After descending the
steep rocky section down Hope Pass the trail levels out into a grassy
meadow. The narrow trail is partially
hidden by the tall grass waving in the mid morning breeze. The Garmin chirped the 6 mile mark and I
began predicting my final stage time.
Just over seven downhill miles to go and stage 2 will be in the
books. I should finish in about 3 hours. Not bad for the slow climb over Hope
Pass. FUDGE (in my best Ralphie from Christmas
Story impression). A sharp pain shoots
through my right ankle as it rolls over a rock buried in the trail. It immediately swells, and my ankle looks
like someone surgically implanted a tennis ball. Any pressure on my right foot is excruciating,
I know finishing the race much less the stage doesn’t look good.
Day 0
The check-in process at Buena Vista was seamless. After receiving my gigantic duffle bag I
signed up for an hour massage each day. Off to Eddylines Brewery for pizza and
a beer, pre-race meal of champions.
After lunch I get dropped off at the hotel and move my gear from my
suitcase to the duffle bag. Several
items won’t fit and I have to make the decision on what to take and what goes
directly to the finish line. Shorty
thereafter I begin the half mile walk towards the town square for the pre-race
briefing and enjoy meeting my fellow racers along the way.
Day 1 – Buena Vista to Arrowhead Campground
After a mind racing night with little sleep I get out of bed
to get ready for stage 1. The race director gives a warning about going out to
fast and “Highway to Hell” begins playing during the final countdown. The start gun goes off and the journey that
is TransRockies begins. The race begins
with a neutral start being lead by a local police car. We hit the trailhead and it’s game on. The pre-race nerves are gone as now it’s
simply a run through the woods. The next
mile is fairly steep and regardless of what you want to do everyone walks this
section as the trail is single track and there will be someone walking in front
of you with no room to pass. The next 3
miles or so the gradient lowers to something manageable. It’s fairly easy to run this section with a
few places steep enough to need to walk.
From mile 5 to mile 7.5 the gradient again increases as we go over the
mountain peak of the day and into the first aid station. Even though I didn’t
train in power walking I seem to gain on my competitors when we’re in walking
sections. I take that as a pretty good
sign. The altitude doesn’t seem to be
affecting me, only the gradient does. Heat
training and getting into Denver 4 days early was a great decision. Down the mountain and I can let the legs
rip. At mile 10.5 my troubles begin as I
get a quick hamstring cramp in my right leg, followed by calf cramp. While I had no cramping issues in the Captain
Karl’s series I’m worried. After 2
smaller peaks to climb I ease into aid station 2 around mile 15. I’m feeling good and passing teams at
regular intervals even though the quick cramps are still happening every once
in awhile. There are enough uphill sections
that need walking to prevent full blown leg cramps. After the final aid station the mainly
downhill section finishes and it’s a false flat to the finish. While the road appears flat it’s actually a 3
or 4% grade. This is where my troubles start. My right calve begins to cramp more
frequently and I’m forced into a run/walk strategy. Run for as long as I can, usually a quarter
to half a mile, then walk about the same amount. With the long straight road ahead I can see
several teams and solo’s fighting the same battle I am. Many are on the side of the road
stretching. As I noticed earlier I seem
to be gaining on them with my power walk and maintaining the separation during
the run phase. I notice a Scooby Snack
up head and make it my goal to gobble him up.
He must have had the same strategy as I had and right when I began my
final push to close the half mile or so gap he begins to run again too, beating
me to the finish by a minute or two.
Even with the cramping I feel good about the day. Later that night I found out I finished in 6th
place overall which really surprised me.
After the stage several of us head down to the Arkansas River for a
natural ice bath. After a minute or so
the legs, and toes, go numb and after a 20 or 30 minutes we get out and take
the shuttle ride to Arrowhead camp grounds for massages, dinner, and recovery
for tomorrows big push up Hope Pass.
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Starting Day 1 |
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Chasing down some Scooby Snacks |
Day 2 – Vicksburg to Twin Lakes Dam
After another sleepless night the general consensus is to
get up around 5 am, get ready, pack up camp, and head to breakfast for the
rickety bus ride to Vicksburg. The
tension is high as we have to climb the infamous Hope Pass, roughly 3200 feet
of elevation gain in two and a quarter miles to an elevation of 12600
feet. If there’s not enough oxygen for
trees to grow, there’s probably not enough for us to run either.
