On October 2nd, 2016, I ran my very first real trail race- ever. I had raced courses with trail/road combinations, flat bark paths, and high school cross country, but this was a REAL trail race. 15.5 miles, 2,400+ feet of elevation gain, mud, rain, you name it, this race had it. Given all that and everything that seemed to go wrong that day, it was by far the HARDEST race that I have ever run! Four weeks out from Condor, I drove to the Mac Donald Forest where the race is held and attempted a practice run using a 2015 course map. It was tough, 2,600+ feet of elevation gain, but it was a dry day and I ran it with friends. We took frequent breaks and walked in a couple of places. The 2016 course was COMPLETELY different. Due to trail closures and the opening of the brand new Dave's Trail, we were routed on trails that I had never been on before.
Two weeks before the race, my husband, dog, and I drove 4,500 miles round trip back to Wisconsin/Minnesota. The long periods of sitting did a number on my low back which had already been a problem after countless hours spent remodeling our back yard from a concrete patio to a lush grass play-space for our two year old Maltese. I scheduled a physical therapy appointment and massage as soon as we returned home and found out that I had an injured disc between my L4/L5 vertebrae. I lost 4 days of running while on vacation and treated myself very gingerly once I got the ok from the PT that running was fine. I was nervous that the excessive downhill and possibility of falling would keep me from running Condor, but I decided to just play it by ear and see how my back felt as the week progressed. At my massage, I got my adductors, quadratus lumborum, and illiacus muscles worked on aggressively. It seems that the prolonged sitting and damage to my disc made these muscles extremely tight. By the end of the week, treatment had paid off and I was feeling great.
The morning of the race, I woke up feeling more nervous that I would have liked to have felt. I signed up for this race to do something for myself and not have any exceptions. It was a new distance, new surface, new course, new everything to me. I had nothing to compare it to, nothing to prove, nothing to make me feel anxious. Yet, here I was with diarrhea and side-stitches before the race even began. It was going to be a long day.
Kevin and I drove to the race and after I picked up my bib and free socks, I went to the bathroom for probably the seventh time that morning and then attempted a short warm up. Since this race is so hilly, I wanted to make sure I got my heart rate up a bit and some blood in my legs before charging up a hill in the first mile. Unfortunately, due to the start location of this race, there's not really a "flat" place to warm up. I was feeling a bit tired after a ten minute jog and my side-stitch was barking at me. I had a bad feeling this could be like the Tri Cities and Newport Marathons all over again and I was going to end up going to war with my body.
The race started out on a relatively
flat trail that I had never been on before and I tried to run conservative
because I had no idea what lay a head, plus this was mile one of 15.5. I was leading for woman initially but then got
passed and then passed her back which at the time I thought meant nothing since it was so early in such a challenging race. I tried to just stay relaxed and not let my competitive mind take over. This was suppose to be fun. Something new and different to challenge myself.
2015-16 had been an emotional year and a half. After my spectacular performance at the Napa Marathon in early 2015, Kevin and I decided that we were ready to have a baby. We started "trying" in March and after not succeeding on our own, we used medical intervention. I was told to back off on my intensive training and racing and try to use running more as a destressor rather than allow it to control my emotions in a negative way (a.k.a. race anxiety). Less running and more meds did not fix the problem, if anything they made me more anxious. Finally, after a year of not racing and not getting pregnant, I decided to jump back on the horse and run one that wasn't going to allow me to compare myself to my old running self. Condor just seemed to make sense.
My Garmin mileage was about a tenth of a mile off at the first mile marker and got further off as the race went on. I knew this was due to the clouds and switch backs. It actually kind of worked to my advantage because the mile markers kept saying I was further along than what my Garmin showed. AccuWeather.com said no rain between 8 AM- 12 PM, but it rained during the entire race. The course was very slippery everywhere, even the gravel sections. After a relatively flat loop at the start, we started climbing the 500 logging road, and right away I thought I was going to die. Initially I was trying to keep up with the females who passed me, later I was just trying not to walk. The climb was relentless and around every bend just continued to climb. Eventually, I was just trying not to die. I couldn't breath. My lungs were on fire and so were my legs. My low abs began to cramp and I knew it was my hip-flexors. The same areas that my massage therapist had worked on a week ago were now seizing up, begging me to STOP.
From the 500 Road, we turned right and continued to climb on a single trek trail called Powder House. Coming from my road racing background, I was determined not to walk and consequently, I got the worst side stitches. My lungs were on fire. Everyone around me began walking, and I passed some people. When we got back on the logging road they all passed me back. I got no relief on the downhills because my legs were like jelly, my side stitches hurt worse with the pounding and I was so exhausted. I ran for a while with a girl named Susan who was really supportive and told me there's no shame in walking. It's something trail runners do.
