‘The Mountain Will Make Cowards Out of All of Us’

Nate Boyer appeared up as he started his ascent of Hope Pass about 40 miles into the Leadville Trail 100-mile race. The four-mile part rose 3,200 toes in elevation, taking runners to 12,600 toes above sea degree. He must conquer the steep grade, run seven miles down the opposite aspect to a turnaround and repeat the method. The solar beat down as he maneuvered the path, devoid of any shade.

“It’s ironic it’s called Hope Pass, because that’s the most hopeless feeling,” Boyer, 42, mentioned after the race. “Like you are pushing the hardest you can to take the next step — and you’re not gaining ground.”

At mile 47, Boyer unintentionally jammed his left foot below a rock. His shin swelled, and his leg throbbed. Fifty-three miles to go, he instructed himself. Keep transferring.

Life in soccer had concerned a wholly completely different form of ache.

David Vobora, 37, began throwing up when he started the Hope Pass climb. He alternated between strolling and jogging as he vomited. A runner in her 50s stopped and rubbed his again as he hunched over once more.

At one level, Boyer and Vobora met on the path. They hugged and provided phrases of encouragement. The two have been buddies for years — and their expertise with tough bodily challenges set them aside from a lot of the different runners.

Vobora was the final decide within the 2008 N.F.L. draft, incomes the annual title “Mr. Irrelevant.” He labored his approach as much as beginning linebacker for the Rams after which the Seahawks throughout a four-year profession.

Boyer, a former U.S. Army Green Beret who went on to play soccer on the University of Texas, was an undrafted free agent who performed lengthy snapper in preseason video games for Seattle in 2015.

Now, each males have been making an attempt to change into the primary former N.F.L. group members to complete the punishing 100-mile race earlier than the 30-hour cutoff.

“Just being up against that distance, that elevation, that length of time — the mountain will make cowards out of all of us,” Vobora mentioned. “It feels more spiritual than you versus an opponent. It’s you versus who will show up internally.”

After Vobora’s N.F.L. profession, he based the Adaptive Training Foundation in Dallas, which offers free coaching and neighborhood to wounded, unwell and injured army veterans and civilians. He turned eager about working Leadville after pacing a pal for 18 miles in 2021.

Vobora had began working in the course of the pandemic. He ran 10 miles at some point and felt surprisingly tremendous afterward. In April 2021, he accomplished a marathon, working loops round a pond, after which tried 100 miles in 24 hours, ending with 9 minutes to spare.

“I was a total mess afterward,” Vobora mentioned. “Laying on the ground. I couldn’t eat. I was peeing blood.”

But he mentioned he had additionally thought, “How far could I take this?”

To put together for Leadville, Vobora began an intense coaching schedule. He stopped consuming alcohol and ate solely meat and fruit, dropping from 255 to 205 kilos to undertake a extra runner-like construct.

“Before Leadville, it was about taking on the task and having the buckle,” he mentioned, referring to the belt buckle runners obtain for ending. “Now it was, ‘You’re going to do this because you said you would.’ The stakes were so high, and it took 100 percent of me to train, maybe for the first time since football. That was something I had missed.”

Boyer is a filmmaker and a co-founder of Merging Vets and Players, a nonprofit group that helps fight veterans and former skilled athletes make transitions to new lives. He additionally hosts the Discovery Channel present “Survive the Raft,” through which contestants work collectively on a raft to finish challenges.

In 2022, Boyer ran the Austin Marathon and, 5 weeks later, a 50K. After the latter race, he mentioned, he didn’t really feel the bone and joint soreness he had skilled after the marathon.

“I thought, ‘That’s interesting,’” Boyer mentioned. “‘Maybe I’m more made for this distance?’”

So Leadville it was.

“I don’t know if it’s about running at all,” Boyer mentioned. “It’s the challenge of seeing what your body is capable of. A lot comes from a very deep-seated insecurity, most likely — feeling like you need to do something incredible with your life..”

Gummy Worms and Pretzels

The Leadville 100, which begins and ends in Leadville, Colo., began at 4 a.m. on Aug. 19. Runners traverse the Rockies in what organizers describe as a “true elevation roller coaster.” High-altitude sections, trails and paved roads, and technical sections of the Colorado Trail mix for over 15,000 toes of internet elevation acquire.

Seven hundred runners ranging in age from 18 to 72 began the race. Only 365 completed throughout the time restrict.

Six and a half hours after the beginning, Boyer entered Twin Lakes, the help station at Mile 37.9. His three-person crew laid out gummy worms, bars and gels for power, pretzels and different snacks. Boyer sat in a folding chair and altered his socks and sneakers. He drank coconut water and ate blueberries and a banana.

“My legs are killing me,” Boyer mentioned. “My back hurts. And I’m dehydrated.” He paused and smiled. “Otherwise, life is great.”

