🌋 Oregon Cascades 100 miler 2024 Race Report

Intro

Alright, let’s just address the elephant in the room right off the bat — why. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to the inevitable pain and suffering of running 100 miles (161kms)? Well, I’ll admit, that’s a fair question.

It’s one I asked myself before the race. In the ultra community, being clear on your “why” is often recommended. It’s something you can lean on when things get tough — something that makes the pain and suffering bearable, and maybe even worth it. The deeper the why, the more you can rely on it to push through.

For me, the reason is simply that I had the urge. I wanted to push myself, to see what I was capable of, to find out if I could do it. I knew that if I didn’t, I’d always have that nagging feeling in the back of my mind.

For me, part of getting the most of out life means doing hard things — setting goals and achieving them. Endurance training has become a structured way to do this. Races provide clear goals, and the path to achieving them is straightforward: set a plan, do the work, and reach the finish line. The relationship between input and achievement is simple.

Life outside of training isn’t always so clear. The connection between effort and outcome is often uncertain, and the work required can be ambiguous. Beyond fitness benefits, endurance training has helped me build confidence and strengthen my goal-setting “muscle.” It’s become a way for me to live fully and deliberately.

That’s the why that gets me out of bed in the morning. Because one day, it will all be over, and I want to know I gave everything I had. That I emptied the tank. That’s why I decided the pain and suffering of 100 miles was worth it.

With the elephant addressed and the most important question answered, here’s my (even lengthier than the last – you’ve been warned) report of the 167,000 steps taken and 14,000 calories burned during the 2024 Oregon Cascades 100 Miler.

Training

Training for this race gave me an excuse to do as much exercise and get as much movement as possible — basically my dream. It also pushed me to get out on the trails and really take advantage of the “California Apple wallpaper–esque” nature around SF.

I wrote my own training plan for this block, but it quickly broke down into “just do more.” Since I wrote it myself, I felt less pressure to stick to it strictly, which usually meant I ran longer than prescribed. I’m not sure that was the smartest approach.

I also put more emphasis on mental training this time, knowing I’d have to be ready for the challenge of running for 20+ hours.

Back to back long runs

The key to my training plan — and really the main difference from a standard marathon plan — was the back-to-back long runs on weekends (with one of them usually on trails). Back-to-backs train your legs and body to run while fatigued. I was very consistent with them and did them almost every weekend of the block.

On Saturdays, after my long run, I’d also try to walk as much as possible to add more time on feet — a common training metric in the ultra community where, essentially, more is better. My Saturday ritual became: run to the run club meeting point, do the run club run, then walk the 5km home. That walk was an easy way to rack up more steps, plus I’d usually grab a coffee and snack and stop by the gym for a sauna and cold plunge. I loved those Saturday mornings.

My peak weekend was a 42km run plus 22km of walking on Saturday, followed by a 60km run on Sunday — a 100-mile week in total. I felt surprisingly decent by Sunday night, which gave me a big confidence boost that I could handle long time-on-feet efforts. The 60km run was also a new distance PR for me, and the longest I’d run before the race.

Strength

I focused more on strength in this block than I would for a typical marathon build, especially legs and core/lower back. Just standing with a backpack for 20+ hours is demanding, and I wanted to make sure I was strong to cope with the demands of a long race.

Review of the Training Block

This block was much less strict than my marathon builds. I didn’t worry much about specific paces or workouts — the focus was simply on doing more. Mixing in cycling and hiking gave me a nice break from the monotony of running.

I won’t lie — the first 30 minutes of those Sunday long runs were brutal. My legs were often trashed from the day before, and mentally it was tough knowing I had 4+ hours ahead. But those fatigued trail runs were the best training I could have done — they’re the reason the race went as well as it did. I never used music on them, training my mind to handle the monotony of running for hours on end.

Trail runs were also where I practiced nutrition. I focused on more “real” foods like bars and peanut butter and jam sandwiches to get my stomach used to eating while running. Nutrition and GI issues are the number one cause of DNFs, so dialing this in was crucial.

Overall, I’m happy with how the block went — especially the last five weeks, where I didn’t miss a workout. I noticed big improvements: climbing felt much easier, and my easy pace got faster at a lower heart rate. I could hold a solid pace with a sub-140 HR for over an hour. I guess this Zone 2 stuff really does work!

