Cheers! Last Call 50

Before any race, there is that atmosphere around the starting line - what have I gotten myself into? Am I ready for this? Will I survive? It's part apprehension, part nerves and all excitement that the journey will finally be underway. It was no different Saturday night as we runners gathered under the archway, preparing to the Last Call 50 Mile. There was also something new - part am I nuts and this is going to be the greatest adventure ever. Maybe the pre-race shot of whiskey helped with the second part, but the assembled runners were buzzing with excitement, the field glowing with anticipation. Never mind - that was just our headlamps. But there was still more joy mixed with the fear then I've felt at the start of any ultra I've done. Yes, it was 11:55 at night and there we were, ready to head out into the mountains north east of Fairplay. What would be discovered when the sun rose and we climbed out of the darkness?

The field took some cajoling to actually assemble under the arch for the start. We were all too busy chatting! Then with about 30 seconds to go before midnight, John was finally able to herd us into position for the start. Go move mountains - and we were off into the night - a line of twinkling headlamps.Without the visual input of how fast I was running, I decided the goal was to just stay comfortable for the first few miles. I knew nothing about the course other then the photos and the course profile, so I didn't know if I should chill for a while or just run. Just run seemed like a great idea! I knew it was about three miles to the first aid station at Poor Man's Gulch 1 and that three miles was all a gradual road climb. I settled into a comfortable pace, staying within myself. There was a long way to go and I didn't know what was coming.

Off into the night we go!

Because of the cold waiting around, I'd started in my Gore jacket and my rain knickers. I had a feeling it was a bit more then I needed, but being warm at the start was nice. It wouldn't take much time to take the layers off when I warmed up. I had a feeling it would be within a few miles. Sure enough, when I reached Poor Man, it was time. I was toasty in my coat and didn't want to start sweating. Pants and coat came off and I stuffed them into my vest. Humm... With my spare clothes (light wool shirt, hat, gloves, socks) and the rain layers my vest was at capacity! I guess I could have taken the chance and traveled light without my spare clothes. That always makes me nervous - especially when running into the unknown and running into the coldest part of the morning. It only takes one mistake for a great day to be upended. Having those extra layers would be a bit of mental confidence that I was prepared for the worst.

After Poor Man's it was the first taste of singletrack. Night running on the roads is so different then on the single track. Even the dirt roads feel more controlled then the trails and double track out in the mountains. There is something about night running that is both thrilling and terrifying. The eyes in the woods. The crunching of leaves. Was it the wind? Or something more sinister? The sounds of the animals are magnified in the dark, tricking us into thinking the smallest rabbit is a mountain lion stalking us for dinner. And then there is the challenge of course finding at night. During the day, the ribbons are easy to see for miles. At night? Even though it is early, the pace naturally slows. I was doing a lot of scanning to see where I was and where I was going. Luckily, the pink ribbons were augmented with reflective tape that lit up for yards under the beams of our headlamps. The singletrack didn't last long before we were back on the jeep road and heading for the first major water crossing. There were logs and a bridge on two of the three channels, but the middle one I had to jump. And it was a long jump for my short little legs! I think the guys I was with at the time thought my sound effects for making the leap hilarious.

After the water crossing, we made a right turn and started climbing. It was there that we were able to get one of the most iconic views of a night race. The lights - the tiny indicators of people all around. At the start of a night race, I love taking a moment to look around and see the field spread out in front and behind. There were many times throughout the night where I was able see the entire race. You don't realize the scope of things during the day. It's at night when you look out into the darkness, see the lights high above you, twinkling in and out of the trees.

For Last Call, the first few aid stations were really close together - between 3 and 5 miles. Granted, they were dark trail miles, but the closeness was nice. At the first wilderness aid station - Jungle Hill, I was with four other runners. I think that was the most action those volunteers had seen in a while when all five of us arrived! We were offered Jungle Juice - which we all declined. The shot of whiskey had been enough. Then, as a group, we headed out into the darkness. We were all comfortable running together, with some light conversation, but mostly silence. Talking wasn't needed as long as we were making forward progress. I knew the pace was maybe a little faster then I should be running at that point in a 50 mile race - there was a sub 9:00 mile in that stretch! But still, it was a good group. One thing I found due to the darkness and not knowing the course was on the climb out of the Crooked Creek was that the hill was an unknown. I didn't know if it would take 5 minutes to get to the summit or 20 minutes. Every slight leveling out, I thought the climb was over. And then we turned a corner and the road tipped up again. I kept thinking about getting my poles out, but kept delaying. After all, the hill had to over with soon! Right? Finally I gave in and undid my poles. If I was going to be power hiking/running, the poles would be nice. Of course, a few minutes after getting my poles, the road started the descent into Trout Creek!

