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.

Absaroka Challenge 15K: Expectations are a dangerout thing

NOTE 1: This post in picture intensive, but they're all thumbnails. If you want to see any pic in more detail, click on it to embiggen.

NOTE 2: Towards the end, this may or may not start going on tangents or become less coherent. May even have become more of a stream of consciousness post than anything particularly organized or logical. That's what you get when I stay up until 1:45 trying to finish it.
_______________________

I've seen some pictures, a video, and a handful of vague, general descriptions of this race, but there is not a lot of material out there about the Absaroka Challenge 15K. Today I discovered why. I can only assume that the race director doesn't put much info out because then nobody would show up, and that the survivors are to traumatized to talk about what happened. Well, I survived and I'm here to tell the truth about this race.

In May, I helped work the Gemini Adventures Desert RATS, and during that week, I realized that never really go out and do anything. I decided that I need to get out and do more adventures, and the Absaroka Challenge is the first manifestation of that decision.  The Meeteetse Absaroka Challenge 15K is a race that I discovered online 7 or 8 years ago, but I've never had a chance to do it until now.

The descent goes from the highest point pictured and down the mountain to the left of the rock faces.

So, I hopped in my car on Friday and drove out to Meeteetse for what I was sure would be an adventure. After a long day of driving, which included visiting my grandparents and getting lost in Casper (worst labeled roads ever. Took me over 30min to leave town), I made it to Meeteetse around 8pm. Driving through Wind River canyon was pretty neat.

The morning of the race, I jumped up and started driving out of town around 7:20. The temps in Meeteetse were in the high 40's when I left, but they were pushing 60 when I made it to the start at the Timber Creek Ranger Station. It was a nice morning for the run. Right before the race, the director pulled us all together to go over some last second things. Emphasized that you should bring your gloves if you have them, offering duct tape to those without gators, mentioning that the crowd of 27 was the largest ever for the 15K.

Even though there was very little information about the race, I had somehow created a vision of what I expected in my head. I knew that we were on a 4-wheeler trail at the beginning. I figured that this first 2-3 miles would be a great place to get off to a strong start and post a decent time before the hard stuff started. From there, I expected a long climb, an easy trip along the ridge, and a fast and fun run down the mountain. Based on these assumptions, I set a goal of sub-4hrs; I expected to lose a lot of time on the climb, post a "normal" trail speed on the ridge (3-3.5 mph), and make up a lot of time on the 4-wheel road and the descent. As it turns out, only one of my four assumptions about the course were correct.

At 9am, we were sent off into the woods. Right from the word go, I was in DFL. The other racers took off like bats out of hell and I... well, I got off to a running start. Sort of. My body wasn't in the mood to play games that morning. My entire body, from my back to my legs to my joints, just felt stiff and tired. I was just dragging. Fortunately, the course decided to take away any temptation to run, and made the 4-wheeler road all uphill. There was occasionally enough of a downhill to tease you and make you want more, but then there was just more climbing. So, I just hiked along and occasionally smattered in some running where I could. So much for getting off to a quick start.

Around 3 miles, we finally got off the road and onto the trail, where the real fun began. The trail took a quick turn towards the mountain and started getting steeper. Before I got into the really thick forest, I came across the second aid station /10K turnaround. I stopped and chatted with them. I joked about how I thought it was bullshit that we had to climb up the road just so we could finally start climbing the mountain, and they kept saying how they thought it was cool that this was my first time doing this race and that they were really impressed that I was out there.... at that point, I have to admit that I still didn't get it. I thought the worst part was going to be the climb to the top, and really- how bad could it be? Might be long, might be tiring, but I'll get to the top and it'll be all fun and games from there... right?

Looking up the trail partway through the climb.

Unsurprisingly, the trip up the mountain was slow goings. For those in the Laramie area, think of the Haunted Forest trail, except slightly shorter with twice as much elevation gain. I would usually try to walk from one trail flag to the next and then take a short break. They weren't huge breaks, just 5-10sec usually- just long enough for my legs and my breath to catch up so I could go again. While a large part of the climb was on the trails, there were sections where you had to go cross country or where the trail was so overgrown that it seemed like you were going XC. The course was extremely well marked- it was extremely rare when you couldn't see the next trail marker, though there were times when you had to be paying attention because the marker would be in a direction you weren't expecting.