Mental Training

The thought of running for 20+ hours was daunting, to say the least. It was much longer than I had ever run before, and the unknown was intimidating. I didn’t know what it would feel like to be out there for so long.

To prepare for that unknown, I did some intentional mental training. This consisted of extended sauna and cold plunge sessions, and not using music during any of my Sunday trail long runs.

For the sauna and cold plunge, I worked up to 30 minutes in the sauna, followed by 5 minutes in the plunge, then straight into a cold shower (no warm shower). During these sessions, I tried not to distract myself from the discomfort but instead sit with it — to accept it and exist in it. In the final weeks, I even started meditating and visualizing the race while in the sauna, focusing specifically on the moments when it would get hard.

Running without music on Sundays helped me get used to the monotony of long trail runs and spending hours alone with my thoughts.

I know this kind of mental training sounds a little woo-woo, but I do think it helped. The visualization in the sauna, especially, seemed to de-mystify the race and made it feel (slightly) less daunting.

Pre- Race

While I was confident in my preparation, I was still nervous. With marathons or Ironmans, the events last about as long as a workday — something I could wrap my head around. But with a 100 miler, you’re out there for 20+ hours, running through the night. That felt overwhelming, and I couldn’t quite imagine what it would be like.

The race was in Bend, Oregon, an eight-hour drive from San Francisco. The drive turned out to be a blessing — time away from distractions to mentally prepare. I listened to ultrarunning podcasts filled with tips and race recaps, shutting out everything else and getting into the right headspace. The computer engineer in me calls this “filling the cache” — loading my thoughts with one thing and locking in on it.

During the drive, I got clear on my why for the race and came up with mantras for each section. I like to break races into segments and assign a mantra to each. For this one, I divided it into four equal parts — essentially four marathons. Having this structure helped calm my nerves.

I arrived in Bend on Thursday evening and had Friday to get organized. Beyond packing my race vest, I also had to prepare everything my crew would bring to the accessible aid stations. My parents came down to crew me, and they’d see me at six points along the course. They could bring changes of clothes, extra body lube, food, and anything else I might need.

In a race this long, small problems — a hotspot, stomach issues, chafing — can end your day. Ultrarunning is as much logistics and problem solving as it is running. You have to catch issues early before they spiral.

Since this was my first ultra, I didn’t really know what I’d need, so I stocked up: Tums, foot tape, multiple types of lube, backup clothing. I also gave my parents clear instructions on what needed to happen at aid stations, knowing I wouldn’t be mentally sharp late in the race. Still, I wasn’t sure what an aid station stop should really look like — this was all new to me.

It was nice to have a a full day Friday to get everything packed, walk my parents through the gear, and sketch out an aid station plan. Once all that was done, there was nothing left but to race. That’s when the excitement kicked in. I had made it to the start line well-trained and uninjured. Conditions were perfect — cool weather with recent rain to keep the dust down. After all the preparation, finally being there ready to run felt like a weight lifted.

Race Plan

My race plan was simple: start easy and survive. This wasn’t a sprint, or even a marathon — this was an ultramarathon.

I had no real sense of what pace I should run. My biggest fear was going out too fast and blowing up in the second half. In an ultra, blowing up doesn’t mean slowing down a little — it means hours of zombie marching. On the flip side, I had no idea what pace I’d be able to sustain 15 hours in. So my strategy was to stay conservative early and, if I was still feeling good around mile 75, give myself permission to push in the final 25.

Race Mantras

One strategy I like in races is splitting them into sections and giving each one a mantra. It keeps me on plan and makes the distance more manageable — I only need to focus on the section I’m in. For this race, I divided it into four equal parts, each with its own mantra, plus one overarching motto for the entire day.

Overarching motto: This is the fun part!

Section mottos:

1. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast
2. Believe
3. Accept the lows, overcome the lows
4. Do the work, do what is required

This is the fun part!

The overarching motto — this is the fun part — was about remembering why I was there. No matter how tough it got, I wanted to enjoy it. I chose to be out there, and it’s a privilege to do these things. That mindset kept me light and positive. I got to spend an entire day outside exercising in the mountains AND eat as much as I want of whatever I want — my ideal day!

In life you gotta make sure to just enjoy the journey, because otherwise whats the point?

Slow is smooth, smooth is fast

To make sure I didn’t go out too fast the motto for section one was: Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Going out slow in the beginning would allow me to keep an even pace throughout the race, which will end up being faster.

