Nueces 50k trail run 2013 race report.
As we drove home from Matt's DNF at Bandera, he was already trying to figure out what races were coming up soon, where he could use all that training for hopefully a better result. The winner ended up being the Nueces 50 miler in early March, out in Rocksprings, TX. We knew exactly nothing about this race. Matt consulted Coach Jamie, who said it wasn't very technical, and there were a few hills, but nothing like Bandera. And, as always, since I was going to be out there anyway, I figured I might as we well run. And after MY non-stellar race at Bandera, I figured I'd try out another 50k (my third).
A long drive to Rocksprings on Friday for packet pickup, then another long drive to Junction, where we were staying in a hotel. If we had it to do over again, we'd just stay in the lodging at Camp Eagle (where the race was held), but we knew nothing about it at the time, and didn't look into lodging until fairly late in the game. As it was, we woke up to our 2:50am alarm, got dressed, and hit the road for Rocksprings again.
I felt good going into this race. Unlike my training for Bandera and NBC, I'd had several good runs the last few weekends, and my legs (and ribs) were feeling good. I felt a bit under-distance-trained, but hoped I could just sorta fake that part.
Unlike Bandera, we arrived in plenty of time to set up our stuff and use the porta potty, and then hide in the car with the seat warmers on and the heat cranked up, because holy crap, it was 29 degrees. I don't do well with dark and cold and early all at the same time. I may have whined some. But only the 50miler started in the dark, so I wished Matt a good race, from the warmth of the car, and then set my alarm for 6:45am and tried to get some last-minute sleep in. Mostly all it did was embed a bunch of random radio songs in my head, subconsciously.
At 6:45, I finally exited the car, used the portapotty twice more, got my pack prepared, and riiiighht at the last minute, shed my jacket, leaving me with just shorts, a short-sleeved shirt and a long-sleeved. And gloves. I was shivering so much Leah felt sorry for me and wrapped her arms around me for warmth. Free hugs!
Neither Leah nor I had ever done this race before, and we discussed the fact that, in contrast to what Jamie had said, Joe (race director) actually considered this the hardest of the Tejas Trails races. Like.. harder than Bandera. Bandera, which nearly kills me when I run it. Oh, crap. What have I gotten myself into?
Buuuuut it was far too late to think about that, so I figured maybe it wouldn't be that bad, and just prepared myself for a long day of running. In my head was my mantra, provided to me by little Pam, "Enjoy every moment." I personally thought that EVERY moment was a bit excessive and ambitious, but she was pretty insistent. I was bound and determined to try to do so.
And then off we went, the 50k and 25k (though it seemed like not that many people) heading off together for adventure!
Loop 1
Roughly 3 steps into the run, I noticed that my left hydration pack strap was twisted, and digging into my left clavicle in an uncomfortable fashion. I wasn't going to stop 3 steps in, and I couldn't fix it while running, so I decided to just live with the discomfort, and fix it as soon as I was able to without losing a ton of time, at the very least at the halfway point.
As Matt had warned me (he pre-ran the first bit the day before), it was pretty open at the very beginning, but fairly quickly becomes single track and uphill. And much more uphill than I was anticipating, in the form of lots of switchbacks. I hadn't worried too much about where I started, and ended up in the middle of the pack, which meant lots of getting stuck behind others and walking on the switchbacks. I've grown accustomed to that, and reminded myself to practice patience, but some people behind me were VERY CONCERNED about the walking, and kept muttering and passing people in dangerous and inconvenient ways, and generally exerting way too much energy on something they couldn't resolve. I couldn't judge, since that was me in my first trail races. (I might have judged a little.)
Even though it always seems, at the beginning of a trail race, like things will never, ever spread out, and you'll be running right on someone's heels with someone on your heels the entire day, eventually after a few miles things spread out. The first few miles were a lot of switchbacks and gradual climbs and rock ledges, which I found pretty runnable. Except the sun was killllling me. It was just coming up and we kept running directly into it, and I couldn't see a damn thing. I was convinced I was going to trip over rocks I couldn't see, because I was so blind, but I felt like I couldn't slow down because I knew there was a line of 10 people right on my heels. And I'd try to let them by, but then they'd walk the uphills, so I'd just pass them back again, and we'd start the whole process over. So I ended up doing a lot of running with my hand above or to the side of my face, blocking out the sun. I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but I'd prefer to look ridiculous NOT while sliding down the side of a rocky hill.
Speaking of sliding down a rocky hill.. Josh says he got about 30 pictures of people falling down this hill. I, surprisingly, was not one of them.
Picture from endurophoto
Finally things really spread out, and I managed to end up in a position with nobody in front of me and, more importantly, nobody behind me. It stresses me out to have a stranger behind me, because I feel like I have to run a steady pace so I don't slow them down, which means I run too fast over terrain at which I don't excel. I'm sure people get tired of me going, "Just let me know if you want to go around me! .... Seriously! Any time! I'm happy to step off and let you by!" And they assure me they're fine and happy with the pace. And finally I step off and pretend to get a rock out of my shoe, just to let them by and reduce my stress level.
So things were good! The freezing temps from earlier had, well, probably not changed at all, but now the sun was up and I was running, so I felt very comfortable. At the first aid station, I stopped to tie my shoe (bane of my existence: my trail shoes WILL NOT STAY TIED) and asked an aid station volunteer to stow my gloves in my pack.
Elizabeth left the aid station just as I ran in, and a few minutes after I left, I ended up catching her and running briefly with her, then losing sight of her for a while. As we left the windy, switchbacky woods and entered onto a big, wide, runnable jeep trail, she caught up to me again, and we ran together for a few miles and chatted about dogs and Ironman and whatever. We ran down the big downhill Fish had warned me about, which was just as awkward as she'd promised, being too steep/loose dirt to just barrel down, but not steep enough to really justify slowing way down. Just awkward.
