Paleface 30k trail race 2014 race report.
Mark Lindsey started posting on facebook about a 5k/15k/30k trail race out at Pace Bend Park a while back. Sounded interesting. Matt sounded interested. I had nothing better to do. So we decided to sign up.
Being that my long runs were still in the single digits, and Reveille Ranch was the only trail run I'd done this year, I figured I'd be best off sticking with the 15k. But I could probably already run 9 miles. And I'm a goal-oriented person, so maybe I should do the 30k as motivation to run longer? And hope that it worked, and I didn't end up at the start line of the 30k only having run 9 miles?
But it all worked out. Motivation success. I worked my way up to 15 (road) miles the weekend before (still having not run any trails since RR), and declared myself ready enough.
The forecast looked rainy, and sure enough, on our early drive out to Pace Bend, it started raining. Our experience didn't start out fabulously, with us evidently not having gotten the memo about the $10 cash-only park entry fee (and our state park pass not working in a county park). We turned around and drove back to the nearest gas station, got cash, drove back, and then chose the long way around the loop, which brought us in on the wrong direction of the informative signs telling us where to park and where the race started. We muddled through (hurray for figuring everyone else must know what they're doing, and just parking in a random place and wandering a random direction!), and once we got to packet pickup, everything went flawlessly.
Well, except for the ongoing, and threatening to further ongo, storm, of course. Mark said a delay was possible, people whined about a delay, people whined about NOT delaying, people whined about running in the storm, people whined about running in the RAIN, and Matt and I just kinda listened to it all and smirked and waited to see what would happen.
5 minutes to 7am (race start time), Mark announced that we would be starting on time! Hurray! So we lined up, turned on our headlamps (it's still dark at 7am currently, especially when it's raining), and hit the trails promptly at 7.
I started a little too far up (I ended up in an awkward part of the start chute), so a lot of people passed me in the first few minutes, and then things quickly spread out and I was mostly on my own, with one or two people passing me sporadically for.. well, the rest of the first loop. (Two loop race for the 30k.)
Well, there was one guy in front of me, which made me very happy, because it meant that I could spend all my brain power watching my feet and trying not to fall down, instead of looking around for trail markers in the dark. I trusted that he was following the marked trail, and he did! He'd pull ahead of me a bit, then I'd end up catching back up to him, and we continued this all the way to the first aid station. At which point he stopped to refill his bottle, I ran straight through because I had a backpack with tons of water, and I realized I'd been following David J this entire time without even realizing it. Hi, David! Thanks for leading me through the first 1/4 of the race!
Now I was on my own, which was fine, because the sun was up enough to turn off my headlamp, the rain was delightful, and the trail was lovely. It was just as Mark had described: a little of everything. Uphills, downhills, ledges, singletrack, jeep trail, switchbacks, forest, dirt, rocks, roots, wooden bridges.. all that, plus the rain and wet trail, kept my brain occupied.
Once I passed David at the aid station, there was only one other group of people, a couple that had passed me right before the aid station, then I'd re-passed at the aid station, that passed me in the second half of the first loop. (That was a complicated sentence.) After that, I was alone out there for miles.
Then I thought I saw someone ahead of me! But then they disappeared. This happened once or twice more.. flash of flesh in the trees ahead, then nobody there. I thought I was hallucinating a person. But then eventually I caught up to this person. As I approached him, he was walking, and I thought it looked like Rich from the back. Which would be weird, because Rich is super fast, and wouldn't be walking, or be way back here with the likes of me.
But as I caught up to him and he stepped off the trail to let me pass, I saw it WAS Rich! I asked if he was okay, and he said he'd had a twist at mile 1. We were at ~mile 7 at this point. I said maybe it would have been wiser to turn around 1 mile in and go back? He said, "And DNF?!" I laughed at him and said I hoped at least he was only doing the 15k, not the 30k (if his ego wasn't going to let him DNF), and he confirmed he was doing the 15k. We parted ways, and I ran on alone again.
The next part of the course was by far the worst. It was raining harder again, and the trail was dirt singletrack, which had basically turned into a little stream. An opaque red clay stream. You couldn't really run on the banks of the stream, or you'd just slide back in. And most places there really wasn't any viable land to run on further away. So it was right in the stream I ran, hoping there were no rocks hidden in that water. And there really weren't, because it was mud. And sometimes the mud grabbed at your shoes, but mostly the mud meant that each step you took, you'd slide in some random direction out of control as your foot sank in. It was miserable. And if it was this bad after one session of running feet, I knew it was going to be even worse the next time I came through, after everyone else did their second loop through here, churning it up further. Especially if it kept raining, as it appeared likely to do.
