 28 miles to go. Anyone can run 28 miles, right?

The first two miles of the climb up to Pole Creek went well, but, then, somehow things went awry. Above treeline I began to labor and as we made our way out into the large grassy basin of Pole Creek I began to panic a bit. For the first time in my entire ultra career I asked myself, “Can I finish?”

At long last we arrived at the Pole Creek Aid Station (mile 80.4) and wolfing down a couple of eggs seemed to help adjust my attitude. The nice volunteers bantered with Scott and I as we gulped down some coffee and prepared for the climb up and over to Maggie Gulch. I knew this one was going to test my mettle, but at this point I convinced myself I had no other choice. Unless something tragic happened, I was going to walk this thing in.

In short, the trip over to Maggie Gulch (mile 85) was absolutely brutal. Two and a half hours to go 4.3 miles. Looking back on it now, I am not sure how I did it but I got there. Somewhere along this stretch I developed a rhythm of walking 2 minutes and resting 30 seconds and, then, just repeating that over and over again. Any time I tried to keep moving for longer than two minutes at a time I was overcome with fatigue and my legs threatened to stop working. So, I just did whatever I could do.

Scott and I sat in Maggie Gulch for about 10 minutes doing what had become a usual routine by now; eating, drinking, whining, asking how far to the next aid station and how much climbing was left. At this point, however, I knew full well what lay between me and seeing my crew at Cunningham Gulch; 6.1 miles, 1,700 feet of ascent and 3,250 feet of descent. And there was only one way to get there.

Three excruciatingly long hours later I stumbled into Cunningham Gulch (mile 91) and met my family: my wife Shelly, and my three sons Carson, Logan, and Tully. Scott had a quick chat with Shelly and I sat down to cry. We circled the wagons by our car and just talked. Oddly, having finally arrived in Cunningham, 33 hours after the start, I felt calm. I just had no idea how on earth I was going to drag myself 3,000 more feet over Dives-Little Giant and on to Silverton, simply no idea.

Shelly started handing me hot dogs, which I wolfed down, someone else handed me an ice cold Coke and Logan began to take off my shoes and socks. Tully, my 13 year old, said simply, “Dad, you are going to do this!” After getting the food down it was decided that a nap would be a good idea. Jack Bolan, a friend from Richmond, Virginia who had driven all the way out to volunteer, set me up with a mattress and a sleeping bag and I quickly collapsed. 45 minutes later Logan, my 16-year-old, woke me up. He wanted a chance to talk just to me before the others got there to tell me the plan.

“Dad,” he said, “One of your biggest problems is you worry about unimportant stuff all the time. For the next few hours all you need to worry about is getting over that damn mountain.” Seven hours later, unbeknownst to me at the time, Logan posted the following on his Facebook page:

“My dad just redefined suffer. Andy Jones-Wilkins swallowed his pride and stuck it to the finish of the hardest race of his life. He inspires me and I am so proud to call him my dad!”

The rest of the crew came into the tent and the finish plan was hatched. Carson, my eldest son, all 5’10” and 215 pounds of him, was going to pace me to the finish. Born with a heart of a lamb and the spirit of a lion, Shelly made the executive decision that Carson should be the one. And he most certainly was the right choice. As we embarked on that inexorable march up Little Giant, Carson was there behind me at each excruciatingly small step. He cheered me up when I needed cheering, cajoled me into standing up when I took a bit too long of a rest, and made me feel like there was no doubt whatsoever that we would make it to Silverton. After parenting him for 18 years Carson was, in three short hours, returning the favor. I’ll never forget it. Ever.

2016 Hardrock 100 - Andy Jones-Wilkins - Little Giant - Carson

With Carson the Caretaker. Photo: Carson Jones-Wilkins

The descent down to Silverton, while long and slow, was a bit of a blur. Once summiting Little Giant we knew we were going to finish and it truly was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other. Many runners streamed past us as we picked our way down the roads and trails outside Silverton and once we made it back to town, across the bridge and onto 14th Street, I was filled with gratitude. In seconds, the melancholy cloud lifted and I ran a few strides up the street and down the chute to that special kiss of the rock.

