Bighorn 50k 2014: Captain Ahab finally caught his whale....

Starting in 2008, I signed up for the Bighorn 50k four years in a row. I ended up dropping down to the 30k the first two years and just didn't show up at all the next two. Sometimes it was because I hurt myself, and other times it was because I was a bum and didn't get my training in. Either way, this was a race that was on my radar for a long time. Since 2009, my running had not gone particularly well, generally for the reasons I noted above. Starting about 18 months ago, I finally started getting some consistency going again. I started keeping an eye out for a late-year marathon or 50k to be my first in either distance. When I was unable to find a race that neatly fit into the time frame I was looking for, an idea struck me: The Bighorn 50k. I should make the race that always got away from me my first ultramarathon.

So, here we were on the afternoon of June 20, 2014. I had just picked up my bib and race packet and it's finally hitting me.... Holy shit, I am actually here and am going to do this. Leading up to the race, I was admittedly a little nervous about my fitness level. My longest run going into this was only 17 miles. It's more than enough to actually complete the event, but I was having expectations of being completely wiped out and struggling towards the end. I worked with a high school friend, Scott, on putting together a training schedule for this, and he did a great job on it. We had to take some risks to even get me to 17 miles, but because I wanted to do silly stuff like go from zero-to-ultrarunner in 7 months, sprain my foot in January, and do the Trudge in March, we simply ran out of time. But Scott's schedule was great and far better than anything I would have come up with on my own- I would have either been under-prepared or did something REALLY reckless if I was left to my own devices. So, with the minor concerns I had about how far I'd make it into the race before crashing, I was trying to focus on a single idea... There's only two ways off this course: Either I finish or they pull me.

Officially, my goal was simply to survive and reach the finish line. Unofficially, I thought that I was capable of coming in at 8-9 hours. I was admittedly having a hard time trying to gauge where I needed my expectations to me- a goal of simple survival seemed like it was setting the bar really low, but I wasn't sure how realistic my time targets were either. With this being a tough course and the questions about how long my body would last, there was a real chance of me setting myself up for disappointment if I focused too hard on the time goals. The 50K course is the 30K course with an extra 20k loop tacked onto the beginning. The 20K loop is a long 1000ft climb, followed by a 2000ft drop, followed by another 1000ft climb, while the 30k had a little bit of early climbing followed by virtually all downhill. I figured that if I was going to make any time targets, I was going to probably lose a fair amount of time on the 20k loop, and then have to make up the difference on the 30K course. After a decidedly iffy dinner at Oles and some last second sorting and prepping, I shut down for the night in anticipation for the big day. Left the hotel at 5:15 to catch the bus up to the unusually warm starting line. Once there, I met up with Ragan Driver, Chris Schabron, and Jeff & Johnna French. Everybody seemed pretty relaxed and ready to go, and it was good to see some friendly faces before taking off.

This was only the beginning- of both the race and the climb.....

Ready to get this crazy train rolling.

I was aware that the initial 20K loop was a lot of climbing, but I didn't realize exactly how tough it was going to be. I knew that we had to climb that long, somewhat steep trail shown in the above pictures.... but I didn't know that we were only seeing about a quarter to a third of that initial climb. That sucker just went on and on and on. With climbing clearly being my strong-suit, I quickly fell straight to the back of the pack. Towards the end of that initial climb, I caught up with a guy named Bob. Bob was 87 years old and had run Bighorn 17 times. Craziness. I hung with him for a bit before things started to level out and I could pick up the pace a bit. There were some great views from the top of the ridge, and that led to the first of the quad-crushing descents. I was able to make up some time on the descent and pass several people. There was one couple that I played leapfrog with for a while... I'd take them on the downhill, and they'd crush me on everything else. Grabbed a quick orange at the Cow Camp aid station and kept moving forward. The 6 mile climb out of the bottom of that loop was tough. It's not that I was getting overly tired, I was just getting sick of climbing.

After almost exactly 4 hours, I made it back to the start line. I was extremely pleased with this time because it meant that I was EXACTLY on pace for 9 hours, even after an extremely tough start to the race. Unfortunately, this is where things started going wrong.

Mistake 1: I forgot to stop and switch out my socks. Didn't matter at that moment, but it was going to become a big deal later.

