Western States 100. Failing to finish while refusing to quit.

Wearing the WS necklace, from Kaci

They say your life can change with every breath you take. On December 3rd, 2016, that moment came for me. From across the room, I heard Kaci Lickteig scream “Mindy Coolman!” I was momentarily confused. Then I looked up to see my name appear on the screen in front of me; and just like that, I was going to Western States 100.

In the months leading up to Western States, I poured my heart, body, and mind into training. I put in many miles with Mighty Mike Christensen, Crystal Foust, Erich Barthel, Mike Soltys, and others here and there. These people were there for early mornings and long hours, for which my gratitude can’t be put into words.

Leaving Omaha!

Hiking the trail with my pacers

On Tuesday, June 20th, I headed to California with my best friend Sarah, her husband (my pacer) Aaron, and their beautiful daughter Marleigh. We drove and camped our way out west. Aaron and I discussed my race plan over and over. I told Aaron I was very worried about the heat. The weather was predicted to be one of the hottest years the race has seen. For those who know me, you know I don’t get along well with heat. For those who don’t, it started in 2014 when I pushed too hard for a race that didn’t even matter, finishing with heat stroke/heat exhaustion. I’ve never been the same since. My emotions were all over the place the entire trip.  

When we arrived in California on Thursday, I wanted to go to Olympic Valley to check out the start line and to say hi to Steve. Aaron, Steve, and I hiked part of the trail

Saturday, June 24th, 2017. Aaron and Steve took me to the start line, an hour before the race began. Many pep talks were given. Every now and then I would catch Steve watching my leg jitters. He would smile knowingly, and I would calm down. Next thing I knew, I was listening to the last 10 seconds of the countdown, and then the gun went off.

Checking in

Attaching the timing chip.

I was warned by many people to be careful with that first climb. It is 4 miles of up, up and up. I kept an effort that allowed for easy conversation. I fell in with Jimmy Brown, also from Nebraska. We talked, laughed, and thoroughly enjoyed the first 5 miles. These were hands down, the best miles of the race for me. Around mile 5 or 6, I stopped for a bathroom break, and fell behind Jimmy. We started running in the snow around mile 3. As the miles pushed on, the snow and mud proved to be more challenging than I had anticipated; the snow was on a sideways slant and wouldn’t pack, and the mud was mid-calf deep. I slipped and fell more times than I could count. I watched others fall and slide into trees, and others digging for their lost shoes in the mud. These conditions lasted for the first 16 miles, and completely wrecked me.

When I reached to first aid station with a cut-off time listed, I felt demoralized. The conditions for the first 16 miles had me already pushing cutoffs. I had started to feel my effort was too much by mile 8, and wondered how I was going to continue at this effort for another 92 miles. My plan going into the race was to slow down as the day warmed up. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to slow down if I wanted to continue to make cutoffs. I felt panic rising but tried to stay focused. Between miles 16-24.4, I fell in with a woman named Andrea. Our conversation helped pass the miles and put my mind at ease, though I still felt my effort was too high. Went I got to Duncan Canyon (24.4 miles), I had them add ice to my neck buff, head buff, in my arm sleeves, and down my bra – the biggest advantage to being a girl at an ultra!

When I left the Duncan Canyon aid station, I began walking. My heart rate was too high, and I wasn’t feeling well. I took salt caps and consumed water. While recent research shows sodium beverage sources are most ideal during hot races, they typically also include something sweet. Sweetened beverages make me sick, I’m assuming due to the osmolality. So, I stick to salt caps. I’ve started breaking them open for better effect. Around mile 27 I came across a deep stream with a rope to use for crossing. I made it halfway and sat down to my neck. It was ice cold and felt amazing. So I decided I might as well pee while sitting there. As I exclaimed “oh sweet relief!” I looked up to see a photographer slowly lower his camera and stare at me. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to pee while there. After leaving the stream, I began the climb into Robinson Flat (30.3 miles). My climbing slowed. My heart pounded. Sweat poured. Half a mile before the aid station I came upon a couple guys cheering people in. I must’ve looked pretty confused as they asked if I was ok. I could only manage to say “water”. One guy handed me a water bottle and I drank it in one breath. I handed it back and he said “beautiful eyes, by the way”. I’m sure my response made him wonder if I had ever received a compliment in my entire life; I gave him my biggest smile and thanked him.

