Not the Worst Running Race Ever

When I saw the race announcement for the Palisades Ultra Trail Series I got super jazzed because it looked amazing, it was nearby in a mountain range I wanted to explore more, and it looked hard as shit. Also the marathon was a beautiful aesthetic loop with “98% singletrack” (not true, but I ain’t mad...anymore).

The race directors’ vision was to put us out there on disappearing trails deep in the Palisades. Unfortunately they had to make the tough call at the last minute to change the 50 and 100 mile courses and made them a lot crappier than the original plan. Some of the most remote sections were so overgrown and littered with blowdowns that they decided it was dangerous to put ultra racers out on the course in those conditions. Instead of big sexy loops, they had to cut back on their aspirations and trim the courses into smaller loops and out-and-backs. Logistically it was far less of a headache but I could really feel for them and the racers—I’m sure everyone was disappointed. They didn't really change the marathon course though, to my delight.

The vibe at the start was pleasantly chill. The race announcer kept goading people to stand closer to the front but everyone was hesitant. The race started with a few yards of doubletrack then we immediately turned uphill, just how I like it, and started plodding in a conga line straight up the steep, rooty, dusty hillside. I dared to burn a few matches to pass a big group of walkers so I didn’t have to climb with my nose in some dude’s ass. Soon we were high above the reservoir, contouring around south-facing slopes and enjoying big views. I heard from afar what sounded like a raucous crowd of supporters and couldn’t believe that so many people had rallied and found a good spectating spot to cheer on runners, but as I got closer I laughed: it was actually a noisy herd of sheep occupying the drainage below the trail. Oh, Idaho.

Early in the race when I was just plain stoked.

After a precipitous descent, the trail crossed through a wide bowl of scattered stone surrounded by cliffs. It seemed like part of a mountain had calved off and formed a barren stone basin in the otherwise lush landscape. Mordor radness.

Cy and I leapfrogged each other several times. I’m faster than him on downhills and he’s faster than me on uphills. Turns out we’re pretty much the same speed overall, which is cool.

The trail climbed and descended again, then we hit a flat gravel road section, which made me super disgruntled. “I hate hate hate road,” I thought in rhythm to my pounding footsteps. Fortunately the road ended with a nice big aid station. There was a dude in a diaper. One volunteer brandished a sign: “You’re doing awesome! Only a crap ton of miles left!”

The course moseyed up North Indian Creek, then took a left and headed up Garden Creek, beginning to gain elevation more efficiently. A runner popped up behind me and I thought it was a chick. Turns out it was just a womanly-looking guy.

Just as I started worrying about water, another aid station came into sight. The volunteers there had purified water from a little stream and poured the pure run-off into my hydration bladder. One of them reassured me there were less than ten miles to go, and pointed to a peak at the head of the canyon. “You just have to get to the top of that first.”

Slowly, slowly going uphill.

I grabbed some bacon and settled in for the climb. The trail was a magic little piece of tread sculpted onto steep shale slopes, rising over little plateaus and ridges on the magnificent landscape. The canyon dropped down behind us, a waterfall poured off red cliffs to my right, and I could see a steady line of runners far ahead and above me. I felt good.

A woman came into sight several switchbacks above me. She was the first chick I had seen all day and I started feeling competitive. I caught her at the top of the ridge but she started going off course, so I yelled to her to come back. Her mistake gave me a small lead but she was a fast descender and soon passed me on the rocky downhill. She introduced herself as Juli. We caught and dropped Cy and another dude, and when Cy darted off the trail for us, I could tell he was stoked to see us together. I charged down behind her, thinking there was no way I could sustain this reckless pace, but we had another moment of quick orienteering through a meadow and when I found the next course marking, she disappeared behind me. 

It was real pretty.

I was confused and stressed by her disappearance, feeling like she must be breathing down my neck and would catch me any minute. I ran faster than I wanted to through long, flattish miles of dense overgrowth with lurking rocks and vines and logs waiting to throw me to the ground if I stopped concentrating on my feet for even a second.

Race volunteers had put a ton of work into clearing the course, but the thick vegetation was stronger than their machete swipes. I pushed through slow miles of claustrophobic green corridor, aware that I could at any moment run into a moose or bear but too tired to care. My feet hurt. I was hungry. I hate flat descents. I started feeling emotional. I didn’t want Juli to catch me.

As I left the final aid station, I saw her behind me and had another little moment of panic (but also relief that she hadn’t seriously hurt herself). That was motivation enough to keep a steady, uncomfortable pace.

I finally broke out onto good trail again and put my head down for the final three miles on Big Elk Creek, trying to relax my upper body and focus on good running form. It was hot and flat. Have I mentioned I hate flat running? The half marathon course was an out-and-back that stayed on Big Elk and I thought about how terrible that sounded.

I finally saw the parking lot and staggered to the finish line. As I ran up the final flight of stairs and rang the finisher’s bell, the race announcer proclaimed that I was the second woman to finish. I almost started crying with happiness and brokenness. I fell down on the grass, as one does.

The first place woman called out “COOLIA!!” She had to remind me of who she was (the rad sister of one of my bike team moms) because I was an empty shell of a person.

I really can't believe I got second. Also, 14th out of 66 doesn't suck.

Juli finished shortly after me and Cy sprinted in just after that. Then we had to book it back to the valley for a wedding.

I had a better attitude at this race (I never decided that I hated running and would never do it again) and a better finishing kick than I used to back in the old days. I credit that to age and experience, or something. Which is good, because I’m signed up for another race in a month.