Mistake 2: My fueling plan went to hell. On the website, it was advertised that the aid stations would be fully stocked with hammer products, including gels. Awesome! I interpreted this as meaning that I didn't have to carry enough gels for the entire event. I figured that I'd load up the front pockets on my pack (2 gels in each of the 4 pockets) and then resupply what I used at each station. But... they didn't have the individually packaged gels. They only had the large bottles that they could squirt into bottles or cups. This was bad. Up to this point, I had been taking one gel every 30 minutes. I was now left with 3 gels to get me through the next 18 miles. I adjusted my schedule to every 45 minutes and I wouldn't take a gel if I thought I was close to an aid station. I was very concerned about this. I've had serious bonking issues if I didn't stay on a strict fueling schedule during training runs, and this pretty much killed any plans I had.

I loaded up up on water and grabbed a fruit and sandwich and started the uphill hike that opened up the 30K course. About a mile in, my knee started really bothering me. It was felt like it was dead center in the back of my right knee, and it hurt like hell. Running was bad. Hiking level trail was OK. Climbing actually felt decent. Downhill was terrible. I tried to run in slow, short bursts early on, but it hurt too much and I was reduced to a hike full time. With most of the remaining race being downhill (much of it being very steep), it was not a fun hike. I hit Upper Sheep Creek, I grabbed a ham & cheese wrap, a cup of gel, and a watermelon. I hooked up with a gal for a few miles leading up to the Haul. She's apparently going to be a junior in HS this year, and decided to do this basically on a whim. Good for her. Also, screw her. I remember when I was young enough to go do stupid things on a whim. Good times. She lost me at the Haul, but I traded her in for a 100 miler. This was actually very good because he was moving at the perfect pace for climbing that thing. On my own, I'd probably plow through 20-30 feet before stopping to take a break. But by backing off and going on this guy's pace, I was able to hit the top in one push.

It was literally all downhill from here.... which would have been a good thing any day but today. I slowly slogged down that mountain, with my knee screaming every step of the way. There didn't seem to be any way to go about it where it felt OK. Trying to run was terrible, but hiking down it wasn't exactly a walk in the park either. Slowly cruised to the bottom while getting passed by every man, woman, and child left out on the course. About halfway down, the weather started rolling in. It started off as rain. Then the lightning came. Then the 5-10 minutes of pea-sized hail. The hail marked the start of my first real ultrarunner meltdown. I was using some very unlady-like language and I was giving Mother Nature a list of things she could go do with herself. Not a happy camper at this point. This also might have been the single worst spot on the course to have this weather. It was high up and completely exposed, so there was no shelter from the hail or the lightning. To get to a safe place, you would have had to go WELL off the course, so you were almost just as well off continuing forward. Entirely through adrenaline and a desire not to die on that mountain (yet), I was occasionally able to get some short bursts of running in. It hurt a lot, but I REALLY didn't want to be stuck completely exposed in that weather for longer than I had to be.

However, the rain had other ideas about me pushing through my knee. The rain turned that trail into complete slush. There was zero traction on the trail, and getting off to the side was only marginally better. One guy with hiking poles passed me while literally skiing down the trail. Seriously. Dude wasn't even taking his feet off the ground. So on top of trying to move gingerly on my knee, I had to slow down even more to try and stay upright. Took one crash and completely locked up my calf. Another runner was able to help me stretch out and get moving again, but trying to move in such a way as to avoid cramps was just another challenge.

By the time I reached Lower Sheep Creek, I was in rough shape. It had been over 90 minutes since I had gotten anything in my body.... I was too busy trying not to kill myself on the trail and by the time I thought about it, I was pretty sure the aid station was just around the next corner... or maybe it was over the next hill... or maybe it's in this little draw right over there... or surely that has to be the bottom. I was needing something of substance in my body, but I wasn't seeing any wraps or sandwiches like the other stations had. Figuring it couldn't hurt to ask, I got one of the volunteers and asked if they had any sandwiches. He said the station didn't, but he had a personal sandwich. I didn't want to take his personal food, but he insisted as he didn't have any plans on eating it at that point. That man was my hero. I was in bad shape and that sandwich was huge. Mr Sandwich Man- if you're reading this, I'm forever indebted to you. Seriously. If you ever need to hide a body or get a kidney transplant or anything stupid like that, I'm your man.

Mistake 3: I decided not to swap out my socks here. I was so soaked from the rain that I thought it wouldn't make any difference. In hindsight, I should have just done it anyways. I could feel some blisters coming on, but they weren't bad at that point. So I chose to keep moving. Stupid Tom. Stupid, stupid Tom.