Almost to the top!! I can see sky somewhere other than straight above me!!

Finally, I broke through the tree line and the course started to level out a wee bit. There was still some climbing to do, but it was less steep and it wasn't a constant grind. Finally reaching the rim was the happiest moment in my life.

I'm on top of the world!!

When there were some downhills, I tried to run a little bit, but I mostly just walked. I was pretty well winded from the climb and hiked anything that was level or uphill. But, I didn't mind. It was a nice day out there and I had no issue with the leisurely pace. After a little bit, I reached a pretty significant dropoff. And here, I thought was where the games were going to begin....

Pretty steep downhill... The beginning of the end? Don't look ahead in the picture for spoilers.

Thinking that things were going to start getting exciting, I took off down the side of the mountain. The trail was hard packed and rocky, with just enough loose stuff to make it slick. While it was steep enough and slick enough that you had to really be paying attention and focus on what you were doing, it was easy enough that I got somewhat cocky. If this represents the rest of the descent, this is going to be a piece of cake! However, it this downhill run ended as quickly as it began, and the trail leveled off into the forest. After a short run I came out into the clearing and started looking around for the next flag. I found the flag and I let my gaze wander up to the next flag... and up... and finally to a small body looking down on me.

At the top of this rock chute is a man named Fred. Fred apparently designed this course. Fred must think he's a goddamn comedian or something.

The small man at the top of this steep climb was named Fred, who was the photographer this year and, as I would later find out, the guy who designed this course. Fred yelled something out to me that I didn't understand... and I may or may not have yelled back, "Are you fucking kidding me?!?". This climb, even though it was a mere 0.1ish miles, was hell. It was extremely steep and there was no footing to be had. The entire path up was nothing but loose chunks of rocks. My game plan was reduced down to taking 10 steps and then stopping for some rest. I tried to make sure they were 10 meaningful steps (read: 10 steps where I successfully made forward progress and didn't slide backwards), but it reached a point where I had to settle for 10 steps in any direction. I probably would have been just as well off crawling... it was certainly steep enough where I could have crawled without leaning forward too much more. That simple 0.1 of a mile took me nearly 20min to ascend. Finally, I reached the top and was given a moment to take a real breather.

Top of the rock chute

At this point, Fred confirms for me that I was bringing up the rear (before then, I didn't know for sure if I was DFL... I thought it was possible that there were people who were doing nothing but hiking, but wasn't positive). Fred collects his stuff and follows me along the trail. We talk for a bit and then he offers to take my camera from me and take shots as we're cruising along. We stayed on this rim for about another half mile. It was pretty up-and-down, but nothing too steep. Finally we reach the edge. We looked down and could see the start/finish basically right below us. When I finally locate the course off the mountain, I had to stop and take a few moments. It was a helluva drop.

Action Shot!!

Oh crap! Is this it?

Here goes nothing!

After I caught my breath, I took the plunge. It was NUTS. EXTREMELY steep with lots of soft, loose first and rocks. Initially, my gameplan was to try and stay upright on the descent. This option quickly went down the drain. It was so steep and so slick that it was difficult to stay upright. The forward motion felt like a barely controlled freefall, and I found several good sized rock patches to fall into.

Oh don't mind me, I'm just going to use this sharp rock in the ground to dig myself a new asshole.

This gives new meaning to the term "hand brake".

Eventually, I gave up on trying to stay upright. There was no hope of me making my way down this mountain quickly and safely, and trying to stay on my feet left me feeling like I was out of control. I decided that the best course of action would be to sit down and just enjoy the ride. I was operating under the assumption that being able to use both my hands and legs would give me better control over my speed and direction. Of course, this strategy had its own flaws. For starters, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be crapping rocks and sticks for the next month. Also, the increased surface area contact between my body and the ground meant that I was bringing a lot more stuff with me.... I would start some not insignificantly-sized landslides by scooting down the trail.

