Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile Race Report

The Background

After slogging through the Bandera 100k, I was excited about racing again.  This would be my last race of a season that began in June with the Capt'n Karls series.  In the space of six months, I'd finished seven ultras and suffered two DNFs.  Most notably, my drop from Cactus Rose 100 loomed large.  Though energized about getting a second chance at Rocky Raccoon 100, I knew I was on my last legs mentally.  Physically, my right knee was a bit sore the past few runs and I prayed it'd hold out for one more race.

After Bandera, I did one more 20 miler but pretty much tapered.  With no climbing to worry about in Huntsville State Park, I cut the Stairmaster sessions.

As race day approached, I started to get a cold. I work at a school and get sick more than most people, but still wondered why on this of all days of the year I couldn't be 100% healthy.

My wife Elizabeth's mom and dad, Tony and Linda, arrived at the park Wednesday before the race to camp in their RV.  After leaving work in the afternoon, packing up the gear and kids, we made it to packet pickup Friday with ten minutes to spare.  Soon, we all relaxed in front of the glow of the campfire.  James made a kabob of four giant marshmallows to roast and the kids kept throwing handful of leaves on the fire.  My favorite song, "Wish You Were Here"  by Pink Floyd came on the oldies station in the background.

I climbed into the comfy little cubby hole of a bed in the RV at nine while the family enjoyed the rest of the evening.   I get insomnia and had slept only three or four hours Thursday night.  Managing to nod off after about an hour,  I woke up again shortly after midnight.  Struggling for precious moments of sleep, I only caught only brief snoozes before it was time to head to the start.

The Course

I'll abbreviate my normal course description because pretty much all you see at Rocky are pine trees, plank bridges, the lake, and roots.  The only consideration on this flat course is managing the aid stations.  From the lodge Dogwood to the first two aid stations, Nature Center and Dam Nation are three mile splits.  Then follows a loop of six miles back to Dam Nation.  Three and a half to Park Road then four to the finish.  Do that five times and you've run 100 miles. 

The Race

Joe counted us down and off we went. Based on the advice of the experienced, I tried to divide the loops in to sections.  Loop one would be a warm up.  Loops two and three would be the work, putting in the miles methodically.  Loop four would be the hardest, the uncharted mileage where most people drop.  Loop five would obviously be brutal but also a victory lap of sorts, knowing the finish awaits.

On the first loop, I spotted a guy I chat with at multiple ultras, Bill.  Talking goals, I said I just wanted to finish.  Sub 24 would be a perfect day but it wasn't that realistic for my first 100. 

I tried to avoid going out too fast with keeping up a brisk pace while I could still move.  When I saw I was running next to Matt Zmolek, a guy capable of going sub 24 at Cactus Rose, I knew I had erred on the side of the former.  I finished the first loop in about 3:45, my legs were sore and I was tired.

Into loop two, I hit my first low.  Up until that point I was having fun, thinking how wonderful it was to be running towards a great goal with great people.  Then the fatigue and the miles ahead started messing with my mind.  As with Bandera, the long race season left me wondering why I run these races, put myself through hours of agony.

However, there was no way I was going to drop and repeat the depression of Cactus Rose.  If I had to walk all night and finish by the cutoff in thirty hours, I'd do it.  I made it my goal to run as long as I could.  I thought that I'd be earning the buckle if I could run through the third loop.  That would be nearly 100k, the farthest I'd ever gone.

All day long I'd been tired from the cold, blowing my nose and coughing.  As I finished the second loop in four hours and change, the lack of sleep hit me and I would periodically get dizzy and disoriented, shaking my head to stay awake.  As night fell, my body began wanting to shut down.  I wished for nothing more than to crawl into that RV and sleep.

I headed out into the fourth loop.  I knew when I reached the Nature Center, I'd have run 63 miles, each step a new PR in distance. 

I decided nutritionally to stick to gels the first half of the race and real food the second.  Tejas Trails and the volunteers offer the best in Texas hospitality, and I tried to keep my energy up with quesadillas, burgers, soup, chips, coke, and coffee.   I'd taken electrolytes every aid against the warm and humid day.