When I arrived at the Robinson Flat aid station, my hydration packs had been mixed up and my green pack was filled and ready to go, instead of my Nathan pack. This is where I made my biggest mistake. I should’ve taken the 5 minutes to allow my crew to make the switch, but I was too paranoid about those cutoffs. So I threw on my green hydration pack and headed out. All of my salt and nutrition supplements were in my Nathan pack, and my green pack just had water. Unfortunately, during 100’s I don’t always think things through. I just felt an urgency to keep going. I headed out and saw Jimmy Brown heading out at the same time. I quickly power walked up the hill till I caught him. Now we had 3 miles of downhill running in front of us, but in direct sunlight. We moved along at a blazing 10:40-11:30 ish min/mile. We discussed how worried we both were about how bad we already felt. The 3 miles with Jimmy passed all too quickly, and I needed to back off again. I watched him disappear and hoped I wouldn’t see him again as I knew my race was heading south quickly. I worked through this section as quickly as I could, running every time I found shade, even if it was brief.

I made it to Miller’s Defeat (34.4 miles) and had finally given myself a better cushion on the cutoff. Another runner, who I had been leap frogging all day, said to me “this is our best cushion so far, 1 hour and 5 minutes.” I grabbed 2 potatoes rolled in salt, iced down, and got out of there as fast as I could.

When I reached Dusty Corners (38 miles), David Reddel was there and told me Jimmy was only about 3 minutes ahead of me. I cringed. I knew how hard I was working when Jimmy pulled away, so I worried he was faltering as well, as I expected him to be putting more time on me than that. I ate 3 potatoes heavily rolled in salt, 2 cups of Mountain Dew, iced down, and headed out. At the exit of every aid station, there were volunteers holding sponges soaked in ice water, to apply to your body wherever you wanted. I never skipped these people, thanking them profusely every time.

The section between Dusty Corners and Last Chance, were in theory, very runnable. I tried. With everything I had, to run to the best of my ability. I ended up pushing a 13 min/mile power walk through most of it, just to manage my heart rate. I felt so incredibly hot. I drank as much ice water as I could take in, but could tell I was very low on salt as it made me very nauseated. I was constantly being passed by others who were moving so much better than I was. I knew everyone was miserable, as not many of us said a word to each other. My mind began to take me to a dark place, as I thought about how awful I felt and how slowly I was moving.

