Bandera 50K

I really didn't want to get up.

It was dark, and I was pretty sure I hadn't slept much. We'd opted to stay in what we were told was one of the better places in Bandera, which turned out to be quite an interesting venue. Our room featured an airbrush mural of a group of deer drinking from a stream in a forest. The mural was amazing in its proportions, it covered 3 of the walls of our hotel room. We immediately felt overwhelmed by Bambi, his mother, his cousins, and their friends staring at us from the forest. Apparently many of the rooms in this hotel were similarly decorated: a pocahontas room, a duck blind.

It wasn't the staredown from Bambi and friends that had kept me up, it was the bed - which was equivalent to sleeping on a box spring covered in plywood. It was so firm that every time spouse moved, I went with him.

No, I didn't sleep much.

Nonetheless, I was there to do a 50K race with spouse, and Mo, and we had to get up. It was time.

We had obsessed over the weather report for Bandera for days, and for days it had told us the same thing: highs in the high 60's low 70's, lows in the 30's for every day of the week...except for race day. Race day stood out from the weather report: Windy. Lows in the 20's, highs in the low 50's. Really windy. 20 to 30 mph gusts. The following day would be business as usual, back to the 60's and 70's, like the rest of the week.

I resigned myself to the day and rolled out of bed, had breakfast, and finished my last preparations for the race. Spouse bum-rushed me out the door. I never feel like have enough time to get everything together, so I was just hoping I had done enough pre-prep to get everything I needed. I've never done a 50K before, I wasn't sure what it would be like. Would I want a change of clothes? Would I have enough gel? Did I have enough extra socks? Body glide?

We drove to the start in the pre-dawn darkness and got out of the car to check in and drop our drop bags. The weather report was completely correct - it was absurdly windy, dark and cold. I dropped my drop bags and went back to the car to sit in relative warmth and ponder my decision.

Was I seriously going to do this? This did not seem wise. It's cold and windy out there. The day before I'd almost convinced myself I was coming down with a cold - did I feel bad today? No. But it's cold and windy.

It was the need to use a porta potty that got me out of the car. Race or not, this thing would start, so I'd need to just do something.

I opted to wear my wind jacket, capri tights, two pair of socks (injinjis and regular socks), and a short sleeve shirt. I wore my buff under a hat with a visor to cover my ears, and I had a pair of MoeBen sleeves on. I went with the windproof sleeves, they were fleecy and warm and pink. What more could a girl ask for? I wanted all the light warmth I could get. I took my new hydration pack (with non-leaking bladder), and my first gel flask. I decided to do un-caffeinated gel for the first half, to keep the caffeine high for later in the race when I might need it. I had a pair of heavy cotton disposable gloves which I had brought at the last minute - and I wore them way longer than I thought I might. I had charged Garmin before we left town, but somehow that didn't translate to race day: when I went to boot up that morning, it said "low battery". Stupid Garmin! Spouse loaned me his watch so that I could at least track time (true love, awww).

I stood in the freezing wind waiting for a porta potty (only 6? so few!) - and heard voices shouting that the race would start soon. Start or not, I gotta go before I go. We were all jumping around in line, hoping that we could all hit the road soon, and the sun was just starting to rise. Geekgirl was a whole 5 people behind me, preparing for her 25K race. Someone behind me who was registered for the 100K had registered on a total whim, she'd never done the distance. Someone else in front of me was a 50K veteran.

The race start for the 50K was about 1/2 mile up the road from the porta potties, so I was starting to get a little desperate.

I was, in fact, just leaving the porta potty when the race started. Mo and I had planned to run the early part of the race together. She had wisely taken off for the woods and bypassed the porta-potty debacle, wanting to get to the start on time. I thought I'd catch up to her once I finished my business, but I didn't see her again until the end.

I started jogging up the road to the start and passed a guy going the other way who said "the race has started".

Oh well. I'm gonna be out here for a long, long time. What's a few more minutes?!

