Lea Mulligan: Cruel Jewel 100

What version of yourself would you bring to a race if it was the embodiment of a lifetime? 

This question was posed to me before Cruel Jewel 100 and truly helped to shape the experience in ways I never could have imagined. I’ve always thought that the 100 mile distance is special because it represents the full range of emotions humans can experience in one singular day/race. This long of a distance doesn’t allow for intrusive thoughts about the other worries of life. Instead, it simplifies life into a singular goal of survival until reaching the finish line. It’s a microcosm of the highs and lows we face in day to day life placed into a finite amount of time. 

It’s rare that we get the opportunity to choose the type of person we want to bring to a situation that can act as a metaphor for who we are across years of our lives. Cruel Jewel 100 gave me the opportunity to choose the type of person I wanted to be when faced with unexpected struggles in a time that I thought would be filled with fun exploring. 

My goal going into Cruel Jewel was to chase the course record. I’d looked at the prior course record holder’s splits and felt confident that I could match the pace on a good day. Most of Cruel Jewel traverses a rugged ridgeline on the Duncan Ridge Trail, and wandering through roots and rocks generally helps me find my best flow state while running. 

My crew and I dialed in all the logistics needed for a good day - gels for every 30 minutes on the course, ice bandana for the hot humid day, change of shoes into the Progidio 2 if I needed to switch out of the Pro, and all the anti-chafe options! We didn’t need to book a hotel for the night before the race because it started at noon only an hour drive from my house. 

When we got to race morning, all of my crew (and dear friends) came over to my house first thing to have a bagel breakfast and garner the stoke for the day! My stomach was rolling with nerves per usual, but I managed to choke down a full bagel and latte. 

As we pulled up to the race start, I felt as prepared as ever for a good day! I was fully immersed in my community and was excited to embrace a full day and night on my home trails! Dumass Events does a special recognition of the women competing in Cruel Jewel before the race start, and it added to the excited energy to look around at all the other incredible women planning to traverse 108 miles and 30,000 ft of elevation gain. 

The race directors drew an old school starting line in the dirt and we were off down a rolling gravel road! I started off comfortably near the front of the race and hung on to that feeling of stoke put towards the experience. 

The first 45 minutes of the race were wonderful, but after that, I started to have a small nagging feeling that something was wrong. I was breathing a little harder than normal and already felt a little woozy going up the first climb - a climb I’d done in training without too much strain. It was as hot and humid as expected for a May day in Georgia, but I’d prepared for the heat and shouldn’t have been feeling funky from it so early in the day. Regardless, I took some deep breaths and kept moving through the first miles of long rolling climbs and descents. 

I saw my crew for the first time at mile 19, Old Dial Road, and immediately told them that I was cooking after the last 4 miles on the only road section of the course. They poured water over my head, reassured me that the day was still young, and pushed me out of the aid station. While I was there, the 2nd place female and badass friend, Rachel, came through as well - both of us on course record splits at the time. 

It was a bit of a boost to join her out of the aid station, but I quickly realized that I couldn’t keep up with her on the hills. Each step uphill felt like I was moving through sludge, and I kept trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling. Through the next 6 miles to the next aid station, I was passed by countless people and moving much slower than I would during a 25 mile training run. I kept racking my brain to figure out what was going wrong, but I couldn’t pinpoint anything that I’d done differently than normal. 

When I got to the next aid, my husband said, “These days are special too.” That statement really resonated with me. My panicked thoughts were wondering what on earth I was going to do with the next 80 miles if I already felt that bad, but he helped re-center me on the mission at hand. One foot in front of the other to experience the journey of 100 miles on that given day. 

The next 26 miles to see my crew again were some of the hardest miles of my entire life. I started throwing up around the 50K mark, couldn’t make my legs flow downhill, and sat on more than my fair share of logs. I kept searching for the joy out there and found it in little still moments. I spent most of that time alone and paused several times to listen to the crickets in the trees and soak in the shades of green surrounding me. One particularly bad vomiting session was followed by a stunning sunset, and I paused to soak in the cotton candy colors in the sky. 

Through that entire chunk of the experience, the thought of stopping didn’t cross my mind. It was freeing in a way to let go of the idea of being competitive and focus purely on moving my body through the forest. Instead of a race, Cruel Jewel became an adventure focused on seeing what I was capable of in the face of an exceptionally bad day. 

My crew were all waiting for me at the half way point, and I truly don’t think I would have finished this race without their support. Not a single one of them said something negative about my day. Instead, they were their usual selves, making me laugh and soak in the time in their presences. I pride myself on not spending long in aid stations, but this was a 30 minute hang with pizza and ginger ale becoming my new source of fuel.

After the half way point, I got my first pacer, Charlie. We had to ascend a 4,000 foot climb out of the aid station to return in the direction of the finish line. This was also the first moment I really reflected on the day and thought about wanting to stop. We sat on a rock at the top of the climb, and I cried for about 20 minutes. I thought about how grateful I am for my life and questioned why I was choosing to put myself in a position to be miserable for hours on end. I didn’t quite figure out the answer to that question at the time, but the conversation refocused things for me. I still had 30 hours to finish the race, and I was getting to that finish line. I wanted to finish for myself, my team, and for the athletes that I coach that inspire me every single day with their own grit and determination. 

Charlie was absolutely the MVP pacer and got me through the worst 6 hours of the race. I took the first dirt naps of my life and prioritized moving from chair to chair in each aid station. By the time I took my 2nd dirt nap, the sun rose, and I was starting to rebound a bit. 

My husband, Mike, was my next pacer, and I was miraculously in a great mood for my miles with him. I left aid with him with a full cup of smoothie and chatted uphill while drinking my frozen breakfast. We turned on some music, and I actually managed to hit some sub 10 minute miles - a rare occurrence at this point in the race. 

I got to my final pacer, Will, at mile 85 (93 on my watch), and laughed as he said, “It’s the beginning of our journey!” Perspective is a wild thing since it really would have been the beginning of a long training run. We had almost 18 miles and 6 + hours to share together into my second sunset of the race. At that point, I knew without a doubt that I was going to finish the race and felt the lightest I had the entire experience. We screeched random pop songs to the universe, and it felt like we were charging ever closer to the finish line. 

At 35 hours, I crossed the finish line of Cruel Jewel 100. Originally, I’d been convinced that sub 25 hours was possible. In the moment, finishing that race in 35 hours was more meaningful than a perfect day ever could have been to me. I’ve wanted to run 100 mile races since I was 15 years old, and I knew at that moment that a younger version of me would have been so proud of who I’ve become in this sport. 

If Cruel Jewel 100 was the embodiment of who I am throughout a lifetime, I’m so thankful that I got to choose to lean into the love of my friends and my passion for movement in the outdoors over stopping when things got hard. I want to be a person who learns how to giggle alongside tears, is unflinchingly appreciative of my people, and lets the whole world know how awesome it is to be able to suffer in wild spaces. 

I’ve wracked my brain over the last month trying to figure out what went wrong on this day, and I’ve never been able to figure out what happened. Sometimes, things just aren’t aligned, and this effort helped me realize that. My competitive fire hasn’t burned out after this experience, but things have shifted a little. Now, I know that it’s okay to have different frames of reference for a successful day. Ultra running isn’t a predictable sport, and there’s a certain magic to that. Each race, each long run, and each moment in the mountains is special, regardless of the outcome. 

Photos: © @wolffrancis / John Dooley