Screw it! I can't fall down if I just stay here!!

"Go see the world," they said. "Go find some fun and exciting new locales," they said. Frickin', fraking, frickin'...

A video I saw from the 2009 race showed people running down the mountain. Not sure where that was, but there was no way in hell that it was here. Running simply just didn't seem doable. The Mountain-side Slide seemed to do the trick though. Even though I seemed to find every single rock and stick with my backside, I was able to brace myself with my feet and kind of guide myself with my hands. About halfway down the mountain, my body had enough. My left calf cramped and I could not get unstuck. I could not get my foot to flex back and when I reached out to grab my toe, I simply could not get it pulled back towards me. It was cramping hardcore and I was not going anywhere. Fortunately, Fred was still hanging with me and came to my rescue. He was able to get that calf massaged out and got my foot flexing back and forth. I'm so glad he was there... I really don't know how long I would have been stuck there if I didn't get help.

From that point forward, the descent slowed down a lot. I could feel minor twinges of cramping in my right calf and I didn't want to tempt fate with my left leg again, so I was extremely careful with foot placement and how I moved... I didn't want to give my legs any opportunity to cramp up. To make things worse, I just ran out of juice. This descent had turned into a full-body workout and my goose was cooked. I had exerted myself to the point where I was feeling physically sick and wanted to throw up.

This slow slide to the bottom took me about an hour. There are no words to describe exactly how happy I was when I finally hit the bottom of the mountain. Finding myself upon level, solid ground was easily the happiest moment in my life, far surpassing my previous happiest moment from a mere 2 hours prior.

My body isn't showing it, but my soul is jumping around and celebrating like a giddy school girl.

From here on, it was a piece of cake. Half a mile of XC hiking to make it back to the four-wheeler road and another half mile to get back into the finish. As we came around the last bend in the road, we saw the vehicles of the start/finish and I collected whatever gumption I had left to pseudo-jog my sorry, scrapped, and scarred ass across the finish line.

Couldn't just walk across the finish.. had to put on a "show" and give the people what they came here for.

Surprisingly, I still managed to make my time target. I crossed the line in 3:55:49. I have to admit that I was sorely disappointed to find out that I was too slow and they already tore down the BBQ and most of the finish line. This is the first time I've experienced it as a racer, but as a race worker, it has always bothered me when finish lines or aid stations I work at tear down before the final person is through. I can understand beginning to cleanup and put away extra stuff, but tearing everything down just seems like poor sport. I guess sometimes it just sucks to suck. Anyways... tangent. So yeah, I cross the finish and was finally done. The Race Director was extremely congratulatory and kept saying that he thought it was so cool and he was proud that I made it. I can only assume that they had Search & Rescue on standby to go track Fatboy down if I didn't show up when I did.

Overall, it was a good experience. Those Meeteetse folk don't mess around when they make race courses. "Challenge" wasn't thrown into the name just because it sounded cool. That was a tough, tough course. While I think being in great overall shape (upper body, lower bady, core, etc) would help a lot, I don't think there's any way to truly prepare for this event. How does one prepare for an event where you can barely stay on your feet?  It was definitely a unique experience in a pretty area. A great way to challenge your limits, though not something to blindly jump into (not that you have much choice when it comes to this race).

Good adventure.

Once I got home, I was able to plug my GPS into my computer and see the damage that was done. That was a hellacious course. The first half was a lot more brutal than I imagined (I thought you lost a lot of altitude between miles 1.5 and 3 as it seemed like there was a fair bit of downhill... turns out I was still climbing!). The rock chute didn't shock me at all, with almost 300ft of altitude change in about 0.1mile.... I'm not even sure getting rid of the loose rock shards would have made it easier. The real shocker was the descent. I genuinely thought it was longer. As it turns out, it's over 1000ft of lost elevation in less than a third of a mile. That came out to an average gradient of over 67% !! No wonder I couldn't stay upright! Below is an altitude chart with some labels.