2016 Hardrock 100 - Andy Jones-Wilkins - finish

Kissing the rock. Photo: Dominic Grossman

And, just like that, 41 hours and 51 minutes after I started, the most difficult run of my life was over. I will be learning from this one for years.

Bottoms up!

2016 Hardrock 100 - Andy Jones-Wilkins - Kilian Jornet - finish

Post-race chat with Kilian. Photo: iRunFar/Bryon Powell

AJW’s Beer of the Week

Telluride Brewing Co - Bridal Veil Rye Pale AleThis week’s Beer of the Week comes from a great brewery in one of the four historic Hardrock mining towns, Telluride, Colorado. Telluride Brewing Company’s Bridal Veil Rye Pale Ale, named after the stunning waterfall that towers over town, is a nice, balanced Rye Pale Ale that goes down smooth on a warm summer evening and pairs well with just about anything.

Call for Comments (from Bryon)

  • Share stories of your race-gone-wrong that you survived… and what you got out of it!

There are 38 comments

  1. Andrew

    What you doing making me want to cry at work!!!!

    What an amazing post – You must be so proud of your family

    Well done

      1. Adrian

        Seems like a lot of us have very dusty offices today – I’ve definitely got a speck or two of it in my eyes, it’s making them all watery :-) I love the Facebook post from Logan.

        1. Dawn H

          Yep. Me too. Must be a seasonal thing, these watery eyes in the office.
          (Whew – great report!! Congrats to you and your amazing family!)

  2. sam bosworth

    that’s what this sport is all about
    training and racing is good and fun but what separates 100 mile mountain ultras is the enlightenment that takes place between the beginning and the end (successful or otherwise) of the event

  3. Nelson Prater

    This is one of the best stories of courage I have ever read! Thanks so much for sharing so that we can all be inspired. This would make a great first chapter to your book.

  4. Jamie

    Reading this with the eyes of a father (and son for that matter) probably shouldn’t have happened at work. Congrats AJW

  5. WeiDe

    Great read, congrats on the well deserved finish! What do you think were the reasons for it going not according to plan? It sounds like you were on top of nutrition and fluids? Do you reckon deep down the body hasnt recovered from surgery yet?

  6. Tropical John

    Thanks for the raw honesty!

    One of the truly beautiful things about our sport is that it is humbling. If you run enough ultras, sooner or later you’re going to have the kind of day that AJW had this year at Hardrock. How you deal with it says a lot about who you are.

    AJW, you persevered through the despair, kept slowly plugging away, and in the end found triumph. Not just in finishing but in creating a defining moment with his son Carson. I suspect that many years from now (when you’re old like me!) you will look back at this year’s Hardrock with more pride than your very fastest races.

    Reading stories like this one always inspires me. I’m also fond of quoting the tag line used by the HURT 100: ’Aole makou e ho’ohikiwale kela. Which translates from the Hawaiian to “you wouldn’t want it to be easy.”

    Thanks Andy, I couldn’t be prouder of you!

  7. Brian Winter

    Thanks for the inspiration AJW. Thanks for sharing a part of yourself at RKUC a few weeks before Hardrock and now sharing your story post-Hardrock. I was cheering you on while we were running in Iceland and was so thrilled to see you finished. Your thoughts on re-evaluating and re-adjusting in races and in life are so true. As I continue to re-evaluate and re-adjust in my own life, this week’s AJW’s Tap Room was well-timed. Thank you for sharing.

  8. Sergio Chavez

    These most precious words exactly capture what one wishes to instill in one’s sons and daughters, determination and the will to persevere; thank you very much for sharing.

    “My dad just redefined suffer. Andy Jones-Wilkins swallowed his pride and stuck it to the finish of the hardest race of his life. He inspires me and I am so proud to call him my dad!”

    You have won in the most important race, raising your kids right.


  9. Stuart

    Choked up, no doubt. Very well-written. Truth is, though ultrarunning is very much an ego and “self” thing, many of us would fall short of goals and dreams without the love and support of family and friends. Life’s greatest experiences are shared! Your article articulates all of it very well. Congrats!