Though they are all on the same course, each of the races (25, 50 and 100K) start in different places on the loop. The 50K course throws the harder, rockier climbs at you first. Our first climb of the day was Cairn's Climb. I knew from the profile that it would be short. I knew that a lot of the early miles would be climbing, so I ran conservatively.

My New Mexico race companions who had done this before had told me it was rocky. I knew they were not exaggerating, but it's hard to overstate the rockiness of that course. It was really rocky. It was filled with rocks, and those rocks were covered with more rocks. The big rocks had friends, and they all had rock sex and made little rocks. "Rocky" doesn't really describe it. It rocked. I am all rocked out.

So I was not surprised, from that description, to find a lot of rocks. Next came Boyle's Bump, also rocky. And short. Still running conservatively, so not too worried.

The first real aid station was a good 4.8 miles in. I was being passed at that point by a lot of fast runners, and it was there that I realized that the fast 25K racers had caught up with the 50K race. At the first aid station I found that the 25K racers were a little over 6 miles in -- yeah, they were fast.

And they kept passing.

Next came the modest and short and rocky climbs of sky island and ice cream hill. I had done the first 8 or so miles with no music and finally relented to plugging myself in. I was starting to question my sanity and needed to get out of my head. So I pulled into the first fully stocked aid station, Nachos, feeling like the very last person on the course. I'd been passed by so many 25K racers at that point, I was convinced I was the last girl in town.

Ah well. I'll just pee and go. I ate a PB&J, swiped an oreo and a handful of gummy bears and was on my way. My feet were starting to hurt from all the rocks.

Did I mention it was rocky?

From Nachos I went into "the 8's" as it was described to me the day before, with a gradual uphill (more rocks) and another gradual downhill. This part of the race is fuzzy to me, and was a low point.

Did I mention there were rocks?

I had stayed on a schedule of taking gel every half hour - just a squeeze from the flask - and drinking often. My knees had started to ache somewhere around mile 10 from all the downhill and rocks and I thought they probably wouldn't get better, so I popped 2 ibuprofen at hour 2.5. I hiked, I ran. I kept going.

I came into Chapas thrilled to be halfway through the race and find my first drop bag. I knew this was a good place to be. Spouse and Mo had clearly been there ahead of me and left their longer layers in my drop bag.

I changed out of my capri tights into shorts. I wasn't fully sure this was a great idea, but I'd taken my jacket off over an hour ago, so I figured the weather would really only get warmer. I had been toying with the gloves for the last hour - they came on, off, on, etc. I finally left them at Chapas, but kept my jacket - just in case. I thought about switching my MoeBens from the windproof fleece to the nylon ones I had left in the drop bag, but decided against it - it was still too windy to risk losing that extra warmth, even though I was sorta looking forward to a costume change. The good people at Chapas re-filled my hydration pack with heed (yay!) and gave me a coke, and two pbj sandwiches, and a handful of gummies.

I also picked up my second - caffeinated - gel flask, and dropped my empty. And off I went.

Caffeine really changed my outlook, but my feet were feeling really beat up. I worried that it was the beginning, that it would only get worse. I was starting to fixate on the feet. Poor feet, they hurt.

The race run-through the day before had described this part of the race as "more runnable, if your legs aren't tired" and "softer underfoot."I should emphasize at this point that the course is laid out in such a way that I never knew quite which direction I was travelling at any given time. I had studied the map, attended the pre-race brief, and knew the landmarks by name, but on the day, it was all meaningless. Had the course not been as fantastically well marked as it was, I would surely be cougar food by now. The only thing that had helped was the pre-race run though in which the race guy had given a "sotol-by-sotol" account of the course's major features (sotol being the major plant we'd see out there - an evil yucca thing with serrated blades).

I remembered that he said this was where it would feel more runnable - and he was right. Were it not for my completely abused feet, I might have fun faster, but I was able to run. I did come to a running race, after all!

Before I knew it, I was at Crossroads where I'd left my second drop bag and a second pair of shoes. I left more stuff at Crossroads since I knew I would visit this aid station twice. I left another pair of fleece MoeBens in this drop bag and changed from pink to zebra - and felt better for it. I had worn zebra nylon MoeBen's when I did Vineman, these were just like them but windproof, the perfect convertible layer for a day like this.

