Inspired by Bighorn

My Attempt at the Bighorn 50 Mile Trail Run, June 19, 2010

Bighorn 50 Mile Trail Run 2010

Ever since I started trail running ~ 3 years ago, I had been dreaming about running a race in the mountains. I did not really know where or when the opportunity would present itself; just that I had this image fixed in my mind of running in the cool mountain air, majestic views of forests sloping up and down around me. My dream came true this past June in the Big Horn National Forest, Wyoming.

Note: Click and Zoom-in on pictures does not currently work in the IE browser due to a bug in the Blogger template. Either right-click on the image and choose "Open Link" in IE, or, use Chrome or Firefox if you'd like to see the hi-res photos closeup.

Why Bighorn? Why 50 miles?

For many of the popular trail races in beautiful places (excluding the races that require qualification), a runner needs to decide early whether to commit to a particular race or not to; often months in advance. Most trail races can only facilitate a relatively small number of runners (in the hundreds) and registration fills up quickly. For a beginner trail runner like myself, who had just completed his first 50K at Bandera close to home in January, it was a bit intimidating making that mental leap and registering for a race that I was nowhere near being in shape for, had never been in that level of shape in my life, but had to speculate that I would be by June. Most runners know that you need to show up at the starting line of a race with absolutely no doubts in your mind, ready to leave everything you have out on the course and, in my opinion, have fun doing it (the most important factor to me). Training before the event is where you work to eliminate those doubts, one by one. For this reason, many runners conservatively change one variable at a time as they step their way through events in a season, methodically increasing the distance, or trying a more advanced course per event, like one at elevation, or targeting a faster finishing time, etc. Yet others take an almost opposite approach, making aggressive leaps in difficulty. Normally, I believe in the conservative approach. So, why was I effectively attempting the opposite, changing multiple variables at once?!? ... 1) my first 50 mile distance attempt, 2) my first mountain race, 3) on an infamously advanced, muddy course out of state, which I would not have the luxury of training on before hand, 4) a course with strict cut-offs where they expect participants to keep a "reasonable" pace throughout, all the way to the finish line. Why David, Why?

Sometimes a reason surfaces that trumps all of the other arguments against it. I've had a unique and wonderful privilege to take a few month professional sabbatical this year. My personal goal was to take full advantage of it, become closer to my family, retool and reassess my career, etc., etc. I had already decided to take Susannah and the girls to Disney World and... someplace else... hmmm... during the Spring, before the summer vacation rush, right before my break would be coming to an end. A family vacation to Yellowstone National Park (still writing that trip report) combined with the ideal June date of the Bighorn Trail Race seemed to reach out from the web browser and slap me in the face. My mountain race. But 50 miles? I knew by June I would have completed a handful of races and training runs in the 50K or more range. I also knew that I would be able to complete the Big Horn 50K. But, how disappointed would I be in myself if I didn't take the opportunity, possibly the only time in my life I might be in that part of the country, to at least attempt the 50 mile run? I had to go for it. Practically everyone I asked for advice agreed.

"Enjoy Bighorn ... It's the most beautiful course I've ever puked on."

- Dalton Wade Wilson via my Facebook wall

Getting To The Starting Line

I'm not going to burden this report with a lengthy log of my 2010 training. Suffice it to say, I had an incredible 6 months training with Tejas Trails, filled with 4 marathon distance or more races, memorable training runs with friends, a long run with climbs in the Guadalupe Mountains, I didn't miss a single long run, set a 202 mile PR for monthly mileage in May (the month before Bighorn "taper"), and felt fortunate to avoid injury, albeit narrowly (stayed on top of some Achilles tendinitis while turning up the hill training in May). I benefited from some incredibly valuable advice from a handful of friends who had done both the 50 and 100 mile races at Bighorn; Joe Prusaitis, Mike Sawyer, Gabe Ayeson, Dalton Wilson, Diana Heynen, Charlene Janiak, Henry Hobbs, and John Sharp. I had some great training runs with my coach this 2010 spring season, Roger Davis, and running buddies Lino Mendiola, Guy Morin, Gordon Montgomery, as well as all of my Tejas Trails, Hill Country Trail Runners, and other trail running friends. Could I have trained and prepared even more, even better? ...always.