As I headed out of Dam Nation, 66 miles in, a wave of sleepiness hit me.  I wished I'd sat down in a chair and slept for a few minutes to recharge.  I had six miles to go before I'd be back to the aid, and if I tried to sleep on the trail kind-hearted runners would be checking if I was okay every minute.  I struggled on.  When I reached Dam Nation again, I lied down on the ground next to a log, using my pack as a pillow.  I set my alarm for thirty minutes.  I closed my eyes for about ten minutes not really sleeping.  I decided this was getting me nowhere and tried to get up again, but the pull of rest made this a battle.  Nevertheless, I picked myself up and headed down the trail. 

Finally, I made it to the end of the fourth loop.  I went to my drop bag, took out a hoodie to use as a pillow, and lied  down in a clear spot on the side.  I rested maybe fifteen minutes this time, possibly sleeping one or two minutes.  Dragging to my feet, it was time to begin loop five. 

The day had been too hot to justify taking my hoodie into the last loop, but as I left Dam Nation the final time, a cold and misty wind chilled me.  I had gloves and a long sleeve in my pack.  Again, sleep deprivation hit and I stretched out on a log on the side of the trail for maybe five minutes before beginning a final push.

Loops one through three had been mostly running with some hiking, loops four and five the reverse.  I started pushing the pace in the final ten miles, more aggressively hiking or throwing in some running, just wanting to be done with the thing.  I told myself that when the sun came up, I'd try to run it in.  Not having to rely on the headlamp to spot for roots, I began to run hard the final five miles or so.  The drizzle had turned into actual rain the last hour as I pushed towards the finish.

Running along the trail parallel to the park road, I knew the turn into the final yard was within reach.  Elizabeth and James cheered me on from the side as I crossed the line, shook Joe's hand, the clock reading 26:01.  Elizabeth had tears in her eyes as she embraced me.

Reflections

I had accomplished a goal I had dreamed of for over two years, born from Dean Karnazes' description of Western States from his book.  During the race, I swore never, ever, ever to run 100 miles again.   It's just too much.  By the time I sat down in the RV, surrounded by smiling family, and recounted the day and night, it already didn't seem so bad.  By Monday, a scheduled day off to recover, I signed up for the Bighorn 100.  As a school person, I'll have the time off in the summer to drive across the country for a mountain adventure in Wyoming.

To run 100 miles the first time is literally an unimaginable challenge.  Even after running 100k, I still had no idea what it would be like to go 38 more.   For all the runners who pushed themselves to the limits of what is possible over those two days, the accomplishment of finishing touches the depths of the soul. 

Joe, Joyce, the volunteers, and the runners' friends and families make the journey possible.  To all who supported me along the way, a heartfelt thank you.

2014 Bandera 100k Race Report

The Background

After DNFing at Cactus Rose 100 in October, I needed to recharge my mental running energy.  After healing the Achilles, I put in some good performances by my standards at the Team Red White and Blue 10k and Soler’s Sports 50k. 

Back in the swing of things, I decided to use the holiday vacation to get in some time on feet.  The  biggest training week I’d ever logged was 100 miles. With a combination of road, trail, and Stairmaster, I managed to log 110 miles in seven days, a couple of weeks before Bandera.

As my wife and I arrived to set up our tent in the Hill Country State Natural Area, I was confident in my fitness but not in my mental preparedness.  I had been back to work as an assistant principal of my school for a week, and the craziness of the beginning of the semester had left me little time to think about the race.  I worried that this, combined with the fact that I’d been racing since June, would leave me unfocused.

The Course

Bandera  throws rocky trails, razor-sharp sotol, and steep climbs at the runners.  The first five miles feature Sky Island and Ice Cream Hill to the Nachos aid station.  For about ten miles, through Chapas aid and the first stop at Crossroads, it’s mostly flat trails.  Heading out from Crossroads for a five mile roundtrip  it's mostly runnable, with the Three Sisters hills in between.  The last nine miles feature  a lot of climbing with Lucky’s Peak, Cairn’s Climb, and Boyles Bump in succession.

The Race

The first five miles or so were fine until I fell down the hill.  I was descending the backside of Ice Cream Hill and made the mistake of trying to go around a runner, hopping down a step and skidding on my knees and hands.  With blood streaming down my legs, I started to run again and luckily my ankles and knees were still working.  I debated stopping at the next aid station for bandaids  but ended up just rinsing the wounds off with my water bottle.