At this point, my mantra had changed slightly. I had gone from, "There's only two ways off the course: either I finish or they pull me," to, "There's only two ways off the course: either I finish or they pull me.... and I really don't care which one anymore". I was running out of steam and was definitely not having fun anymore. It didn't help that the canyon was a lot hillier and technical than I remembered. The point where the race became a smooth, straight shot to the end was coming 2 miles later than I remembered and I wasn't happy about it. My knee was getting more and more achy with every little descent I had to do or rock I had to try and climb over, and the blisters I felt coming on were starting to hurt.

When I finally arrived at the aid station on the other side of the canyon trail, I decided to finally get my knee wrapped. It was likely too little, too late, but it was bothering me enough that it was worth a shot. While I was getting fixed up, I made an offhand comment to the medical folks that if the distances listed online were correct, that aid station marked the "finish" of my very first marathon. They thought it was really cool and were congratulating me, but I wasn't as impressed as they were at that point. My mental state had taken a big dip in the two miles since the previous aid station and it seemed like a hollow victory.

Between the trail head aid station and the last aid station, I was not in good shape. I didn't want to finish anymore, I just wanted it to be over. I wanted someone to pick me up, or I wanted to get hit by lightning, or I wanted just about anything to happen that didn't involve me hobbling 5 more miles. It didn't help that I had been on that dirt road for almost 45 minutes when a passing runner came by and said, "If it makes you feel better, you're exactly 4 miles out now!" 4 miles? That means that I spent the last 45 minutes traveling a single bloody mile? Yes friend, that helped lots! Thank you for that! That news was a definite shot to the gut.

At this point, my knee was actually much better since getting it wrapped, but my blisters were hurting insanely badly. Anytime I could find a rock or a buck rail fence or an unoccupied picnic area, I was stopping and sitting for 5 minutes. I know, and knew, that perpetual forward motion was the best strategy for getting off the course. But I was in such bad shape, especially mentally, that these brief respites were the only way I was going to keep myself going. Quite truthfully, I was shaming myself into finishing at this stage of the game. No one would have said anything to me about it if I had quit, but I knew I would be kicking my own ass over quitting with less than 5 miles to go on the easiest part of the course.

About a week before Bighorn, The Oatmeal released a new comic about the dos and don'ts of running your first marathon. This was one of the panes in that comic:

From The Oatmeal's latest comic: The DOs and DO NOTs of Running Your First Marathon

I laugh at it now, but this pane was pretty true during that last 5 miles. I was having a tough time holding my shit together at the end, and with every single person that passed me congratulating me and cheering me on, it was becoming that much harder. I couldn't talk to any of them because it was taking everything I had to keep from breaking down in the middle of the road.

Finally reached the final aid station, and sat down to take another breather. I was positive that I was still about 2.5 miles out. While sitting there nursing my watermelon, I heard one of the workers tell a passing runner that they were only 1.8 out. 1.8? I had to confirm it... yes! He really did say 1.8. This is going to sound really strange, but that was like getting a second wind. In a 32 mile race, you wouldn't think that .7 miles would matter that much, but it was mentally huge for me at that moment. It was .7 miles that I didn't have to traverse. I finished my snack and got rolling. There were even short stretches where I was "running" (and by "running", I mean that I was shuffling, just marginally faster than my normal shuffle). Sure, it still hurt like hell. But I only had 1.8 miles to go instead of 2.5! I can survive 1.8!

When I made the last turn into the Scott Bicentennial Park, I finally started to feel some pride in what I was about to accomplish. In the miles leading up to this point, I hated this and I wasn't proud and I'd probably throw my race shirts into a drawer somewhere and I'd never think about this horrible chapter of my life again and that would be that. But as I closed in on the finish, I was finally feeling some happiness and some pride in that finish. Admittedly, some of it might have been happiness over the simple fact that I survived, but that's besides the point. I finally made it. After 7 years of signing up for or eyeballing this race and 10:55:02 of suffering, I could finally call myself an ultra-marathoner.

10:55:02 after starting, Captain Ahab finally caught his whale.

My reward for finishing.

So..... what to say after the fact?