While the course map shows the first 2 miles are relatively
flat, they are anything but. I think the
gradient (my guess is 6ish%) was a shock to many of us. Knowing I would be walking the steep climb up
to Hope Pass I push a decent pace to the climb.
The climb up Hope Pass is simply something you have to experience. The steepness of the climb, nearly 40% grade
in parts, is every bit of brutal that others describe it to be. My original plan was to walk half mile
segments and take thirty second stop breaks.
That quickly changed to hoping I could make it a quarter mile before I
needed a break and there were several places I pushed hard to make it 0.05
miles (that’s not a typo) before I was forced to stop. Once above tree line the straight up climbing
of the single track changes into a series of switchbacks lowering the gradient
to what was a nice 10-15% grade. From
here to the top is was quite hikeable, without the tree cover the wind picked
up and the temperature dropped. Along
with many others I was forced to put on my running jacket and beanie for the
final trek to the peak. There are very
few achievements in running which give me a sense of pride and
accomplishment. Making it up Hopes Pass
is easily up there with my first marathon and my first 50 miler, and every bit
of difficult as described. At the top we
all take turns taking pictures for one another from the summit. Everyone is feeling the elation of making it
to the top. Now the race begins as it
literally is all downhill from here. The
next 4 miles are the very steep, and we get flying. I seem to be pretty good at navigating the
downhills, passing many people, and making pretty good time down the rocky
downhill section. After descending the
steep rocky section down Hope Pass the trail levels out into a grassy
meadow. The narrow trail is partially
hidden by the tall grass waving in the mid-morning breeze. The Garmin chirped the 6 mile mark and I
began predicting my final stage time.
Just over seven downhill miles to go and stage 2 will be in the
books. I should finish in about 3 hours. Not bad for the slow climb over Hope
Pass. FUDGE (in my best Ralphie from Christmas
Story impression). A sharp pain shoots
through my right ankle as it rolls over a rock buried in the trail. It immediately swells, and my ankle looks
like someone surgically implanted a tennis ball. Any pressure on my right foot is excruciating,
I know finishing the race much less the stage doesn’t look good. My immediate thought is that I surely broke my
ankle. For the next half mile I limp
along knowing there is no way for medical to come get me. At this point everything from my calf down is
numb so I decide it’s time to run/walk as best I can. For the next 4 miles I make surprisingly good
time considering my condition. With around 2 miles until the finish the pain is unbearable and I’m forced to walk the remainder of the
stage. As people pass from behind
everyone is encouraging, yet they all can tell my ankle is messed up without me
even saying anything. Coming out of the
trees around the second lake we finish on a dirt road for the final third of a
mile. Nothing makes me feel more
worthless than walking a finish. A team
passes me giving some encouraging words and I decide my ankle is messed up
already I might as well run it in.
Crossing the finish line in 14th place I head directly to the medical tent. The doctor tests it out and determines I probably didn’t
break anything, and “more than likely you didn’t rupture a tendon”. He orders me to see the doctors back at camp
after I shower.
Back at camp the Leadville doctor assess me and confirms my
race is over.
He tells me they won’t physically
prevent me from starting the next day but to know if they have to medevac me
out they’ll charge me since they don’t think I should run.
The next morning the mind wants to run, yet I
could barely walk or put any weight on my right foot.
Twenty-four miles of uneven terrrain isn’t a
good idea.
I phone home and get a ride
back to Denver, ending what was an awesome experience and getting my first ever
DNF.
|
At the end of Stage 2 |
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Three days latter still swollen |
|
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Tent City |
|
Trying to pretend running doesn't hurt |
I learned a lot in the two days of running I did do.
- Next year focus more on hill training and less on total miles.
- Practice power walking at various high inclines.
- A support crew would be invaluable for before/after each stage.
- Pack much lighter.
- Getting a very public massage in just your underwear isn't as awkward as you'd think.
- I'm pretty sure I was one of the heaviest guys in the race.
- Looking at the finishing times I think a top 10, and maybe top 5, finish next year is possible.
- As time passes the decision to drop from the race is harder to swallow.
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Somethings just need perspective. |