An Uncomfortable Position

"If anyone wants around me, just let me know. I don't belong up here!". That was less than four miles into a 50k with 7.5k feet of vertical climb. The pace felt casual--not easy, not hard, but somewhere in between and what I refer to as "cruising". I was in the lead and, while I didn't know the runners around me, I knew there were always some damn good ones in the race from looking at past race results and it felt uncomfortable being in the front.

We all hit the second aid station at mile 7.5 just under the one hour mark and, while I didn't comprehend the pace at the time, it felt fine, especially considering we were running every climb. After that aid station, the guy in the speedo, yes, a speedo, no shirt with his bib folded neatly in his waistband took off. I told the guys I was running with that he planned on stopping to hang out with his friends at the next aid station so I wasn't going to chase him.  They appreciated the info and we all continued at the same pace. This section was the longest at 8.5 miles and more of the same--twisting trail with ups and downs. I settled into a comfortable rhythm. At least, now, I could tell myself I wasn't leading anymore. Slowly, we all began separating, and eventually I found myself alone on the trail. Within a mile of the next aid station, I caught up with the guy in the speedo and we ran into the 16 mile aid station (2:07 elapsed). I'm glad I can't do math in my head because knowing what that pace was would have freaked me out. I continued and speedo guy slapped my back and wished me the best. Off into the woods I continued.

Speedo Guy!

I could hear cheering and a cowbell shortly thereafter which told me the other guys weren't far behind. So, I decided to push a little--run the descents a little faster, push harder through the technical sections, run all the climbs. Until..., I came to a T-intersection with not a ribbon to be found. WTF! Did I miss a turn? Since I was wearing a GPS watch, I have a documented timeline (not necessarily a good thing) to look back on for post-race reference. I looked uphill to the left and downhill to the right.  Nothing!  Solid trail in both directions. I decided to run back towards the last ribbons thinking that I must have missed a turn and ran into the 2nd place guy (Ben Creehan) within 2 minutes. We went back up to the intersection and he began talking about trail names using colors (blue trail, green trail, etc.). Didn't mean a thing to me. We decided to go uphill, for 200 vertical. No ribbons at the next 2 intersections, so we turned around and headed back down to meet up with runner 3 and 4. More discussions ensued and we decided to head downhill. Total time figuring this out: 10 minutes, 9/10's mile. Eventually, I saw a ribbon about a mile down the trail before crossing the creek and highway. I had put a slight gap on the guys and blew through the knee deep, fairly wide creek crossing without slowing down and exited the other side soaked from all the splashing. But, in my head I told myself that, surely, no one else would run across that creek and I was trying to build a lead, if only by a few more seconds. I had no idea how long this dream I began having at mile 4 would last. I didn't belong here...

I continued pushing myself to run all the climbs, telling myself that if I don't and the guys behind me do, then the gap will close. I made it to Billy Simpson’s aid station at mile 23.8 in 3:23.  Billy was shocked to see me and so was I.  I explained, "this wasn't the plan". I was just coming out for a good run, not trying to win the damn thing and certainly not on a pace to break 5 hours on this course. I left, crossed the highway, ran through a wooded creek bottom, and, eventually, crossed the same creek (different locale) in the same fashion as before and headed up to what I knew was the biggest climb of the day.

I had begun doing a little walking, but kept pushing as much as possible and running the flatter portions of the climb. Also, I was experiencing some quad cramping, probably from my body not used to running up this much incline. But, I kept it in check for the most part. Funny thing was, when I walked the cramping would begin, but running made it go away.  This section seemed to go by quickly as I made it the 27.3 mile aid station at the 4:03 mark. I knew I had just 3.7 miles to go and considered just filling up one bottle, but decided to fill up both. I left quickly, just as I had at the other aid stations (just there long enough to fill bottles) and began a downhill on an old jeep road. Eventually, I would make a left turn and enter single track.  I was doing the math in my head and realized I was going to finish way under 5 hours, especially considering it was a downhill/flat finish with the 7.5k of vertical climbing basically done.  And, then, the trail dumped onto a large gravel parking lot with a trailhead sign—not a ribbon in sight and 4 choices on where to go.  I, immediately, let out a string of expletives.