  10. Jeff

    Incredible job, and an inspiration. I know you were not the only one out there having to adjust expectations on the day that ended up kissing the rock, and I trust they will see much of their experience reflected in your story.

  11. Terri Schneider

    Amen Andy! These types of races are indeed our best teachers. My hats off to you for getting that. Congrats on getting it done! I have to recommend you read my latest book – Dirty Inspirations: Lessons From the Trenches of Extreme Endurance Sports – it will resonate with you distinctly, particularly coming off this race. Would love to hear what you think.
    Best – Terri Schneider

  12. Cory

    Thanks for taking the time to write a raw and detailed report, AJW. You had published your high hopes for this run and also you trained oh so hard, like the rest of us who participated in the 2016 edition. In fact, I appreciate that you did so, as it inspired me to dream of what might happen if the day unfolded flawlessly. But life rarely unfolds flawlessly, and your report captures much of my own Hardrock 2016. I experienced the melancholy you described while climbing the relentless slope up Oscars, overly focused on blown-out shoes (both sides of new Altra’s ripped up from the Grant-Swamp scree such that my feet could protrude out of the sides). On the following descent I wondered how I could ever make it past Telluride and onto Ouray with such shoe failure (altra, use better materials in the future!) and began to pray for resolve and help. Miraculously my crew decided to surprise me in Telluride, where new shoes awaited me!! Still, the climb to Kroger’s felt so hot and draining that I gave up…a random hiker offered me her phone and I tried to call my crew before they left Telluride with the plan of returning and dropping. But somehow I could not remember my own mother’s #!! The lady who offered her phone stated “I guess you had better keep moving and get to Ouray!” I began to muster up gratitude and be thankful for the opportunity to merely participate in Hardrock, encouraging other struggling runners with “We are so privileged to be here!” With the gratitude, my attitude flipped – not my pace or what would be my sloggish finish time – but my attitude and expectation!! And thus I enjoyed almost every step from Kroger’s onto the finish, despite the 45 hours it lasted. Of course, Sherman to Maggie’s seemed like forever as I navigated the willows and wetlands, but eventually the satisfaction of a job well done emerged as I rounded the corner and kissed the rock, just after my friend Mark Heaphy, who earned his 18th finish!! Ironically, while I resolved that I would never do the event again on the Kroger’s climb, I now cannot wait to suffer again on the Hardrock loop if I am blessed enough to get drawn! Perhaps the next time I will experience a more flawless run, but if not, I will nevertheless be thankful to be a part of the Hardrock family and reunion, and for the chance to participate in an extremely special run.

  13. Andy M

    Beautiful, honest, raw write-up indeed. Geez, and I thought my slog at Vermont last weekend was tough! In our mad, beloved sport the relativity factor is always so humbling.

    Reading your report, AJW, I’m reminded of the William Barclay quote which a local RD was wise enough to put on race shirts last year: “Endurance is not just the ability to bear a hard thing, but to turn it into glory.”

    Hope you continue to bask in the glory of success after a hard(rock) battle well-fought. Congrats!!!

  14. Joe

    Thank you for sharing . . . Again. It’s rare these days to find accomplished athletes like you that are articulate, humble, confident, realistic and willing to relate to anyone and everyone. Legacy is a word that I’ve chosen to drive me. I want my legacy to be a great father to my daughters, husband to my wife, son to my parents, brother to my brother and sister, neighbor to my neighbors, leader to my crew at work and an inspiration to anyone that knows me. I’ve told you this in person, but I continue to learn from you , be inspired by you and use you as an example. Thank you for your awesomeness. It’s CLEAR in my mind that you are a LIVING LEGACY. Go grab a nice proper pint of Suerra Nevada Pale Ale, you’ve earned it !!!!!!!!!!

  15. Scott Spears

    Tears in my eyes while reading the part about your son Carson. Very moving! Thank you for sharing such a personal experience.