Next we went down Dave's Trail. Now this is a brand new trail and with all the rain it was very slick, muddy, and choppy. We had to run it twice and the first time through it was so ripped up from the early start runners and the lead pack, that I had no idea how I was going to successfully get down it the second time. It was rolling and sloped. My right leg kept slipping out from under me. The mud caked up my trail shoes and I felt like I was carrying 10 extra pounds on each foot. When I got to the bottom my legs were like jelly and it was hard to get going. Plus my legs were still heavy with mud. After a mile it fell off and I got going.
Next we went down the super steep Old Growth Trail. Not only was the surface slick, but it also had some bridge crossings. Once it turned into the New Growth Trail, everyone began walking, and I finally joined them. It felt so good! My lungs stopped burning. My legs didn't feel like jelly. I hiked all the way back up to where the trail met the logging road and saw Kevin waiting at the top for me. He made some joke about quitting and getting a ride home with him. I came very close to actually taking him up on the offer. I was spent. He then reminded me I was at mile ten and 2/3 of the way done. This gave me new resolve. I jogged to the water stop at the Saddle, grabbed an electrolyte drink (nothing has ever tasted so refreshing!), and turned onto the Vineyard Mountain Trail.
I had run Vineyard Mountain once before. It sucks. The trail started out as a gentle climb, and I was able to cruise pretty comfortably for the first time in the race. Then it got steep and I resorted to walk/jogging intervals. I passed the woman who eventually went on to win it around this point. She told me nice job and that the other ladies were just a head. It goes to show how tactical trail running is. I was now in third, but could not see the two women a head of me at all. Eventually I caught glimpses of Susan. She was walking as well, but at least 50 feet a head of me. I slowly closed the gap down to about 20 feet by the time we hit the top of Vineyard Mountain. Coming down the single trek wasn't too bad, since you couldn't go too fast without wiping out. But once we were back on the logging road, the fourth place woman cruised passed me and eventually Susan. I caught back up to Susan just in time to get in front of her before turning back onto Dave's Trail.
My fears were confirmed. Dave's Trail was a MESS. I nearly fell twice. It killed my adductors and abductors. Susan was right behind me and we talked the whole time which kept me relaxed. Once at the bottom my legs were like jelly and again weighed down with mud. We had a short uphill jaunt on a logging road, and then turned back onto the Powder House Trail. Even though I knew this was the last significant climb in the race, and we were at around mile thirteen, I still needed to walk a few times where it got steep. Susan was right behind me and I tried to push a head not to slow her down either. She kept insisting she was fine running with me, even though I had told her countless times to pass me if she was feeling good. I was not feeling good. I was feeling nauseous. The race, the hills, the weather, the cramps, everything had taken it's toll on my body. I was so ready to be done!
The second half of the Powder House Trail was downhill. It was steep and went quick. We then continued downhill all the way to the finish. At mile fifteen, Susan said, "less than mile to go" and took off. I couldn't will my legs to go any faster on the technical trail. I ended up finishing about five seconds behind her in 2:16:01 (my goal time between 2-2:30 hours). I placed fourth female overall and was only one minute behind the first place woman.
After the race, I was left feeling defeated. I got crushed by a lot of men who I've beat on the road. I was also so close to finishing in the top three, yet I couldn't overcome my fatigue to make a final push. I was told Condor is one of the hardest trail races in the area, and this year's course was even harder than past years due to the rain and Dave's Trail. Even though I had no back pain, the cramps and nausea made up for it making my experience pretty miserable. I had a quitters mentality throughout the race, and walking felt like quitting. After the race I regretting not walking earlier on. I learned a lot about trail racing strategy which is way different from road racing. This race humbled me. It chewed me up and spit me up. I let it defeat me. So of course, now I want to go back and defeat it. Right after the race Kevin asked me if I ever wanted to run another trail race. I said no. I've changed my mind. I may not be a trail runner, but things could change....
2015-16 had been an emotional year and a half. After my spectacular performance at the Napa Marathon in early 2015, Kevin and I decided that we were ready to have a baby. We started "trying" in March and after not succeeding on our own, we used medical intervention. I was told to back off on my intensive training and racing and try to use running more as a destressor rather than allow it to control my emotions in a negative way (a.k.a. race anxiety). Less running and more meds did not fix the problem, if anything they made me more anxious. Finally, after a year of not racing and not getting pregnant, I decided to jump back on the horse and run one that wasn't going to allow me to compare myself to my old running self. Condor just seemed to make sense.
