Hardrock 100 altimetría – Profile and Checkpoints
Introduction: Where everything begins with respect
Hardrock 100 altimetría is not just a profile to analyze: it’s a declaration of suffering, beauty, and pure humility. Ever since I decided to take on this race, I knew I was stepping into something different. It’s not just about completing 100 miles; it’s about moving through the wild heart of the San Juan Mountains in Colorado, with over 10,000 meters of vertical gain and mountain passes approaching 4,300 m.
While other ultras may allow for a few mistakes, Hardrock doesn’t forgive even one bad decision. That’s why I’m writing this review — to share what I learned about its profile and checkpoints, not from a chart or map, but from my legs, my mind, and everything I lived through out there.
The Hardrock Profile: A rollercoaster with no breaks
To begin with, the Hardrock 100 altimetría is the very first thing you should study if you ever dream of running it. Every section has such aggressive elevation gain that even the so-called “manageable” parts feel twice as hard. From the moment you leave Silverton, there’s no mercy: within the first five kilometers, you’re already climbing over 900 meters.
During the first 30 km, you tackle the ascent to Green Mountain, which marks the start of the real challenge. Although my training got me there in one piece, the altitude was already starting to weigh on me. Moreover, your body quickly realizes this isn’t just another ultra — here, every climb has a name, and every descent has consequences.
One of the keys to survival is accepting that there are no “easy sections.” Even the descents demand technical skill, control, and deep focus. For example, the descent from Grant-Swamp Pass was one of the most brutal I’ve ever done: steep, rocky, with loose terrain and sections of mud that turned into improvised slides.
Handies Peak: When the sky feels too close
Reaching the summit of Handies Peak (4,281 m) was one of the most intense moments of the entire race — not just because of the altitude, but because of everything it represents. I’d already crossed several peaks, but this one felt different. As I climbed, every step was a conscious effort, almost existential. The lack of oxygen forced me to pause every 20 strides — not from fatigue, but simply because I couldn’t breathe.
Even so, the landscape pushed me to keep going. Despite the exhaustion, the sunrise from that point, with snowcapped peaks below me, felt almost mystical. That’s when I finally understood why people say Hardrock is a race you run with your soul.
The hardest part, however, came right after: descending with a foggy head, knowing that half the course still remained — and that the worst was yet to come.
Checkpoints: Oases, traps, and tactical choices
Throughout the route, the organizers set up 13 checkpoints — but the key is understanding which are strategic and how to approach each one. In my case, checkpoints weren’t just hydration stops; they were moments for critical tactical decisions. You don’t stop out of habit — you stop out of purpose.
My Key Checkpoint Stops:
Cunningham Gulch (km 13)
Though it’s the first aid station, I arrived with my heart rate already high. I took the opportunity to adjust my poles, change gloves (it had been a cold morning), and eat something salty.Sherman (km 44)
Here I switched into survival mode. I had hot broth, topped up my electrolytes, and analyzed my pacing. Many runners were already struggling. I noticed that those who didn’t arrive strong here suffered badly on Handies.Grouse Gulch (km 67)
This was the checkpoint where I learned the most. I saw people dropping out, others taking 10-minute naps, and some crawling out. I changed socks, boosted my gel reserves, and forced myself to leave quickly before comfort could lure me.Telluride (km 98)
The setting is deceptive: it looks like the end is near, but the worst awaits. I saw empty stares here. I had some soup, reviewed the remaining profile, and convinced myself I could make it if I stayed sharp.Kroger’s Canteen (Virginius Pass)
I had never been in a place so surreal. A checkpoint perched in the snow, with volunteers cheering like angels. Even though it wasn’t a full aid station, emotionally it gave me a boost like no other.
The body, the mind, and the altitude: The perfect storm
After km 115, your body no longer reacts the way you want. Every decision matters. Your stomach starts to shut down, your feet hurt more than usual, and your mind spirals into a loop where motivation fights with exhaustion.
The constant altitude — because this race doesn’t just have one peak, it keeps you above 3,000 m most of the time — wears you down invisibly. Even if you feel good, a 500-meter climb can suddenly feel like scaling Everest. Personally, I started experiencing mild nausea, some blurred vision, and a mental fatigue I hadn’t felt in any other ultra.
Also, nights in Hardrock are different. The cold cuts deep. The silence is overwhelming. And if you find yourself alone — like I did for a stretch of more than two hours without seeing a soul — the fight is no longer against the clock, but against your own shadow.
Technical terrain: Every step can end it all
One of the lesser-discussed but most defining aspects of Hardrock is its incredibly technical terrain. Being strong or having endurance isn’t enough — you must know how to move confidently across unstable, exposed, and often pathless ground.
Often, the downhills are worse than the climbs. Mud, snow, and loose rock turn any misstep into a potentially dangerous fall. I myself nearly wiped out twice on descents where my poles were more for balance than propulsion.
That’s why, if you’re planning to run it, you must train for technical descents, practice at altitude, and test your gear in similar conditions. Because if anything fails — you fail.
Lessons learned (and mistakes not to repeat)
After more than 35 hours on the trail, I crossed the finish line completely drained — but with a smile that won’t fade anytime soon. Still, not everything went perfectly. That’s why I want to share a few key takeaways I wish someone had told me:
Always eat — even when you’re not hungry: At altitude, your body shuts down without warning.
Don’t overload your pack: Every gram matters when you’re climbing for two hours straight.
Control foot moisture: Change socks, and use anti-chafe cream early and often.
Don’t trust that the course “eases up” near the end: The final stretch can be the most mentally demanding.
Appreciate every checkpoint: They’re more than logistics — they’re temporary homes in the middle of hell.
Conclusion
Hardrock 100 altimetría is a bold statement. Every summit, every descent, and every single kilometer forces you to make a decision. This isn’t a race for social media glory. It’s a commitment — to the mountains, to yourself, and to a community that understands what it means to give yourself completely to an impossible challenge.
Would I go back? Absolutely. But not for the medal, or the photo, or even the rock kiss. I’d return because, in every step, I felt more alive than ever.
