There's always a first time...
And in this case, it was the first time for a DNF. I had really been looking forward to the Cheyenne Mountain Trail Race this year after missing out last year. I love the course and it's a fun event. I was also looking forward to seeing how fast I could run one lap, as opposed to pacing myself for two laps. I was also looking forward to getting out and seeing my friends in the running community after a really rough week.
My warmup felt good, but I was distracted. I couldn't seem to get my mind focused on the trail and the upcoming race. Mistake number one, I'm sure. While the trails at CMSP aren't super technical, there's enough loose rocks and soft edges that you need to pay attention to them. At the start, I was still kind of out of sorts. I'd left my phone in the car and was planning on making the next 2:30 some me time - with my closest running friends of course. We started quick, heading out into the parking lot for a short road climb to spread things out before the singletrack. I was in 6th as we entered the singletrack, but the top women were all bunched together. Running smart on the first climb would be important. I tried to settle into my pace, but just never really felt comfortable. I was running hard, but not as hard as I felt. My breathing was out of synch with my effort.
The field spread out as we climbed up Boulder Run. I focused on my feet and taking smooth lines on the rocks. The trail was soft in places from recent trail work and the rocks felt skittish under my feet. I chalked it up to never really running that fast in CMSP - we were at about an 9:00 pace - much faster then I normally run there. At the turn onto Blackmere, I could see that the women in front of me were getting a little more distance then I wanted. Mistake number two - instead of running my own race and staying in my own head space, I was trying to race. Regardless of everything else going on, less then two miles in was too early to start racing. But that's what I was doing - focusing on everything but what I was doing in the moment.
On the descent down Blackmere, I caught two guys who'd passed me on the climb. Normally, I'm a pretty chill, let me around when it's safe to pass kinda runner. But for whatever reason, I just wanted around them. I wanted to run in my own space and not have them in front of me. Mistake number three - being in a hurry to make a pass happen. The first guy waved me around in a good spot. The second picked not such a good spot - but he'd never run in CMSP so he didn't know the trails well. I should have known better and just waited. It was in the section of lower Blackmere where the rains a few years ago had done all the damage and the trail was really narrow, rocky and not fully packed in in spots. I took the inside line like the guy told me to - again, I should have just waited, realizing the trail wasn't as good as we both thought it was there. As I entered the inside of the corner, I felt the trail shifting. What I'd assumed to be solid dirt was a loose rock covered in leaves. My left foot rolled, the ankle collapsing underneath me. Normally, I can sense that happening and get weight onto the other foot before any damage is done. Not this time. The momentum was too great and I just didn't have the reaction time I needed. It was nobody's fault, but I knew the minute the left foot went down that the race was over.
I was hoping it wasn't as bad as I thought, but I knew it was. Running downhill hurt. I couldn't take a full step, pointing my toes was agony. I stopped to let the two guys around - both of whom slowed significantly to ask if I was okay. I just waved them one - again, nobody's fault - go have a great race. Then I tried just running. Humm, maybe? I passed the turn to the Zook loop - entering the point of no return as it was. If I continued up Blackmere, I was committing to coming back down. My gait pattern was out of whack, I didn't want to move my ankle at all. I slowed again, walked for a bit while there was no one around me and then stopped. There was a little swelling already in the ankle and walking was hurting. Who was I fooling? Continuing forward would be stupid and cause more damage. And for what? I had nothing to prove. It was time to stop. I took my waterbelt off and started limping my way back down. I was torn. I've never DNFed a race before in my life. But I couldn't run or even walk another 13 miles in that condition.
As a coach, I'm always telling my athletes to make the smart decisions. I tell them to live to race another day - one event isn't worth it. It's really easy to say the works, but damn... It's hard to actually follow my own advice. But it is true - live to race another day. The DNF hurts, but not as much as my ankle would have hurt trying to finish. So I will chalk this up to another learning experience and move on. Congrats to everyone who finished today!
My warmup felt good, but I was distracted. I couldn't seem to get my mind focused on the trail and the upcoming race. Mistake number one, I'm sure. While the trails at CMSP aren't super technical, there's enough loose rocks and soft edges that you need to pay attention to them. At the start, I was still kind of out of sorts. I'd left my phone in the car and was planning on making the next 2:30 some me time - with my closest running friends of course. We started quick, heading out into the parking lot for a short road climb to spread things out before the singletrack. I was in 6th as we entered the singletrack, but the top women were all bunched together. Running smart on the first climb would be important. I tried to settle into my pace, but just never really felt comfortable. I was running hard, but not as hard as I felt. My breathing was out of synch with my effort.
The field spread out as we climbed up Boulder Run. I focused on my feet and taking smooth lines on the rocks. The trail was soft in places from recent trail work and the rocks felt skittish under my feet. I chalked it up to never really running that fast in CMSP - we were at about an 9:00 pace - much faster then I normally run there. At the turn onto Blackmere, I could see that the women in front of me were getting a little more distance then I wanted. Mistake number two - instead of running my own race and staying in my own head space, I was trying to race. Regardless of everything else going on, less then two miles in was too early to start racing. But that's what I was doing - focusing on everything but what I was doing in the moment.
On the descent down Blackmere, I caught two guys who'd passed me on the climb. Normally, I'm a pretty chill, let me around when it's safe to pass kinda runner. But for whatever reason, I just wanted around them. I wanted to run in my own space and not have them in front of me. Mistake number three - being in a hurry to make a pass happen. The first guy waved me around in a good spot. The second picked not such a good spot - but he'd never run in CMSP so he didn't know the trails well. I should have known better and just waited. It was in the section of lower Blackmere where the rains a few years ago had done all the damage and the trail was really narrow, rocky and not fully packed in in spots. I took the inside line like the guy told me to - again, I should have just waited, realizing the trail wasn't as good as we both thought it was there. As I entered the inside of the corner, I felt the trail shifting. What I'd assumed to be solid dirt was a loose rock covered in leaves. My left foot rolled, the ankle collapsing underneath me. Normally, I can sense that happening and get weight onto the other foot before any damage is done. Not this time. The momentum was too great and I just didn't have the reaction time I needed. It was nobody's fault, but I knew the minute the left foot went down that the race was over.
I was hoping it wasn't as bad as I thought, but I knew it was. Running downhill hurt. I couldn't take a full step, pointing my toes was agony. I stopped to let the two guys around - both of whom slowed significantly to ask if I was okay. I just waved them one - again, nobody's fault - go have a great race. Then I tried just running. Humm, maybe? I passed the turn to the Zook loop - entering the point of no return as it was. If I continued up Blackmere, I was committing to coming back down. My gait pattern was out of whack, I didn't want to move my ankle at all. I slowed again, walked for a bit while there was no one around me and then stopped. There was a little swelling already in the ankle and walking was hurting. Who was I fooling? Continuing forward would be stupid and cause more damage. And for what? I had nothing to prove. It was time to stop. I took my waterbelt off and started limping my way back down. I was torn. I've never DNFed a race before in my life. But I couldn't run or even walk another 13 miles in that condition.
As a coach, I'm always telling my athletes to make the smart decisions. I tell them to live to race another day - one event isn't worth it. It's really easy to say the works, but damn... It's hard to actually follow my own advice. But it is true - live to race another day. The DNF hurts, but not as much as my ankle would have hurt trying to finish. So I will chalk this up to another learning experience and move on. Congrats to everyone who finished today!
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