A few times I heard thunder through this part, and I won't deny that I secretly had a few moments where I hoped I'd finish the first loop and they'd tell me that they were canceling the race for weather, and I was done. I wanted to run 18 miles, and knew I'd be disappointed with 9, but I was ready to be done with that slick mud forever.
Much earlier than I anticipated (GPS watches are pretty useless that far out, with that much tree cover), I saw flags ahead through the trees, so I knew the start/finish line was somewhere up ahead. And then I turned a corner and realized it was right there, and I was done with one loop!
I ran over the timing mats, and a volunteer directed me around the corner to start the second loop. She was asking if I needed anything, and I shook my head no, and as I ran by her, I ripped off my headlamp and threw it back over my shoulder into our camp chair just off the trail. And oddly, managed to throw it exactly right, such that it landed right in the chair. That's odd for me.
Then I looped around, ran straight through the aid station without stopping (passing that couple I'd passed at the LAST aid station, who I'd overheard were doing the 30k), and headed back out for my second loop.
I hadn't given myself a chance to even think about whether I wanted to do another loop, just kept running, so now I was out on the trail again, and could tell myself "you're more than half done!" Even though I was only 30 seconds past the halfway point. Too late for second thoughts!
The second loop was mostly similarly uneventful. I made it all the way to the first aid station without seeing a single other person. I kept expecting that couple from the aid station, who'd proven themselves earlier to be faster than I was at running (if not at aid stationing), to pass me, but they kept not passing me. And they never did.
I knew I was probably a little slower on the second loop. I was more conservative on the slick rocks and the ledges, because my legs were getting tired and I didn't want to fall. And I never did fall, just caught my toe on a few rocks and pitched forward a few times. But always caught myself.
After the aid station, I slowed down even more. My right hip, which has been getting pretty sore on my longer runs, got.. pretty sore. I didn't even pretend to bomb the rocky ledge downhills, but picked my way very deliberately down them, keeping my feet under me.
I spent a lot of my copious alonetime smiling and singing songs to myself. I was out in nature, it was lovely, it was raining, it was in the low 60s(!), and I was rambling along at my own pace. Lots to smile about!
With a few miles to go, suddenly someone appeared out of the trees on the trail in front of me. And it was Jody! She pulled up her shorts as she started running again, and said, "Remind me not to eat Chantilly cake!" I assumed this meant the Chantilly cake she'd eaten had caused several of these emergency woods visits, and yelled back, "I think you'll probably remember!" And then she quickly disappeared into the distance, never to be seen again. (Well, by me, during the race.)
Alone again until suddenly I came upon Brad at a cross trail I hadn't even noticed the first loop. He said, "Go that way," which is where the trail went, and I said, "Okay." Then he asked if this was my second loop, and I confirmed it was. Then he asked if there was anyone behind me, and I said I had no idea, but that there had been people, but I didn't know if they'd started their second loop or not (aid station couple and David). How would I know if there's someone behind me? Was I potentially the last person out on the trail? The whole thing was just an odd experience, out in the middle of nowhere.
Back into the second of wretched, horrible mud, which, as predicted, was even worse the second time. And dozens of feet tromping through the muddy trail had done the trail itself no favors.. we tore that trail up a lot, and I felt bad about the state we were leaving it in.
Randomly came across another couple who had numbers, but were heading back the opposite way on the trail. Probably folks done with the race and doing a cooldown run/hike/cheer(?). They cheered for me, and the guy said I had less than a mile to go. Yay!
Even yayer, a half mile or so later, I ran up on a Matt! He'd run back to find me, and asked if he could run in with me. I assented, and he fell in behind me. I told him I was running really slow at this point. He started saying positive, inspirational things as we ran, like telling me this was the last big hill, etc, and I told him I appreciated the attempts to buoy my spirits, but that actually I was just fine with my slowness, and I wasn't struggling mentally or anything. So we just ran on and chatted and cursed that stupid, stupid mud. And then the flags were ahead!
Matt peeled off as we came down the hill to the finish line, and I crossed the finish line!
The rain had mostly tapered off in the last few miles, so the mud from the last few muddy miles had no chance to wash off, and I was soaking wet and completely disgusting from the knees down. But I was really happy to have run 18 miles!
It may sound insignificant after 52 miles at Ultraman, but it's amazing how quickly you lose it when you take time off. It makes it so tempting to NOT take time off, knowing the weight you'll gain and the fitness you'll lose, but I made sure to take plenty of time off, because I knew I needed it, both mentally and physically.
So as I trudge my way back to fitness, I'm glad I have fun little races like this one, to motivate me to keep increasing my mileage and not existing on an exclusively-pizza diet.
