Bandera 100k at Camp Eagle

Preamble. The car thermometer dipped to 16 degrees Fahrenheit as we drove 8 miles down a dirt road into Camp Eagle. I’d expected 28, so this was a bit of a surprise. It didn’t bother me though. We’d been training in cold weather. I’d brought extra layers, a buff, gloves, a hat, an emergency blanket (now a personal requirement after our Grand Canyon experience). And I thought I was pretty prepared for an entire day of facing the unknown. It had been over a year since I’d last run 50 miles, and I’d never ran 62 before. The farthest I’d gone within the past year was 31 miles, with my longest training run of this block at 20 miles. I had no idea how I’d feel at mile 35, nevermind mile 45, 50, 55… or even honestly mile 10 since I also had never ran on these trails. I knew they’d be rocky and there’d be some cacti, and everything would “cut, sting, or bite” (per the race website), but that was it. I didn’t have a clear sense of the elevation profile of the race either (it ended up totaling about 8000 feet of elevation gain). I did know it would be 2 loops and the aid stations would each be about 5 miles apart. Earlier in the week when cold temperatures, snow, and freezing rain hit Texas, the initial park location was closed. The race relocated 1.5 hours away, to Camp Eagle. 

Thanks. I must take some time here to thank the race organizers, Tejas Trails. They easily could have canceled the race, but they went through what I’m sure was a wild week to make this happen. Despite everything, the race experience was great, the course was exceptionally well-marked, everything was super organized, and there were amazing volunteers. It was cold enough I fumbled with my gels — I can’t imagine how cold their hands must have been, but they still opened, refilled, and closed my water bottle like it was no biggie! Small things like this can really affect mentality, and it is always so nice to have supporters in your corner. It’s a community effort to put on the race, and a team effort to finish the race.

The night before. The night before the race was really rough for me. I slept maybe 5 hours. I was hot, my neck was crooked on an unfamiliar pillow, heart rate was up 10 beats from usual, stomach was gurgling, overall just felt bad. I wasn’t that nervous, and I didn’t do anything I haven’t done before in terms of carb loading or pre-race hydration, so I’m not totally sure what was up. I had no choice but to line up confidently anyway.

Morning. It was indeed brisk when we got out of the car. I regretted not bringing my inhaler (I keep trying to deny I need it, but this is definitely something I won’t leave behind next time). The air felt thin and cold. We checked in and dropped our drop-bags off to be taken to a couple aid stations along the course. I did a couple hip exercises with the band and some core and jogged for like a minute. We were directed to a warm area to wait since the race was delayed 30 minutes.

Start to mile 5. Around 7:55 in the morning, we lined up to start. I was excited to race against my boyfriend, Kevin, and a Boston Rowing Club teammate from high school (Sabrina) who I literally hadn’t seen since then! I pushed a bit towards the front because I didn’t want to get stuck behind people in case we immediately went onto single track. I think I put myself in a good position. I was cold and glad to warm up when we started. I stuck with a pack for the first 30 or so minutes. The people in front of me were having a loud conversation, though I forget what it was about. The guy running behind me kept tripping and cursing. Eventually he tripped on a cactus and went down. The guy immediately in front of me pulled out poles, which now meant I had to watch myself on rocks, cacti, overhead branches, and now pole skewers. Sometimes I find it mental overload to run with other people. We ran down a dry river bed, hopping down ledges and over loose rocks. I thought of the phrase I heard from Nikki Hiltz “run like rocks skipping over water” and reminded myself to be smooth with light feet. As Courtney Dauwalter says, “smooth is fast.” We climbed out of the creek bed and ascended a rocky hill in which the only way to know where to go was to follow the orange markers (not sure it was an established trail). I thought of my older brother who took me off-trail hiking once in Big Bend, he’d appreciate this, and he prepared us for this. A lot of people around me were hiking, so I ended up hiking too. This wasn’t my initial intent: we had been training running; I wanted to run; I felt more economical running! The rocky terrain was encouraging me toward hiking, and I felt like I was working harder than I wanted to only just 4 miles into the race, so I did hike (and tucked in the back of my mind that next time I’d prepare by doing more hiking practice). Finally we emerged on a ridge, and a green, antique-looking windmill came into view. At the first windmill aid station, I filled my bottle (I was using a hand-held, no pack), took a gel, and continued on. 

Pre-race selfie! Kevin, Sabrina, and I were racing. Theo was the crew!
A cross on a hill we also ran by. Rocky, cactus-y trail. This was a pretty nice part, clearly — I could run with my phone out.