For the day itself.... it was a learning experience. I shouldn't count on the aid stations to be able to completely take care of me. It was a clever idea in an effort to not carry 32 miles worth of gels with me, but it backfired. And I don't hold it against the race- they had a good reason why they didn't carry the individually packaged gels. Now I know for next time. I also need to care better for my feet. I shouldn't have forgotten to do the first sock-swap, and I shouldn't have just flat-out skipped the second one. I think I could have avoided a lot of pain and swearing at the end if I had just taken better care of myself. I missed my target time frame by 3 hours, but I now feel that it wasn't an unreasonable goal that I had set. My two BIG rookie mistakes hurt me, and my knee + the weather on the descent were just freak things. And I felt like I could have run during the last 5 miles if I wasn't in such pain. If my cards came out a little differently and I played my hand just a little bit better, there's no doubt in my mind that I could have easily hit 8-9 hours, if not better.

Will I do it again? If you had asked me during the race, and especially during the 3 hours it took me to do the last 5 miles, I would have definitively said that I was never running again. If you asked me the evening after the race, I would have said that I'd have to think about long-distance races and whether or not they were really my cup of tea. Now? Yeah, I think I will. I'm still planning on making the trip out to Seattle in September for my first official marathon, and I'm already thinking about my next bad idea. There's no way I'm going to lose one of my knees after only 15 miles every time. And hopefully I'm smart enough to learn from my mistakes and not make them during future events.

It was a long day, and more miserable than I care to think about. But I got it done and I got that monkey off my back. I've killed my White Whale.

It's almost time....

It finally hit me today... Bighorn is this month. 20 days. 3 weeks. There are 50% more miles in the race than there are days until the race. I've been wanting to complete the Bighorn 50k for a long time. I've signed up 4 times before with no success. I dropped down to the 30K twice and I just didn't show up the other two times. Twice was because I hurt myself and couldn't train. The other two times were because I was a bum and didn't train.

Now here we are. I wish I had a little more time to get ready, but it is what it is. Considering that I approached my friend about helping me with a training schedule in December, and had no training under my belt at the time, we did good. Got me a base, and got my mileage as high as we could without being completely reckless. I could have been more consistent, but I always made sure I at least got the "important" runs in.

I've nervous. A lot more of this race is going to be about mental toughness and pushing through than I would like, but I'll get there. Unrealistically, I would like to make it to the dirt road before my body melts down on me. It's 6 miles of long, hot road, but I figure that it'll be easier to push through that than the trails. But I know that's not realistic... my longest run will only be 17-18 miles, and that plan would require me to make it to the marathon mark of the 50K before having any problems. After today's run, I'm now hoping that I can make it more than halfway before my body starts calling me horrible names.

But I will make it. I will finish. I may not be happy in the miles leading up to that glorious sight in Scott Bicentennial Park. But I will get there. I'll likely spend the next 20 days stressing out, but I've done too much and come too far to not make it.

Captain Ahab has to go hunt his whale.

Bighorn 30k 2009. Time to get it done.

Love, hate, and the ultimate question

I've recently been noticing a subject come up with a fair amount of frequency lately. I don't know if it's always been there and I've just never noticed it, or if everybody has suddenly started talking about. Whatever it is, lots of folks lately have been bringing up the ultimate questions: Why? Specifically, why do I run?

As I sit and think about this, I realize something.... I genuinely have no idea why I run. I started in Jr High when my geography teacher bribed my class to participate in a 5k for extra credit. He said he'd like to see me out for XC the next year, and I did it. Stuck with it through high school, even though it was a HUGE source of competitive frustration for me. Post-HS is when the question of, "Why?" starts looming large. My post-HS career has been.... well, it's been pretty shit-tastic. It was just kind of there the first year and a half before I really started pushing forward early 2009. I promptly injured myself after 2 months, and my running somehow went downhill from there.

Between 2009 and 2013, I would regularly start running again, and I would always stop running eventually. Sometimes it went a little better than others. Sometimes I'd get a month in before deciding I wasn't having fun anymore. Sometimes I'd only make it a day or two before calling it quits.Why I quit always varied too. There were times where I was just being lazy and just stopped without really thinking about it. There were other times where I didn't enjoy myself and used that as justification to stop. And there were times where it was "fear" of injury- something would be hurting in a way that I wouldn't expect it too, and I would quit due to not wanting to badly hurt myself again. The length of my running sabaticals always varied too... sometimes I'd have a week or two off, other times I would take months at a time off.