The day in graphical form.

Aug 27, 2011- Antelope Dash

Here's a mini-race report for the Antelope Dash that I ran this morning. It's an 8 mile race up at Curt Gowdy. Finished in 2:05:21. Here is my story.... kinda.......

~3min on, 2min off. Walked most of first half (Mo'Rocka trail). Had a hard time going, and that first half was too much uphill and too technical for me to really get myself going. Got my ass kicked by a wasp within the first 20 minutes. Came out of nowhere and stung me in the back of the head. Apparently got the guy a couple minutes ahead of me as well. First time running with my pack and food since the Trudge. Wasn't sitting too well... I normally like the shot blocks, but they were way too sticky for me today. Towards the end of the first half, I got tired of the sweeper riding my ass, and I began Operation I Don't Wanna Be DFL. Started going faster than I should have. Caught two folks and then cooled it a bit. Now, there ain't nothing wrong with being DFL.... someone has to do it. But my ego and my competetive spirit gets real pissy when it's me, so I pushed harder than I should have to avoid that.

I use to be an explorer like you once... then I took a wasp to the head.

Got "lost" on the second half. I forgot that 8milers also do Ignoraneos Loop, so I was going harder than I should have going into that. And then I forgot how much Ignoraneos meanders through the woods, so I went harder than I should have thinking it was shorter than it was. By the time I was on the real home stretch, I was too tired to do my normal kick (on account of kicking way too early way too many times previously). Passed one more guy, which was good for Operation IDWBDFL because the two people I previously passed were either took a wrong turn or dropped out because they finished ahead of me. Finished 9 minutes slower than last year, probably on account of me being stupid this go through. Good race, but I'm pooped. And the back of my head hurts. My ankles never bothered me though.

Finishing

Jan 17, 2011- Twin Mtn Trudge

I apologize for the extremely long write-up.... it was an eventful day with a lot to think about, and unfortunately nothing is flowing well out of my brain. So I guess I also apologize if this jumps randomly between thoughts or if some thoughts don't seem particularly developed or finished. So this will likely seem rammbling and just kinda out there, but here it is.

Well.  It's been nearly 36 hours since I've finished the Twin Mountain Trudge 2011, my sixth consecutive.  I've had lots of time to think about it. Roll the events of the day over in my mind. Even sat down with Aurora and Eunjeong and just talked about what happened that day and what had been and was going through my mind.  And even after all of that, I'm still not entirely sure how I should approach this report.  Hmmmmm.....

I suppose I have to start somewhere. No matter how many times I start this report and then sit back/ leave, it's not going to write itself.  I guess the place to start was where I was going into the race.  Physically, I was just about where I was every other year I've done the Trudge: somewhere between fairly out of shape and very out of shape. I had two OK weeks of training under my belt prior to taking the week leading up to the Trudge off.  So, more in shape than some years and less in shape than others.  The race director, Alec, had been sending out warning emails the last several weeks suggesting that the conditions on this year's course may be the worst yet, which is really saying something when one recalls TMT 2008.  2008 was truly a physical battle where I had to mentally man-up and pull myself through the end, especially since there was no possible "out" once I was on the course. TMT08 set the new standard in misery. But, I was able to get through it because I was able to mentally pull myself through, even if that year's race almost did break me. As I've posted in previous blogs, one thing I've always kinda prided myself in was my mental strength, particularly when it came to these races. I've always seemed to have been able to drag myself through any event I've wanted to, regardless of good of shape I was in.  I've managed to avoid a Did Not Finish thus far, including on several occasions where I really should have quit. And now, with the new emails coming out warning of a potential 2008 repeat, I kind knew what I was getting into and what I should be expecting.

The couple weeks leading up to the Trudge this year had been rough.  It seemed like there was issue after issue coming for me, whether it was in the dorms or at work or with school, and I was mentally starting to break down. Three days before the race, I really started questioning whether or not I should do the Trudge, or if I even really wanted to be doing it. I knew that physically, I wasn't in good shape and I wasn't all that great mentally either. I waffled back and forth in the days leading up to the race, including deciding I wasn't going to do it Thursday night when I watched one of my "pump me up" movies, "Running the Sahara", and for some reason the movie left me feeling even shittier than where I started off at. Finally I decided that I was going to do it.  I got up Saturday morning and got prepared, but there was none of my usual pre-race jitters or excitement. I just got up and it was just something I just had to do.

