This was my fifth ultra attempt in twelve weeks. In training for the Cactus Rose 100, I thought the Captain Karl's series of four 60K races, each three weeks apart, would make sure I got in my long runs. Three weeks after the series ended was the Rough Creek 40 Mile, the first ultra I had finished back in 2012. I thought, why not do one more?
In running an ultra every three weeks, my training settled into a rhythm. I tried to get in a 60-80 mile base week, including a lot of Stairmaster sessions (one hour equals six miles) and a twenty mile long run on the weekend. Then followed a race week with a mini-taper, three easy one hour sessions weekdays and an ultra on Saturday. I'd rest up three days or so then have an easy recovery week, running whenever it seemed reasonable. Simple enough cycle, rinse and repeat.
Work responsibilities Friday delayed my departure longer than expected, so by the time I arrived to set up camp at Dinosaur Valley State Park it was already dark. I fumbled around with my flashlight and stumbled into my tent to fall asleep. Three hours later I woke up again around midnight. I often have trouble sleeping before a race, and the rushed camping set up didn't help. Struggles to regain sleep were fruitless, and apart from a twenty minute doze at 4am insomnia reigned. At 5am it was time to pack up and head to Rough Creek Lodge.
The Course
The Rough Creek 40 Mile starts off with 2.75 miles of runnable smooth double-track and single-track. Then you hit the first section of the Rusty Crown.
The Rusty Crown
In the inaugural race last year, the three miles of the Crown's short, steep climbs were run continuously. This year, race director David Hanenburg of Endurance Buzz Adventures broke the sides of the crown in two, one on the way out and one after a new section, the Bowl.
The Rusty Crown is the reason this is one of my favorite races. Comparing the climbs to those of Bandera's Cactus Rose, Rough Creek's are shorter and less technical but steeper. There's one climb after another, with drops you ski-slide down. My favorite climb is one other racers have called The Beast, which seems like an almost 45 degree incline that you have to claw up using your hands.
The Beast
There's about a one mile section of smooth double-track connecting the first half of the Crown with the Bowl, aptly named as big gradual drops and ascents lead in and out of a bowl-shaped curve of runnable double-track.
The climb out of the Bowl
Emerging from the Bowl, you run the reverse way on the connecting out and back, hit the other side of the crown, then back the second out and back to the start for a half marathon loop that I'd be running three times.
The Race
Taking off on the fast double-track, a deer ran across the path; I remember the same thing happening during last year's race, which I took as a good omen.
Bombing down the first section of the Rusty Crown, I felt a sharp pain in my left shin. My gait significantly altered and I slowed down to suss it out. I was looking forward to playing in the hills, and stopping the race to an injury, let alone what it might mean to the rest of the season, loomed as a possibility. I decided to slowly jog a bit to see if I could wring out the shin. Sure enough, the pain went away in a couple of miles, never to return. Close call.
I finished the first loop in around 2:30 and took about eight minutes preparing for the second. I felt slightly hammered and knew I may have hit it too hard at this point. I told myself to slow down, but this would come all to true as the sun rose higher in the sky. Neglecting to check the weather report before hand, I caught up with a guy I'd met in previous races, Bill, who mentioned it'd be over 90. There was no cloud cover at this point and virtually no shade on the course. Glad that I had packed a hat and applied sunscreen, Bill soon pulled away from me as the heat did its work. I had done a few weeks of afternoon runs in the heat when I had a more flexible schedule as a school administrator in July, but of late most of my workouts had been at night. I tried to chug extra fluids at the aid stations, which were three or four miles apart and finish a bottle in between. As I dragged along and the temperature rose to a high of 96, my reeling mind kept reciting a line from The Wasteland, "where the sun beats / And the dead tree offers no shelter."
Starting the third loop, an aid station worker was headed in the same direction and offered to run with me. He could tell I was flagging and kept asking me questions about my running, my family, my work, to keep my mind engaged. It worked and we cruised at an even pace, 2.75 miles of the final loop done before I knew it. My mind was baked at that point and I can't remember your name, but thanks for keeping me alive.
As I headed into the Crown, immediately I felt totally drained, worn from the last miles of steady running. As I stumbled up and down the climbs and drained my bottle, the sun kept sapping my strength as I headed into the Bowl. Olga King saw me staggering and smiled, "Keep your chin up! That's the key!" As my vision began wavering, I told myself that I just needed to make it to the next aid station. I would sit in a chair, drink coke and water, take salt tablets and eat.
Which is exactly what I did. The only runner at the aid station, I made conversation with the kind and supportive volunteers. I must have looked like death at this point, because one asked, "So are you thinking of continuing?" in a way that sounded like she thought this might not be the smartest move. I said with a smile that I hadn't run 33 miles to quit and shortly thereafter walked down the trail.
Sure enough, a mile or so later I started to revive. As the fluids, salt, and calories worked their magic, the sun finally went behind a cloud. Nevertheless, I held back and hiked all the way into the last pass through the Rusty Crown. When I was in the trough, the thought going scraping up the inclines of seemed scary, maybe beyond me, and even though I was feeling better I saved my energy for a final push.
The last journey through the Crown was actually fun. Revived, I savored the steep climbing nowhere to be found in the Woodlands. Plunging down the long downhill exiting the Crown, there was a four-year-old boy standing alone halfway up, holding out his hand for a high-five; a parent and siblings were in sight at the aid below.
A runner in a similar shape that I had been in a few miles ago sat in a chair, so I offered some words of encouragement and told him he could walk it in and beat the cutoffs easily. Past the worst, I prepared to run it in.
Jogging along, coughing a bit, I came up to a lady, I'm not sure if she was a volunteer or just someone out on the trail, who said, "Thank goodness you coughed! I didn't think any of you were still out there!" I thought, "Not the thing to say to someone who's just run 39 miles," but I just ran on. (Checking the results later I was 10th out of 20 finishers, smack dab in the middle, so there! Seriously though, she meant no offense and none was taken).
I could smell the barn as the sun emerged from the clouds one more time, as just to say, "Yeah, I went easy on you this time, but remember who's the boss here." Then a cooling breeze eased the way to the finish line.
Nothing was left but to take my finisher's award, 100% pure Texas honey! David shook my hand. Endurance Buzz and all the wonderful volunteers put on a super race and many thanks for their help in getting us through an epic day!
Back at home with the honey bear.
Getting out of the Rough Creek shower, I threw up a few times. Stopping for gas before the three and a half hour drive home, I puked again. Stepping on the scales at 10:30 at night, I weighed 131, down from 140. So I was seriously dehydrated. Carrying one bottle in the heat was not a good idea.
I'm trying to have some perspective and fight the feeling that I'm in a running slump. My first few ultras had gone pretty well and I finished in the top 25 to 30 percent. Since then, I've had major meltdowns at each race.
On the other hand, the five races this summer may have been the best possible Cactus Rose 100 training. I've faced heat, sleep deprivation, vomiting, blisters, jammed fingers, and going off course. I think the biggest obstacle to finishing Cactus Rose will be to manage when things melt down, and I couldn't have planned better than to bonk in race after race and then keep pushing. Plus, the challenges I faced slowed my pace and made me stick to my plan of using these as training races, rather than destroying myself before my true goal.
So, all that remains is to put in a few more weeks of training. I'll stick to a proper three week taper. Then I'll drive to Bandera and we'll see what happens...