Quitting was always a certainty, but I always came back to running. And I've never known why. Do I feel some strange obligation to keep trying to run? Is it because it's the only thing I know? Is it because it's something I can do on my own and don't need to rely on other people to show up and do it with me? Is there something else behind it? There has to be some sort of desire there... the fact that I keep coming back and I'm always looking for new adventures seems to indicate that, at some level, there is a want to run.  I can only assume that this means I want to be doing it on some level. Part of me wishes I knew why I ran. Part of me thinks that it doesn't matter. All I know for sure is that if you were to ask me the question, I'd give you a dumb-founded look and shrug my shoulders. I run... why I run is anybody's guess, but I do it.

This kind of leads into my second subject. I've recently come up with my next bad idea. I worked the Desert RATS stage race last year and had a fantastic time. Unfortunately, I'm having to miss it this year because Bighorn is the final weekend of the race. During a real mental low-spot in my training recently, I expressed the thought that I would almost rather be working RATS than running my own race. In the weeks that followed, the idea started creeping in that maybe I wanted to actually PARTICIPATE in RATS next year. With this idea fresh in my head, I jumped on Facebook and asked my RATS friends advice on how to prepare for an event like that. One thing that popped up a couple times was the idea that you gotta love running and you gotta love what you're doing.

Maybe I'll get to be one of these crazies next year?

This ties into my previous thoughts on not knowing why exactly I run. When I think about it, I know that I love aspects of running. I love being out on the trails. I love going on new adventures. I love the people I meet. But I hate other parts of it. I hate what is essentially the bread and butter runs (or maybe just my filler runs, depending on how you look at it)... I hate running in town. I hate being on the roads or on the Greenway or running circles around our little parks. Because the nearest trails are 30+ minute drives away, it is not feasible to go out there daily. And with winter in Wyoming lasting twelve and a half months of the year, trail running isn't an option for a good chunk of the year unless you're game for some major drift-busting. Nothing made me less happy than having to run my 12 mile long run and 8 mile middle-long run in town this week because a traditional May storm hammered our corner of the world. And I hate the weather. I will never run on a treadmill because I find it even more boring and painful than running around town. I take pride in going out in any weather condition, but it wears on you. I didn't mind it early on, but I'm finding right now that I REALLY HATE the wind and the snow.

Anyways... started wandering off-topic a bit. I love some big aspects of running, but hate other parts of it. With the emphasis that some folks put on loving what you're doing, I can't help but wonder if I love it enough. If I thought training for my first 50k/marathon was tough, I can only imagine what training for RATS will be like. There will be a lot more running in town. In the months leading up to the event, there will be lots of runs in shitty weather. I may not even be able start getting trail runs in until less than two months before the race. And I have to wonder... do I love the trails and the adventures and the people enough to get me through the not-fun parts? Will the parts I love be enough to keep me jogging around town and battling the elements to get my miles in for the day?

Over the next year, I think I'll find out where my heart lies. Maybe I'll find out whether or not I love running enough to accomplish the things I want to accomplish. Maybe, somewhere along the way, I'll find the answer to why I run (and hopefully it will be a more useful answer than "42".). In the meantime, I am a hair over one month away from my first 50K with the Bighorn 50K and I am 4 months away from my first marathon  (because the maths are hard) with the Beat the Blerch. The train (and training) moves forward, and hopefully there will be some enlightenment along the way.

Twin Mountain Trudge 2014- Operation Poor Life Choices is a go!

On Saturday March 1, 2014, The annual Twin Mountain Trudge once again took place in the mountains outside of Laramie, WY. This year was the 10th anniversary edition and, after missing the past two years due to conveniently time illness, my 7th descent into madness.

For those who are unfamiliar with this, the Trudge is an event that started off as a small club race that has grown into a fairly popular event. After the first few years, the legend around the Trudge grew and suddenly people from all over the region were wanting in. The Trudge is an 11/22 mile trail event that takes you out around the Twin Mountain. What sort of event you'll get is a bit of a crapshoot. As long as the roads are open, the Trudge will happen in any weather that comes our way. This means that we've seen years with temps in the 50's and minimal snow, and we've seen years where the temps were below freezing, the winds were howling, and the snow was deep enough to tickle your cojones. You never know what you'll get until the final pre-race report comes in... and sometimes that'll even be out of date by the time race day rolls around.