I got to the starting line and got checked in. As the start approached, I was starting to feel better, but I was still nowhere near my usual levels of excitement. The weather started off Ok... it was kinda chilly, but it was a bit breezier than usual. The Trudge featured a record number of participants this year. At 9:30, we were all released into the wild. After a short stretch of dirt road (one of the hold-over features from 2010 was the elimination of almost all dirt roads... The Trudge was as close as one could come to a "pure" trail race), we were immediately bogged down in the snow.  The area near the start/ finish was one of the worse section of snow because it was a bit deeper than other sections, was on a fairly steep hill, and was crusty stuff that would randomly give way under you.  From that point on, the snow-cover never ended.  The course was consistently ankle deep or a bit higher, but very rarely reached my knees.  Very quickly, I started to wear out and dropped back to a walk.  With my three upper body layers, including a fairly heavy jacket, I also started to overheat very quickly.  Within 10 minutes, I had to pull off to the side of the course to start stripping layers off.  This action dropped me far behind the rest of the pack.  I was alone.

Unfortunately, the fact that I was not mentally "in shape" for the race started to play a factor very earlier on.  By the end of the first mile, I was already telling myself that I didn't want to be out there.  That this was stupid.  That I really should just turn around and call it a day.  I trudged forward, but it just got darker from there. The longer I was out on the course, the more frustrated and more depressed I got. I can't even really explain what was going on in my mind, I just knew that I was getting more and more weighed down the longer I went. For the 2 miles leading into the aid station, I had decided I was going to quit. I didn't want to be out there anymore, and I wanted to quit when I reached the halfway point. I was upset that I was preparing to file my first DNF. I was the kicking the shit out of myself the entire way there, but I knew I was stopping.  I was so upset by the time I reached the aid station that I just broke down and started crying. Ted and Brandon were there working the station and my mom had stopped to wait for me to arrive. They couldn't get anything out of me other than, "I just wanna quit." Eventually, mom started getting chilled and had to get moving again, so she left the aid station telling me that she would try and get back there with a vehicle to pick me up when she finished. I was logging my very first DNF.

I sat there at the aid station for a bit and just cried. I was upset that I was actually quitting. I was upset that I went out there in the first place. I was upset that the "mental strength" I've always considered my better quality was gone.  But, after ten or fifteen minutes, that frustration and that depression turned into anger. I was angry that I was quitting. I was angry that there was nothing wrong with me physically- I wasn't hurting and I wasn't particularly tired. I was angry because I was just mentally pussing out.  I knew that if I stayed there and didn't go back out there, I would be kicking myself for a long time over it.  I got my pack back on, I told Ted to let base camp know that I'm not quitting, I took a shot of scotch (which, by the way, tastes terrible. Next year, I recommend good tasting fruity alcohol at the aid station), and I stomped off.  I realized I was in for a less than enjoyable afternoon, but I was not ready to quit for no reason other than mentally wanting to giving up.

For the first couple miles out of the finish line, my mantra was, "You're going to finish this.  You're going to get through this. You're not giving up this time.  Just fucking move!"  After the Devil's Loop rocky area, my physical lack of fitness finally started taking its toll and exhaustion was starting to set in.  I could not go very far without having to stop for a couple minutes and rest.  I started having to set targets for myself in an effort to keep some semi-constant movement going.

"Tree."
walk 10 feet to target tree.
Stop for 5 seconds.
"Small bush in path."
Walk 10 feet to bush.
Stop for 5 seconds.
"Next flag."
Walk to next flag.
Stop for 5 seconds.