From the Nachos aid to Crossroads there’s about ten miles of flat, smoother trail.  Flatter stuff is a challenge for me because I prefer the hills to break things up, and I went into a mental low point about ten miles in.  I asked myself why I do these crazy races.  Wouldn’t I be happier just running an hour a day and reading books?  I told myself this was the last race of the season; no way I’d be doing Rocky Raccoon in three weeks.

Since I was in bad mental shape, I decided to focus on taking care of myself and getting through the first 50k loop.  No way did I need to pile going out too fast on top of this mental low.  I jogged very slowly through the flat sections, hoping to conserve myself for the second loop.

I managed to rebound through the Lucky’s Peak, Cairn’s Climb, and Boyle’s Bump and started to feel confident and engaged again.  Finishing the first loop in seven hours exactly and not feeling tired, I thought there was a slim shot of beating my time of 14:17 last year. 

Sky Island and Ice Cream Hill tired me out though.  I told myself to run the flats, however slowly, through Crossroads, which I did.  The weather, which had been perfect all day, got slightly hotter.  Nothing compared to the 96 degrees of Rough Creek in September, but I could feel the sun on my face.  As I headed into the Chapas aid my water bottle ran out and I started to get dehydrated.  I focused on chugging coke and water at the aid stations until the sun went down.

At Crossroads, I dug my long sleeve shirt and gloves out of my pack as the cold set in.  However, the time spent standing still at the aid gave me the chills.  After jogging for a mile to warm up my body temperature I began walking.   With roughly a half marathon to go, I hit another low, again mental more than physical.  I didn’t want to run until midnight, didn’t want to race anymore. Finally with a mile before the return to Crossroads I got sick of the 20+ minute a mile pace and started running again, just wanting to be done with this thing.
When I reached Crossroads, it was 8:30.  Suddenly I realized that with nine miles to go, I had three hours to finish the race in Western States qualifying time, sixteen hours.  Energized, I ran everything runnable for a final push. 

Coming down the steep downhill of Sky Island in the dark, I fell again, this time only scraping my forearm a bit.  Again, still able to run.

Despite running all I could, I knew it would be close to get in under sixteen hours with Cairn’s Climb and Boyle’s Bump ahead.  The same as last year, running atop the plateau of Boyle’s, it seemed like the drop to the finish would never come.  Finally, I plunged through the darkness towards the lights of the lodge on the horizon.  I crossed the line in 15:27.

 

 

In the car after the finish

 

 

Awesome buckle!

 

Reflections

After the race, I felt revitalized about running again.  Yes, I ran 1:10 slower than last year, but in the previous race everything had clicked.  This one was more of a test of will, and I felt proud that I’d pushed to get the 2015 Western States qualifier.  As always, the despair of race lows fades with the glow of a finish, and by the drive home I was already excited about Rocky Raccoon 100.

Concerning my race strategy, I think if I had a shot of beating my time from 2013, I’d need to have finished the first loop in 6:30 or faster.  Even if I’m running very comfortably, even splits in an ultra are too much to hope for.  Since my mental state was messed up, it was the right move to run conservatively, but if I have a time goal for Bandera 2015 I should bear this in mind.

I do think I raced too much this season.  The temptation is to keep chasing the high of the finish line again and again until one burns out. 

Thanks to Joy, Joyce and the great volunteers for another great race!

Texas Trails Endurance Run 50K Race Report

The Background

After DNFing at Cactus Rose, I forced my mind away from running.  For the most part, I abandoned Twitter, Facebook, and running blogs to both block the grief from not finishing my goal and give myself space to focus on other interests.  I picked up John D. MacDonald's Cinnamon Skin, a Travis McGee novel, and started a reading binge, finishing a lot of mystery novels over the month.  It's amazing how much time social media eats up and I need to find a balance for the future.

My spirits lifted with a good run at the Team Red White and Blue 10K and my Achilles felt fine.  Ready to get back in the game and get a preparation race in before Bandera 100K, I decided to run The Texas Trails Endurance Run 50K in Huntsville State Park.  I would have run the 50 mile version, but my wife's company holiday party would start at 7pm, and there wasn't enough time to run 10+ hours and get ready.

The first ultra-distance I completed was a 50K training run in Huntsville State Park; I think it took seven or so hours.  But I've never actually raced a 50K and it'd be a guaranteed new PR.  Now my focus race is the Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile in February, the 50K will give me a chance to race some of the same trails.  Less than an hour from my house, there would be no travel-related issues.