My Garmin mileage was about a tenth of a mile off at the first mile marker and got further off as the race went on. I knew this was due to the clouds and switch backs. It actually kind of worked to my advantage because the mile markers kept saying I was further along than what my Garmin showed. AccuWeather.com said no rain between 8 AM- 12 PM, but it rained during the entire race. The course was very slippery everywhere, even the gravel sections. After a relatively flat loop at the start, we started climbing the 500 logging road, and right away I thought I was going to die. Initially I was trying to keep up with the females who passed me, later I was just trying not to walk. The climb was relentless and around every bend just continued to climb. Eventually, I was just trying not to die. I couldn't breath. My lungs were on fire and so were my legs. My low abs began to cramp and I knew it was my hip-flexors. The same areas that my massage therapist had worked on a week ago were now seizing up, begging me to STOP.
From the 500 Road, we turned right and continued to climb on a single trek trail called Powder House. Coming from my road racing background, I was determined not to walk and consequently, I got the worst side stitches. My lungs were on fire. Everyone around me began walking, and I passed some people. When we got back on the logging road they all passed me back. I got no relief on the downhills because my legs were like jelly, my side stitches hurt worse with the pounding and I was so exhausted. I ran for a while with a girl named Susan who was really supportive and told me there's no shame in walking. It's something trail runners do.
Next we went down Dave's Trail. Now this is a brand new trail and with all the rain it was very slick, muddy, and choppy. We had to run it twice and the first time through it was so ripped up from the early start runners and the lead pack, that I had no idea how I was going to successfully get down it the second time. It was rolling and sloped. My right leg kept slipping out from under me. The mud caked up my trail shoes and I felt like I was carrying 10 extra pounds on each foot. When I got to the bottom my legs were like jelly and it was hard to get going. Plus my legs were still heavy with mud. After a mile it fell off and I got going.
Next we went down the super steep Old Growth Trail. Not only was the surface slick, but it also had some bridge crossings. Once it turned into the New Growth Trail, everyone began walking, and I finally joined them. It felt so good! My lungs stopped burning. My legs didn't feel like jelly. I hiked all the way back up to where the trail met the logging road and saw Kevin waiting at the top for me. He made some joke about quitting and getting a ride home with him. I came very close to actually taking him up on the offer. I was spent. He then reminded me I was at mile ten and 2/3 of the way done. This gave me new resolve. I jogged to the water stop at the Saddle, grabbed an electrolyte drink (nothing has ever tasted so refreshing!), and turned onto the Vineyard Mountain Trail.
I had run Vineyard Mountain once before. It sucks. The trail started out as a gentle climb, and I was able to cruise pretty comfortably for the first time in the race. Then it got steep and I resorted to walk/jogging intervals. I passed the woman who eventually went on to win it around this point. She told me nice job and that the other ladies were just a head. It goes to show how tactical trail running is. I was now in third, but could not see the two women a head of me at all. Eventually I caught glimpses of Susan. She was walking as well, but at least 50 feet a head of me. I slowly closed the gap down to about 20 feet by the time we hit the top of Vineyard Mountain. Coming down the single trek wasn't too bad, since you couldn't go too fast without wiping out. But once we were back on the logging road, the fourth place woman cruised passed me and eventually Susan. I caught back up to Susan just in time to get in front of her before turning back onto Dave's Trail.
My fears were confirmed. Dave's Trail was a MESS. I nearly fell twice. It killed my adductors and abductors. Susan was right behind me and we talked the whole time which kept me relaxed. Once at the bottom my legs were like jelly and again weighed down with mud. We had a short uphill jaunt on a logging road, and then turned back onto the Powder House Trail. Even though I knew this was the last significant climb in the race, and we were at around mile thirteen, I still needed to walk a few times where it got steep. Susan was right behind me and I tried to push a head not to slow her down either. She kept insisting she was fine running with me, even though I had told her countless times to pass me if she was feeling good. I was not feeling good. I was feeling nauseous. The race, the hills, the weather, the cramps, everything had taken it's toll on my body. I was so ready to be done!
The second half of the Powder House Trail was downhill. It was steep and went quick. We then continued downhill all the way to the finish. At mile fifteen, Susan said, "less than mile to go" and took off. I couldn't will my legs to go any faster on the technical trail. I ended up finishing about five seconds behind her in 2:16:01 (my goal time between 2-2:30 hours). I placed fourth female overall and was only one minute behind the first place woman.
After the race, I was left feeling defeated. I got crushed by a lot of men who I've beat on the road. I was also so close to finishing in the top three, yet I couldn't overcome my fatigue to make a final push. I was told Condor is one of the hardest trail races in the area, and this year's course was even harder than past years due to the rain and Dave's Trail. Even though I had no back pain, the cramps and nausea made up for it making my experience pretty miserable. I had a quitters mentality throughout the race, and walking felt like quitting. After the race I regretting not walking earlier on. I learned a lot about trail racing strategy which is way different from road racing. This race humbled me. It chewed me up and spit me up. I let it defeat me. So of course, now I want to go back and defeat it. Right after the race Kevin asked me if I ever wanted to run another trail race. I said no. I've changed my mind. I may not be a trail runner, but things could change....
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