Reflections from a DNF at the Leadville 100
It’s been a few days since I was folded over in a plastic chair at the aid station for Twin Lakes.
My family wisely suggested I put my phone away Sunday and Monday to rest, process, and focus on them and my crew who sacrificed so much to support me. It was good advice.
As you may have seen on Instagram or Facebook, my Leadville 100 Mile Trail Race ended early. That was a real bummer. I’d been excited, felt strong, and was ready for a long day doing what I love. Of course I knew not finishing was always a possibility—but that doesn’t make it any less discouraging.
Around mile 5, pain suddenly flared in my upper ankle. I tried adjusting shoes, stretching, pushing through. Instead, the pain worsened and spread to both ankles. My body compensated, which triggered my IT bands and then intense knee pain. Downhills became slower than uphills, and I barely made the cutoff at Twin Lakes (38 miles into the race). At that point, Quent (my coach and pacer) and Greg (my friend and crew doctor) called it. They were concerned about stress fractures and further knee damage. As much as I wanted to keep going, I trusted them. And that was that. I was stunned, crushed, and still don’t fully understand what went wrong.
The hardest part? I knew I was fit, trained, acclimated, and ready. My heart rate was good, I wasn’t tired, and I knew I could keep going—except I couldn’t.
Failing is hard—and human.
Life doesn’t always go the way we plan, train, or hope. I chose this challenge partly to honor those living with mental illness, who don’t choose their hard journey. They fight every day, and sometimes still “fail” despite doing everything right. I expected the race to be hard, but I didn’t expect to fail. That’s been painful and humbling.
For perspective: the finish rate for those 60+ at Leadville is only 15%.
The odds for those living with mental illness can feel just as overwhelming.
I wanted to do this race to hold out HOPE. Hope, I’ve learned, is harder to hold than I bargained for. But the lesson is the same: failing doesn’t mean you’re finished. You regroup, start again, and keep going. That’s what I plan to do.
My commitment to raise $100,000 for mental health awareness, support, and hope hasn’t changed. Not finishing the race is not failure. Attempting something insanely hard—especially at 60—is not failure. We will reach that fundraising goal – we only need $16,100 of donations to reach the goal. Already, awareness has grown, people have felt supported and valued, and many have been reminded that their lives matter. That is not failure.
I’m grateful for the incredible support—my family, Quent (if you need a coach – go to https://www.kollektivracing.com), Greg, my crew, Antioch Wealth Management, friends, clients, and even new social media friends I’ve met along the way. My social media manager and photographer (my daughter, Macy Tapp – go to https://www.homebodyphotography.com) has been amazing, and I’m thankful to Skratch Labs, Rabbit Running Gear, Sabre, REI, and Ultraspire for their encouragement. Maybe one of them will even consider sponsoring “an old guy” running to make a difference!
Thanks for being part of this journey and please continue - I’m not done.
