"Death in the company of friends is like a festival."
-Afghan proverb
I experienced a full range of emotions during my fifty miles on course in the Bighorn Mountains. I was at points elated, soaking in the beauty of the landscape around me. I shared some great moments with others. I sank into despair, wallowed in self-pity, was frustrated, angry, sick and tired. And once I finished, I was not happy. I was merely relieved it was over.
Elizabeth, Patrick, and I drove up to Sheridan Thursday afternoon. The Laramie crew congregated at the Fullers' home there and enjoyed a party and magnificent hospitality courtesy of Judy and Jeff Fuller. It was great to see Josh and Cassie again. The Frenchs arrived, Sam Vogel and his friend Nathan were there, and we were graced with the presence of one Horsecow Lonac and our old, dear friend Sandra. Everyone was in good spirits, though some nervous energy was bubbling under the surface.
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| Good friends, good times. Photo by Elizabeth. |
Friday morning we all went out to Dayton to see Josh off on the start of the 100-miler (he would feel the effects of having lived in Portland, OR for the last year and, succumbing to altitude sickness, would drop out around mile 40), then gathered back in Sheridan. We grabbed lunch at Java Moon Cafe and ate it at Blacktooth Brewery, where our buddy Steve is now the assistant brew master. Do what you can to find their Saddle Bronc Brown Ale and Black Eagle Baltic Porter. Simply delicious.
After lunch we all went to The Sport Stop to pick up our race packets and drop-off our drop bags. Some confusion ensued as we attempted to figure out who was going with who, and who had their things in someone else's vehicle. At that point, Elizabeth and I decided it was time to get out of town and head up the mountain.
The 50-mile starts at the Jaws trail head on the western side of the Bighorns at six in the morning. Therefore, the race buses racers up there from Dayton. That bus leaves at 4 am. If one stays in Sheridan, one needs to get up around 3 am in order to get to Dayton to make the bus. Therefore, we chose to camp at North Tongue campground near Burgess Junction. It was about a 25-30 minute drive from there to the start. I got to sleep until four.
Elizabeth and I set up camp and then went for a quick, short hike down to Porcupine Falls, which is one of my favorite places in the Bighorns. After that, it was dinner next to the North Tongue River, a quick campfire, then bed.
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| Porcupine Falls. |
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| Moose friends along Highway 14. Photo by Elizabeth. |
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| Cool shot by Elizabeth. |
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| Bighorn sunset. Photo by Elizabeth. |
I got up Saturday morning, made some breakfast and coffee and drove to the start. I met up with Horsecow, Lee, Sandra, Sam and Patrick and waited for things to get started. When they did, it was fairly cool (I started with a long-sleeved shirt and gloves) with a wonderful sunrise. The first mile or so is cross-country through a field of sage brush before bottle-necking down to a single track trail in the trees. Those first few miles were sloppy. There was still a little snow on the course.
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| Gathering for the start. L to R: Sandra, me, Sam Vogel, Horsecow. Photo by Elizabeth. |
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| Ready to go. Sam Malmberg joins us for a photo. Then he kicked our butts. Photo by Elizabeth. |
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| Couple of hungry dogs ready to rock. Nik did most of the rocking. Me, not so much. Photo by Elizabeth. |
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| Photo by Elizabeth. |
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| Horsecow, me, and Lee (red shirt). That was the trio for the first half of the race. Photo by Elizabeth. |
I ran with Horsecow and Lee, with Nik either right behind us or right in front of us all the way down into the Foot Bridge aid station, which, at 18 miles in, was our first drop bag station. I sat for maybe five minutes, changed shoes, ate some food, applied some sunscreen, and we were on our way up the dreaded Wall. Foot Bridge would be the last time I saw Nik, who would go on to have a great race, finishing 13th overall in 9:19:45.
I was worried about The Wall since I have not been climbing well as of late, so I chose to just walk the damn thing and let it happen. Lee and Horsecow put a gap on me there, but I feel pretty good about how I climbed and felt at that point. The wildflowers along the trail were incredible, prompting me to joke with the volunteers at the Bear Camp aid station at the top of The Wall that I tried really hard to be angry about the climb, but could not when I was surrounded by all that scenery.
I caught up with Lee and Horsecow at Bear Camp and we three again took off on a seven mile section of rolling trail toward Cow Camp. I was feeling good at that point, so I took the lead from Lee who had set the pace most of the morning. I maybe pushed a little too hard there. I also clipped a rock with my foot, and much like Quad Rock, I did not actually fall, but tweaked my back catching myself and was never quite right after that. A couple of miles from Cow Camp, I started to fall apart. Lee and Horsecow went on without me. I wouldn't see them again.
I struggled into Cow Camp feeling pretty beat. Cow Camp is colloquially known as the "Bacon Station" since the volunteers there fry up bacon for racers all day long. I sat down with a plate of bacon, some fried potatoes, and took a break. I hit the trail with a PB&J/bacon sandwich (which was delightful) and started my way toward Dry Fork, where my second drop bag would be.
I had a bad time between Cow Camp and Dry Fork. I walked a lot of it. Most of that section is exposed, and the midday sun was getting warm. I started to get passed a lot, which didn't help my state of mind. I talked briefly with a guy from Eugene, OR before he, too continued ahead of me. Then I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Go cowboys," Patrick said as he came up beside me. I forced myself to run with him as we chatted about how our days were going. Patrick was feeling good and looked good. I, on the other hand, had decided that if Elizabeth was at Dry Fork, which we had discussed but never committed to, I was going to drop. I had had enough at that point, and thought 34 miles was as far as I wanted to go. I had committed myself to a DNF. You win, Bighorn.