We re-entered the woods again, and I made my way around a girl on the singletrack, Elizabeth decided she'd had enough of me, and wished me well for the rest of my race and dropped back a bit, leaving me on my own again.
(As a point of interest surely only to myself, for the entirety of the first loop I had one of the songs from my radio-backgrounded micro-car-nap that morning stuck firmly in my head, specifically The Church's Reptile. I considered this to be a huge victory, because during my Tuesday run workout, I'd gotten the HOKEY POKEY stuck in my head. 31 miles of the Hokey Pokey would kill anyone.)
I was enjoying myself, running fairly well, feeling good. I was going up one hill and passed a group of people, and one of them said something like, "Not to sound creepy, but I read your blog. I'm a blog stalker." It took me a second to realize she was talking to me, because while I'm the world's biggest blog stalker, it's rare that I find people stalking mine! It was a nice boost, and I asked her her name, since most people who read my blog end up being friends of friends, whose names I recognized, but she said her name was Amber, and I didn't recognize her last name. An actual stranger blog stalker! I asked if she had a blog which I could stalk in return, but she did not. So, hi, Amber! I did look you up on facebook, just to be on a level playing field, creepiness-wise. (Later Amber and her gang passed me like I was standing still and I didn't see her again until the end of the race.)
That little boost carried me on for a while, and then the trail switchbacks down into a creekbed and winds around in there for a while. A couple passed me, and the girl was discussing how glad she was that they were doing the 50k instead of the 25k, because she was having such a good time, and didn't want to only be half down with her race right then. (Her partner looked less than convinced that this was a good thing.) She was glad that she was only about a quarter done, and had plenty of miles left, yay! I had just eaten a gu right on my every-40-minutes-eat-a-gu schedule, so I knew I was at roughly 2 hours. And if I was only a quarter done.. ugh, I hadn't anticipated running an 8 hour 50k. I wasn't carrying enough food for that, and would have to really start eating from the aid stations, and refill my water more often. This stranger's casual comment that I overheard seriously got in my head and stressed me out. (Uh, but I tried to enjoy the stress, Pam. Enjoy every moment! Yay!)
The moments where it was really pretty AND runnable were easier to enjoy.
Picture from Garbanzo Smith
After I'd stupidly stressed about that for a few minutes, my watch beeped to indicate I'd just finished a mile. I was thinking, "Well, there's mile 7 or 8 or something.." And normally I don't look at my watch unless I need to figure out eating schedule, but I decided I needed to know what mile I was at. And it said 10! Oh. Well. That's nearly 1/3 of the way done, not 1/4. Yay! That's much better! Enjoy every moment!
Came through another aid station but didn't need anything, so ran straight through. I entered a rocky riverbed, and as a couple ran by me, the girl said, "This part coming up is really fabulous!" I said this was my first time running this race, so what was so fabulous about it? She said it was just really pretty. And then there was a monster hill. I said I preferred ascents to descents, anyway. And then they disappeared off into the distance.
Off into the distance and over a bridge. I love running over bridges! This was a wooden slat suspension bridge, and I jumped up onto it just behind a guy, and right in front of 2 other people. And hooboy, was that an adventure. It turns out, with 4 completely disorganized people running across a suspension bridge, the harmonics are.. chaotic. Maybe if we'd organized and all run in lockstep things would have been better? But as it was, we were all gangly and ineffectual and flailing, and I ended up doing a sorta-fastish walk across instead of running. It was pretty funny.
Bridge!
Picture from Garbanzo Smith
Ran further down the riverbed, and then turned onto a trail with a hill right in front of me. Monster hill!
It was a steep hill. I watched the girl who'd told me about the hill run up like it wasn't a hill. I ran up behind her (much further behind and slower), and as I got to the top I thought, "Well, that was certainly a hill, and sorta steep, but I'm not sure it was a MONSTER hill; it really wasn't that ba-" and then I turned the corner and the hill continued steeply uphill for the next 80 or so miles. Oh. THAT monster hill.
So far most of the hills had been relatively moderate, and mostly achieved via switchbacks. This began The Real Hills. Jamie'd said the hills at Nueces weren't as bad as Bandera, but I'd say they might be worse. Long, steep hills, many of which were loose, soft dirt, so you had to watch your footing lest you slide back down. In fact, my only fall/injury of the day (spoiler alert!) was going up this first hill. My foot slid out from under me, and I fell forward, scraping my wrist on a rock. It bled, but was more oozy-blood than flowy-blood, and I told the guy behind me who asked that I was just fine (before technically checking to see if I was).
So yeah. For the next, I don't even know.. forever, we went uphill. I just hiked with purpose when it wasn't running, which was most of the time on these hills. I came up on the girl who'd been happy to be doing the 50k again, and asked her if, right at this very moment (very many minutes into a nonstop hill climb) she was still happy to be doing the 50k, and she confirmed she was. Her partner, who was getting ever further behind me, and to whom she was calling out encouragement over her shoulder, continued to look non-plussed.
Lots and lots and lots of things like this. But hey, pretty windmill at the top!
Picture from Garbanzo Smith
I noticed this part was hilly, but it wasn't horrible. I was enjoying every moment, though perhaps some more than others. It was a gorgeous day, and the hilltops afforded some spectacular views, if you could look away from the rocky ground long enough to look at them without braining yourself.
Up, up, up with an occasional downhill to break up the monotony. Oh, the downhills. I don't excel at trail descents on a kind, groomed jeep trail. And these were not that. These were steep descents down loose dirt with giant, loose rocks scattered everywhere. I wished I could channel Leah or my sister and just bomb those downhills, but I knew that was a recipe for turned ankles and other potential disaster, so I picked my way cautiously and wimpily down each hill. I figured it would be harder to enjoy every moment if some of those moments involved the loss of my front teeth. My trail runs are filled with wisdom.