Arriving 45 minutes before the start, the 32 degree chill promised to make the race interesting.  After picking up my packet, I retreated to my car and read a bit before the start.

The Course

My first trail race, the 2012 Orphan Hope Marathon, was in Huntsville State Park.  Before the race, I'd read online from Rocky Raccoon 100 participants on how flat the trails were.  However, coming from my road background I thought the climbs were crazy on that first trail race!  Now that'd I'd run in the Texas Hill Country, I get the point and the little rollers are nothing anymore.  Basically, there's a lot of double-wide smooth trail mixed in with some single track rooty stuff and some plank bridges over marsh.  The 50K would be a 10K loop followed by two 12.5 mile loops.

The Race

My main goal for this race was just to finish and get the taste of the DNF out of my mouth.  That being said, I wanted to run the whole way.  I thought sub 5 hours was possible and it seemed like something to shoot for if everything clicked.

As we jogged off into the cold under the grey sky, I realized the mistake it was not to search harder for my gloves.  My fingers were alternating between numbness and sharp pain the first three or so miles, but slowly this faded.  After the end of the first loop I saw some gloves cast off to the side of the trail, giveaways from the race that I hadn't noticed from the swag bag, and I grabbed them.

Running at a brisk but steady cadence, I finished the first 10K in 59:06, 9:31 pace.  I let people pass me and reminded myself to run my own race.  I held steady through the second loop, finishing it in 1:57, 9:26 pace.

About a mile into the final loop, I felt a little bit of weakness.  I was wearing a hoodie for warmth  and I had never worn my pack over this before and didn't want to chance something new on race day.  The shorts I had on had no pockets, so my only storage was the pouch in my bottle, which would hold about four gels.  I was trying to minimize my stops at the aid stations and probably spaced the first three gels out too far.  So at the next couple of aid stations I grabbed handfuls of M & Ms and a cookie.  My energy level soon stabilized and I didn't go into a true low point.

I had slowed a bit as my legs started to get sore but I was still running a ten-something minute a mile pace.  I passed a few people on the way to the final aid station.  I asked the volunteers how far to the finish line and they said two and half miles.  Checking my watch, I saw that finishing sub 5 hours would not be in the cards, but I still started running harder.  As I went into the final half mile, I spotted a guy I'd been going back and forth with all race and decided to chase him down as I barreled into the finish in 5:04:05.

Reflections

I needed a race like this after Cactus Rose.  I finished in 13th place out of 94 runners in the 50K, which was definitely an ego boost for a midpack runner like me.  I ran 31 miles at a 9:47 pace, faster per mile than I'd run some of my early road marathons.  I'd always thrown in some walk breaks, sensibly so, into my longer ultras but this was the first ultra I've run every step.

This was also my first ultra without going into a low point.  The lows are to be expected, of course, but I usually go into a trough around 18 to 25 miles in.

I executed this race to the best of my abilities, starting off steady and finishing strong.  Given this experience, I'd love to take another shot at going sub 5 hours for 50K.  I didn't have GPS for this race, which might have been a good thing to prevent obsessing on pace and going out to fast,  but on the other hand if I'd known I was that close I might have made a harder final push.

So now I have a few weeks to train for Bandera 100K. After that, its just three short weeks until another shot at 100 miles...

Team Red White and Blue 10K

So after the debacle at the Cactus Rose 100, I rested my Achilles for about a week and a half.  My wife was planning on doing the Team Red White and Blue 5K in my home town of The Woodlands and I was already signed up for the 10K, which would take place on November 10th, just two weeks after Cactus Rose.  I tested out the Achilles on a couple of easy six mile runs in the days leading up to the 10K, just to see if I was ready to run again or needed to take more time off.  I was totally prepared to just cheer on Elizabeth if I were still injured, but the pain was gone.

However, I did come down with a really crummy cold on Thursday, which was still full swing by Saturday morning.  I tossed and turned all night and really didn't think I would be racing in the morning.  But Elizabeth didn't want to run without me, so I decided just to go out and jog if need be.  I did a quick 100 yard run down the street just to check my energy level and it seemed possible to run, but I didn't know how long it would last.

I figured I had nothing to lose with this race so I lined up near the front and went off at a sub 7 minute mile pace.  There was a small pack of really fast folks ahead and I jockeyed position with three or four guys as we ran from the park, through neighborhoods, and around Lake Woodlands. 

