Bear Chase Trail Race Half Marathon 2011

First, a quick apology: this post is almost a month late. Between work, running, and rehearsals, I've had almost no time to work on it. I'm getting to be as bad as Doug Sr was with the Christmas Letter (that typically came out in March...).

My first-ever trail race was also my first race back, three weeks after injuring myself at the Disneyland Half Marathon. THAT was pretty heartbreaking, let me tell you. Three and a half miles into the Happiest Race on Earth(TM), and I hit a curb wrong and rolled my ankle. Dropping out of that race was probably the most difficult decision I've made lately, but certainly it was the smartest. Taking three weeks to rest and recover meant I was in a much better place to take on the Bear Chase.

Of course, it helped that I'd have plenty of friends on the course. The Race Director is none other than David Manthey, Coach of Runner's Edge of the Rockies. Plenty of my RER and Runner's Roost teammates were signed up to run the various distances of this race (10k, half marathon, 50k, 50-mile), and many more were out on the course volunteering at the aid stations.

I started out in a pretty good place in the crowd. I had plenty of friends near me, and figured I would hang with them for the first mile or so, then see how I'd feel about moving up or falling back. Actually the first mile went by just perfectly. The weather was nice and cool, and the course at that point had some nice coverage. So before I knew it, I was pushing my way forward through the crowd because I was just feeling great. Although, when I say "pushing," I mean I was waiting for an opening to surge forward a bit before settling back into my pace. After all, the course was on a singletrack trail with very little shoulder, and I wasn't about to try any weaving through the underbrush on either side and risk tripping myself up or worse. But when the trail would widen a bit, I'd take advantage and move forward in the pack, then ease my pace off to match the runner in front of me until another opportunity to advance presented itself.

After about five miles of this I'd made my way to the front of the pack. Now when I say "the front of the pack," I mean the pack of runners that were going about my pace. As my readers and friends know, I'm a solid front-of-the-middle-of-the-pack runner, which I do consider an improvement from my days as a back-of-the-middle-of-the-packer, or even a front-of-the-back-of-the-pack guy. I pride myself on typically coming in certainly in the top half, often in the top third, and even occasionally in the top quarter of finishers of a given race (I've even had a few top-ten finishes, at very small races). Today, I'd started sort of towards the back of the midpackers, again because I was trying to be cautious post-injury. But as the morning was nice and I was doing pretty well and moving forward, I found myself leading the middle-of-the-pack group. That is, I believed I was leading them. It's entirely possible that I was leading the front-of-the-middle group, or even the back-of-the-middle group. My point is, it had taken about five miles for the runners to spread out enough that I suddenly found myself without a runner immediately in front of me.

I will admit that this is not always my most comfortable position to be in, because I tend to get lost easily. Ask anyone who's tried to follow me on a weekly run from the Denver Runner's Roost: no matter how many times we've run the same route, I will invariably miss a turn, or take it a block early. At least there, I can generally figure out how to get back. Out here, I had no idea where anything was. So I trusted that the course was marked well enough that I'd stay on the path, and that I'd sooner or later catch up to runners that I could follow (and hope they weren't as geographically challenged as myself). Which in fact I did, about a half mile later.

After that it was time for the first serious climb of the course, up the Mt Carbon Loop Trail. It's pretty short, but steep. My pace slowed to a jog for this climb. When I got to the top and looked back down at where I'd come from, it was pretty breathtaking. Then there was a nice steep descent, where I was able to make up some of the time I'd lost on that first climb. I was now slightly more than halfway through with my run, and had been running for just over an hour. I felt strong and relaxed and looking forward to the rest of the race.

A few miles later, I crossed the Bear Creek for the three water crossings. I'd never done water crossings before, but I had some idea what to expect from people that ran the race last year. "The water's not deep," I was told, "but the stones are pretty slippery. Watch out!" I took my time through the first one, and sure enough could feel the slimy rocks trying to take my feet out from under me. But it wasn't too bad, so I thought I'd push it a bit more on the second one. Sure enough, halfway across I started to lose my balance. I recovered just in time and did NOT fall; but the photographer I think got a great shot of me about to. ("Too bad he didn't keep it. That could've been your Christmas Card!")

The second aid station was a welcome sight, thanks to all my friends who were volunteering there. Shouted words of encouragement fueled me up as much as the M&Ms as I prepared to face off against the last 5 miles of the course, and the next long ascent. As the trail wound uphill over the next two miles, and I felt the full heat of the sun now that I was out of the woods, my pace slowed a bit. It was a long stretch, and I wanted to push harder, but I didn't have it in me. I walked up some of the steeper portions of this incline, trying to bring my energy back to how I'd felt on the first climb when I'd at least been able to jog. But, I couldn't make myself move any faster. I remember seeing two scrub bushes halfway up one incline face, one on either side of the trail, and telling myself that I would jog up to them and walk the rest of the hill. As I go to that point, I remember thinking that my heart went out to anyone who was running the 50k or 50-miler, because they would have to pass this point three times to finish their race. ("You mean, your hat goes off to them." "I know what I said.")

Soon after this, I started being passed by runners who were doing the 50k race (which had started before the half marathon), finishing their second loop(!). One of them, a short guy with red hair, called out encouragingly to me. "Keep it up, you're doing great!" he said. "Less than 5k to go," I grunted back. "Well come on," he said. "Stick with me, you can do it!" But I couldn't. I let him go on ahead as I concentrated on the trail in front of me.

(That, I will say, is my one major regret: I was so paranoid about tripping and hurting myself that I spent 90% of my time looking about two feet in front of me, rather than at the beautiful park. I think I missed a lot.)

At the last aid station, with about 2 1/2 miles to go, I gave myself a few extra seconds to rest before going on. I'd been running for just over an hour and a half, doing much better than I'd expected. I didn't think a sub-2 hour finish was going to happen, but I could certainly make it close. Of course, the first half of mile 12 was a pretty steep uphill, which slowed me a bit. But once I got past that, I was able to pick up my pace. Running with some other half marathoners, we encouraged each other as we realized the finish was drawing ever closer. I remember passing another runner in the last mile who looked like he was definitely struggling. "Come on," I exhorted him (as best I could given my own breathless state). "Last mile." Then, "Less than three quarters!" "Less than a half mile! Just twice around the track!" Admittedly, these were as much for my benefit as his. I also took advantage of the nice steep downhill in the last half of that last mile. And seeing friends as course marshalls in the last quarter was another great boost for my spirit and my tired legs.

Then, suddenly, there it was! As I came down to the boat ramp parking lot beside Bear Creek Lake, the finish line loomed in all its glory. And, just a bit ahead of me, was the 50k runner who'd encouraged me a few miles earlier. I poured on my last bust of speed, shouting at him as I pulled alongside, and sprinting to my own finish.

Official Time: 2:06:53
YTD Race Miles: 103.3
YTD Total Miles: 902.8
Tunnel Vision: My girlfriend Anita had come to the finish line to cheer me on. I'm embarassed to say I didn't see her, because (as always happens) I only had eyes for the finish line. But, she tracked me down afterward, and I think she forgives me.