But I knew it was wise, because I was having an incredibly clumsy day out there. As I already spoiled, I never fell after that one hill fall on the first loop. But I DID trip over every 5th rock and every 3rd root out there. I was convinced my right index toe was going to be a bloody mess from how many times I jammed it into rocks, and I caught my toes repeated on the roots on the sun-dappled trails. Sun-dappled is beautiful, but it wreaks havoc on my single-eyed perception. And every time I'd almost sprawl out on the trail, I'd berate myself. "STOP. Just CALM the fuck down. Pick up your damn feet. Be aware. Stay present." And then I'd giggle to myself, "Enjoy every moment!" And channel Betsy's sign for Heather at the Austin Marathon, "Magic in every motherfucking mile!" So oddly enough, I even managed to enjoy and embrace the rough patches.
A few more painful hills, up and down, for good measure, then through the last aid station and onto the home stretch. We ran across some wet road, and I asked the guy in front of me if this was the road we'd drive in on. He confirmed he thought it was, and I then knew exactly how far we had to go, because I'd hiked this section the day before! And I knew it was beautiful and runnable.
Well, sort of runnable. There's a water crossing that one could certainly just charge across, if one wanted to get one's feet wet. With another 25k+ to go, and shoelaces that untie if you even look at them funny, much less if you get them wet, I figured I'd go across the stepping stones, which meant waiting my turn and picking my way across gingerly.
Some folks on the stepping stones.
Picture from Garbanzo Smith
I had a big smile on my face as I ran along the river's edge trail (chatting with my new, brief friend Scott from Seguin), and then an even bigger smile as I turned to the right, AWAY from the awful stairs the 50 milers had to run up. I had no idea exactly what the little spur into the woods had in store for us, but it turned out to be very short and easy, and then we were steered back into the main camp, and toward the finish line!
50 milers had to run up these stairs 3 times. Eek.
One loop down, one to go! (Don't flee in terror. Surely the second loop won't be as wordy, right? Uh, probably. Sure.)
One down!
Picture from endurophoto
Loop 2
I stripped off my pack and grabbed the water pitcher to refill my water. Grabbed a cup of Coke, figuring now was a good time to start ingesting some caffeine. Ran over to my chair and restocked on gels and blocks. Started putting my pack back on and realized I needed to shed my long-sleeved shirt, which was now completely unnecessary, with the full sun and rising temps. Retied my shoes again, though they were behaving pretty admirably after their first retie. As I put my pack back on, I made sure it wasn't twisted, though that really hadn't bothered me for a while. As I headed out for lap 2, I decided, even though I hadn't needed one, that I should hit the portapotty, simply because it was there. I felt better for having done so, and set out for loop 2 with a good attitude. I glanced at my watch and saw 3:01, which meant my first loop was just around 3 hours. My secret stretch goal was sub-6, so I was excited! I felt good, and I should be able to run that first section of switchbacks much faster without the crowds and the walking, so the outlook was positive!
I started running, and immediately found that I hadn't untwisted my pack at all, and now the water tube was sitting directly on the bruise that had developed from having it press into my clavicle for all of the first loop. And no, of course I still didn't stop to fix it.
Then without the guidance of the crowd, I managed to run off the course into a random portion of the parking lot, confusing some picnickers and myself, before ducking back into the appropriate clearly-flagged-off corridor.
Right. Loop 2 was off to a reassuring start, for sure.
I WAS able to run (most of) the switchbacks this time. A little walking on the particularly steep parts, which I hadn't realized were so steep, because I'd had no choice but to walk them or crush the person in front of me. And the rocky ledge sections were easier without the sun in my eyes.
Back into the first aid station again, grabbing a pb&j sandwich square and shoving it into my mouth as I ran. Laughing at myself as I slowed down as I approached the last-chance trash box, then realized that sandwiches have no parts that require disposal. Then back into the woods!
A man who'd been at the aid station passed me and said something about an uphill climb, and sure enough we began climbing. A lot of climbing. Steep climbing. And I didn't remember this part. And then we went through this weird barbed wireish portal thing. And I didn't remember THAT at all. And it seemed like the kind of thing I'd remember, since you had to step over it or trip on it. And I suddenly realized that I hadn't done this part before. I was somewhere I hadn't run the first loop. And with horror I remembered that there had definitely been a sign with distances on it at the aid station, and the 50k and 50 milers must go different directions from that aid station and I'd taken the wrong one this time. I was lost.
Except I wasn't lost. I was just going the wrong way. I considered turning around and running back to the aid station so that I could go the right way. But it was pretty far back at that point. And so I decided I didn't care. I wasn't in contention for overall anything, so it didn't matter if I ran exactly the right distance. Eventually this would meet back up with the 50k trail, and I'd just finish it off the right way. My one big concern was that the 50 mile version was shorter than the 50k version (I knew the overall 50 mile loop was longer than the 50k loop, but I also knew that they differed at the end, with the 50 mile part for sure being longer than the 50k part, so maybe they needed to shave a little distance off the 50 miler here?). I didn't mind doing the wrong distance, but I REALLY didn't want to end up in front of the folks who had already passed me, without ever having passed them, simply because I cut off distance. I decided that if I got to the end and hadn't run 31 miles, I'd turn around before the finish line and go run some more, then cross the finish line when my watch said I'd finished. And I'd ask at the finish line whether the 50k spur there was longer or shorter than the 50 miler, because I wanted to be up front about the fact that I did it wrong, and not get credit where I didn't deserve it. Yes, this occupied my brain for a long time. Miles. I dwelled on it. But oddly, I was okay with it. Sure, I screwed up, and sure that meant that my results wouldn't be accurate for a true 50k, and sure I was feeling pretty ridiculous that I was overthinking this so thoroughly... but in keeping with my "enjoy every moment" mantra, I embraced the silliness and smiled my way through my mistake and kept running strong.
Well, until I got to the hills again.