Map and Elevation Profile

I was not concerned about elevation for this race. Even though the 50 mile starts at 9000+ ft, most of the course hovers around 6000 - 7000 ft or below. Elevation or abundance of oxygen was not an issue for me. And I had even purchased a nifty waste pocket for my camera so that I would not be slowed down a bit taking photos. Even though the mud was expectedly challenging, my main issue would be that obvious spike in the upwards direction on the elevation profile, immediately after the Foot Bridge aid station at ~ mile 18. It is affectionately named "The Wall"; it is the hardest climb I have completed at this point in my life (albeit, I am still a beginner and I know there much bigger mountains out there).

Porcupine Ranger Station, 50 Mile Start, Elevation ~ 9000 ft.

The girls and I were staying at the Bear Lodge Resort, up the mountain pass from the starting line in Dayton. I felt a little silly driving the rental minivan all the way down to Scott Park just to catch a 4 AM bus, which would be driving back up the pass to Porcupine. But, Susannah and the girls would be retrieving the minivan for their own use later that day, and I'd rather it be parked in Dayton rather than on some unknown, snowed-under mountain road. When the bus finally arrived at 5:45 AM, it was chilly; high 30s maybe? But, most knew it would be warmer on the course and were doing their best to get away with as little clothing as possible. The campfire helped immensely waiting for the start. While shivering with some fellow runners, I told them I had come here to escape the heat and humidity of Texas. They told me I had certainly accomplished that goal. We were all also crossing our fingers that the weather would hold out. It worked; it turned out to be a perfect, blue sky day!

When the race director learned I was from Austin, TX, he could not help and ask about Gabe Ayeson, who suffered a serious leg injury on his 100 mile attempt a couple of years earlier. I told him Gabe was fine and running trails better than ever. :-)

Then the race director showed off his baritone rendition of the National Anthem, and we were off at 6 AM sharp!

Almost immediately I started to learn lessons about the unique terrain of the Bighorn course. As much as everyone warned me about and I expected it, the mud was unlike any Texas mud I have encountered; thick, sticky, suck-your-shoes-right-off-of-your-feet mud. Actually, the packed snow at the top was much easier to run on than the mud (as long as it's packed... too bad there wasn't more of that). Bighorn had an unusually wet winter, the streams were really flowing, and the 100 milers and most of the 50 milers ahead of me had really trudged up the mud. All of the runners naturally tried to avoid the mud, so the muddy spots just kept getting wider and wider, until there was just no feasible way to go around them. You get to a point where you just give up and trudge right down the middle of it. But, you can't be too careless or you will literally lose your shoes. I'm convinced there is an efficient technique to "mud running" that some of those regular mountain runners know. I stomped through like an elephant and avoided losing my shoes out of sheer luck.

Having a fresh pair of socks and a clean pair of shoes to change into at my Foot Bridge drop bag, in my opinion, was an absolute must for this race. But I also slowly noticed something else about the dry, non-muddy trail sections that may or may not be unique to me; it was really hard. And I'm not talking about rocks, of which I've run on plenty on Texas trails; I'm talking about dirt. I'm speculating that decades, maybe even centuries of wetting, packing, and drying of some of those old, single track, mountain trails makes them cement hard. Not a big deal, just for future note. I did end up with a deep bruise in the arch of my left foot, which was on the upper side of where the trail seemed to constantly slope. But, I'm still investigating the root cause of that injury.

Other than those details, I started to become overwhelmed by the pristine beauty around me. I was warm now, shedding a couple of layers of cloths I would never see again, enjoying the 18 miles of decent down to my 11 AM appointment at Foot Bridge.

Foot Bridge and The Wall

This race presented a dilemma for me, for the current level of my abilities. I knew that I needed to conserve energy if I hoped to save enough for later in the day, when I really needed it. But, I also knew I needed to get ahead of the cut-offs. But, I had heard of many runners bombing their quads on the first 18 mile descent to Foot Bridge trying to go fast. And I had heard horror stories of how slow the climb up The Wall was immediately after Foot Bridge. As I made my way through The Narrows approaching Foot Bridge, I felt a tinge of pride realizing I was not going to be one of the unfortunate few who would miss the Foot Bridge cut-off.