I stumbled into Dry Fork, grabbed my drop bag and plopped down. Patrick patted my shoulder as he left the aid station to continue. Elizabeth was not there, so I wasn't sure what to do. Bighorn markets the race as a 50-miler, but in reality it is 52 miles, so sitting there at one in afternoon, I was sure I did not have 18 more miles in me. However, as I dug through my drop bag, I discovered a note Elizabeth had sneaked in there the day before. I won't get into particulars, but it made me smile, tear up, get up, and get my ass going. Also, they had microwaved pizza in the aid station tent, of which I ate four slices.
I walked out of Dry Fork up a dirt paved road. It was getting warm, so I took it easy. We tackled a short climb before dropping down onto a forest road and eventually some single track. I started to feel okay and ran most of that section into the Upper Sheep Creek aid station. After that, my race was miserable.
Out of Upper Sheep Creek, we had one last, fairly brutal climb. It wasn't overly long, but it was steep, and after 40 miles, it just sucked. Once over the saddle, the trail drops down steeply into Tongue River canyon. That four or five miles was awful. On blown quads, I had to walk DOWNHILLS. It was the first time in my life I said out loud to myself, "I could really go for some uphill right now." That descent was frustrating. I knew I was getting closer and wanted badly to run, but I physically could not. I was toast.
I recouped a little at the Lower Sheep Creek aid station where they told me, "Hey, only 7.2 miles to go." I thought that was just about the best damn thing I had heard all day. I could do 7.2 miles. Hell, now that I was in the canyon, with a fairly flat dirt road into town ahead of me, I even thought I could finish within an hour and a half. That was not to be.
As I jogged out of Lower Sheep Creek, two things happened. One, it started to get very hot. At 4 pm, with the sun beating down into the canyon, the rock walls trapped and radiated heat. After the race, Patrick would tell me that was the hottest temps he had ever experienced in the canyon. Two, my stomach started to cramp badly, mostly due to the heat. I don't run well in heat. Stomach cramps are usually one of my biggest issues when the temperature gets over 80. I had to stop along the side of the trail to deal with that particular issue, once again getting passed by several more people.
By the time I got to the last aid station, I had resigned myself to walking the final five miles. Every time I started to run, my stomach cramped too much and with us approaching town, there was no longer any place to stop if I needed to. I walked down the road. And walked. And walked. Longest five miles ever.
I finally got into Dayton and forced myself to jog into the park and through the finish line. Everyone was there and the cheers were quite welcome and appreciated. Fuller had a beer in my hand before I even came to a complete stop. I was ecstatic to no longer be moving. 55th overall in 11:36 was not what I had hoped for, but I pushed through when I had really resigned myself to quitting. I gingerly pulled off my shoes and stood knee deep in the river next to Scott Park. I thanked Elizabeth for all the help and especially that note. That woman is absolutely, unequivocally amazing. I'm ridiculously fortunate to have her in my life.
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| Patrick finishes! Photo: Elizabeth. |
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| Horsecow, now crippled, struggles home. Photo: Elizabeth. |
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| Finally effing done. Photo: Elizabeth. |
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| That finish line banner was one of the most beautiful sight these ol' eyes have seen. Photo: Elizabeth. |
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| Horsecow, Johnna, Jefe, and Cassie relax. Photo: Elizabeth. |
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| Not sure they are "victory" beers, but they sure were something. Photo: Elizabeth. |
Everyone else, it seems, ran really well. Sam Malmberg killed it for 5th overall in 8:38, Patrick took third in his age group with a 10:39, Lee ran 10:13, and Horsecow pushed through in 10:47. Jeff, Johnna, and Jason Roesler ran well in the 50K, and Steve Lipetzky was 4th overall in the 30K. And awesome Sandra finished the 50-miler at a dead sprint with arms pumping like a boss. She enjoyed her day in the mountains!
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| They should hire Sandra to market ultras. She makes it look fun! Photo: Elizabeth. |
While disappointed with the outcome, I am pleased I finished. I turn thirty at the end of this week, and Bighorn was the last stupid thing I wanted to do in my twenties. It would be insignificant if I had DNF'd. I dedicated myself to this running thing when I was 15 years old, so for half my life, I have been a runner. In those 15 years, I have never not finished a race. I am proud of that.
This race brought out a lot of emotions and made me ask a lot of questions about myself. I am still struggling with the competition instinct within myself, and I think that is taking away from the overall experience of something like this. There were moments when I reveled in what was around me, but I spent so much more of it fighting myself inside my own head. I don't like that feeling, and it's starting to wear me out.
I wasn't as focused on the training build-up for this race as I could have been and should have been, and I believe it has to do with a lack of interest in training like that. I just want to run. Whatever and however I feel. I feel like I forced myself into this a little. Not that I did not want to do it, but it was a challenge to wrap my head around it. I guess, ultimately, I took a risk and though it did not pan out as well as I wanted, it did pan out. I did finish. And I need to be happy with that.
Once I am not too sore and can finally run again, I am going to approach things in a different fashion.
One final thanks to all the fine folks who helped out, the volunteers at all the aid stations, all the other fine runners with whom I crossed paths, the Fullers for the hospitality, my friends for the support and for kicking maximum ass out there, and to Elizabeth for putting up with me during all this. I know that is not always much fun.
So, this time again next year, maybe?