As I ran along, Achilles pain-free but coughing and blowing my nose, I kept waiting for my energy level to crash and fall to a 10 minute mile pace.  I kept up the pace until beginning the last mile, where I felt weakness coming on.  However, I was still  running fairly fast, despite letting three or so guys pass me.  I felt good enough about still moving quickly and didn't have enough in the tank to challenge.

I finished in 44:05, 16th out of 252 runners.  A minute and a half separated me from 1st in my age group and thirty seconds faster would have gotten me a medal.  Not bad for running sick! 

This was a fun race and an ego boost after my failure at Cactus Rose.  I'd like to mix more shorter stuff in with the ultras to keep up some speed.  

Now, time to prepare for the Texas Endurance Run 50K in four weeks...

Cactus Rose DNF

I'll keep this short as I don't have the heart to write more.  Basically, during my attempt at the Cactus Rose 100, I felt a sharp pain in my right Achilles about 30 miles in.  This was a recurrence of the injury that had sidelined me for two weeks earlier in the season.  I tried to power hike on for another 15 miles but it became clear it wasn't getting any better.   Weighed my options of pushing through on a race that meant so much to me and doing further damage and decided to drop.

Since then, mostly I've rested and tried to get my mind of running for a while.  I did a Stairmaster session and there was little pain in the Achilles, so if this continues I may be back to running soon.  But I'll be sure to listen for any pain and not push it.

I'm trying to have some perspective.  There will be other races.  I was already signed up for the Bandera 100K and Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile, so if I heal I'll have these to look forward to.

Rough Creek 40 Mile Race Report

Background

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.

 

Reflections
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...



Capt'n Karl's Reveille Ranch 60k Race Report

Background

As  mentioned in the last post, I've been using the Capt'n Karl's 60k series as training for the Cactus Rose 100.  Knowing that I'll be running somewhere between 26-36 hours for Cactus Rose, I figured these night races would both acclimate me to the sleep deprivation I'd experience and make sure I get in the necessary long training runs.

I've been trying run 60-80 mile weeks this summer.  In preparation for Bandera's hills, I've hit the YMCA stairmill for hour long sessions to work on my climbing and power hiking.

The first Capt'n Karl's, Pedernales Falls, was a DNF for me.   Excited about starting my racing season, I tried to run with a stomach virus and ended up staggering and disorientated around about 12 miles in.  Mule Shoe Bend and Colorado Ranch and were both suffer fests for me but I managed to grind them out.

The Course

In my opinion, Reveille Peak Ranch offers the most beautiful course of the series.  There are three loops for the 60k, roughly 12 miles each.  The first two miles or so are quite runnable dirt singletrack heading out from the pavilion by the lake, with a few rocky climbs and descents thrown in but nothing major. 

After a couple of miles, you begin winding up the Dome, a stunning granite hill with scattered boulders and cliffs.  You get to see its rugged beauty once in daytime, but on the second two loops you follow the highway reflectors helpfully placed along the path.  The nighttime ascent was like hiking up an invisible freeway into the sky! 

After the Dome, the trails get a bit more runnable but there are still plenty of rocks and climbs to have fun with before hitting the same smooth first two miles in the reverse direction to complete the loop.  The aid stations are never more than three or so miles apart, so the course was easy to break up mentally.

The Race

Previously, I had arrived at Colorado Bend late and crossed the start a minute and a half after everyone else, so I headed out from the Woodlands early this time.  I grabbed a burger and fries on the way, which would play a role in rest of the story.

Though I kept telling myself that I should just view these races as training runs, I secretly wished for a good performance each time.  I really haven't felt like I've raced to my potential since the Bandera 100k, and a strong result would be nice.  Conversely, I kept a quote from Mark Laithewaite that I'd heard on Talk Ultra in mind, that a runner's goal should be to race the best race they can on that day.  If you can say you did your best with what the day gave you, you've won your race.

Another mantra was that there is no option but to finish.  Barring a broken leg, the cutoffs were manageable enough that you could walk the whole thing. 

Despite this assurance, I fumbled around setting up my tent and paced back and forth around the parking and pavilion area.  Waking up at my normal time, five or six AM, for all of the Capt'n Karl's races in order to simulate a Cactus Rose late night running preview, I knew sleep-deprived suffering would await in the early hours of the morning.

