Bandera 100k
10 January 2015
“And I Thought
They Smelled Bad on the Outside!”
-Han Solo, The Empire Strikes Back
Freezing rain mixed with sleet. A 40% chance of
precipitation throughout most of the day with 60% chances that night. A morning
low of 30°F with an afternoon high of 33°F. What better forecast could an ultra
runner ask for? It was like we were gonna be spending all day out scouting Hoth
with Luke and Han. Only they got to ride on Tauntauns like a couple of pansies.
I set out for what would hopefully be 100 kilometers (62
miles). I say ‘hopefully’ for pretty much the first time ever. Just two days
previous, I noticed my right knee was hurting, and cut my run significantly
shorter. It still hurt the next day, and I cut even shorter the already short
run. Eight miles in two days is more of a post-race workout. I went to work
Friday wondering how my knee would hold up for 62 miles when 4 miles was making
me want to go home. Strapping heat packs and the like through most of the day
would hopefully provide something positive.
 |
| Such a good knee to get me through 62 miles |
After about two miles in my wonderful teammate Mel caught
up with me and we ran through the Texas Hill Country (aka Rock Country) for
about the next ten miles. I’m sure that I’ve said it a few times before, but
having someone there right next to you, whether or not you actually talk, is
such a benefit to your run. But we of course talked almost the whole time.
Religion (or lack of it) happened to be the choice of topic for most of those
two hours. Roughly halfway from Chapas (aid station; 11 miles) to Cross Roads
(aid station; mile 17), Mel dumped me and made me run ahead without her. But
then when I was leaving Cross Roads, I could’ve sworn that she was just coming
in. And I later found out that she was only thirteen minutes slower finishing
her first lap (31 miles) than I was. Okay. I can take a hint.
Back to my knee. It didn’t seem to be getting any worse. At
Last Chance (aid station; 26 miles) I sat down and removed my right shoe to
fish out this rock that had been bothering me for the last ten miles. But I couldn’t
find anything. After I started running again, there it was. The rock was my
foot and I was starting to fall apart. I tried not to think about it, but we
all know that that just makes you think about it even more. Talking (whether to
myself or to a runner that happened to be nearby) seemed to help. I enjoyed the
conversations with an Air Force guy from Clovis, NM; Matt from the Bay Area
(CA) whose friends got him out here to run a 100k; and several others whom I
can no longer remember. But you all really do help out. A race just wouldn’t be
the same without the talkative hippies that make up ultra running. And I was
able to ignore my knee for parts of the rest of the first and second (final)
lap.
 |
| Finally finishing |
 |
| Altra Superior 2.0 (plus some mud) |
Due to the high numbers of runners and all of their
crews, vehicular traffic was not allowed. You could walk or bike to the aid
stations to crew your runner. Well, with wet and cold conditions, we weren’t
about to bring bikes and I would just make do with whatever I could carry and
get at aid stations. I got to see Amy (wife) for the first time when I finished
lap 1 (31 miles). I was feeling pretty good, but it was still cold as hell (if
hell is cold) and I didn’t want to start the shivers. We walked together for a
little bit and I saw the timer: 6:04:00. ‘Six hours? Holy crap! Did I really
just go that slow?’ But then I remembered that my knee was misbehaving and I was
happy to be where I was at (as long as I got back there in about 5-6 hours). I
said bye to Amy and of course, about five minutes later, I started to realize my
pace. A 6-hour first lap, unless I ran at most a 5-hour second, put me about
1.5 hours in darkness. That meant that for the second race in a row, I might
have screwed myself over by not having a headlamp in a dropbag. One of these
times it’s gonna catch up to me. But my
savior and best head crew member came through. Amy was at Cross Roads with my
headlamp. It nearly put me in tears. I was doing as well as I could and almost
had to rely on some other runner and whatever pace they might be going to lead
me in the rest of the way. I’d of course do it if it came to that, but it’s not
how I wanted my race to end.
 |
| Enjoying mashed potatoes and broth next to a heater |
I was now at 53 miles and only 9 more to go. It was
getting darker and I was heading for the only place real trees exist in the
park (I don’t consider the mesquite trees as real because they don’t provide
any cover from the sun, not that it mattered today). I was running everything
flat and slightly uphill, only wanting to walk the three really steep hills
(Lucky, Cairn’s, and Boyle’s) and some of the muddy steep downhills. And for
the most part, I was able to do just that. Another plus was that I hadn’t
really given much thought to my knee. It still hurt, but it wasn’t bothering me
(maybe it knew that it had less than 10 miles to go and not 40+ like all my
other races). But in any case, I kept moving. I came into Last Chance (aid
station, mile 57). ‘What do you want?’ ‘Nothing much. I just wanna go and get
done.’ The Cairn’s section was over quickly enough. The downhill before Boyle’s
wasn’t fun with my knee. The Boyle’s section just went on forever, but I was
able to run most of it. Some of those high points during that last 5-mile
stretch got foggy and low on visibility. The downhill from Boyle’s was rather
dry, and I took advantage of that. I knew I was almost finished and pushed it.
I was at Boyle’s (aid station for Cactus Rose) and only had (maybe) a quarter
mile remaining. I gave it most all I had left. As I passed the horse corral, I
shouted ‘AMY!’ ‘MATT?!’ And I pushed it even more through the tiny field and
across the finish line. My knee held up, and I was happy to be done before any
of that rain came.
