Bad Dawg Ultra - 2025
The primary aid station beckoned to me, but its seductive promise of rest and rejuvenation was still two miles ahead. Two dusty, sun-blasted miles that included a significant uphill stretch. For someone on the verge of physical and mental collapse, it might as well have been 20.
By mile 48 of my very first 100-mile attempt, debilitating calf cramps had reduced my gait to a dispirited, agonized shuffle. Alex, my guide runner at this point in the race, commented on the complete degradation of my form.
“Josh, even your shadow looks like it’s in pain.”
The remark brought some levity to an otherwise demoralizing situation, but I didn’t fully appreciate it in that moment. All I could feel was dismay at having fallen so short of a goal in such a public way, the dread of having to explain what happened over and over, and incredulity toward the extent to which my body had betrayed me.
Temperatures reached 98 degrees (heat index of 108) August 16 in Waynesville, MO for the Bad Dawg Ultra. Stifling conditions were extreme even by Bad Dawg standards, so the attrition rate was high. In fact, only four of the 30 people who signed up for the 100-miler actually finished. I was not one of them.
Of course, spirits were high in the early stages of the race. Temperatures were much more pleasant at 7 a.m., and the peacefully pastoral setting brought a measure of serenity to my soul. The race director, Melissa Sharp, had asked me to speak during the pre-race dinner the night before. I am not a comfortable or confident public speaker, and so I had some nerves and stress over not wanting to disappoint Melissa or the audience. Thankfully, I survived the talk and my message was well received. That said, I was relieved to finally just be running.
The gravel roads of the Bad Dawg course weren’t as flat as I had anticipated, but that didn’t even bother me at the time. “I like having some variation in terrain,” I said to Ryan. “It’s good to mix it up.”
Fast-forward about 40 miles and my tune had changed:
“What’s up with all these hills?” I asked repeatedly as the suffering continued. “I guess their definition of gently rolling is different from mine.”
I cruised through the first 20 miles without too much trouble, and 100 still seemed realistic. But a scale at the aid station said I had already lost nearly seven pounds, an ominous sign considering I was only 140 to begin with. A heavy sweater even under normal circumstances, I would struggle to replace lost fluids and electrolytes all day in the Bad Dawg sauna.
Aid station stops at miles 35 and 45 marked the rapid deterioration of my condition. In both instances, severe cramps locked up both calves and seemed to spread up and down my legs. I’m a pretty stoic person with a fairly high pain tolerance, but these cramps reduced me to a writhing crybaby. I left the aid station at mile 45 with serious doubts as to whether I would be able to continue.
I began to think that 100K might be a better goal than 100 miles. But as I made my slow, torturous progress toward mile 50, I simply couldn’t fathom another 12 miles in my current state. We got back to the aid station at mile 50 and let Melissa know that I was finished.
It’s hard to find positives in a result like this. In the moment, all I felt was shame and disappointment. However, I still believe that I do better than most in the heat. There was never a point where I felt sick or dizzy. I was just unable to prevent the cramping, which ultimately took me out of my race.
I gain knowledge every time I attempt a long run. Learning is not always pleasant. Growth is painful. I know this better than ever now thanks in large part to events like the Bad Dawg Ultra. There are still 100-mile finishes in my future, just maybe not in the month of August.