Trout Creek was one of the best aid stations in the race. They were lit up with Christmas lights, had great signs both entering and leaving the aid station and were super cheerful for that hour in the morning. I just got a little water at Trout Creek and headed off into the coldest part of the race. Christine warned me as I left that there were three creek crossings coming up two - two that had logs over them and one where there was no choice but to get feet wet. The first creek was pretty soon after leaving the aid station - and it was raging right down the middle of the road! The 100 mile runners had beat a fairly clear path to the logs to cross the creek, but I was super happy to have my poles out. Damp logs aren't the easiest things to cross - even harder in the night. With two more crossing and the climbing coming, I left my poles out. Might as well use them, especially as the road grew rockier and rockier, tipping gradually upwards. At the second creek crossing, I looked around at the vegetation and the water splashing up against the rocks and logs. There was already a glitter of frost. How much colder would it get? And how tricky would those crossing become as the temperature dropped? A worry for another time. I was running/hiking at that point with another 50 miler - just coincidence, but our paces seemed close enough for safety in numbers. The company was nice, even if we didn't talk much. Our voices were saved for the 100 mile runners on their return trip to Trout creek. I remembered from the course profile that there was a steep climb in the middle between Trout Creek and Tarryall, but in the darkness we had no idea where we were and how close we were to the base of the climb. Then I saw a light - high above us, almost straight ahead. At first I thought it was a star. It was so high in the sky, so brilliant. And then it moved.... Ummmmm

That was where we were going. After the third creek crossing, with a "refreshing" foot soaking, the course left the road and started on some singletrack. It quickly turned straight up. Time for more poling practice! As we climbed away from the creeks, the temperature grew warmer and warmer. It was amazing how the water dragged the temperature down! At the summit, I looked around - nothing but stars above, the lights of other runners between us and the brilliant glow of Trout Creek. Wow. A view like that is something most people only dream of - and here we were, soaking it all in.

The drop down to Tarryall was pretty quick and mostly easy running. There were a few sections of steep trail, but nothing crazy. We ran through an abandoned mining house, through a few more creeks and finally merged with Gold Dust Trail. Taking the left, it was a short jaunt before popping out of the woods into the marsh and bridges before the Aid Station. Nick was waiting for me when I ran down the road into the aid station with everything all set out for me. With it being such an odd time for a race, I wasn't sure what food I would want. So I'd packed all the possibles in a ziplock bag and tossed that in with the other spare gear - dry socks, new shoes, warm clothes and such. While I inhaled some food, Nick poured some fresh Skratch into my vest's bladder. I took the snacks I wanted for the next 16 miles and ditched my garbage. My feet were still happy in my shoes and tall socks, so taking the time to changed didn't make sense. It wasn't cold enough for the puffy since I was just wearing my base layer. I did keep my rain pants though - with heading into the coldest part of the night, I wanted to have something to cover my legs just in case. And then I was off again - retracing my steps back to Trout Creek and Jungle Hill.

The climb back up to Little Baldy was busy. The entire field of 50 milers was coming down, as well as 100 milers and their pacers climbing up. As usual, I tried to encourage everyone I saw - much harder at night, because I didn't want to look at them and blind them with my light! Another pause at the summit to take in the view. The sky was starting to lighten just a little - it was still night time darkness, but the hints of dawn were in the air. As I'd feared, the three creek crossing were even trickier the second time around. The moisture in the air and ground had frozen against the logs and rocks. I was very happy to have my poles to help with footing as I tried to keep my feet as dry as possible. Trout Creek was an In/Out - I didn't need anything, so didn't stop. Time to keep moving, find a solid run/walk combo on the hills between Trout Creek and Jungle Hill. I thought about putting my poles away for a while, but decided to just leave them out and run with them. Good practice both running with them and power hiking with them. Again, with the darkness I wasn't entirely sure of where the hills ended. It was amazing how different the road was heading back to Jungle Hill. I knew I'd been there before, but there were no landmarks, nothing to help orient. I kept looking up and around, waiting for the darkness to start fading from the sky. It was promising to be an outstanding sunrise and I was looking forward to it!

The golden light of sunrise on South Park. 