Believe

I expected section two to feel tough and daunting with so much race left. In those moments, I focused on believing I could finish. Even when the distance felt overwhelming, I reminded myself: ‘Whether you believe you can or can’t, you’re probably right.’

Accept the lows, overcome the lows

From others’ experiences, I knew section three was where the lows typically hit. After 10+ hours of running, you’re not yet in the home stretch, and negativity creeps in mentally. My motto was: accept the lows, overcome the lows. I wanted to embrace my feelings and understand that lows are expected. But accepting the lows doesn’t mean succumbing to them. Accept them, but don’t let them win.

Do the work, do what is required

The motto for the final stretch was: Do the work, do what is required. At this point, regardless of how I felt or what pain I was in, I just needed to get it done. Nothing glamorous—head down, nose to the grindstone, one foot in front of the other.

Race Breakdown

Race morning I woke at 4am for the 6am start. I showered, taped my feet, and ate two pieces of sourdough with peanut butter and honey plus coffee. I had electrolytes and drank a Gatorade Zero on the drive over.

The start line was just an inflatable arch in a middle school parking lot—nothing fancy. This race felt more grassroots than others I’ve done, which I loved. Keep the ultra community niche and non-corporate! My only complaint: not nearly enough porta-potties at the start. I abandoned the line, planning an early bush stop instead.

Marathon 1 - Mile 0 to 25

This section flew by. With lots of runners still around, I forced myself to take it easy by running behind people who looked slower than me (lol). I felt amazing throughout this super easy pace, even though the section was almost entirely uphill with a big chunk of the race’s elevation gain.

I chatted to a few other runners during this section of the race. One lady and I ran together for around 10km which really made the section fly by. She is from Vancouver but was in Marin, CA training on the same trails I had trained on, so it was fun to chat about our favourite trails.

The first section ended at aid station 4, which was also the first aid station that I was able to see my crew. It was fun to see them and do our pit stop. It felt good to make through this first section feeling so fresh, especially since a large part of the elevation was out of the way.

Marathon 2 - Mile 25 to 50

The good times continued throughout this section. I felt incredibly fresh and started picking up the pace, passing quite a few people. When I asked my parents my position (around 40th), I didn’t care about placing but felt confident I hadn’t gone out too hard.

I focused on running my own race, never getting out of breath. My watch displayed only heart rate for 95%+ of the race—I ignored pace entirely, using heart rate and RPE to guide my effort.

This section had several big, fast downhills that really picked up the pace. While downhills keep your heart rate low, they hammer your quads. Around mile 45, the downhills gave way to rolling terrain. This was the first time I felt the effort increase, but after 7 hours, that was understandable.

This section ended with aid station 7, another crew accessible aid station, at the halfway mark. I had initially planned on changing my shirt, and maybe my socks at this aid station but decided not too. Since it wasn’t too hot I wasn’t sweating as much as I normally did so my shirt wasn’t too wet. And I wasn’t having any foot issues so I didn’t want to mess with a good thing.

The next section of the course was the most challenging section, and the next crew accesible aid station wasn’t for another 40km/25 miles at mile 74. I knew this would be a tough section, both mentally and physically. The race and really thined out and it was there were long stretches of time between seeing other runners.

My mantra for this section had been believe. I thought that I would need this reminder in order to make myself believe that I could do it. But in fact, because of how good I was feeling I really started to feel I could do this thing. I think this is the first time that I really had conviction that I was going to do this. However, leaving aid station 7, knowing it would be another 5 hours before seeing my crew again, I was ready for a case of the lows.

Marathon 3 - Mile 50 to 75

This section started with the course’s steepest climb. Surprisingly, I looked forward to it. After lots of fast running on downhills and flats, my legs were ready for a break. My strategy was to power walk steep uphills and run everything else, so I knew there’d be walking—a nice leg break.

Years in a fast-walking family had prepared me for this moment. On the long steep climb where most people walked, I passed them (while also walking). I hadn’t trained this specifically, but being a fast walker/hiker really helps in ultras.

The sections between aid stations 8 and 10 were my lowest points. I was pleased with my progress and well ahead of my sub-24-hour goal, but the monotony of being out there so long was wearing on me. Even after 10 hours, knowing I still had 45 miles left was tough. Doing the math (which took embarrassingly long), I was confident I could walk it in under 24 hours and earn the coveted sub-24 belt buckle. But I knew I wouldn’t be proud of that effort. Even if it looked successful from the outside, I’d know I had more to give. I wanted to finish still running, not blown up.