But before that, I continued tripping over every piece of trail detritus out there. And as I berated myself, I came across a guy breaking a long stick off a fallen tree. That seemed odd, but I realized he was making himself a walking stick. And then I realized he was making a walking stick for the guy just ahead of him, who was hobbling slowly down the trail with a piece of caution tape tied just above his knee, just visible at the bottom of his long shorts. I stupidly asked, "Are you okay?" and he assured me, somewhat sardonically, that he was. I figured he had a companion, was moving decently, and was about to an aid station, so there wasn't really any help I could provide, and moved on. It was a really good reminder that things can go really wrong if you're not careful, though (though I obviously have no idea what happened to him). As I approached the second aid station, I was greeted by two adorable little girls, separated by 10 feet or so. The first one asked me something I couldn't understand, so I said, "What?" and she said, "Have you seen Fawn Simpson?" This would have been completely mystifying if I hadn't known who Fawn Simpson was from the Tejas Trails facebook group, despite having never met her, but I knew enough to tell her that I hadn't (I'm assuming these were her daughters), and then the second one, evidently less concerned about her mother's whereabouts, happily told me the aid station was just ahead! With this kind of randomness, I didn't even have to bother hallucinating.
I pulled up to the aid station to find a David Jacobson emptying his pockets into a trash can, and decided I would be wise to do the same. Normally I manage to accidentally carry all of my trash for the entire race in my pockets.. the entire race, so it was nice to have a reminder to purge. Also downed a Coke and a water as the aid station ladies cheered and complimented my sparkly gold headband. I was glad it got some acknowledgment, as this was its inaugural race.
Back across the suspension bridge again, this time alone, and with much more running success!
And then the hills.
I'd already done this once. I knew it would be hard. But I didn't realize that it would seem twice as long as the first time. Seriously, I don't even know where those hills came from. The first one I expected. But then the hill along the fenceline.. it just didn't end. Jamie had mentioned something about the fenceline being hard/demoralizing, but somehow I hadn't even NOTICED that I was running along a fence the first time. This time.. it wasn't pretty. I walked a lot. I tried to walk strong, but I'm not sure I was always successful. I just couldn't understand how it seemed so much hillier the second time. I wasn't cramping or hyperventilating or giving up, but my spirits weren't exactly at their highest. I just wanted to be done with that section. I wanted to hit the 3rd aid station again, because then I knew I'd be close to being done. But the hills just kept coming.
I'll not drone on about this part anymore, but if you want to get an idea of how long this part seemed to last, just re-read the previous paragraph like 27 times, and then we'll have gotten through the hills.
Finally, FINALLY, I made it to the last aid station again. I grabbed another Coke and water and as I was guzzling them, I saw Doise running into the aid station from another direction. And then, and only then, did I realize that this was, in fact, the FOURTH time I'd come into this aid station, not the second, because this was the same as the first aid station. I'm not very quick on the uptake sometimes, especially while running. As I made this realization, my eye caught the sign that I'd remembered earlier, which pointed out which way the 50k people should go and which way the 50 milers should go. And they were the same way. I didn't go the wrong way. I'm just an idiot who doesn't recognize things even though she just ran through them. So I played all those mind games with myself for nothing. I was torn between laughing and crying, and opted for laughing. Seriously, it's amazing what we can do to ourselves if we get stuck in our own heads.
So now I knew I would end the race with 50k run, I was close to the end, and I knew that I liked this last part.
With a grin on my face, I picked up the pace some. As I crossed the low water crossing and got to the part where you have to hop across a rock, I saw a flash and realized that my friend Josh was there with his camera, as always having found an awesome place for race photos. I tried to keep a neutral face for the picture, but it turns out that rock jumping requires a look of unavoidable concentration. As I hopped over, Josh told me that Matt had come through, attempted to pose for him, and rolled his ankle. I sighed that my husband was an idiot (turns out, he was fine), got a high five from Josh, and carried on.
Unavoidable concentration! But an awesome picture.
Picture from endurophoto
Hopped across the stepping stones handily and scrambled up the bank, commenting to the 50mile runner I passed (who was just about to finish his 2nd of 3 loops) that the girl who'd just blown past us, also running the 50miler (and just about to finish her race completely), was questionably human. She was just finishing running 50 miles and didn't look like she'd even broken a sweat. Unfair and admirable.
I loved this river's edge part of the run
Back into the woods, back across the grass, and finally into the finish chute for the final time. I tried to pick it up a bit for the finish line, but didn't have much left to give, so I just enjoyed the cheers from the folks at the finish line (including the cheer "from your blog stalker!") and crossed the finish line with a smile on my face, so happy to be done.
After
And did I finish sub-6? Not even vaguely close. I ran that first mile the second time faster than the first, but otherwise I slowed way, waaaaaay down for the second loop. Loop one was right around 3 hours, but my final time was ~6:25, which means a massive positive split, and nowhere near sub-6 (and not even a PR, since I ran a 6:13 at Palo Duro) (Which Matt points out, correctly, is a much easier course). I was a little bummed about that, mostly just because splits that different means a not-very-well-executed race, but honestly, I feel like I still have a lot to learn about trail running. I'm still trying to embrace this whole "walk the hills" thing, and you'd figure with so many races where my later loops fall off like that under my belt, eventually I'd learn. But you'd be wrong! Someday..
Overall I'm happy with my race. It was much harder than I anticipated, and I agree that it was harder than Bandera, and I'm happy to have done it without falling apart physically or (mostly) mentally/emotionally. And honestly, despite the slowing down and the toe-stubbing and being convinced I was adding/subtracting distance unrunnable downhills and uphill slogs... I really did enjoy every moment.
While waiting for Matt to finish, I checked in with happy-to-be-doing-50k girl, and she reports that she was happy to be doing 50k all the way through to the end. Just to tie up that loose end for you.
I hung out with Josh the photographer and snacked, and then well before I expected him, suddenly there was Matt, having completely blown away his goal of sub-10 for the 50 miler! Very, very proud of him.
