Lakou Backyard Ultra

May 13, 2023

Is there a good way to run 100 km? It depends on who you ask. For me, never having done the feat, I thought there was. In an event where you are always very close to camp (within 3 km), the terrain doesn’t change, there are good people around, and it is close to home. Sounds like a plan, right?

I signed up for the Lakou Backyard Ultra (BYU) many months ago to run my first 100 km race. I am no stranger to Ultrarunning. I have done it twice before (73km and 83km). That should be enough.

Not quite, but more on that later.

But what is a backyard Ultra? It is a set course that is 6.7km long. Every hour on the hour, athletes must enter the starting corral to run the next ‘yard.’ You are out if you do not enter the starting corral in time. If you do not finish the lap before the next lap starts, you are out. If you complete the lap early, you have until the top of the hour to; rest, fuel, hydrate, use the bathroom, sleep, attend to nagging blisters or injuries, etc. The race continues until there is one athlete left who has completed their final lap. Everyone else receives a DNF (did not finish) medal and a beer. Fifteen yards is 100km, and 24 yards is 100 mi.

Life has its ups and downs, and life was getting interesting in the last few months. I was not working my usual shift schedule and was learning that a Monday to Friday 8-4 schedule was not ideal for training. I was far behind in my mileage leading up to the race, with my longest run being in the 35km range. I had done some training runs in the backyard format, but never more than 4 yards.

I went to the grocery store and stocked up on anything I thought would assist me. Pepsi, Gatorade, coconut water, Nuun, chips, cookies, apples, granola bars, pickles, mustard, cliff bars, chicken stock, vermicelli, boost, salt tabs, Gu gels, and 7 Summits Snacks endurance bars. As for gear, I brought two pairs of shoes, four pairs of socks, four running shirts, two pairs of shorts, a jacket, a headlamp (wishful thinking, I know), a phone charger, a backup battery pack, two types of lubricant, my handheld water bottle, sunscreen, bug spray, a giant jug of fresh water and my massage gun.

I had no idea what to bring, so I packed it all. To make things more interesting for myself, I had a flight to catch at 0730 the following morning, so I was also packing for that.

Race morning was finally here. I had a big breakfast and had been training with running on a full stomach. Setting up at the Wallace homestead was simple and easy. I had been a spectator at the race last year, so I had a pretty good idea of where everything would be. Then it was waiting for friends and my run family to show up and get started at 0900. Thirty-eight runners toed the line to start lap 1. In practicing and talking with others, I learned that there was some strategy for this type of race. Running fast gives you a lot of downtime but also gives your body time to cool down and tighten up. I was shooting for a 45-48 minute lap. For some context, this distance (6.7km) would take me under 35 minutes on a training run. Running with the pack and some seasoned BYU runners allowed me to control my pace to where I wanted it to be.

Lots of chatter on those first few laps. It made me realize that you could tell your whole life story to a different person with every lap.

I was getting into a rhythm, both running and resting. Re-filling my handheld, eating some of the fantastic food set up by the race, quiche, omelets, quesadillas, etc., changing my socks and shoes after lap 3, using the massage gun on my legs, and re-applying sunscreen was the plan, and it was going well.

Around lap 5, I was starting to lose track of the actual time of day, but the sun was telling all the athletes exactly what time it was. Mid-afternoon, the temperatures reached almost 32 C, and winds were gusting at up to 50km/hr. The consistent chatter was gone, and the group of thirty-eight was already down a few athletes. We were no longer a line of runners, spreading out now as everyone tried to conserve energy as the sun and wind took so much away from everyone. I was still holding pace near 47min/lap, but the energy to complete the necessary tasks in transition was waning quickly. By lap 7, shoe and sock changes were not happening, eating was becoming a challenge since everything looked unappetizing, and getting out of the chair as we neared the top of the hour became a chore. I had done enough laps to know landmarks while running them, knew what was upcoming, and knew how far I still had to go. A simple 6.7 km was not so simple anymore, and I was only halfway to my goal.

Lap 8 was rough; walking on the course was becoming very frequent, and I had to ration my hydration because I did not want to run out mid-lap, but all I wanted to do was drink more. Food was almost nonexistent, and my time dropped to 51 minutes for this lap. I was 53 km in and knew that I wouldn't be in the race much longer if things did not turn around mentally and physically soon. The early transitions of getting what I needed and chatting with fellow runners became What do I have time for? Please let me sit down somewhere.

Lap 9 was more of the same, walking, contemplating what runners contemplate 9 hours into an ultra run, which is everything on the map. Finishing in almost 54 minutes, I got what I needed to start lap ten, knowing it would probably be my last.

Lap 10, I saw some people I did not expect to see falling behind. I told them I was coming in just under the 60-minute mark and they better stay ahead of me if they wanted to continue. I was thinking to myself that I could continue, but why? To walk another lap around the Wallace homestead? To add another 6.7km onto my total? My mind at that time was losing the battle to keep going, and I was constantly checking my watch to ensure I finished lap 10 in under 60 minutes. I walked across the finish line in about 55 minutes, removed my hat, took a little bow, and sat down. I could hear people ushering me to refuel and prepare for the next lap, but my mind was set. I was satisfied with my race and watched 16 athletes start the next lap. There were 4 of us who did not begin lap 11, and we were each awarded our DNF medal and a beer. A couple of photos, and that was it.

I imagined this would be a safe way to complete 100 km. Medical, food, water, and civilization are all within 3 km of any point on the racecourse. Turns out, I may need to be stuck on the back of a mountain, 10 km away from comforts, to continue and break through that mental barrier.

Racing is always hard, and 99% of the time, it doesn’t always go to plan. We, as athletes, continue to push ourselves and strive for that 1%. Looking back on our 99%, we can always learn something about ourselves, our sport, and racing. That is how we grow as athletes and get closer to that 1%.