A few hours later, Vobora jogged into Twin Lakes. His eight-person crew had arrange a tent close to the help station entrance.

His tone was all enterprise. “The things that hurt the worst are my knees,” Vobora mentioned, who additionally mentioned he was cramping.

His spouse, Sarah, unpacked and repacked his bag. “Pack the big gloves,” Vobora mentioned. “My hands went fully numb this morning.” Temperatures seesawed from the low 40s at the beginning to the excessive 70s noon and again into the 40s that evening.

“I feel like I should be further than 38 miles,” Vobora mentioned, chuckling, as he began jogging away. “My energy is good. My stomach has been all over the place. I’m trying to force-feed myself so I can have all the energy for the climb back up Hope Pass the second time. My main thing is the clock. The time stamp getting back over to Twin Lakes before 10 p.m. That’s the cutoff, right?”

What Went Wrong?

Vobora had arrived in Leadville two weeks earlier than the race to acclimate to the elevation. He had an in depth 28-hour race plan: go quick on the downhills, aggressively hike the ascents. Remain regular on the flats. While soccer is a group sport through which everybody should work collectively, for Leadville, Vobora could be working alongside folks with their very own particular person targets and motivations. He favored that particular problem.

“Of the hundreds of miles leading up to this race, I’ve probably felt good in about 10 percent,” Vobora mentioned earlier than the race. “Maybe 20 if I’m being liberal. The rest have just been work.”

After nearly 17 hours on the course, Vobora trudged again into Twin Lakes. On Hope Pass, he hadn’t stopped vomiting for 3 hours. He had skilled intense cramping. A medical official had advisable that he drop out, and he relented.

As he rode the shuttle down the mountain, he leaned his head towards the window and bawled.

“Damn it, man,” he mentioned, his voice catching. He began speaking about his technique for subsequent time: He would put somebody at each help station. “They’ll have a bag and say, ‘Here,’ and I’ll keep running. I know I can run this thing.”

Vobora walked to the tent the place his crew waited. He and his greatest pal, Mo Brossette, additionally a member of his assist group, tried to find out what had occurred: too many salt tablets? Too a lot meals?

“I’m so mad right now, dude — and I’m so sorry, you guys,” Vobora mentioned to his crew.

The subsequent day, Vobora mirrored in a textual content message: “More and more grateful each moment that I did not complete it. Because the questions I am asking and the places I am exploring … I couldn’t be here without it.”

Boyer had arrived in Colorado the day earlier than the race, staying in a lodge 40 minutes away from the place to begin. As darkness fell and the temperatures dropped, he tried to not overthink the miles he had left. “Focus on what you can do in these next few steps,” Boyer had mentioned earlier than the race. “The mountain won’t look like it’s getting any closer if you keep looking at it.”

Vobora mentioned the bodily problem of an ultramarathon was completely completely different from the ache of taking part in soccer, which he mentioned concerned “short bursts that are very aggressive, warring, violent actions.”

He continued: “Ultramarathoning is the complete opposite side of the coin. It involves patience. It involves the state of sort of equanimity to approach difficulty and pain.”

Chris Long, an 11-year N.F.L. veteran who now has a basis devoted to offering training and clear water world wide, is a pal of each Vobora and Boyer; each have labored with him on basis initiatives.

He mentioned their expertise in soccer had ready them properly for the problem of Leadville.

“Playing in the N.F.L. teaches you how to turn your brain off, put your head down and work,” Long wrote in an e mail. “You get good at going to your ‘happy place’ and distracting your mind from the challenge itself.”

‘Is There Any Beer?’

After greater than 24 hours on the course, Boyer crested the second-to-last hill. Stars have been scattered throughout the sky as he ran, headlamp on, towards the end line a block south of Leadville’s principal avenue. Small pockets of spectators cheered as he jogged the ultimate ascent.

“Let’s go, Nate — what a finish!” Mitch Moyer, his crew chief, yelled as he ran alongside Boyer.

Boyer completed in 24 hours 31 minutes 7 seconds. The announcer referred to as his title out to the practically empty stands. Boyer was the 57th male finisher and the 63rd finisher general. He embraced Merilee Maupin and Ken Chlouber, the race’s co-founders.

“Do you want anything?” Moyer requested.

“Is there any beer?” Boyer requested, smiling. Moyer handed him a nonalcoholic beer. “That’s actually better,” Boyer mentioned. His stroll turned to a hobble, and he started to shiver.

Racers who end in below 25 hours obtain an even bigger buckle than different finishers get. As Boyer walked to retrieve his, the ache began to set in.

“Is running fun for me?” he mentioned, laughing. “No. It’s not. It’s therapeutic — but therapy is not always fun. There’s nothing better than finishing a run, no matter what the distance. The worst part is starting it, and the best part is finishing it. Everything in between is up and down.”