Happy to be done with 50k and 50 miles, respectively.
Next up is Enchanted Rock Duathlon! For which I'm extremely overprepared for the run, and .. my bike hasn't been off the trainer since some time in December. What could go wrong?!
I don't know why Matt's licking the crusty salt off my eyebrow, but who was I to argue?
A long drive to Rocksprings on Friday for packet pickup, then another long drive to Junction, where we were staying in a hotel. If we had it to do over again, we'd just stay in the lodging at Camp Eagle (where the race was held), but we knew nothing about it at the time, and didn't look into lodging until fairly late in the game. As it was, we woke up to our 2:50am alarm, got dressed, and hit the road for Rocksprings again.
I felt good going into this race. Unlike my training for Bandera and NBC, I'd had several good runs the last few weekends, and my legs (and ribs) were feeling good. I felt a bit under-distance-trained, but hoped I could just sorta fake that part.
Unlike Bandera, we arrived in plenty of time to set up our stuff and use the porta potty, and then hide in the car with the seat warmers on and the heat cranked up, because holy crap, it was 29 degrees. I don't do well with dark and cold and early all at the same time. I may have whined some. But only the 50miler started in the dark, so I wished Matt a good race, from the warmth of the car, and then set my alarm for 6:45am and tried to get some last-minute sleep in. Mostly all it did was embed a bunch of random radio songs in my head, subconsciously.
At 6:45, I finally exited the car, used the portapotty twice more, got my pack prepared, and riiiighht at the last minute, shed my jacket, leaving me with just shorts, a short-sleeved shirt and a long-sleeved. And gloves. I was shivering so much Leah felt sorry for me and wrapped her arms around me for warmth. Free hugs!
Neither Leah nor I had ever done this race before, and we discussed the fact that, in contrast to what Jamie had said, Joe (race director) actually considered this the hardest of the Tejas Trails races. Like.. harder than Bandera. Bandera, which nearly kills me when I run it. Oh, crap. What have I gotten myself into?
Buuuuut it was far too late to think about that, so I figured maybe it wouldn't be that bad, and just prepared myself for a long day of running. In my head was my mantra, provided to me by little Pam, "Enjoy every moment." I personally thought that EVERY moment was a bit excessive and ambitious, but she was pretty insistent. I was bound and determined to try to do so.
And then off we went, the 50k and 25k (though it seemed like not that many people) heading off together for adventure!
Loop 1
Roughly 3 steps into the run, I noticed that my left hydration pack strap was twisted, and digging into my left clavicle in an uncomfortable fashion. I wasn't going to stop 3 steps in, and I couldn't fix it while running, so I decided to just live with the discomfort, and fix it as soon as I was able to without losing a ton of time, at the very least at the halfway point.
As Matt had warned me (he pre-ran the first bit the day before), it was pretty open at the very beginning, but fairly quickly becomes single track and uphill. And much more uphill than I was anticipating, in the form of lots of switchbacks. I hadn't worried too much about where I started, and ended up in the middle of the pack, which meant lots of getting stuck behind others and walking on the switchbacks. I've grown accustomed to that, and reminded myself to practice patience, but some people behind me were VERY CONCERNED about the walking, and kept muttering and passing people in dangerous and inconvenient ways, and generally exerting way too much energy on something they couldn't resolve. I couldn't judge, since that was me in my first trail races. (I might have judged a little.)
Even though it always seems, at the beginning of a trail race, like things will never, ever spread out, and you'll be running right on someone's heels with someone on your heels the entire day, eventually after a few miles things spread out. The first few miles were a lot of switchbacks and gradual climbs and rock ledges, which I found pretty runnable. Except the sun was killllling me. It was just coming up and we kept running directly into it, and I couldn't see a damn thing. I was convinced I was going to trip over rocks I couldn't see, because I was so blind, but I felt like I couldn't slow down because I knew there was a line of 10 people right on my heels. And I'd try to let them by, but then they'd walk the uphills, so I'd just pass them back again, and we'd start the whole process over. So I ended up doing a lot of running with my hand above or to the side of my face, blocking out the sun. I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but I'd prefer to look ridiculous NOT while sliding down the side of a rocky hill.
Speaking of sliding down a rocky hill.. Josh says he got about 30 pictures of people falling down this hill. I, surprisingly, was not one of them.
Picture from endurophoto
Finally things really spread out, and I managed to end up in a position with nobody in front of me and, more importantly, nobody behind me. It stresses me out to have a stranger behind me, because I feel like I have to run a steady pace so I don't slow them down, which means I run too fast over terrain at which I don't excel. I'm sure people get tired of me going, "Just let me know if you want to go around me! .... Seriously! Any time! I'm happy to step off and let you by!" And they assure me they're fine and happy with the pace. And finally I step off and pretend to get a rock out of my shoe, just to let them by and reduce my stress level.
So things were good! The freezing temps from earlier had, well, probably not changed at all, but now the sun was up and I was running, so I felt very comfortable. At the first aid station, I stopped to tie my shoe (bane of my existence: my trail shoes WILL NOT STAY TIED) and asked an aid station volunteer to stow my gloves in my pack.
Elizabeth left the aid station just as I ran in, and a few minutes after I left, I ended up catching her and running briefly with her, then losing sight of her for a while. As we left the windy, switchbacky woods and entered onto a big, wide, runnable jeep trail, she caught up to me again, and we ran together for a few miles and chatted about dogs and Ironman and whatever. We ran down the big downhill Fish had warned me about, which was just as awkward as she'd promised, being too steep/loose dirt to just barrel down, but not steep enough to really justify slowing way down. Just awkward.
We re-entered the woods again, and I made my way around a girl on the singletrack, Elizabeth decided she'd had enough of me, and wished me well for the rest of my race and dropped back a bit, leaving me on my own again.