When I hit Last Chance (43.3 miles), I was warned about the difficulty of the next section. I went through my usual routine of ice and food option, with the addition of watermelon and orange slices. I forced myself to push some running miles right away, knowing the climb ahead was going to be rough. I was fearful of how steep some of the downhill running had become, as my quads were taking a beating. I felt like I was running scared. I wanted someone to talk to, but no one was in sync with my choppy pace. When I hit the bridge prior to the climb to Devil’s Thumb, I walked briefly as I looked at the climb before me. I felt my legs cramp painfully. I pushed on, willing my mind to focus on the climb, not the pain. Shortly after I started the climb, I knew I was in trouble. I would take a few slow steps and have to stop due to accelerated heart rate. I felt dizzy and way too out of breath. As I came around the second switch back, I saw a guy leaning on a tree, just off the trail. I asked if he was ok, but couldn’t really understand his response. I asked if there was anything I could do to help him. He mumbled a barely audible “no, I’m ok.” I moved on for about 5 minutes, when I heard screaming behind me. I stopped, but couldn’t see anything. Then I figured there were enough voices from below, it was probably just an animal that startled someone. A few seconds later another runner came charging up the trail, obviously worried. Apparently the guy I passed fainted and fell backwards down the mountain. He was unresponsive with many abrasions and wounds. A few minutes later medics came flying down the mountain towards me, yelling to get out of the way. I took a moment to stop thinking about myself and prayed for him. Shortly after I started going again, my legs convulsed uncontrollably. I dug as deep as I could and pushed on, while watching deep cramps ripple through my quads. It was the most painful thing to happen thus far in the race. A few seconds later they cramped so hard I fell on the trail. I rolled off the trail to be out of the way of others coming by and watch as my left leg, from the knee down, cramped so hard it pulled my foot sideways, twisting my knee. The pain was unbelievable. I couldn’t get it to stop. I yelled, cried, and prayed. Within what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes, another runner came along and asked what she could do to help me. I asked if she had salt. She asked how many I needed. I took 6. Initially I broke them open and poured them in my mouth, but my hands weren’t working well. So I chewed them and swished with water, spitting out the empty capsules. In a short time, the cramping stopped. I was able to get up and move on. About 30 minutes later, I took a gel and chased with water, only to throw it up like a fire hydrant. There was a medic standing there as I was closer than I realized to the aid station at Devil’s Thumb (47.8 miles). He got on his radio and told the aid station there was “puker” on her way up. When I got to the aid station, they sat me down and covered me in ice sponges until I shivered. I ate more of the usual, and added a full cup of ramen, which I drank down in one breathe. I looked at my watch and realized I had been there for several minutes, and had lost my cushion, with now only 10 minutes to spare on the cutoff. The medic asked what I was going to do. I told him it was time for me to go. He smiled and stepped aside as I got to my feet.

After leaving Devil’s Thumb, I knew I was going to be cutting it really close with the climb coming to get me to Michigan Bluff. But first up, the aid station at El Dorado Creek (52.9 miles), just 5.1 miles away. I took off. I pushed through all the pain and ran the full distance to El Dorado Creek. I was out of the aid station in less than 1 minute.

As I began the climb to Michigan Bluff (55.7 miles), I felt my heart rate elevate all too quickly. I slowed down. My legs began to cramp again. I just knew it was over for me. I kept thinking “there’s no way I can come back from the dead twice; I’m never going to make the cut off moving at 1 mile per hour.” I completely gave up and accepted failure. I thought about how I’d heard 30 people didn’t make the very first cutoff at Red Star. I patted myself on the back for making it at least to mile 55. I told myself it was fine that I wasn’t going to make it; I gave it my absolute best effort. I settled in for a long slow climb accompanied by my very own pity party. Then I thought about my crew and pacers. I thought their sacrifice to be there for me. I thought about having their company for the rest of the trail. I thought about my conversation with Jimmy after Robinson Flat, when we both said the only way we would quit is if someone forced us. I thought about how long I had put my name in the lottery for Western States, just to quit. I couldn’t give up. I had to find it in me to fight and get up that mountain. I began running when I could on the switchbacks and power walking. I felt pain in every part of my body but refused to let it stop me again. As I came close to the top I heard Steve and Aaron. Steve was cheering for every runner as they appeared. It brought a smile to my face and I charged up the remaining part of the hill, with a 23 minute cushion. I exchanged my green pack for my Nathan and tore into my salt. I ate more of the usual, plus pickle juice. I felt revived and excited as Steve set out with me for the next section.

A mutual friend, Adam Rood, once referred to Steve as the “happiest A**hole this side of the nuthouse”, in reference to pacing in the late miles of a race. I found this to be a true statement. I soaked up his energy and forgot about the pain. We power walked some hills on the road, and then began to cruise when we hit the trail again. As we approached Forest Hill (62 miles), Steve told me we were putting down 10 minute miles. It felt good. The sun was gone and I finally had legs to run on. My stomach wasn’t thrilled with me, but it hung in there for the time being. At Forest Hill I ate pickles, drank pickle juice, grabbed a packet of Ritz crackers with cheese, ate my usual aid station foods plus broth, and headed out. We were in and out in no time.