This year had more snow than southeastern Wyoming had seen in recent years. The snow started earlier in the year and it seemed like it had been a lot more frequent. Nobody visited the trails until a few weeks before the event, but the general feeling was that this could be a toughie of a year. When the initial reports came in, everybody's suspicions were confirmed- lots of deep snow and a distinct possibility that it could be one of the toughest years yet.

For one very questionable reason or another, I was very excited for this year's race. While this was a good sign that my judgement was clearly impaired, I also viewed it as a good thing. Back in 2011 (the last time I was able to Trudge it up), I was mentally in a bad spot. I wasn't particularly happy in life, and I was just dreading the Trudge. I spent the better part of the week trying to talk myself out of doing it and had actually decided the night before that I wasn't going.... until I went the next morning. It turned out to be a huge mistake, and I mentally wasn't up to the task of taking the challenge on. I actually dropped out at the "unmanned" aid station before getting cold and angry and continuing on. So, the fact that I was excited and thoroughly pumped for this event was definitely a good thing.

The day before race day finally rolls around and it was looking sketchy as to whether or not there would even be a Trudge. The Thursday night before the race, there was significant snowfall in the area and the interstates were closed a solid chunk of Friday. Things finally opened up and race director Alec was able to get out to mark the course, but the event was still sort of in the wait-and-see mode. The race would go on regardless of weather as long as the roads stayed open.... but if you even look at the interstate the wrong way, it's shutting down.

Packing for the race turned out to be a bit of a challenge. Clothing wasn't bad... my standard Trudge race day attire was pretty easy to sort out and I knew I needed enough additional stuff to not freeze to death if I break my hip (hey, I'm getting old!). Food was sketchy... the disadvantage to not consistently running in a long time is that all of your running food tends to be 18+ months past the Best By date. I had some cliff bars and little packets of trail mix that I could bring along. I also had some gels that I packed for one reason or another. Never been a big fan of gels. They just didn't tend to taste good in the past. If I'm trapped on a deserted island, I would generally only consider eating gels if I've run out of other supplies and have already cannibalized the other survivors. Wasn't sure what to do about water either. At that point, there was still a question surrounding whether or not there would be an aid station and what the latest course conditions were like. Choosing to err on the side of caution, I took my largest camelbak (over 80oz) plus a full Nalgene bottle. I figured if there ended up being an aid station, I could at least leave the Nalgene behind.

An old picture, but a fair representation of the amount of stuff I had to dragging along.

I got up race morning and immediately checked the conditions. The roads were open, but the web cams looked like absolute crap. After waffling back and forth for a little bit, I decided to chance it. Turns out that the roads, while not particularly good, were not as craptastic as the internet led me to believe. After a slow drive, I arrive at the starting area. We could not reach the normal starting line, so the race started a little over half a mile up the road, in the wide open prairie. After getting all of my supplies checked, I spent the next half an hour trying to get myself strapped in and hanging out with some of the Laramie running folks I hadn't seen in a while. It was a cloudy 6F with about 10-15mph winds and a little bit of snow coming down. Certainly could have been worse, but definitely the coldest it's ever been for a Trudge.

A frigid starting area.

Alec and Wendy. Alec is the race director, and Wendy is the lady who is apparently OK with him sending people out into the woods to die.

About 10 minutes before race start, everybody was summoned over for the pre-race briefing. At this stage, we were informed that there would be no aid station on the course and the while the north section of the loop would be harder than usual, the south end would be better than usual. After the usual warnings (this is a challenging event, you are on your own if anything happens, be prepared to survive for a good chunk of time before any rescue can get to you, etc), everyone was released back to their vehicles to do any last second packing or unpacking based on the new information. Even though it still felt a little like overkill, I decided to keep all 110+oz of water on me.

Alec giving everyone their Last Rights.

As we were getting lined up, the sun finally came out and it was starting to look like it might end up being a good day. At 10am, we were wished well and sent off into the woods. The first mile or so wasn't too bad. We started running down a dirt road and then across an open prairie that was pretty wind-swept and snow-free. For a few minutes, there was hope that it might be an easy Trudge. Ha! Silly, silly me. Once we got through the prairie and climbing into the woods, things started to slow down. The wind wasn't able to penetrate into the trees and the snow was allowed to accumulate. Much of this early climbing was mid-shin deep and approaching knee deep.

