by Meghan Cook
I love the Pennsylvania mountains, but how could they begin to prepare you for the fresh hell of Montana’s magnificent peaks? Cody Harris, as a Montana State alumnus, has a deep fondness for the state and the courage (or masochism) needed to sign up for a truly crazy event. The Crazy Mountain 100 webpage warns potential runners, “This is sure to be the craziest race you have ever attempted,” and boasts elevation gain of 23,000 ft, not to mention a base elevation of at least 5,000 ft above sea level. (I live at about 300 ft, for reference.)
We woke up at 3 a.m. on Friday and loaded up the rental SUV with coolers, food, sleeping bags, and gear, knowing that it would be a long time before we saw the Airbnb again. Cody was stressed, his watch telling him, “Body Battery: 6%” (Sidenote—what happens when it reaches 0%?) The only solution to prerace nerves is to start running, and Cody joined the crowd of crazies to hear a blessing from a member of the local Apsaalooke (Crow) tribe as the sun rose. The race kicked off at 6:00 a.m., with a few runners bursting out of the portajohn to join the herd as it took off for the mountains.
Then, the crew’s job began. Brittni drove us to the first crewable aid station, Ibex. Each aid station was accessible only via remote forest roads, and the parking situation was inevitably sketchy. At Ibex, Brittni drove up to a guy wearing a bright pink hat.
Brittni: Can we park down there?
Pink Hat Guy: No.
Brittni: Don’t you think you should stand back there to direct people?
Pink Hat Guy: I don’t work here.
You could almost hear him thinking, So fuck off, Karen. In retrospect, we rolled right past a sign that read, “No crew vehicles past this point.” We saw Pink Hat Guy repeatedly over the course of the race, and at the finish line Steve apologized to him over some foamy beer. Brittni remains unapologetic (well, he shouldn’t have been standing there).
My first time crewing at an aid station, I waited among happy dogs, ringing cowbells, and the smell of pancakes. Family and friends lined up along the trail, many wearing custom T-shirts of their runner. Cody arrived a little ahead of schedule, and Brittni offered him a variety of foods, while I ran to replenish his water bottles and ice bandanna. Cody spilled some mashed potatoes on himself, Brittni wiped it off with her clothing, and sent him on his way.
Cody left the first aid station in good spirits, but when we saw him again at mile 43, he had blisters on both feet. The top of the mountain was far wetter than we predicted (the surrounding landscape is arid) and mixed with a brutal climb, his feet were in bad shape. Brittni patched up his feet and put on fresh shoes and socks, and we sent him back up the mountain with Steve, knowing he was in for a world of pain.
Brittni and I wouldn’t see the boys again till after midnight, so we tried to catch some sleep at the next aid station. Brittni blew up a sleeping pad for me, and I stretched out behind the car, sleeping bag zipped over my head against the bugs. I woke up in darkness to my alarm 90 minutes later. There was a dog yipping nearby, and Brittni assured me that he’d been going for a long time. On our hike to the aid station, we saw headlamps twinkling down the mountain, some alone, others in pairs.
The descent from Sunlight Peak changed things. Steve originally planned to pace Cody through the night, but traversing the loose rock cliff face, in the dark, for half a mile of sheer terror, and at least a 20% chance of death (though not a bad way to go), Steve didn’t want to slow Cody down. Cody, at this point, was beyond caring much if he lived or died and wasn’t bothered by the potential free fall into shadow. Brittni switched Cody’s shoes and socks again, loaded up an extra battery, and Cody headed out solo into the night.
I slept again on the drive to Forest Lake, the final crewable aide station before the finish line. We parked right next to the trail, and I kept sleeping until Brittni woke me up.
“Cody’s two miles away!”
I scrambled to get changed, eat something, and gear up. As Cody walked and then jogged out of the driveway and onto the trail, I could have skipped. Finally! Getting to do what I’d been training for. Steve told me and Brittni about the beauty up in the mountains, what we could only imagine from the aid stations below. Alpine lakes surrounded by mountains and snow-melt waterfalls. For the first ten miles or so, Cody seemed spirited. He was conversant and ran whenever the trail leveled out. We had one main climb that took us out of tree cover to fields of wildflowers under stunning blue skies. The trail unraveled before us, utterly exposed. Not a good thing for Cody’s burnt legs, and watching runners climb distant hills sucked the truth out of my assurances that “This is the last climb!”
The last seven miles were the worst. Though finished with the mountains, the pastures spread infinitely before us, the farm where we would finish a mere speck in the distance. But even though his hip flexors and feet hurt, he kept taking painful steps forward. The body is incredibly resilient, and Cody went from a sleep-deprived start, to uncertain whether he’d be able to finish with blisters and 60 more miles to go, to sprinting across the finish line so fast I couldn’t get my phone out in time to take a picture.
If you run into Cody and notice his shirt doesn’t fit right, it’s because he’s got a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate. Brittni ran the operation so smoothly that Cody’s only job was to keep moving forward and consume whatever she gave him. Crewing wasn’t easy, with driving two hours between aid stations with terrible parking.
I’m so lucky I got the chance to tag along on this adventure (thanks, Matt, for taking a conflicting trip to Nova Scotia). The Pagoda Pacers sustain a culture that makes the crazy seem possible, and if you see me running far beyond that amount recommended to maintain a healthy lifestyle, blame the bad influence of my friends.
What’s Cody doing next? Well, he might try to beat his 5k PR from high school, or raise the difficulty of running 100 miles by going unassisted. Whatever his goal, Cody is absolutely crazy enough to achieve it.