Upon leaving Forest Hill, we moved pretty well through Dardanelles aid station (65.7 miles), though I threw up shortly after leaving the aid station. Steve pointed out that everything I had eaten at the last two aid stations all came out, right down to the watermelon. I pushed on, though my energy level began to crash. Steve told me I needed to consume enough calories at the next aid station to be able to keep going. When we got to Peachstone (70.7 miles), I had chicken noodle soup, watermelon, and Tums. We headed out, and Steve realized he forgot something and headed back to the aid station. I power walked till he rejoined me, then off we went. I ran solid for a couple miles. I believe I threw up again before the next aid station, but from here on out my memory is a little foggy. We were leap frogging a couple guys who were better on the up hills than I was, but then we would pass them on the downs. Every time we saw them I forgot who they were, but they always remembered us. As we were getting close to the next aid station, we were running down a pretty steep hill when a runner fell down the hill behind us. I heard he cracked his skull open pretty good. Medics were on their way when we got to Ford’s Bar (73 miles). I refueled quickly and felt my energy surge once again. This was probably my best running of the night, between miles 73 and 78. Or at least that’s how I remember it. Steve and I laughed and told stories. We talked about Superior 100, where I paced Steve. The memories from that race are nothing short of awesome. Superior was where I knew I would be asking Steve to pace me at some point in the future.  

When we arrived at Rucky Chucky (78 miles), Aaron was ready to take over. I heard Steve briefing him on my status “she’s been throwing up, but as long as she eats at aid stations, she can reenergize. She’s struggling with the climbs, but she’s moving well everywhere else. Broth is treating her well, make sure she continues this. Her spirits are high and she ran really well during that last section.” I think I heard Steve also tell him I wasn’t eating enough, but I’m not sure. Aaron and I got on our life jackets and climbed into the boat to cross the river. On the other side was a 1.8 mile climb. Fortunately, it wasn’t very steep, but I still slowed down too much. I told Aaron I felt like it was too hot as we climbed; that I didn’t understand why it was so hot at this time during the night. Aaron told me everyone was complaining about the humidity and that it was hotter than they expected. Aaron told me Jim Walmsley had taken a DNF. Then he said “hey, you’re beating Jim Walmsley!” I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard! Then he told me he wasn’t sure about Kaci. That she was having a bad day out there, with the heat and humidity also getting to her. That’s when I knew I wasn’t making it up about the heat! I prayed for her quickly as we talked.

Upon leaving Green Gate (79.8 miles), I saw Jacob Brown, Jimmy’s son. I asked him what he was doing there. He said Jimmy had just left with David Reddel now pacing him. I was worried about Jimmy. I knew he wouldn’t quit, so I prayed for him to have renewed strength. I shuffled along at a running pace that was not much faster than my walking pace. Every time I broke into a run, Aaron would say “good” or “nice”. It gave me a lot of encouragement and made me feel like I was going faster than I probably was. I’m not sure when I threw up the first time while with Aaron, but it was still a ways from the next aid station. My energy level bottomed out. We had a few climbs where I moved very slowly. I kept telling Aaron it was ok, because I would make up for it when I could run again. My ability to make up for lost time was only getting worse. When we finally reached Auburn Lake Trails (85.2 miles), I had lost my desire for food. I was tired of throwing up. Aaron told me I had to eat. He kept asking what I thought I could eat. I took watermelon and orange slices and drank 2 cups of Mountain Dew. I had the aid station volunteers put broth and ice in my water bottle. I knew if I drank something sweet, I would throw it up immediately.

We got going again, but the next section had a lot of ups and downs. Even the small climbs were very slow for me. I threw up again. Aaron convinced me to take a gel so I could have some energy. I knew he was right. He listened to me gag, heave, choke, and gag some more as I chased it down with water. It gave me a small burst. I kept asking Aaron to pray for me, which he did. Aaron kept encouraging me, saying “just keep moving. One foot in front of the other, you’re doing great.” People started passing me more and more. They kept telling me I looked great. I didn’t understand how that could be possible, and knew they were just trying to give me a boost.

