This weekend Clea and I went out west for the famous Bandera 100K, 50K and 25K trail run. Our goal for the weekend was to complete the 25K race and then to make ourselves useful as volunteers for the 50 and 100K events.
We set out for Bandera after a full day of work on Friday afternoon. We arrived late Friday evening to a cabin with an eight-to-one occupant-to-restroom ratio. Unfortunately, access the single restroom required a trek in the dark across our sleeping area. A steady stream of lavatory traffic made for a restless night. Morning came early and we rolled out of bed a little later than planned, scrambled into our running gear, gulped down a lot of caffeine and headed to the starting area. What our cabin lacked in space, it made up for in location—only five minutes from the race. We arrived with plenty of time to check in and prepare to run. Our event started on the same course as the 100K and so we took our place among an extremely diverse group of runners. After the race whistle blew, our morning went something like this:
Play-By-Play—Bandera 25K
Clea and I begin the race together. The speedy 25K group quickly separate from the more relaxed 100Kers and we maintain a brisk pace along a wide jeep trail for quite a while. We come to a turn and leave the 100K runners to their separate path. The rockier terrain begins and I quickly realize that I am going to have to pay more attention to my feet than to my surroundings. Clea, Stephanie Terrell and I run together for a while. Meredith started the race in the front of the pack. Occasionally we can see her up ahead. We blow through the first aid station at about mile 1.6. Clea is setting a quick pace, but Stephanie and I are keeping up.
Just after the first aid station we begin to experience the terrain that gives Bandera its “tough trails” reputation. We start climbing . . . and we keep on climbing. Most of the trails are “runnable” (the newest word in my growing trail runner vocabulary) but the hills slow us down considerably. Clea seems to be feeling pretty good this morning and after the first few steep climbs, I am sucking wind trying to keep up. We can still see Meredith ahead in the distance. Stephanie T. has decided to be a little more conservative about the hills. She drops back and Clea and I run together between them.
I’m struggling a little by the time we reach the second aid station. I take in some GU and some electrolyte tablets (the newest product in my growing trail runner nutrition pantry). I slosh down a cup of Gatorade and hurry catch back up with Clea. There are some flat areas after the fist aid station that allow me to recover from the hills and to catch my breath. I begin to feel better. We are still maintaining a brisk pace and I am grateful that it is now easier.
The Bandera trails continue to live up to their infamous reputation. We blunder down slippery steeps and battle to maintain a reasonable pace on the subsequent climbs. We catch up to Meredith about a mile before the third aid station and it nice to visit with her for a while. The sun is fully up now and it has banished the morning chill. We come to a monster mountain and I slow down on the ascent in order to pull off my long-sleeve shirt and tie it around my waist. Clea pulls ahead at this point, and Meredith and I continue together. At the third aid station, I drop off my shirt and pause for a cup of soda. Clea must have run right through because she is nowhere to be seen. Meredith and I leave the aid station together. At the next hill, Meredith tells me that she is going to walk a bit and digest her soda (Meredith is planning to pace Shan for 10 miles of the 100K this afternoon and so she is being consciously conservative). I do a quick self-assessment and discover that I am still feeling pretty good. I tell Meredith that I am going to continue ahead and attempt to catch Clea. I turn on my “happy music” in one headphone and pick up the pace considerably.
At this point, I know that I am in the home stretch. There can’t be more than 4 or 5 miles to the finish. It is past time for conservatism and prime time for using up any energy that I have left. I encounter several more long climbs, but try to keep the walking to the minimum on the truly “non-runnable” portions. On the downhills, I try to follow Meredith’s trail running advice and just “let go.” There is only one scary moment when I am honestly out of control, but the grade levels out before I encounter disaster. I discover that “letting go” can be fun. I am moving fast now, concentrating mostly on foot placement. I keep expecting to catch up with Clea. I know her running style and she is unquestionably the world’s steadiest pacer. Although our previous pace had been brisk, my abandonment of caution was allowing me to move much faster now. I didn’t think she could have gotten that far ahead. Strange – where is she? I pass a number of 100K runners, but no Clea.