One thing I’d learned: if I felt down, I needed more food, specifically sugar. “Mood = food.” To combat the lows, I started slamming gels—instant mood boosters. I’d been worried about GI issues after overeating early on, so I’d reduced my food intake, which contributed to these lows. From this point on, I focused on getting more sugar through gels and liquid carbs.

Aid station 9 to 10 was one of the longest stretches—just over 10 miles. This section was a grind. I saw only one other person on the course’s most technical trail section. My only thought was reaching aid station 10 to see my crew and reset. I hadn’t sat down or changed gear at previous stations, but here I’d change socks and prepare for nightfall.

Despite being tough, this was the race’s most beautiful section. Coming down the ridge offered sweeping views, and the setting sun created gorgeous lighting. I’d initially expected to navigate this technical terrain in darkness, so I was thrilled to get through while it was still light.

I was ecstatic to finally reach aid station 10. 75% done—the final stretch was starting."

Man was I happy when I had finally made it to aid station 10. 75% done, and starting the final stretch.

Marathon 4 - Mile 75 - 100

I felt much better leaving aid station 10. Freshly changed and fueled, I was ready for the final section. Seeing my parents had boosted my spirits, and knowing this section had two crew-accessible aid stations helped break it up—crew stations were always something to look forward to.

The sun was setting, so I put on my headlamp to prepare for running in darkness. I’d never run in the dark before (the one gap in my training), so I was anxious about it. I didn’t want to trip or roll an ankle this far into the race, especially with my toes already sensitive from stubbing them multiple times. During technical sections, I held a second headlamp in addition to wearing one, which helped illuminate the trail and highlight toe-stubbing rocks.

I was still moving surprisingly well. I’d maintained my strategy of using RPE and never getting out of breath. I couldn’t believe how well my legs had held up—they just kept responding. Occasionally my ankle would get sore or my shin would feel funny, but these were minor issues that usually disappeared. I had no reason to stop running, so I kept running.

Aid stations 10 to 12 (miles 74-85) were uneventful. I kept my head down, grinding forward. This is when it got properly dark, and I adjusted to existing in the small bubble of headlamp light. Things were getting tough—not from anything specific, just the kind of tough that comes with moving for 16 hours.

Aid stations 12 and 14 were both crew-accessible, and I knew this was the final push. Once I reached aid station 14, only 6km remained—the home stretch. Though things were getting tough, I still had cards to play.

Until aid station 12 at mile 84, I hadn’t listened to music or consumed caffeine. With only 15 miles left, it was time to play my final cards. I deployed my secret weapon: Coca Cola. It had saved me in Ironman’s final stretch and would push me to the end now. I downed a cup, popped a caffeine gel, put in my headphones, and left ready to finish.

Since the halfway point 35 miles back, I’d seen only a handful of people—things had spread out significantly. But in the 10 miles between stations 12 and 14, I passed five people—the most in one stretch since the race start. Fueled by house music and caffeine, I’d actually picked up pace while others slowed down. Knowing I was moving well was motivating and pushed me to keep going.

I’d focused on running my own race all day, not worrying about others. I’d last heard I was in 40th at station 4, but knew I’d passed quite a few since then. More importantly, no one had passed me once. This confirmed I’d played it smart—starting conservatively and holding consistent pace. I’d simply slowed down less than everyone else.

My parents had watched me steadily rise through the ranks but hadn’t told me my position to avoid extra pressure (which I appreciated). However, at aid station 14 with only 6km left and me relatively lucid, my dad revealed I was in 7th place with 6th not far ahead. This gave me the motivation to push hard on the final section, running some of my fastest splits of the race.

Finish

Entering the track for the final 400m felt surreal. I’d thought about this moment for months, and it was hard to believe it was finally here. Months of training and 18 hours of racing had led to this—and arriving still running made it even more surreal.

Crossing the finish line in 18 hours 2 minutes (only 2 minutes off the prior year’s winning time) and crushing my sub-24-hour goal felt incredible. But what felt better was knowing I hadn’t given up, even when things got tough and I wanted to walk or take it easy. I’d given my best shot, and that was something I was proud of.