(As a point of interest surely only to myself, for the entirety of the first loop I had one of the songs from my radio-backgrounded micro-car-nap that morning stuck firmly in my head, specifically The Church's Reptile. I considered this to be a huge victory, because during my Tuesday run workout, I'd gotten the HOKEY POKEY stuck in my head. 31 miles of the Hokey Pokey would kill anyone.)
I was enjoying myself, running fairly well, feeling good. I was going up one hill and passed a group of people, and one of them said something like, "Not to sound creepy, but I read your blog. I'm a blog stalker." It took me a second to realize she was talking to me, because while I'm the world's biggest blog stalker, it's rare that I find people stalking mine! It was a nice boost, and I asked her her name, since most people who read my blog end up being friends of friends, whose names I recognized, but she said her name was Amber, and I didn't recognize her last name. An actual stranger blog stalker! I asked if she had a blog which I could stalk in return, but she did not. So, hi, Amber! I did look you up on facebook, just to be on a level playing field, creepiness-wise. (Later Amber and her gang passed me like I was standing still and I didn't see her again until the end of the race.)
That little boost carried me on for a while, and then the trail switchbacks down into a creekbed and winds around in there for a while. A couple passed me, and the girl was discussing how glad she was that they were doing the 50k instead of the 25k, because she was having such a good time, and didn't want to only be half down with her race right then. (Her partner looked less than convinced that this was a good thing.) She was glad that she was only about a quarter done, and had plenty of miles left, yay! I had just eaten a gu right on my every-40-minutes-eat-a-gu schedule, so I knew I was at roughly 2 hours. And if I was only a quarter done.. ugh, I hadn't anticipated running an 8 hour 50k. I wasn't carrying enough food for that, and would have to really start eating from the aid stations, and refill my water more often. This stranger's casual comment that I overheard seriously got in my head and stressed me out. (Uh, but I tried to enjoy the stress, Pam. Enjoy every moment! Yay!)
The moments where it was really pretty AND runnable were easier to enjoy.
Picture from Garbanzo Smith
After I'd stupidly stressed about that for a few minutes, my watch beeped to indicate I'd just finished a mile. I was thinking, "Well, there's mile 7 or 8 or something.." And normally I don't look at my watch unless I need to figure out eating schedule, but I decided I needed to know what mile I was at. And it said 10! Oh. Well. That's nearly 1/3 of the way done, not 1/4. Yay! That's much better! Enjoy every moment!
Came through another aid station but didn't need anything, so ran straight through. I entered a rocky riverbed, and as a couple ran by me, the girl said, "This part coming up is really fabulous!" I said this was my first time running this race, so what was so fabulous about it? She said it was just really pretty. And then there was a monster hill. I said I preferred ascents to descents, anyway. And then they disappeared off into the distance.
Off into the distance and over a bridge. I love running over bridges! This was a wooden slat suspension bridge, and I jumped up onto it just behind a guy, and right in front of 2 other people. And hooboy, was that an adventure. It turns out, with 4 completely disorganized people running across a suspension bridge, the harmonics are.. chaotic. Maybe if we'd organized and all run in lockstep things would have been better? But as it was, we were all gangly and ineffectual and flailing, and I ended up doing a sorta-fastish walk across instead of running. It was pretty funny.
Bridge!
Picture from Garbanzo Smith
Ran further down the riverbed, and then turned onto a trail with a hill right in front of me. Monster hill!
It was a steep hill. I watched the girl who'd told me about the hill run up like it wasn't a hill. I ran up behind her (much further behind and slower), and as I got to the top I thought, "Well, that was certainly a hill, and sorta steep, but I'm not sure it was a MONSTER hill; it really wasn't that ba-" and then I turned the corner and the hill continued steeply uphill for the next 80 or so miles. Oh. THAT monster hill.
So far most of the hills had been relatively moderate, and mostly achieved via switchbacks. This began The Real Hills. Jamie'd said the hills at Nueces weren't as bad as Bandera, but I'd say they might be worse. Long, steep hills, many of which were loose, soft dirt, so you had to watch your footing lest you slide back down. In fact, my only fall/injury of the day (spoiler alert!) was going up this first hill. My foot slid out from under me, and I fell forward, scraping my wrist on a rock. It bled, but was more oozy-blood than flowy-blood, and I told the guy behind me who asked that I was just fine (before technically checking to see if I was).
So yeah. For the next, I don't even know.. forever, we went uphill. I just hiked with purpose when it wasn't running, which was most of the time on these hills. I came up on the girl who'd been happy to be doing the 50k again, and asked her if, right at this very moment (very many minutes into a nonstop hill climb) she was still happy to be doing the 50k, and she confirmed she was. Her partner, who was getting ever further behind me, and to whom she was calling out encouragement over her shoulder, continued to look non-plussed.
Lots and lots and lots of things like this. But hey, pretty windmill at the top!
Picture from Garbanzo Smith
I noticed this part was hilly, but it wasn't horrible. I was enjoying every moment, though perhaps some more than others. It was a gorgeous day, and the hilltops afforded some spectacular views, if you could look away from the rocky ground long enough to look at them without braining yourself.
Up, up, up with an occasional downhill to break up the monotony. Oh, the downhills. I don't excel at trail descents on a kind, groomed jeep trail. And these were not that. These were steep descents down loose dirt with giant, loose rocks scattered everywhere. I wished I could channel Leah or my sister and just bomb those downhills, but I knew that was a recipe for turned ankles and other potential disaster, so I picked my way cautiously and wimpily down each hill. I figured it would be harder to enjoy every moment if some of those moments involved the loss of my front teeth. My trail runs are filled with wisdom.