Miles 5 to 10. The next section was extremely technical. We descended over roots, rocks, ledges, slanted, thin trail through what felt like an alpine area to another creek bed. There were three short punchy climbs to ascend back to the windmill, interrupted by some runnable (though rocky) sections and very steep downs (during which I tried to channel the quick descending feet of Elhousine Ellazaoui, the male Golden Trail World Series winner from this past year). I felt uncomfortably pushed by the racers behind me, so I did stop once to dump a rock out of my shoe (probably for the better that I did that, but it was really dictated by the runners behind me). Someone in bright orange shorts passed me. I trotted back onto the trail. Finally, we were on a dirt road. Though my shoes got caked in mud and I felt like I had 5-pound weights on my feet, I was so happy to run a nice shuffle up to the windmill without worrying about exactly where my steps landed.

Miles 10 to 20. After the second windmill aid station there was a really nice fun downhill section continuing on the dirt road, and the mud kicked off my shoes. It was short lived though and we were back on technical single track all the way to the next aid station, around mile 15. I tripped and fell hard on some weird root-rock combo. It turns out I jammed my finger, though I barely noticed at the time since my hands were so cold (despite gloves). 

Kevin was ahead, and somewhere in this section Sabrina caught me. We ran together for the next 5-10 miles, which was nice. I started feeling some nausea. Actually, the nausea was pretty significantly uncomfortable. I had expected some at some point, but I didn’t think it’d happen so early on in the race. My hamstring, which had been bothering me for a couple months, also was flaring. I forced a smile through two aid stations. Theo, Sabrina’s husband, was crewing and pacing for her. He was instrumental to my success. I was feeling really bad. He took my jacket and said he’d leave it at the windmill on the second loop for me to pick up with the headlamp. We parted, and he said, “see you at the windmill” (which was in another 20 miles). It’s insane the small things that can keep you going.

My differential for nausea was: too much fuel, too little fuel, too much water, too little water, too much salt, too little salt, too high exertion. It could be the first, though I wasn’t doing more than in training; it wasn’t the second; it seemed really early and too cold to be any of the hydration-related problems; I decided that I’d probably taken it out too fast. Now that I’d settled into a more sustainable pace, I just had to wait it out and add enough fuel to keep the gut awake. I reasoned that I didn’t need to be too aggressive with carb intake since my output had decreased. I was quite uncomfortable though; the last time I’d felt this bad was at Mammoth 50k, and that nausea lasted days after the finish line.

Miles 20 to 25. I realized I wasn’t having fun. I never want to do an ultra again, I can’t believe we were talking about 100-milers last night, this just is not fun, I’m not moving well, we came all the way here and I’m not even going to finish, why do I do this, I can’t believe I’m doing this when so many people are having such an awful time with the LA fires. Just a whole downward mental spiral. Something needed to break it. I can’t fix those things. I’m here now. I thought back to the few words I’d written out that defined how I wanted to race: patience, gratitude, grit, focus, execution. Gratitude just made me feel really stupid and privileged, so I avoided thinking about that. I tried thinking about the athletes I coach, but the external pressure wasn’t working for me. Ultimately, patience is what got me through. I kept telling myself time fixes everything. I had to be patient and believe that I’d feel better soon (and before the finish line lol). Just keep moving forward and see what happens. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. I touched some spiky trees, took some power.

Theo snapped this nice pic when I was at peak nausea. No sweat on my clothes — I was happy with my clothing choice and the perfect temperature almost this entire race.
Another fun trail pic.

Around mile 20, I stopped at an aid station to refill fuel in my pockets. Sabrina kept going. I still felt awful. I decided that I’d drop at the start of the next loop and walk to this aid station then pace Kevin for the last ten miles of the race. This next section was a total grind. It felt like we were off-trail again, going marker to marker. I could hear others talking around me, but I was alone. Eventually I did pass two people and remarked that I didn’t fancy trying to find my way in this in the dark later. They agreed and noted this course was way more technical than the traditional Bandera course, which made me feel a bit better about my pacing (it was way off from what I’d anticipated… I was about an hour behind already).

Miles 25 to 30. I was quickly losing hope. The nausea was still going strong. The trails were beating me up. I was pretty done. 

I hadn’t wanted to listen to music during the race, but I pulled out my headphones during this stretch. My “50 miler pick me up” playlist got to work. With about a mile left to the start of the second loop, we came across a beautiful, flowy dirt road along the river. It was so nice to open up the legs. The nausea just slightly improved. I envisioned running this in the dark, into the finish line late. Some little girls hanging out by the line gave me high fives. I started re-thinking my decision to drop.