I don't even remember how long this went on. By that point, my mind had shut everything down beyond, "Tree", "Bush", "Flag", and whatever it took to keep my feet moving in between my waypoints.  After a while, the targets stopped and the Relentless Forward Motion kicked in.  I picked out a set of foot prints, put my head down, and followed the tracks step-for-step and didn't stop. I couldn't even tell you what the course looked like beyond that set of foot prints. I was no longer upset. I was no longer angry. I just needed to move. The only times my mind really came back to me was when the course took 180 degree turns and started heading back east.  That was usually when I would have some anger boil up over the fact that I was going the wrong goddammed direction and yelling over the fact that Alec was such a prick for doing this. About a mile out from the finish, I caught back up with mom, who was pretty shocked but excited to see me again. We didn't really stop and talk though because the only thing really keeping me going at that point was the Relentless Forward Motion. If I stopped too much, I didn't think I would get started again. I kept Trudging ahead.

Unfortunately, the wind had picked up a great deal by that point in the day, which meant the last 1/2 - 3/4 miles in were ankle-to-knee deep snow, uphill, into a very stiff Wyoming breeze. To be honest, with how hard the walk into the finish was, I think that point of the race was the lowest I had felt since the aid station.  I eventually finished in 5:25:45, and as soon as I crossed the line, I had to get down on all fours.  I mentally and physically had no more go and I just needed to stop. Mom finished shortly behind me. Later on that night, I found out that one of the 22 milers, Hawaiian Shirt Ray, got lost out on the course. Fortunately, he was very experienced with trail racing and outdoors survival and was extremely prepared, and he was found safely and in good condition after 14 hours on the course.  You can read his story at http://www.hawaiianshirtray.com/2011/the-2011-twin-mountain-trudge-turns-epic/

Mom & I at the finish.

The race this year gave me a lot to think about, both from what I went through on the course and with what happened with Ray.  The first thought I had was about my over-reliance on being able to mentally pull through. For the last several years, I've been using that ability to pull myself through as a bit of a crutch or an excuse to do things I probably shouldn't.  I didn't care how out of shape I was or how injured I was. I just know that I'm going to be able to get myself through this and I'll be miserable the next morning, but I'll go out and I'll finish it. And that strategy is all fine and dandy, until the mental aspect fails too.  And then I'm out of shape and I no longer have the drive to get through. To be honest, I think the thing that upset me the most during the race is that I had mentally quit and it didn't look like I was going to be able to pull through. I need to change that. I need to physically and mentally be on board with this stuff if I'm serious about doing it.

The second thing I had to think about sort came up while I was on the course, but was really hit home with what happened to Ray.  What I do is dangerous.  I go out and run in the middle of the woods, sometimes far from other people. If something goes wrong, it will often be hours before anyone will come for me or stummble across me.  Conditions can change rapidly, unexpected events can occur, things can go wrong. Trail/ adventure running is fairly risky if you think about it.  And I make it all worse by refusing to properly prepare or train.  I put myself in a position to be suffering from exhaustion right from the start. I make it so I have to pull myself through the entire race, not just the difficult back stretches. By not being prepared, I vastly increase the level of risk to myself involved. By preparing, not only would I eliminate the additional risk, but I would also mitigate some of the pre-existing risks.

The events of this past Saturday really got me thinking about these things and how I need to change my approach to the trail/ adventure running.

All in all, it was an... interesting day.  For physical conditions, Trudge 2011 was the second worst year.  Unlike 2008, there was no waist deep snow or crawling, though '11 was far worse than any of the other years.  As far as race experiences go, 2011 is easily the hardest one I've been through. Saturday was the only race where I've had a possible "out" to get off the course, and damn near took it. In hindsight, I am glad I finished. If nothing else, there is no doubt in my mind that I would be kicking the crap out of myself if I did officially pack it in. Alec is doing quite a number on my ego though.... he has been in charge of the only two races where I genuinely wanted to quit or tried to quit.

In conclusion, thanks to Alec and all the volunteers for putting this on and making it happen. As always, it was a well put together and well ran event. I guess now it's time to move forward again, hopefully make some good changes, and hopefully make my way safely and intelligently back out into the woods.