It’s about 20 minutes past the last aid station. I self-assess again and I still feel good. Sure, my legs ache and I’m breathing hard, but experience tells me that this is the good, confident sensation of steady, maintainable effort. It doesn’t carry with it the sinking drain of impending doom. I smile because I know it is going to be a good race. I start down a long stretch of downhills. Gravity is doing most of the work for me at this point. Meredith’s advice echoes again in the back of my mind and I try to “let go.” Down, down, down, stumble, whoops, catch, whew, down down down. My feet are flying, wind is chapping my face, I am riding the steep down-hills and enjoying the scary thrill of my own personal trail roller-coaster. The grade finally levels out onto flat roads. I think the finish line is just up ahead. I still have not caught Clea—she must have abandoned her characteristic steadiness to enjoy the thrill of the ride as well. I pick up the pace again. I concentrate on finishing strong. There is a short sprint “race” with another 25K runner to the finish line, but he is faster. We both finish smiling. Shake hands. Good race.
Post-race confusion.
So that’s how it went for me. After I crossed the finish line, I spotted Paul Terranova (who finished long ago and was now relaxing and waiting for Meredith and the rest of us to cross the line). I asked him where Clea had gone off to. He replied, “She hasn’t finished yet, you were the first female to cross.” No way! I know I didn’t pass her. Maybe she made a wrong turn? Worse, maybe she twisted an ankle or something and I ran right past without even seeing her! As the minutes past and neither Clea nor Meredith came across, my unease increased. I envisioned Clea having some kind of horrible mishap and Meredith (being the better friend) stopping to give aid . . . . 6 minutes, 7 minutes, 8 minutes. Something is definitely wrong . . . .
About 10 minutes later, Clea finally crosssed the finish line. She promptly came up to me and exclaimed, “WHEN did you pass me?!?” Confusion ensued. Had she added distance? She didn’t think so. Had I made a wrong turn – I didn’t think so? Meredith crossed the finish line a few minutes later and cleared up our confusion – “Silly girl, she said to me, I watched you make a wrong turn just after you ran ahead of me. I spent the last four miles planning our strategy to come recover you.” As it turned out, my wrong turn somewhat advantageously permitted me to avoid about 1 to 1.5 miles of the required distance.
Sooo – just call me Rosie Ruiz. How very embarrassing. I offered to return my finisher’s medal, but Joe was generous and allowed me to keep it. Bandera was, however, officially my first race to be disqualified from. It is somewhat frustrating because I had a pretty good day and what I felt to be a strong race effort, but I have no way of measuring my actual distance or pace. No one to blame but myself though, and the bright side is that my wrong turn could just have easily added miles or, worse, a hopelessly-lost-in-the woods adventure to my weekend. Overall, it was a cheap price in exchange for the “pay more attention to where you are going” lesson that I learned.
Volunteering
In addition to being my first race disqualification, Bandera was my first experience at ultramarathon volunteering. Clea and I “worked” at the “Cross-roads Out” aid station from about 1pm to 3am. The friendly San Antonio RTR Group was kind to show us the ropes and to share their San Adams and world-famous Jambalaya. We made a lot of new friends.
Through the volunteering experience, I gained a new admiration for the 100K runners. Many of the Hill Country Trail Runners came through our station. Doug, Shan, Henry, Bill and Gabe – just to name a few. I could tell that they were all very tired, but even in the middle of the night, everyone was in good spirits and generously put up with our inexperience at serving as their aid station hostesses. What is even more impressive is that Clea and I ran into both Henry and Gabe the next morning – they were up with the sun and busily helping to tear down and pack things away. Those guys are amazing!
It is now Sunday afternoon. I am home and my shower may never recover from all the Bandera dust that somehow accumulated on my person. My body is scraped, sore, wind-chapped, a little sunburned and happily exhausted. Most folks don’t understand, but I love to finish a weekend feeling just way. I have had my fun, and now can settle contently into the coming week of tedious paperwork and endless conference calls. Undoubtedly, a co-worker will greet me tomorrow morning with the obligatory “How was your weekend?” I will grin, think back on the trails, the dust, the cactus, the new friends, everyone’s’ amazing accomplishments . . . and then I will honestly answer, “It was great, how was yours?”