  16. Danielle

    Well, now you made me cry. Excellent report, thank you for sharing, and well done on what sounds like an amazing experience. Congrats on your finish! And wow, I hope me daughter can give me such a boost some day! You have a wonderful family!

  17. James Hong

    Tears started rolling down when I read the part on Logan’s Facebook post. And to have your family helping you out during the tough times during the race especially Carson pacing you to the finish, you’re definitely the luckiest dad alive and the envy of all fathers. Thanks for the inspiring story!

  18. Kevin O.

    You talked about your preparation and determination to do Hardrock at the Rob Krar Ultra Camp. You exhorted us all to keep you in our prayers for a successful race. Maybe those prayers helped.
    Congratulations on an incredible effort and setting an example of grit for all of us! Somewhere, George Sheehan is smiling upon you.

  19. Joe

    Phenomenal write up. The suffering combined with your kids encouragement to get you to the finish must have been overwhelming. Congrats on your finish but more importantly on being a dad. Bottoms Up!

  20. Jim Buckley

    AJW – You left it all out there in your writing prior to the run. Your hip surgery, your training, and your goals. And then you left it all out there at Hardrock. I can’t (yet) imagine doing anything like Hardrock. Our collective community that runs all these endurance events understand that what we do is a privilege and not a right. It’s a gift to be able to do what we do. Your write up and your humility brought tears to my eyes and reaffirmed why we do this. You will never forget that time spent on the trail with your son. Congrats on all of it.

  21. William Read

    Congratulations on your finish. Truly amazing accomplishment especially after having major surgery. Awesome race report. It is truly inspiring to have followed your journey from injury, surgery, and then back to ultra running. Here is to a speedy recovery.

  22. Justin

    great, great report! congratulations on recovering from your operation, and thanks for the reminder that there are more important things than race pace and finish times :)

  23. Sean Grove

    I made my first pilgrimage to Silverton this year, to experience Hardrock as a spectator. Just being in those mountains and getting out on a few sections of the course blew my mind. I so appreciate your honesty in both this and the interviews and podcasts you’ve been a part of since. I may have had dust in my eyes on a few occasions listening to your story, much like I did watching finishers come in during the wee hours of Sunday morning.

  24. Charlie

    Congratulations Mr Jones-Wilkins. Fantastic effort. I imagine a majority of Hardrockers can relate to your story. In 20 years it will be interesting if you will remember this race above all the other 100 milers you have run.

  25. Steve Pero

    Without a doubt, the best Hardrock race report I’ve read yet. Congrats on a well deserved finish.
    My favorite beer hole in Silverton was the Silverton Brewery, sadly they closed the doors several years ago.

  26. Rich

    What I took most from this column…AJW is an even better Dad than runner (and he is a great runner!).
    Kudos on growing some amazing kids :-)

  27. Markus


    Races like the one you described are the really important ones. And I guess you son nailed it with his fb post.

    Another HR 100 finish in the book and one you will never forget.
    Well done!

  28. AdamCondit

    AJW – thanks for being honest, there is strength given when you share your moments of weakness. You’ll be BOMBING downhill one day soon … like you did past me on the way to Eldorado Creek in WS 2104 … I seriously thought you were an elk about to trample my flat-landing-carcass.

  29. Jack Bolan

    Sorry AJW,

    I’m behind on my reading…for me, HR was such an awesome experience. I was so glad to get a chance to see you come through Cunningham and help in any way I could. I was slapped by the enormity of the San Juans as I arrived and the amount of work it will take for me to possibly finish that run. It’s people like you that define what a true runner is and one of the reasons I push through my pains in hopes of returning one day as a runner there. A great journey it is…

    Congratulations again!

  30. Michael

    This was a really great account of your experience in the San Juans. I set aid stations for this a couple years ago and my reverence for the mountains resides deep within me. Your account moved me deeply due to the your camaraderie with others and family. Remember that we never run to conquer a mountain but to experience & respect it in new ways. They have much to teach us when we listen…hopefully one day I will have a family that will be as supportive and full of love as your own.

    Run true and follow your heart on the path to the sacred..

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