Plus, Zebra is fast. I'm telling you - it's fast!

I took Spouse's advice and sat down each time I came into an aid station. I let them bring me food and my drop bag, and contemplated changing shoes. The runner next to me, who I'd catted-and-moused all morning was changing shoes, and she advised that the section of trail ahead was "more technical and rocky."

Did I mention it was rocky?

She advised that I keep the trail shoes on, save the road shoes for later. Rocky. Yeah, I think I'll keep the trail shoes.

How much more? I asked.

10 more miles, they said.

That's it? Shit. I can do 10 more miles! With that, I hobbled out of Crossroads feeling much lighter and warmer, in spite of the wind and the cold.

That wind, by the way, was constant. It was windy and cold All. Day. Long. Cold. and Windy. But somehow, it never really messed with my day. The aid stations were full of volunteers wearing lots of clothes, and there I was in shorts absently thinking huh, I guess it's cold.

Somewhere after I left Crossroads, my left ITB pain started to get acute. Normally in my training, it's been my right ITB. For the past I-don't-know-how-long, I've been stretching and TLCing my right ITB, so I suppose I was not entirely surprised to hear the left one start to complain. It had been ignored, after all.

What did surprise me was how quickly it got acute. It went from sort of kind of occasionally hurty to really sharply painful after I left Crossroads the first time. I tried to be proactive with this pain - I stopped every 10 minutes or so to stretch my piriformis, stretch my ITB, walk for a bit. At hour 5 I took 2 tylenol thinking that would put it in the background for the day.

Then I got the ChoPat strap out, when it didn't. The strap helped dial it back about 2%, which was enough for me to keep going.

I came down to Crossroads the second time from the Three Sisters knowing that this was going to dog me for the rest of the race, and it worried me. Not only did my feet hurt (though slightly less, I don't know why), but now I had this sharp nasty left ITB pain following me. I sat and stretched my piriformis, changed my shoes and socks, ate some more, drank some coke.

And left.

Only 4.8 more miles, they said.

I can SO do 4.8. I can do that.

I ran a little bit before I was slowed to a walk again by my ITB. I was stopping every 3 to 5 minutes to stretch, and it was only helping a little bit. I figured as long as I was walking, I was still moving forward. And I knew it wouldn't be permanent - whatever damage I was doing could be undone by a long rest, and some massage and TLC. Running, walking, hiking, whatever. At this point, I was fixated on just moving forward.

I felt great from the waist up. I never had digestive problems or cramps, and I never felt really tired. That's the great thing about racing far below my home elevation - I had tons of oxygen, and I always felt pretty good. I was just...bummed that my legs weren't up to the job. The rest of me felt fine, my feet were starting to feel better, but the ITB pain was getting worse and worse. I finally convinced myself at hour 8 that it was OK to take 2 more ibuprofen, so long as I drank and drank and drank (which I did).

I got to Lucky Peak - the last climb - and it just about broke me. Going up Lucky was no problem. That's the thing about ITB, it's not a problem for going up. Going down, however, was keenly painful. The terrain was steep - and rocky - and there was nowhere to grab to stabilize myself or keep myself off the leg that had the hurty knee. I yalped aloud with every landing.

Not far after Lucky came the final aid station - Last Chance, only 1/2 mile from the finish. I was beside myself happy to see Last Chance, and sure enough there was spouse, waiting for me. He was beside himself happy to see me. I'd been way longer than I wanted to be, and I think everybody got a little worried. Stupid IT Band. He'd finished in 5:30 something and had been hanging out, eating and drinking. Mo had also been done for an hour and a half. Spouse ran a little bit down the road with me and then turned off so he wasn't actually pacing me - and then I finished.

8:38.

Dang. I really think I could do that faster.

...and straight into Geekgirl who asked "how was it? what did you think?"

To which I replied, Ow.