A mountain biker got out of her SUV and asked me where I was trying to go. I told her ‘Blanchard Springs”.  She said, you’re WAY far from there and these trails don’t go that direction. I explained I was leading a 50k trail race and quizzed her on the trails and nearby roads and where they went. I didn’t like any of the answers because they definitely went in the wrong direction.  I did study the course map before the race (always do!), but at this moment all I could think is what I should do.  She said I needed to go back the way I came for over a mile to the jeep road. That was the last thing I wanted to do since it was all uphill.  But, eventually, I left and retraced my steps.  I ran into the 2^nd place guy, Damian, 12 minutes from when I first went off course and told him my predicament and he thought I had gone in the correct direction. So, we turned around and went back to the gravel parking area.  The mountain biker got out of her SUV, again, and we went through the same conversation I had with her earlier.  We decided to retrace our steps and ran into Ben Creehan (3^rd place guy) 20 minutes elapsed since I went off course.  He thought the way I had gone was correct so we turned around, again, and ran back down to the gravel parking lot (3^rd time for me!).  All I could think was “this girl must think we are nuts!).  This time, she stayed in her SUV, which I can appreciate.  I echoed to Ben what she had had already told me twice and we proceeded to do a little more aggressive recon on one of the trails. Ben turned around and went back to the gravel parking lot to look at the trailhead map trying to figure out where we were.  Eventually, we decided to retrace our steps (3^rd time for me!).  We ran into another runner coming our way and we had to strongly convince him to turn around and follow us.  Low and behold, we found the turn we missed.  There were ribbons marking the turn, but we missed them.  When I came down the trail the first time, which was 40 minutes prior, by the way, I hadn’t noticed the turn.  It was a downhill cutback turn going off into the woods on an all but a nonexistent, leaf covered trail.  I proceeded to bomb the next section on the most treacherous terrain of the day, leaving the guys behind.  There was a ribbon at what seemed like every few dozen yards and was the most heavily marked section of course (probably because if you walked across that trail in the woods you wouldn’t have thought it was a trail). During that 40 minute excursion, I covered an additional 2.5 miles, according to my Garmin.

As soon as the trail leveled out, it began running along Sylamore Creek, I wouldn’t see another ribbon for the next 3 miles until the finish line. I really didn’t know if I was on the correct trail, however. I passed a few runners and this led me to believe I was heading in the right direction, but I had no idea how many runners had made the original correct cutback turn during the 40 minute excursion.  Emotionally, I was done with the run and felt I had wasted the effort for nothing.  It wasn’t as much about trying to win it as it was running a solid time on a course with a lot of elevation gain. I did my share of walking through the last few miles as my bottles were empty (glad I filled them both at the last aid station).  I stopped a few times to wait for other runners behind me to come into view since I wasn’t certain I was on the correct trail.  As soon as I got a glance of a runner, I would begin running, again.  This continued until the finish line. Unspoken words were written across my face as I entered the open park area and headed towards the finish line chute. No eye contact made with Olga as I crossed the line. Nothing but complete disappointment and frustration in what had transpired over the last hour and thirty-five minutes covering the previous 3.7 miles (it was actually around 5 miles on the correct route from the last a/s to the finish, btw, which I don't mind) from the last aid station. In total, I covered around 34+ miles in the 50k.  Some did far more that day.

Finishing

I did learn a lot during the run and I will seriously consider carrying a map in future races, just in case.  Leading a race is a completely different experience than just running a race to finish or even in posting what each person would consider a good time for themselves.  Mentally, you can’t let your guard down.  Every decision needs to be methodical, sometimes surgical (at least that’s the way I normally operate), especially when your competitors are unknown or, worse, unseen.  It seems you have an entirely different level of expectation for yourself in that position.  Places I would have easily walked in past races were not an option.  I had to run the climbs when I would have gladly walked.  I had to push the downhill sections even if it meant risking burning out my quads.  The flats just meant I needed to run harder.  And, in a crazy sort of way, it was fun.  I tend to be too conservative and not take risks, fearing I may not have enough left in the tank to get me to the finish line.  And, that’s obviously a fine line and one requiring self-confidence, of which I tend to have very little.  When I decided to jump off that cliff and begin to push more and more as the miles clicked by, it was an exhilarating feeling and it kept snowballing.  Whether, or not, it will happen again is unlikely, and that is one of the reasons I like to document this stuff in a blog—so I can remember...

Finished w/ post-race soak in Sylamore Creek!