Once I stopped running, my legs quickly went from “wow, I can’t believe how good they feel” to “oh man, my legs do not feel good.” I hobbled over for a pulled pork sandwich and watermelon before getting in the car to head back to the Airbnb—knowing I was in for a pretty sleepless night.

Nutrition

Eating was the worst part of the race. I was constantly eating, and by the end, I was so sick of it that I never wanted to see sugar again.

I didn’t have a formalized nutrition plan (anxiety-inducing) because I didn’t know how my stomach would react. I didn’t think I could survive on gels alone, so I’d been practicing with real foods like PB&J sandwiches on training runs. My rough plan was to eat real foods like bars and PB&Js early, then transition to gels and liquid nutrition if my stomach became upset.

The first half, I inhaled whatever aid stations offered: sandwiches, tortillas, bananas, Rice Krispies, gels, waffles, gummy bears—you name it. At each station, I’d grab things that looked good, stuff some in my pack, and hit the road. Eating diverse foods made it easier to get calories since I didn’t get sick of anything, but I probably consumed too much fat (peanut butter on sandwiches and tortillas) and not enough carbs.

I was worried about overeating and my digestive system shutting down, so I backed off a little. However, an hour later my mood really dipped, and eating gels improved it. So I went back to the “as much as you can stomach” approach.

Around mile 65, I was really sick of eating. My stomach wasn’t upset but definitely didn’t feel good. At this point, I got most nutrition from gels and liquid carbs, meaning almost all my calories came from carbs—which I think was what I needed.

Aside from injury, stomach or GI issues were what I most feared causing a DNF. It’s common for people to throw up and become unable to eat. Luckily, I had no major issues and got calories in throughout the entire race. Given my energy levels right up to the end, I think I did a good job getting sufficient calories.

Throughout the 18 hours I would say that I was eating at least every 20 minutes. The highlights were an Eggo waffle with Nutella and fresh warm pancakes.

Thoughts

Mid-Race

During races, I’ve always found there are lots of admin and logistical things to worry about: pacing, nutrition strategy, how your body feels, etc. Combined with race excitement, my mind is usually quite occupied.

While this still held for the 100-miler, over 18+ hours it’s inevitable there will be monotonous sections. For me, this best describes the tough mental aspects: monotony. I was never deep in the hurt locker or grimacing in pain, but things got monotonous, especially between miles 60-80. I’d been running for 10+ hours, but the finish line was still far away.

This monotony was exacerbated by choosing not to have pacers (who often serve more as talking buddies than pacers) and only listening to music for the final 20km. For the other 140km, it was just me and my thoughts.

What did those thoughts look like? For the first half, I honestly kept thinking how great I felt and how awesome it was to be out there. I kept telling myself, ‘This is the fun part.’

When things got tougher, I reflected on the mantras I’d set up for myself. I also found myself thinking about my cookie jar—a concept where each cookie in your metaphorical jar represents something hard you’ve done in the past. This acts as proof of your ability to do hard things and is a testament to the type of person you are. I’d say to myself, ‘Just me and my cookie jar,’ and think about previous races or tough training sessions where I’d persevered. I also thought about the super monster cookie I was working on adding to my jar.

I also tried not to focus too much on time and distance. I felt that being hyper-focused on those would make things pass slower. My watch screen showed only heart rate for 97% of the race—nothing else. This meant I couldn’t constantly check how much further to the next aid station. I generally looked at distance only once or twice between aid stations. I think this helped me focus on the current moment rather than being overwhelmed by the entire race at once.

Closing Thoughts

I never doubted I’d finish—I just wanted to finish strong. At some point, I also realized I’d definitely hit my sub-24-hour goal. The lows I was fighting weren’t about finishing, but the urge to take it easy, walk sections, or coast since I’d achieve my goal. Even if on paper it looked like I’d crushed it, I would know. I’d know I had decided to go easy when I could’ve kept running.

It’s easy to let your standards slip when no one is watching, but this is the time that you define the standard for yourself. I wanted to know when getting in the shower post race that I hadn’t given up, that I’d fought until the end and finished with an empty tank. The hardest part was knowing I had it in the bag and not allowing myself to let up. No one would know or think less of me for running 20 or 22 hours instead of 18, but I would know. And that’s what counts.

Training is the hard part. No one’s watching—it’s about being consistent day in and day out, doing the work, doing what’s required.