Oh, and I had no time goals at all, so I'm content with my 3:41:38 (definitely a positive split, as predicted: 1:46, 1:54). 12th woman, of the 22 who finished the race. So definitely not last, as it turns out!
Being that my long runs were still in the single digits, and Reveille Ranch was the only trail run I'd done this year, I figured I'd be best off sticking with the 15k. But I could probably already run 9 miles. And I'm a goal-oriented person, so maybe I should do the 30k as motivation to run longer? And hope that it worked, and I didn't end up at the start line of the 30k only having run 9 miles?
But it all worked out. Motivation success. I worked my way up to 15 (road) miles the weekend before (still having not run any trails since RR), and declared myself ready enough.
The forecast looked rainy, and sure enough, on our early drive out to Pace Bend, it started raining. Our experience didn't start out fabulously, with us evidently not having gotten the memo about the $10 cash-only park entry fee (and our state park pass not working in a county park). We turned around and drove back to the nearest gas station, got cash, drove back, and then chose the long way around the loop, which brought us in on the wrong direction of the informative signs telling us where to park and where the race started. We muddled through (hurray for figuring everyone else must know what they're doing, and just parking in a random place and wandering a random direction!), and once we got to packet pickup, everything went flawlessly.
Well, except for the ongoing, and threatening to further ongo, storm, of course. Mark said a delay was possible, people whined about a delay, people whined about NOT delaying, people whined about running in the storm, people whined about running in the RAIN, and Matt and I just kinda listened to it all and smirked and waited to see what would happen.
5 minutes to 7am (race start time), Mark announced that we would be starting on time! Hurray! So we lined up, turned on our headlamps (it's still dark at 7am currently, especially when it's raining), and hit the trails promptly at 7.
I started a little too far up (I ended up in an awkward part of the start chute), so a lot of people passed me in the first few minutes, and then things quickly spread out and I was mostly on my own, with one or two people passing me sporadically for.. well, the rest of the first loop. (Two loop race for the 30k.)
Well, there was one guy in front of me, which made me very happy, because it meant that I could spend all my brain power watching my feet and trying not to fall down, instead of looking around for trail markers in the dark. I trusted that he was following the marked trail, and he did! He'd pull ahead of me a bit, then I'd end up catching back up to him, and we continued this all the way to the first aid station. At which point he stopped to refill his bottle, I ran straight through because I had a backpack with tons of water, and I realized I'd been following David J this entire time without even realizing it. Hi, David! Thanks for leading me through the first 1/4 of the race!
Now I was on my own, which was fine, because the sun was up enough to turn off my headlamp, the rain was delightful, and the trail was lovely. It was just as Mark had described: a little of everything. Uphills, downhills, ledges, singletrack, jeep trail, switchbacks, forest, dirt, rocks, roots, wooden bridges.. all that, plus the rain and wet trail, kept my brain occupied.
Once I passed David at the aid station, there was only one other group of people, a couple that had passed me right before the aid station, then I'd re-passed at the aid station, that passed me in the second half of the first loop. (That was a complicated sentence.) After that, I was alone out there for miles.
Then I thought I saw someone ahead of me! But then they disappeared. This happened once or twice more.. flash of flesh in the trees ahead, then nobody there. I thought I was hallucinating a person. But then eventually I caught up to this person. As I approached him, he was walking, and I thought it looked like Rich from the back. Which would be weird, because Rich is super fast, and wouldn't be walking, or be way back here with the likes of me.
But as I caught up to him and he stepped off the trail to let me pass, I saw it WAS Rich! I asked if he was okay, and he said he'd had a twist at mile 1. We were at ~mile 7 at this point. I said maybe it would have been wiser to turn around 1 mile in and go back? He said, "And DNF?!" I laughed at him and said I hoped at least he was only doing the 15k, not the 30k (if his ego wasn't going to let him DNF), and he confirmed he was doing the 15k. We parted ways, and I ran on alone again.
The next part of the course was by far the worst. It was raining harder again, and the trail was dirt singletrack, which had basically turned into a little stream. An opaque red clay stream. You couldn't really run on the banks of the stream, or you'd just slide back in. And most places there really wasn't any viable land to run on further away. So it was right in the stream I ran, hoping there were no rocks hidden in that water. And there really weren't, because it was mud. And sometimes the mud grabbed at your shoes, but mostly the mud meant that each step you took, you'd slide in some random direction out of control as your foot sank in. It was miserable. And if it was this bad after one session of running feet, I knew it was going to be even worse the next time I came through, after everyone else did their second loop through here, churning it up further. Especially if it kept raining, as it appeared likely to do.
A few times I heard thunder through this part, and I won't deny that I secretly had a few moments where I hoped I'd finish the first loop and they'd tell me that they were canceling the race for weather, and I was done. I wanted to run 18 miles, and knew I'd be disappointed with 9, but I was ready to be done with that slick mud forever.