But I knew it was wise, because I was having an incredibly clumsy day out there. As I already spoiled, I never fell after that one hill fall on the first loop. But I DID trip over every 5th rock and every 3rd root out there. I was convinced my right index toe was going to be a bloody mess from how many times I jammed it into rocks, and I caught my toes repeated on the roots on the sun-dappled trails. Sun-dappled is beautiful, but it wreaks havoc on my single-eyed perception. And every time I'd almost sprawl out on the trail, I'd berate myself. "STOP. Just CALM the fuck down. Pick up your damn feet. Be aware. Stay present." And then I'd giggle to myself, "Enjoy every moment!" And channel Betsy's sign for Heather at the Austin Marathon, "Magic in every motherfucking mile!" So oddly enough, I even managed to enjoy and embrace the rough patches.
A few more painful hills, up and down, for good measure, then through the last aid station and onto the home stretch. We ran across some wet road, and I asked the guy in front of me if this was the road we'd drive in on. He confirmed he thought it was, and I then knew exactly how far we had to go, because I'd hiked this section the day before! And I knew it was beautiful and runnable.
Well, sort of runnable. There's a water crossing that one could certainly just charge across, if one wanted to get one's feet wet. With another 25k+ to go, and shoelaces that untie if you even look at them funny, much less if you get them wet, I figured I'd go across the stepping stones, which meant waiting my turn and picking my way across gingerly.
Some folks on the stepping stones.
Picture from Garbanzo Smith
I had a big smile on my face as I ran along the river's edge trail (chatting with my new, brief friend Scott from Seguin), and then an even bigger smile as I turned to the right, AWAY from the awful stairs the 50 milers had to run up. I had no idea exactly what the little spur into the woods had in store for us, but it turned out to be very short and easy, and then we were steered back into the main camp, and toward the finish line!
50 milers had to run up these stairs 3 times. Eek.
One loop down, one to go! (Don't flee in terror. Surely the second loop won't be as wordy, right? Uh, probably. Sure.)
One down!
Picture from endurophoto
Loop 2
I stripped off my pack and grabbed the water pitcher to refill my water. Grabbed a cup of Coke, figuring now was a good time to start ingesting some caffeine. Ran over to my chair and restocked on gels and blocks. Started putting my pack back on and realized I needed to shed my long-sleeved shirt, which was now completely unnecessary, with the full sun and rising temps. Retied my shoes again, though they were behaving pretty admirably after their first retie. As I put my pack back on, I made sure it wasn't twisted, though that really hadn't bothered me for a while. As I headed out for lap 2, I decided, even though I hadn't needed one, that I should hit the portapotty, simply because it was there. I felt better for having done so, and set out for loop 2 with a good attitude. I glanced at my watch and saw 3:01, which meant my first loop was just around 3 hours. My secret stretch goal was sub-6, so I was excited! I felt good, and I should be able to run that first section of switchbacks much faster without the crowds and the walking, so the outlook was positive!
I started running, and immediately found that I hadn't untwisted my pack at all, and now the water tube was sitting directly on the bruise that had developed from having it press into my clavicle for all of the first loop. And no, of course I still didn't stop to fix it.
Then without the guidance of the crowd, I managed to run off the course into a random portion of the parking lot, confusing some picnickers and myself, before ducking back into the appropriate clearly-flagged-off corridor.
Right. Loop 2 was off to a reassuring start, for sure.
I WAS able to run (most of) the switchbacks this time. A little walking on the particularly steep parts, which I hadn't realized were so steep, because I'd had no choice but to walk them or crush the person in front of me. And the rocky ledge sections were easier without the sun in my eyes.
Back into the first aid station again, grabbing a pb&j sandwich square and shoving it into my mouth as I ran. Laughing at myself as I slowed down as I approached the last-chance trash box, then realized that sandwiches have no parts that require disposal. Then back into the woods!
A man who'd been at the aid station passed me and said something about an uphill climb, and sure enough we began climbing. A lot of climbing. Steep climbing. And I didn't remember this part. And then we went through this weird barbed wireish portal thing. And I didn't remember THAT at all. And it seemed like the kind of thing I'd remember, since you had to step over it or trip on it. And I suddenly realized that I hadn't done this part before. I was somewhere I hadn't run the first loop. And with horror I remembered that there had definitely been a sign with distances on it at the aid station, and the 50k and 50 milers must go different directions from that aid station and I'd taken the wrong one this time. I was lost.
Except I wasn't lost. I was just going the wrong way. I considered turning around and running back to the aid station so that I could go the right way. But it was pretty far back at that point. And so I decided I didn't care. I wasn't in contention for overall anything, so it didn't matter if I ran exactly the right distance. Eventually this would meet back up with the 50k trail, and I'd just finish it off the right way. My one big concern was that the 50 mile version was shorter than the 50k version (I knew the overall 50 mile loop was longer than the 50k loop, but I also knew that they differed at the end, with the 50 mile part for sure being longer than the 50k part, so maybe they needed to shave a little distance off the 50 miler here?). I didn't mind doing the wrong distance, but I REALLY didn't want to end up in front of the folks who had already passed me, without ever having passed them, simply because I cut off distance. I decided that if I got to the end and hadn't run 31 miles, I'd turn around before the finish line and go run some more, then cross the finish line when my watch said I'd finished. And I'd ask at the finish line whether the 50k spur there was longer or shorter than the 50 miler, because I wanted to be up front about the fact that I did it wrong, and not get credit where I didn't deserve it. Yes, this occupied my brain for a long time. Miles. I dwelled on it. But oddly, I was okay with it. Sure, I screwed up, and sure that meant that my results wouldn't be accurate for a true 50k, and sure I was feeling pretty ridiculous that I was overthinking this so thoroughly... but in keeping with my "enjoy every moment" mantra, I embraced the silliness and smiled my way through my mistake and kept running strong.
Well, until I got to the hills again.