                                                                     

                                                             
I lined up in the middle of the pack and we took off.  Though the pace was manageable for the first couple of miles, I felt I was pushing slightly for this early in and ultra and purposefully took a couple of walk breaks.  The beauty of the climb up the dome lifted me as I ascended.

Then the wheels came off.  The burger and fries I'd eaten seven hours before had just sat there, and by time I'd downed tons of sugar in coke and sports drinks I started feeling seriously nauseated.  I threw up a couple of times, but more than these stops my legs felt drained from the nausea through the first loop. In addition to the puking, I started developing blisters that I knew would be a serious problem.

Crossing the timing mat in 2:53, I quickly attended to my blisters.  Between stopping to vomit and at the pavilion, I probably spent thirty minutes standing still at this point.

Despite my best attempts to fix the blister issue, I winced as I ran out for the second loop.  I knew at this point that each step of the next 24 miles would be painful.  It seemed to make sense to run the first couple miles of smooth trail and then assess how I felt at the Dome.

The weakness from nausea was better but still there, and the blisters were worse than ever as I began the climb.  Hopes for a competitive performance, at least by my middle-of-the-pack standards, evaporated and I shifted my focus to where it should have been from the first, that this was a training race for Cactus Rose.  Visualizing that I was in mile 80 on the Bandera trails, I focused on aggressively power hiking at around 17 minutes a mile over the dome.

I pretty much hiked most of the second loop, reaching the pavilion in 6:38, about a 3:30 split.  As I felt like things weren't getting any better, I'd likely be out there four or five more hours. The desire to DNF was always there, but I had told myself there was no option to quit.  My six year old son had slipped a note into my pocket, knowing I'd find it reaching for a gel: "Daddy I love you so much James."  Picturing my kids, I told myself I didn't drive four hours to the hill country to let them down.  Wanting to get away from the temptation of my car as quickly as I could, I refilled my bottle with Gatorade and recrossed the timing strip in seconds.

Despite the finish-no-matter-what death-march that was likely to ensue on the third lap, I decided to run  to the first aid station a mile and a quarter a way.  If I didn't run this section, I might be fighting the cutoffs and that stress on top of everything else I didn't need.

Running along the dirt trails, I passed a guy I had seen a couple of times along the way; he caught me again as I began hiking up the Dome.  Striking up a conversation with me, I instinctively settled into his run / walk rhythm behind him.  All I can say is Jon, you saved my race.  It's amazing the power of the mind, and as soon as Jon and I got to talking I revived and the pace seemed very manageable.  Somewhere during this time I tripped on a rock and braced myself on a tree, jamming my ring finger which swelled up.  I barely noticed, trying to hold onto the decent pace we were running.

However, the physical fact that my blisters began to reassert themselves slowed me with about five miles to go, as I reverted to my hiking and Jon jogged down the trail ahead of me.  At this point, my Garmin was out of battery but I calculated that if I hiked three sub 20 minute miles to the last aid station, I could run in the last section and finish sub ten hours.  I kept looking for the final granite climb I knew was shortly before the last aid and realized I was flagging as the minutes passed by.  When I finally reached the feed station, it was 4:44.  Running sub 12 minute miles for the last 1.25 miles should do it for ten hours.  I knew it was laughable to be fighting for such a relatively slow time goal, but it was something to occupy my mind and help finish this thing.

Jon was there at the aid and we headed out together.  My legs and feet were on fire but I did run it in.  Out of it at this point, another runner and the people sitting near the finish shouted directions as I started to veer of course approaching the finish line, crossing in 9:57:07.  Thanks to Jon and his support, I ran the final loop faster than the middle one.

Reflections

I didn't feel the elation  after some of my previous races when the odds were tough, but there was a quiet satisfaction in completing a journey under difficult circumstances.

The slow pace and managed meltdowns of my Capt'n Karl's races may actually be a pluses for Cactus Rose, as I've put in additional time on the feet and gained some degree of mental practice for what awaits.  With a 36 hour cutoff, if I have nothing better than the sleepwalking shuffle of the past few races I'll still finish.

I do need to put some more thought into nutrition and blister prevention, as I basically brought the problems of this race on myself.

I can't say enough about the quality of this race, and overall about the all the events put on by Tejas Trails.  Joe, Brad, and all the volunteers provided an amazing experience, with impeccably marked trails and supportive aid station crews.  Thanks to everyone for making this such a great event!