We finally made it to Quarry Road (90.7 miles). I think Aaron told me there were male volunteers dressed as nuns here, but I don’t remember that. All I remember was really loud music that grated on my nerves. I made sure to thank the volunteers, but I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Once again, it wasn’t long before I threw up again. By this time I didn’t even stop to throw up, just turned my head to the side and kept walking. I was going downhill fast. I kept telling Aaron this was the worst day of my life. Aaron kept telling me I had to dig deep and keep pushing. Over and over I said to him “Aaron I’m so scared. What do I do? I can’t go any faster.” Aaron continued to encourage me “just keep going. One foot in front of the other. You can do this. You have to do this.” At one point Aaron said he knew he sounded like a broken record, but he didn’t know what else to say. I thought about that and concluded I couldn’t think of anything else either. We began the climb to Pointed Rocks, and it was long. I felt time slipping away. The daylight had once again brought scorching temps. I started yelling at myself to “move! Just move!”

By the time I reached Pointed Rocks (94.3 miles), I was wrecked, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I was really happy to see Sarah and Marleigh, but I did not have time to really say anything to them. Sarah later told me she cried for me at this aid station. She said she was really worried before I arrived, and then to see the shape I was in didn’t help. I refueled as best I could, and received a quick pep talk from Steve. He told me I had to run the rest. I asked about the final climb. He told me it was no big deal, nothing more than what I do every day at Calvin Crest. Later, I heard he told Sarah he felt bad for lying to me about that, but he didn’t know what else to do. He did the right thing. Had I known what was coming, I probably wouldn’t have even tried. Aaron and I left the aid station and Aaron said “you have to run. You no longer have a choice. You can yell at me, punch me, or whatever, but you have to run. Now go.” I did. I ran all the way to the aid station at No Hands Bridge (96.8 miles). I didn’t stop, just continued onto the bridge. As soon as the direct sunlight hit me, I felt like a wave of bricks rested on my shoulders. My legs wouldn’t run. I tried over and over with lots of yelling. Aaron told me I had to move. I told him I was trying, but it wasn’t working anymore. He told me I was running out of time and he knew how badly I wanted that buckle. I said “you’re right; I didn’t come here to fail.” I tried again to run. I would make it 5-10 steps before my shaking legs wouldn’t work.

We reached the climb. As I began to ascend, I threw up. I drank water and kept going. My legs slowed more as I fought with everything inside me to keep them moving. I started to panic, becoming borderline hysterical. I kept telling Aaron “my legs aren’t working! They won’t go!” He kept saying “you have to make them. Keep moving!” I began crying and yelling at my legs to “just move!”  I finally reached a point where they stopped. I was looking at a rock in front of me, and could not get them on it. I tried turning sideways. I tried to go backwards. I tried grabbing weeds and branches and pulling them. I was scrambling while barely moving. Aaron turned and looked at me and I shook my head. Tears burned as I said “it’s over.” I could see on his face that he knew it was too. I felt like my every emotion from pushing so hard and coming so close boil to the surface. I was completely devastated. I knew I was so close to Robie Point, and with 1.3 miles to go, and my legs had failed me. Aaron left me to go get help. While he was gone, the equestrian sweep team came upon me. They offered their water, which I took. They offered food and I threw up all the water they gave me. Minutes later Aaron returned with Steve. I was out of time, the race was already over. They swung their arms around me and half carried me up the rest of the way to Robie Point. Once at Robie Point, they set me on a large rock. People were putting ice on me, trying to cool me down. They were giving me water. Then a volunteer, by the name of Sam Hayashi, said to me “you’re still going to cross that finish line, right?” I looked up at him and said “I’m allowed to do that? But my pacers helped me up the mountain.” He told me it didn’t matter anymore; I needed to go cross that finish line. I stood up and started walking, with my equestrian sweep team behind me. Within a few steps I threw up again. We weren’t sure what it was that I threw up, as it was black/purple chunks that looked like grape jelly. Steve took the liberty of inspecting the chunks, but came to no conclusion. Someone suggested it was from my stomach. A google search later lead me to believe it was likely tears in my esophagus and stomach lining due to excessive vomiting, which lead to bleeding, and this coagulated in my stomach. I guess I’ll never really know.