Much earlier than I anticipated (GPS watches are pretty useless that far out, with that much tree cover), I saw flags ahead through the trees, so I knew the start/finish line was somewhere up ahead. And then I turned a corner and realized it was right there, and I was done with one loop!
I ran over the timing mats, and a volunteer directed me around the corner to start the second loop. She was asking if I needed anything, and I shook my head no, and as I ran by her, I ripped off my headlamp and threw it back over my shoulder into our camp chair just off the trail. And oddly, managed to throw it exactly right, such that it landed right in the chair. That's odd for me.
Then I looped around, ran straight through the aid station without stopping (passing that couple I'd passed at the LAST aid station, who I'd overheard were doing the 30k), and headed back out for my second loop.
I hadn't given myself a chance to even think about whether I wanted to do another loop, just kept running, so now I was out on the trail again, and could tell myself "you're more than half done!" Even though I was only 30 seconds past the halfway point. Too late for second thoughts!
The second loop was mostly similarly uneventful. I made it all the way to the first aid station without seeing a single other person. I kept expecting that couple from the aid station, who'd proven themselves earlier to be faster than I was at running (if not at aid stationing), to pass me, but they kept not passing me. And they never did.
I knew I was probably a little slower on the second loop. I was more conservative on the slick rocks and the ledges, because my legs were getting tired and I didn't want to fall. And I never did fall, just caught my toe on a few rocks and pitched forward a few times. But always caught myself.
After the aid station, I slowed down even more. My right hip, which has been getting pretty sore on my longer runs, got.. pretty sore. I didn't even pretend to bomb the rocky ledge downhills, but picked my way very deliberately down them, keeping my feet under me.
I spent a lot of my copious alonetime smiling and singing songs to myself. I was out in nature, it was lovely, it was raining, it was in the low 60s(!), and I was rambling along at my own pace. Lots to smile about!
With a few miles to go, suddenly someone appeared out of the trees on the trail in front of me. And it was Jody! She pulled up her shorts as she started running again, and said, "Remind me not to eat Chantilly cake!" I assumed this meant the Chantilly cake she'd eaten had caused several of these emergency woods visits, and yelled back, "I think you'll probably remember!" And then she quickly disappeared into the distance, never to be seen again. (Well, by me, during the race.)
Alone again until suddenly I came upon Brad at a cross trail I hadn't even noticed the first loop. He said, "Go that way," which is where the trail went, and I said, "Okay." Then he asked if this was my second loop, and I confirmed it was. Then he asked if there was anyone behind me, and I said I had no idea, but that there had been people, but I didn't know if they'd started their second loop or not (aid station couple and David). How would I know if there's someone behind me? Was I potentially the last person out on the trail? The whole thing was just an odd experience, out in the middle of nowhere.
Back into the second of wretched, horrible mud, which, as predicted, was even worse the second time. And dozens of feet tromping through the muddy trail had done the trail itself no favors.. we tore that trail up a lot, and I felt bad about the state we were leaving it in.
Randomly came across another couple who had numbers, but were heading back the opposite way on the trail. Probably folks done with the race and doing a cooldown run/hike/cheer(?). They cheered for me, and the guy said I had less than a mile to go. Yay!
Even yayer, a half mile or so later, I ran up on a Matt! He'd run back to find me, and asked if he could run in with me. I assented, and he fell in behind me. I told him I was running really slow at this point. He started saying positive, inspirational things as we ran, like telling me this was the last big hill, etc, and I told him I appreciated the attempts to buoy my spirits, but that actually I was just fine with my slowness, and I wasn't struggling mentally or anything. So we just ran on and chatted and cursed that stupid, stupid mud. And then the flags were ahead!
Matt peeled off as we came down the hill to the finish line, and I crossed the finish line!
The rain had mostly tapered off in the last few miles, so the mud from the last few muddy miles had no chance to wash off, and I was soaking wet and completely disgusting from the knees down. But I was really happy to have run 18 miles!
It may sound insignificant after 52 miles at Ultraman, but it's amazing how quickly you lose it when you take time off. It makes it so tempting to NOT take time off, knowing the weight you'll gain and the fitness you'll lose, but I made sure to take plenty of time off, because I knew I needed it, both mentally and physically.
So as I trudge my way back to fitness, I'm glad I have fun little races like this one, to motivate me to keep increasing my mileage and not existing on an exclusively-pizza diet.
Oh, and I had no time goals at all, so I'm content with my 3:41:38 (definitely a positive split, as predicted: 1:46, 1:54). 12th woman, of the 22 who finished the race. So definitely not last, as it turns out!