I made it out of Foot Bridge and started my ascent up The Wall with about a 20 minute buffer. This would be my primary misjudgment. Had I known how slow I would be climbing The Wall, I probably would have tried to get myself an hour buffer. But, was I capable of doing that? Or would I have just ruined my climb that much more? Just me arm-chair quarterbacking after-the-fact...

The pictures below don't do this climb justice. I wish that incline in the photo was due to the camera angle. It just keeps going and going for about 4 miles straight, zero switch-backs, parts of it muddy, parts of it literally a stream, some of it steep grade, some of it gradual, but rarely a level respite. And much of it is exposed, little shade. I climbed a big section with an older gentleman named Bob; an inspiration. He told me he had started the 50 mile race 13 times, had finished it 8 or 9 of those attempts. His personal name for The Wall was "5 Mile Hill." Bob held a large tree branch in his right hand and climbed like a machine. I was in awe of many talented climbers there, who zoomed past me 

When I finally made it to the top of The Wall, I was treated with a beautiful view and a shady trail on the way to the next aid station, Bear Camp at ~ mile 23. But, I knew I had lost a lot of time. It is exactly this section, where you need to recover and methodically coax yourself back to running again, where I discovered the effect The Wall had on me. It took me far too long, far too much hiking, to start running again. Also, my left foot was beginning to bother me; not blisters, and not the regular foot swelling I was used to in previous 50Ks. This was something deep and sharp.

Joe P. had given me a valuable nugget of advice that I am glad I followed. In Joe vernacular, he said "...the Bear Camp aid station doesn't have shit for food. So, stash a bunch of food in your pockets at Foot Bridge for you to eat up and over The Wall." Very true.

On To Dry Fork

After Bear Camp, on the way to Cow Camp at ~ 28.5 miles, it started to become clear to me that my day would probably be done at Dry Fork, ~ 35 miles and the next cut-off point. It would be a stretch for me to make the 4 PM Dry Fork cut-off, unless I pulled a world record 10K out of butt somehow. So, I relaxed and took a few more pictures of the beautiful mountain meadows leading into Cow Camp.

Pictured to the right is the descent and ascent into the Cow Camp aid station. I think it gives a nice perspective of the typical distances you see on this course.

All of the aid station volunteers at this race were super nice and willing to joke around with me. They asked me if I needed anything; I told them I needed a rocket engine to make it to Dry Fork. The aid station director at Cow Camp consented that I would not make the cut-off at Dry Fork. I asked him if I could continue trying to run there and make that my stopping point. He said "absolutely!" and as long as I was over the hill before they were packed up, they'd let me run into Dry Fork. He said I'd most likely be able catch a ride with one of the Dry Fork volunteers back into town.

So I continued to jog some spurts, hike some spurts, and took some more pics.

The road to Dry Fork.

My shadow.

Me realizing my day is done at Dry Fork.

Blue Bells (kinda look like Blue Bonnets... but they're not).

Another beautiful meadow and forest.

On to Dry Fork.

Dry Fork at last, ~ 35 miles, 50 mile DNF.

Jerry, with the shades on the left in the Dry Fork pic above, informed me that Bear Lodge was right off the road on the way back, and he could easily drop me off, no need to drive all the way down the pass into Dayton. Score!

So, even though it was a DNF, I feel like I accomplished some things out there, on that beautiful day:

• I had a blast!
• I traversed the mud.
• I made the infamous Foot Bridge cut-off at ~ mile 18.
• I climbed The Wall.
• This DNF still sets my current PR for distance.
• I coordinated this race with one of the best vacations my family has experienced.
• I had a blast!

A Word About the Race Management

Bighorn is a first-rate trail race, superbly managed by a bunch of fun, passionate people. They've been holding this race for a long time, and it shows. Some volunteers fly into Wyoming simply to work at this race, and there are plenty of lodges and hotels to stay at in Sheridan, Dayton, and the surrounding communities. The event attracts some much needed tourism to a lesser known part of Wyoming. And I hope some of my pictures express to a small degree how beautiful the area is.