This first section was a struggle for me. The deep Trudging combined with the climbing made it a tough slog. I was frequently stopping and stepping off to the side to drink and to try and catch my breath. It wasn't too long before I had made my way back to DFL. While there were points where having a path beaten out in front of me was somewhat handy, there were other sections where the other racers' tracks were a bit of a pain to deal with. I finally warmed up and was ready to go after an hour or so. My altitude lungs and my Trudging legs had caught up with me. 

The long climb out of the early prairie. One hell of a way to get warmed up.

The weather was posing a bit of a challenge. I never removed or added  any layers of clothing, but what I was wearing was never right. I was way too hot when the sun would pop out. However, I would start getting a pretty good chill as soon as a cloud would pass in front of it. I ended up doing nothing with my clothes because anything I could do would only make one of the situations worse. I figured it was better to be uncomfortable the entire time than to be comfortable half of the time and miserable the rest.

The first half of the course stayed pretty consistent throughout. I would occasionally hit a nice, clear patch where I could gain up a little bit of steam, but most of it was just plodding along in the shin deep snow. As I passed by the normal location of the aid station, I couldn't help but think that it would have been nice if someone had at least hiked the bottle of scotch out there. I didn't want any snacks or extra liquid (I was still overloaded on that)... I just wanted my pre-Fenceline shot. The Fenceline Climb was... well, it was the Fenceline Climb. Long, steep, and too much snow. It recent Trudges, the climb doesn't seem as bad as my early memories seem to recall, but it's still never very much fun either.

Looking back down the Fenceline Climb.

Be wary all those who approach here...

After a little bit more slogging, I finally reach the "official" marker of the second half- the turnoff onto the Devil's Playground Loop. The Devil's loop drops us way down off the mountain, runs us up and down through rock chutes, drags us across an open prairie, and then expects us to climb back up the mountain to the main trail. I'm normally able to run the descent into the loop, however the crusty snow made it a little difficult. I did what I could, but it was a slog. When I hit the bottom, I was spent. I wasn't feeling good and I was getting darker. Physically, I was just tired. Probably in large part because my longest previous run was 3 miles in town. A big thing too was likely that I was struggling to keep to my normal eating schedule. In past endurance events, I liked to first eat about an hour in and then take something else about every 30-45 minutes. However, I had only eaten a cliff bar and a packet of trail mix after 2.5 hours. Mentally, I had just stopped having fun. It had become a drag and every tired step reminded me how much I suddenly didn't want to be out there. I normally have fun scrambling through the rock chutes in the Playground, but it just felt like a ton of unnecessary effort at that point. I was dreading trying to get to the finish and was frequently considering the shortcuts that I knew.

Then came my salvation. In part 5 of The Oatmeal's "The Terrible and Wonderful Reasons Why I Run Long Distances", the writer talks about how he was participating in a terrible run where he was physically and mentally in agony. At some point during his run, he comes across a vending machine, where he purchases the purple drink that brings him back to life. Like The Oatmeal, I had a religious experience. I was tired, I was pissy, and I needed to take something in. It was too much effort to eat a cliff bar and I wasn't feeling like Trail Mix. I wanted something sweet. As much as it pained me, that meant that I needed to take one of my gels. And it was the bestest thing ever. That gel may have been the greatest tasting thing I had EVER had. It brought me back to life. I may or may not have spent over half a mile verbalizing the glory of that gel. I was still physically tired, though I had a new-found pep in my step. Mentally, I was rejuvenated. My focus was no longer on how miserable I was or how far I had to go. That gel was a lifesaver. It certainly got my through the Playground and back up the mountain.

Overall, the pre-race report was correct... the south side of the loop was generally easier than the north side. There was more open areas and the trudging sections weren't quite as deep. BUT, when things went bad on the south side, they went way worse than on the north. The deep sections were deeper. There was also a lot more crusty snow traps to be caught in. I was following the tracks and stepping directly where everyone else had, like I had been the entire race. But there were points where I would be plodding along following the tracks, and then suddenly one of the tracks would collapse and I'd be thigh deep in snow. It was tiresome the first few times it happened. But I got more and more sick of it the longer it went on. There was one point where I sunk knee deep into a spot and just sat there and sulked for about 5 minutes. I was so tired and in no mood for those games. I tried taking another gel, but there is apparently a limit on the number of religious experiences you can have in a single day- It wasn't anywhere near as tasty or uplifting as the first one.

The sun was gone, the snow was returning, and the already low temps starting dropping again.