But before that, I continued tripping over every piece of trail detritus out there. And as I berated myself, I came across a guy breaking a long stick off a fallen tree. That seemed odd, but I realized he was making himself a walking stick. And then I realized he was making a walking stick for the guy just ahead of him, who was hobbling slowly down the trail with a piece of caution tape tied just above his knee, just visible at the bottom of his long shorts. I stupidly asked, "Are you okay?" and he assured me, somewhat sardonically, that he was. I figured he had a companion, was moving decently, and was about to an aid station, so there wasn't really any help I could provide, and moved on. It was a really good reminder that things can go really wrong if you're not careful, though (though I obviously have no idea what happened to him). As I approached the second aid station, I was greeted by two adorable little girls, separated by 10 feet or so. The first one asked me something I couldn't understand, so I said, "What?" and she said, "Have you seen Fawn Simpson?" This would have been completely mystifying if I hadn't known who Fawn Simpson was from the Tejas Trails facebook group, despite having never met her, but I knew enough to tell her that I hadn't (I'm assuming these were her daughters), and then the second one, evidently less concerned about her mother's whereabouts, happily told me the aid station was just ahead! With this kind of randomness, I didn't even have to bother hallucinating.
I pulled up to the aid station to find a David Jacobson emptying his pockets into a trash can, and decided I would be wise to do the same. Normally I manage to accidentally carry all of my trash for the entire race in my pockets.. the entire race, so it was nice to have a reminder to purge. Also downed a Coke and a water as the aid station ladies cheered and complimented my sparkly gold headband. I was glad it got some acknowledgment, as this was its inaugural race.
Back across the suspension bridge again, this time alone, and with much more running success!
And then the hills.
I'd already done this once. I knew it would be hard. But I didn't realize that it would seem twice as long as the first time. Seriously, I don't even know where those hills came from. The first one I expected. But then the hill along the fenceline.. it just didn't end. Jamie had mentioned something about the fenceline being hard/demoralizing, but somehow I hadn't even NOTICED that I was running along a fence the first time. This time.. it wasn't pretty. I walked a lot. I tried to walk strong, but I'm not sure I was always successful. I just couldn't understand how it seemed so much hillier the second time. I wasn't cramping or hyperventilating or giving up, but my spirits weren't exactly at their highest. I just wanted to be done with that section. I wanted to hit the 3rd aid station again, because then I knew I'd be close to being done. But the hills just kept coming.
I'll not drone on about this part anymore, but if you want to get an idea of how long this part seemed to last, just re-read the previous paragraph like 27 times, and then we'll have gotten through the hills.
Finally, FINALLY, I made it to the last aid station again. I grabbed another Coke and water and as I was guzzling them, I saw Doise running into the aid station from another direction. And then, and only then, did I realize that this was, in fact, the FOURTH time I'd come into this aid station, not the second, because this was the same as the first aid station. I'm not very quick on the uptake sometimes, especially while running. As I made this realization, my eye caught the sign that I'd remembered earlier, which pointed out which way the 50k people should go and which way the 50 milers should go. And they were the same way. I didn't go the wrong way. I'm just an idiot who doesn't recognize things even though she just ran through them. So I played all those mind games with myself for nothing. I was torn between laughing and crying, and opted for laughing. Seriously, it's amazing what we can do to ourselves if we get stuck in our own heads.
So now I knew I would end the race with 50k run, I was close to the end, and I knew that I liked this last part.
With a grin on my face, I picked up the pace some. As I crossed the low water crossing and got to the part where you have to hop across a rock, I saw a flash and realized that my friend Josh was there with his camera, as always having found an awesome place for race photos. I tried to keep a neutral face for the picture, but it turns out that rock jumping requires a look of unavoidable concentration. As I hopped over, Josh told me that Matt had come through, attempted to pose for him, and rolled his ankle. I sighed that my husband was an idiot (turns out, he was fine), got a high five from Josh, and carried on.
Unavoidable concentration! But an awesome picture.
Picture from endurophoto
Hopped across the stepping stones handily and scrambled up the bank, commenting to the 50mile runner I passed (who was just about to finish his 2nd of 3 loops) that the girl who'd just blown past us, also running the 50miler (and just about to finish her race completely), was questionably human. She was just finishing running 50 miles and didn't look like she'd even broken a sweat. Unfair and admirable.
I loved this river's edge part of the run
Back into the woods, back across the grass, and finally into the finish chute for the final time. I tried to pick it up a bit for the finish line, but didn't have much left to give, so I just enjoyed the cheers from the folks at the finish line (including the cheer "from your blog stalker!") and crossed the finish line with a smile on my face, so happy to be done.
After
And did I finish sub-6? Not even vaguely close. I ran that first mile the second time faster than the first, but otherwise I slowed way, waaaaaay down for the second loop. Loop one was right around 3 hours, but my final time was ~6:25, which means a massive positive split, and nowhere near sub-6 (and not even a PR, since I ran a 6:13 at Palo Duro) (Which Matt points out, correctly, is a much easier course). I was a little bummed about that, mostly just because splits that different means a not-very-well-executed race, but honestly, I feel like I still have a lot to learn about trail running. I'm still trying to embrace this whole "walk the hills" thing, and you'd figure with so many races where my later loops fall off like that under my belt, eventually I'd learn. But you'd be wrong! Someday..
Overall I'm happy with my race. It was much harder than I anticipated, and I agree that it was harder than Bandera, and I'm happy to have done it without falling apart physically or (mostly) mentally/emotionally. And honestly, despite the slowing down and the toe-stubbing and being convinced I was adding/subtracting distance unrunnable downhills and uphill slogs... I really did enjoy every moment.
While waiting for Matt to finish, I checked in with happy-to-be-doing-50k girl, and she reports that she was happy to be doing 50k all the way through to the end. Just to tie up that loose end for you.
I hung out with Josh the photographer and snacked, and then well before I expected him, suddenly there was Matt, having completely blown away his goal of sub-10 for the 50 miler! Very, very proud of him.
Happy to be done with 50k and 50 miles, respectively.
Next up is Enchanted Rock Duathlon! For which I'm extremely overprepared for the run, and .. my bike hasn't been off the trainer since some time in December. What could go wrong?!
I don't know why Matt's licking the crusty salt off my eyebrow, but who was I to argue?