Subtitle - My first trail race
Let me start out by saying
that in retrospect, I had no business running this race; I've never run at
altitude, I've never run on technical trail conditions for more than a mile or
so, and I've only run more than 4 hours a couple of times in my life.
But I convinced myself that it was "only" 23 miles and I have run that far quite a few times and well, if I needed to slow down because of the altitude that was ok. Plus, my thinking went, I really only have to make it 12 miles because after that the "gravity assist" would mean that my lungs could rest and my legs could handle a couple of hours of downhill pounding.
Nice thinking... but far from realistic as it turns out.
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| Ready to roll |
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| Course Profile: A nasty letter "M" |
At about 5 miles, the trail opens up and for the first time you could see where the ascent was heading. I looked up and saw high on the ridge how far ahead people were and realized for the first time that not everyone was walking the uphills apparently.
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| First climb near the tree line |
Once you get above the tree line (around 12,000 feet) the feel of the race is very different. The run is more or less along an exposed ridge line with breathtaking views all around. At this elevation it was probably 20 degrees cooler than the start with a little wind to make it interesting as well. It's at this point that I could finally get a sense of how far we have climbed. It was very difficult for me to run at all up here without my lungs going all out.
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| Pace and Elevation (yep, they are related) |
At aid station 2 (7 miles) the half marathon folks
start heading down while the marathon course continues along the ridge line
before descending about 1500 feet (temporarily). (It always gets lonely
when the half-marathoners leave). This is where I first realized that my
"survive the uphills, run the downhills" strategy was in trouble.
Although it was downhill, the trail was at times simply a narrow rut in
the side of the mountain with pieces of granite sticking out of it at random
intervals. For veteran mountain goats I'm sure this presented fewer
problems but I was having a hard time just fast-walking down the hill trying to
keep my feet in the rut (trail). When we got back below the tree line it
was a little better but for every 100 yard stretch where I could "open it
up" there were 3 or 4 stretches where I had to simply work my way down the
hill at whatever pace I could handle.
After this first descent the course goes back up to the ridge to its highest point. This second ascent, although shorter, was (for me) more difficult and in a few places very steep. (There are a couple places where they might as well just install a staircase). It's so strange to look at your watch which tells you, you are gobbling up this terrain at a whopping 30 min/mile pace while your lungs are telling you that you are running half mile repeats. I never allowed myself to stop but it was slow going. After the steepest part of the ascent was the welcome site of aid station #3. This station is very remote and the guys staffing it had to act as our Sherpa's to get all the water up there themselves so hats off to them.
2 more miles along the ridge line, slowly climbing to the highest point on the course (about 12530 according to my Garmin). The best feeling of the day was when I hit the summit, realized where I was, and stopped to take it all in. It had taken 12 miles to get here, but I had done it. (I guess another difference between this race and a typical road race is I used up most of the days euphoria here, as opposed to at the finish line). Crazy, unbelievable views of Breckenridge 3000 feet below me. Now if only there had been a gondola to take me down.
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| Self portrait at the top of the climb, I believe that is Peak 6 behind my head |
Alas, no gondola, but, it was all downhill from here right? Well yes and no.
The first part of the downhill was very steep. No running here. Just work carefully to get down without eating any granite. I wasn't going much faster downhill than I was uphill.
By this time I was also aware that I was very alone on the course. People (and I mean 2 or 3) had been passing me steadily on the ridge but now there was no one in sight. Creepy and cool at the same time.
Again, we dropped below the tree line but what I lost in rock obstacles I now made up in tree root obstacles. By now I noticed I was rolling my ankles and tripping a lot. I only fell once but I kept catching my feet on rocks and roots because my footwork was getting lazy. Most of the time I was descending I didn't dare look up, or at my watch, or my water hose for even a second. I learned this the hard way as inevitably when my thoughts or eyes would wander I would roll an ankle due to a bad step or catch my toe. The several face-plant close calls I had did not instill confidence in me to try and speed up.