Miles 30 to 35. The nausea largely abated. I was now on a mission to reach my headlamp before dark. I told myself that if I could make it to the windmill with 2 hours to spare before sunset, I could wait to pick up my headlamp where I’d initially planned to. It was nice that this course was 2 loops. I loved the fresh familiarity of the second loop: running over the cactus that guy had tripped on earlier, running down the river bed, seeing the windmill on the hill, the place where I’d tripped last time, running past the cross on the hill (Camp Eagle is a Christian camp). I took my time a bit more and snapped some pictures.

Trail or fake trail? Big thanks to Tejas Trails for placing the orange markers so expertly.
A view of the river after we climbed. Texas Hill Country is really pretty!

Miles 35 to 40. I made it to the windmill exactly 2 hours before sunset. I knew the next section would be challenging but felt so much more prepared than the last loop. I told the person dressed in a bear onesie at the aid station that I felt better than this time last loop, how are you doing? It was nice to ask someone else how they were doing and have a small glimpse into their world before taking off again, see you soon! Nausea now gone, hamstring stabilized, no blisters or chafing really hurting, thinking of Geoff Roes from the Unbreakable documentary we’d watched the night before, I took a caffeinated gel. I passed a number of people including the person in orange shorts who’d passed me here earlier. I felt good and needed to find the edge of my endurance… why couldn’t I go faster? The race is on! I wanted to catch Sabrina and Kevin.

Miles 40 to 45. The sunset in Hill Country was beautiful and mellow, though I did get a little cold ironically waiting too long at an aid station for hot broth to cool off. The moon was big and bright. I ran as long as I could before turning on the headlamp (mostly I needed it to see the reflective trail markers, as the trail itself was not obvious!). I loved running in the dark. It was a comforting blanket. It kept me present, focused. I caught myself walking a lot though, taking the time to look up at the stars without tripping. This was the point it was most difficult for me to marry my desire for fun and appreciation with my competitive instincts. It was so worth suffering through the first lap to have fun at this point. I peed during this section, which was a great signal things were going well hydration-wise despite my improvisation.

Miles 45 to 50. I took another caffeinated gel. This was a smoother part, and I was running well when the trail was “runnable”. Even then, sometimes I caught myself walking because I was afraid of tripping. Once I realized that, I would start running — most of the time fear of tripping is a poor excuse to walk in my opinion. Half the time I would trip while walking and that would force me into a run anyway. As Kevin always said during our training runs, be careful when running technical trails, but don’t care too much. I saw headlamps bobbing in front of me and started to pick them off. I kept telling myself the next one would be Sabrina or Kevin. They never were, which was also a good thing — we were all moving.

Mile 50 to the finish. In the final 10 miles, my quads were fully busted. My knees started to take the burden on downhills. I knew this knee pain was fine though. I just wanted to get to the finish line and see my friends. I wanted to hear all about their experiences. They inspired me to push here. They made me faster. When I exited onto that flowy last dirt road along the river to the finish, I was with two other racers. This was what all my hard-intervals-at-the-end-of-a-long-training-session were for. In the last mile, I dropped one quickly on a downhill (ended up beating them by 4 minutes) and the other one on a short uphill that they hiked and I ran (ended up beating them by 1 minute).

Post-race. A few pictures, a warm quesadilla (thanks volunteers!), a 100k race buckle, a Western States lottery ticket. Though I finished last, Kevin, Sabrina, and I had all finished within 17 minutes of each other (however, I’m proud of having the fastest second lap)! It took me 14 hours and 48 minutes. I came in 8th female overall, 3rd in my age group, and 44th overall (there were 233 finishers, and a 33% DNF rate — 1 in 3 runners dropped out before finishing the race). We hobbled to the warm dining room, and I changed into dry, warm clothes. I was so ready to just sit on the benches and fall asleep.

Reflections. 

  • My outcome goals were to complete the race, finish in 12 hours, beat Kevin and Sabrina, and (secondarily) finish under 17 hours to get a Western States lottery ticket. I only achieved two of these, yet this was one of the races I’m most proud of. It’s the act of chasing the goal that colors stories and makes things meaningful, not necessarily the achievement of the goal itself (though that is fun too).
  • My process goal was to execute. Execution meant: moving forward, problem-solving, fueling, and staying focused, patient, and smooth. Though at times I wandered a bit, overall I stuck to and achieved these process goals.
  • By my end calculations, I had about 47 grams of carbs per hour during this race, far below the ~80 I had been practicing with on training runs (and had planned for). 
  • Hydration-wise, I had about 290 mL of liquid per hour, also far below what I’d anticipated (400 per hour). In terms of salt, I probably had about 270 mg/L, which was right around what I’d anticipated.
  • I just started working with coach Mason Coppi, and I regularly revisited and am thankful for his advice to keep moving forward and see what happens.
  • My perspective on the phrase “technical trails” has forever been changed.
  • Small acts of kindness make a difference.
  • Time fixes everything.

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