I ran into Wendy after some more Trudging, who had taken to the course to get pictures of the participants. I stopped to talk to her a bit about the race and some of the stuff that was going through my mind. She mentioned that I was probably only 1.3-1.5 miles out and that the big descent to the prairie was coming up. I checked my watch.... 4:30. If the big descent was coming right up, and if it was as clear as it usually was, and if Wendy was right about the distance, I could potentially break 5 hours. I would have to get moving down the descent and try to somehow run at least a little bit on the prairie, but it could be done. I left Wendy to keep moving forward. Sure enough, the big descent was just a little ways down the trail and it was nice and clear. Made the push down the hill and hit the prairie. I wasn't able to maintain a lot of momentum, but I was able to get 30sec-1 minute bursts of running every now and then. I started dragging again... the prairie was taking FOREVER. It didn't seem that long when we were heading out. Now it just kept going and going and I couldn't see the hill we needed to climb to get to the finish line.

Finally got to the climb and I was bonking. Climbs are no fun and this climb was into the wind with knee deep snow. Finally made it to the top of the climb, only to realize that the dirt road to the finish line was a lot longer and a lot more uphill that I remembered it being. I was done. There was no more running, no more pushing it in. I was walking and whatever time I got there in was the time I was going to take. Folks in the finish area noticed me slogging up the hill and started to migrate towards the finish line. I was still a quarter of a mile out, but I yelled out for Alec to raise his hand. Once he did and I knew who I was yelling at, I tried to make sure he was aware that I thought he was a jerk and that making the finish uphill and into the wind was bullshit. Fortunately, he didn't hear me.

Picture courtesy of Lindsay Sweley. This is a picture of a man who is tired, broken, and has no more fucks to give. Might be my favorite finishing photo ever because the body language communicates so much.

4:56:19. I had finally made it across and somehow beat the 5 hour mark. As a joke, I thought it would be funny to cross the finish line and then just lie down at Alec's feet. Someone asked if I wanted a chair or something to eat, and I declined. Someone asked if I needed scotch and that got my attention. But it was at this point that I found myself regretting the decision to lie down. I tried to get up and everything in my right leg cramped up. I went back down and then suddenly my left leg started cramping too. And it was everything too. Calves. Thighs. Quads. Glutes. Hamstrings. Parts that I don't even know the name for. A couple guys got me up and got me over to the food area where I had my shot of scotch and then another for good measure. I talked with Alec for a bit and my assessment of the race matched up pretty well with the other vets.... not as difficult as 2008, but definitely in the top third as far as difficulty goes.

I wanted to stick around and stay in Laramie for the survivors dinner, but I was beat and starting to get a pretty good chill going. After saying goodbyes to everyone, I got on the road to try to get warmed up and to get my real reward...

Believe me, both of these ranked higher than survival on the list of rewards for finishing the Trudge.

As always, the Trudge was an adventure and a good way to test myself. After sitting back and thinking for a bit, I did come up with a few lessons to be taken from this Trudge.

1: I need to be more consistent about my eating when I race. That I don't feel like eating what I have or that it would take too much time/effort is not a good excuse for not doing it. My bonking was probably related pretty heavily to me not eating very well when I'm out there. On a related note, I should keep my supplies more fresh than 18+ months past the best by date. And I should check sooner than two nights before the race.

2: I can't keep doing events that I'm not prepared for. Right now, my main goal is to get ready for the Bighorn 50k. When I was working with my friend to get my training schedule put together, the Trudge came up and he asked me where it fell in my priorities. We could either focus on the Bighorn and just get myself to the point where I could survive the Trudge (this meant that we would focus on getting me a decent base for the BH training) or we could do some training meant to get me ready for the Trudge (skip the serious base building and risk taking some big leaps). I elected to focus on Bighorn. Sure enough, the training we did was enough to get me through the Trudge. In the week following, I've ran everyday except the day right after. But the day of the Trudge, it wasn't worth it. In the past, I was able to do the Trudge with little to no training and get away with it. But as I get older, it's not as easy and it's not as fun. I want to keep challenging myself, but challenging myself with events that I'm not trained for has lost its appeal. In the future, if I'm not close to where I need to be, I'm not going to do an event anymore. As I start my adventure into ultrarunning, I know that suffering will be a regular companion. But there's no point in going through self-inflicted suffering because I didn't do the legwork ahead of time.

Overall, the Trudge was a successful event and I look forward (OK, wrong wording there) towards surviving future Winter Death Marches.