Once on the pavement, the Robie Point aid station seemed to move with me. I had my very own cheering section. Sam drove a van and stopped periodically to cheer and bring me water. He said he was my mobile aid station. The sound of the horse hooves on pavement behind me gave me comfort, as most people who know me, know I have owned horses my whole life. I tried to do most of the pavement walking unassisted, but there were times I had no choice but to hold Aaron and Steve’s forearms. Sarah joined us shortly before we reached the track. She had been extremely worried about me and had told race officials I was still out there. They kept up the finish line arch and race clock to wait for me.

When I reached the track, everyone began to cheer. I started to cry. People took pictures and video to commemorate my bittersweet finish. I crossed in 30:50:29. 50 minutes and 29 seconds past the cutoff. Mo Livermore, board member for WS since 1977, placed my medal around my neck and said “thank you for coming to Western States.” Between coughing, crying, and laughing, I managed to say “thank you letting me!” Mo was the person Sarah cried to when she couldn’t figure out where I was. Mo has finished Western States herself, and understood why it mattered that I was allowed to cross that finish line.

I made it to a chair and visited with my crew, Jason Koop, Kaci and Miguel for the next hour. I learned Jimmy had finished with a decent cushion. I was so happy for him. At the awards ceremony they mentioned me as an unofficial finisher, for which I was very grateful.

The aftermath: I don’t remember much about the hours that followed. We were supposed to stay at some campgrounds, but the decision was made to get a hotel so they could get me cooled down. Sarah helped me change clothes and bandaged my many chafing wounds. I tried to eat some food a few hours later, but my mouth was too raw from throwing up. When I finally peed after the race, it was the color of coke. I know what this means: Rhabdo, which is the breakdown of muscle which deposits myoglobin in the urine and can be damaging to the kidneys. I know IV fluids are recommended if you cannot take in enough fluids orally. I drank chocolate milk, a Naked juice, a half-gallon of strawberry lemonade, lots of water, and several gatorades, until my pee turned clear. I was up every 1.5 hours during the night to pee and made myself drink 32 ounces of something before I lay back down.

I had to use a wheelchair to get through the airport, as I was unable to walk unassisted. They allowed Sarah to have a pass and go through security to get me to my gate where we said our goodbyes. When I tried to wheel myself to the bathroom, a lady took over, pushing me all the way into the handicap stall. She waited for me and then took me back to my gate. I cried when I thanked her, because everything made me cry at this point. I also wore my hair on top of my head for the race, and for the 4 days after the race, because I couldn’t stand long enough to shower. I’m sure it was quite ripe by the time I showered.

When I returned to Nebraska, I had an employee health check at work. Mike Soltys kindly drove me to this, as I wasn’t sure of my ability to move my feet properly to drive in traffic. My labs revealed elevated liver enzymes. My ALT was 598 (normal 5-35) and my AST was 1472 (normal 10-40). AST is the lab which represents muscle breakdown. ALT represents insult to the liver itself, as a result of processing said muscle breakdown. My sodium was low, at 133 (normal 135-148). The two I zeroed in on: BUN and creatinine. They were normal, meaning my kidneys are ok! I reviewed my liver labs with our liver specialist at work, who then refilled my water for me all day, insisting I keep drinking. By Friday when I had a redraw, my sodium was normal, and my AST was nearly normal. My ALT was still elevated in the 200’s, but I expected that given the longer half-life.

All in all, I’m so grateful my crew didn’t let me quit. I’m still heart broken, but still glad I never gave up. Will I try to redeem this run? I don’t know. I don’t do well in heat and no single race is worth my health. Do I think there were things leading up to the race that would’ve made it better? Yes. I did not do enough hill work. In the end, I can’t change the outcome. But I can be grateful to have had the experience.