Aid station #4 (mile 16) I saw a few more runners. (All of whom would be passing me shortly.) I gave technical descending my best shot but I had clearly lost it. The paths were wider here but still fairly technical. More troubling was noticing that every time I would go a minute or so of moving quickly downhill I was still getting winded. Worse yet the last 5 miles of the course while downhill overall are still rolling, with little uphills just to suck the enthusiasm out of you.
I was toast and I realized that it was going to be a long, slow last few miles. While in my head my plan was to only walk the uphills I think my definition of "uphill" slowly changed to include anything that wasn't a raging downhill.
Then at mile 21 I saw the second most beautiful sight I could see (the finish line would have been first). A road. Yes, beautiful, precious, hard, muscle fatiguing pavement in all its flat glory. Normally I can't wait to get off roads and on to softer surfaces but I was never so happy to see pavement. "I can run" I thought. No thinking, no "where do I put my foot", no picking up my sloppy footwork, no thinking about balance at all. Hell I could even look at my watch if I wanted, or grab a packet to eat. The road was a nice downhill so I unleashed a mighty 11 minute mile unable to wipe the smile from my face. Alas, even this was short lived as the course wound back into trails before ending up back where I had started 6 long hours ago. Done. Time for an icy soak in the Blue River, conveniently placed next to the finish line.
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| Finish Line Bliss! |
As I said in retrospect I had no business running
this race but I'm really glad I did. As much as it was a tough first exposure to trail racing I still managed to have fun in a beautiful setting and I learned a lot. One of the
most important things I learned was in a discussion with a fellow runner after the race. He talked about the concept of "runnable
terrain". This was a new concept to me because in Illinois, pretty much all terrain is runnable.
Sure, you might have to slow down a bit on a really steep hill or a
narrow path but that's about it. On this course I was completely ill
equipped to run huge portions of it. Either due to my lack of experience running
technically challenging courses or just my inability to "run easy" at
10,000 feet. I came to a gunfight armed with a pocket knife. Training 40
miles a week on limestone paths in Illinois prepares you for this race about as much
as hitting baseballs in a batting cage prepares you to face a major league
pitcher. It certainly not a bad idea, but if that’s all you do, you are not going to do well.
On the topic of "doing well" I have
mixed feelings. (this is the part of the blog where I start getting overly
introspective so if you just wanted to hear about the race you can stop reading
now). I came into this race with no expectations except to finish, and I did
that. However, I couldn't help but notice the finish line was a pretty
lonely place when I crossed it. In fact the guy who won my age group had
finished 2 hours ago and the leaders were almost an hour ahead of him.
When I actually looked at the results it confirmed that I was way back in
the pack. I know that shouldn't matter but I would be lying if I said it
didn't bother me at all. On the one hand nearly everyone who ran this
race was from Colorado and certainly ran at altitude all the time, and probably
had run a lot more trails than I have. I was undertrained and I'll-prepared.
I was completely out of my element. All that is true but it's also
a bit humbling (in a good way,I guess) for someone who is used to being closer
to the top of his age bracket than the bottom. So there it is my ugly ego attempting to muck up a great experience. (“Who will rescue me from this body…”). Thankfully since the race the feeling of accomplishment and a great experience appears to be drowning out the "could have done better" voices in my head.On a related note I loved my time in Breckenridge and the race itself. The people were great, the race was well run, and the whole weekend was a lot of fun. There is something about being in the mountains that I find very relaxing. I will need to return (for some reason) next summer.
Runway 16L takes off roughly straight north from the Denver airport. Once you take off if you turn left you fly over some of the most rugged terrain and highest peaks in the lower 48 states. That's where I raced on Sunday. If you turn right you fly over a thousand miles of almost table flat land and slowly the land beneath you descends from 5000 to 600 feet. That’s where I live, and run, and train year round. My plane just turned right.
mdc 9/3/12
For more geeky numbers detail here is my Garmin splits. The numbers are not be 100% accurate since it would "pause" each time I stopped at an aid station. Breck Crest Splits
For more geeky numbers detail here is my Garmin splits. The numbers are not be 100% accurate since it would "pause" each time I stopped at an aid station. Breck Crest Splits
