Racing a distance that you're fairly under-trained for has it's perks. Like approaching the race with extreme amounts of naivety for example. Such recklessness typically garners one of two outcomes: you either endure an embarrassing bonk of epic proportions, or you emerge out of the ashes with some samples of victory, whether physical, emotional, or mental.
Either way, by the end of the race you're bound to know something about yourself; you're an idiot, or you're on to something.
At least this is how I'm looking at my intro in to trail-running.
Several weeks ago I signed up for and raced my first trail race, which also happened to be the longest distance I've competed in since 2009. Despite the fact that I hadn't finished a run over 1hr 45min in months, and despite the fact that I hadn't run workouts or even run over 40 miles a week in well over a year, I decided to dive into the deep end of the pool with hopes of swimming.
It was the Sage Burner Trail Race— a mostly single-track trail for "25k" at elevations just over 8,000 feet. With undulating terrain (3,000ft + worth of elevation gains) and mountainous views, it was sure to be a real burner.
Just to make a few thing clear, I wasn't entirely ignorant in this pursuit. I had run the last few miles of the course fairly regularly for the month prior the race, so I knew what was coming. Though one thing I did entirely under-estimate was my inability to run technical trails.
photo credit: Will Shoemaker
On the more difficult (rocky, uneven slopes etc.) I nearly stumbled to a walk in attempts to escape the race unscathed. First and foremost, I wanted to finish the race, and hopefully without busting or bringing any physical bruises or scars back home with me.
This of course meant I was probably moving at rates much slower then competitors twice my age (I did get passed quite a bit early on during these dicey sections). At times, I'd estimate my speed at over 12 minute miles. Though, I made up for it on the less-technical sections of the course, where I'd let loose and let my legs fall into a much more familiar clip, around 5:30 mile pace.
photo credit: Gregg Morin
The track-runner/road-runner in me enjoyed these brief moments of opening up my stride to a much quicker pace. And ironically enough, the race itself felt more like a fartleck, which was a workout I'd grown familiar with over the years. Some sections you'd fly at paces more in-tune to shorter distances, other sections you baby-step your way forward just to keep the momentum rolling.
Either way, it was fun. Plain and simple.
Another (among the many) "lessons learned" included hydration. It was my first "cup-less" race as well, which meant that you'd have to either A) bring your own fluids, or B) put your head under the coolers at the aid-station.
After blowing by the first two aid-stations, I was nearing the expected "bonk" by 11 miles. I hadn't consumed any sort of nutrients — not even water. By the third aid-station, I decided to put my head under the cooler and get some electrolyte-heavy fluids all over my face. This of course made for an interesting final four miles, which not only included some beastly climbs, but also the challenge of enduring the discomfort of running with the sticky drink that I spilled on my face and all over my arm.
My patience and course-knowledge eventually paid off, and I was able to bring a lot of runners back. Despite my extreme lack of aerobic-fitness, the pure joy of winding along the trails and occasionally bringing my eyes up to check out the scenery kept things interesting enough for me to continue plugging away.
I finished fourth, against some solid competition. The run totaled 2hr 4min, which incidentally was my longest run in over a year, so I was pumped just to survive.
So I didn't bonk. Didn't bust. Didn't puke.
I did, however, have a great time, and the itch to enter more trail races has only become more prevalent. Now I find myself looking to other crazy challenges to test out. Distances under my longest (26.2) don't seem as appealing anymore. And the terrain — can we get some more single-track trails over mountain passes?
With a few more months worth of aerobic-building and some honing of the technical-running skills, the ceiling can only be raised from here.
If there's any "lesson-learned" that I can use to sum up the experience, it'd be that sometimes you have to do what appears irrational, insane, and obviously a bad idea, just to know where you stand.
If you're not pushing the limit, they what are you doing?
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