I could smell Jungle Hill before I could see them. For a mile it felt like, the wood smoke of the fire, the faint traces of bacon on the air kept luring me in. Around every corner I was expecting to see the tent, only to be disappointed. It was longer then I'd realized! And then finally! The oasis appeared. I checked in, got a bite of John's sticky rice and looked around. Now we were starting an unknown section of course. The 100 milers had descended the Crooked Creek ravine on their way out, but we had skipped int. What was waiting for me? Shortly after leaving the aid station, we crossed the Logan Pulfuss Memorial Bridge - I paused for a second to reflect. We don't realize how quickly things can change. If we spend all our time waiting for the right moment to act, we will lose the chance. Living life to the fullest isn't holding back from opportunity or being crazy reckless in search of adventure. It's doing what you can at that moment and then moving on. Those were the thoughts in my head as I climbed the ravine, taking the rocks, the rushing water and bemoaning the fact that I wouldn't get to see the sunrise!

Looking up at Mount Silverheels from the top of the Crooked Creek ravine. 

There were plenty of pauses on the Crooked Creek climb to take in the view - the layered clouds, the nuances in the growing light. Even though I wasn't in a position to see the sunrise, there was still beauty all around. The rugged terrain of the ravine revealed small waterfalls, lush flowers, deep forests and rock formations. It was amazing just looking around. Every corner was something different and a new view. The views were distracting me from the consistent climbing up and I was surprised to finally top out. Mount Silverheels peeked out from above the trees, giving me an idea of how high I still had to climb. But first, another downhill! We'd climbed up on singletrack and got to enjoy a rolling double track descent. Still new to me, but I was thinking what that climb would be like the other direction... Pondering things for the future, but trying not to get distracted. There were still a few miles to go! After the descent, we emerged from the woods to the meadow we'd run through in the early hours of the morning. And even through I'd run it before, it felt so different the other direction, in the daylight.

Coming out of the woods to the Poor Man's Gulch Aid station. 

Once again, Nick was more then ready for me when I popped out of the woods. The Poor Man's Aid station was hopping between volunteers, crew, pacers and runners. This was a slightly longer stop - there was more to be done. With the coming climb up above treeline, I wanted my polarized sunglasses and visor. I knew my watch would die, so I also wanted my little portable battery. That was on top of all normal tasks - filling bladder, eating something, getting fresh snacks and such. I debated changing shoes and sock - there were some hot spots, but generally my feet were still happy. I decided to keep the same shoes and socks on - a few reasons for that. One of my upcoming races doesn't have crew access except at one point. I need to be able to get through at least 50 miles on one pair of shoes! Hopefully, that race will have a little drier conditions! But anyways... We also debated taking out some of my spare clothes, like my light weight long sleeved, hat, gloves. In the end, just the rain pants were left. We even forgot to take the light out of my pack! Still munching on a croissant, I headed back out into the woods. I was surprised at how good I felt, but knew the hardest part of the course was coming.

I carefully vaulted over the major river crossing for the third and last time, then headed off into the unknown. On the first trip out from Poor Man's we'd taken a right at the road junction after the river. This time, we took a left. Nick had warned me there was a pretty steep hill fairly quickly after the river crossing, so I'd just left my poles out. I knew it was about 7 miles to the next aid station, but wasn't ready to start doing stupid runner math. My total stretch goal of breaking 11 hours was pretty well gone - the climb up and over Little Baldy was slower then I'd anticipated both times, as was the climb up the Crooked Creek ravine. But sub 12 was still in play. Unlike at Sheep Mountain, I gave myself permission to walk, but I had to walk quickly. It was the permission that made all the difference. I wasn't beating myself up for not running what looking forward seemed like a small incline but was much steeper when I turned around to look behind. The mental stress wasn't there. I ran and poled when I could, then hiked when running seemed to hard. Either way, still making progress! When to road tipped downward, I paused. There was no way were close to High Park - yet here we were going down. I didn't remember the course profile as well as I should have, but enjoyed the downhill jog. I didn't push the pace too hard, not wanting to blow my legs up for whatever was coming next. I knew there had to be more climbing - High Park was near tree line and we were still firmly in the woods. We also hadn't hit the creek crossing that we couldn't avoid....

And then we were back at Beaver Creek. Yup - there was no way around that creek. The beaver dams were creating pools and cascades all along the road. With no choice but to wade in, I crossed the creek. The next half mile was all squish, squish from my shoes and following the damp foot prints of runners ahead of me! Here is where I may have made a mistake. I didn't stop to put dry socks on after the creek crossing. So I had the socks I'd worn for 38 miles at that point with plenty of rocks and sand now soaked. I could feel the pebbles rubbing in places against my skin, but decided to ignore them. Would I do that again? Nope. But it seemed okay at the time. More gradual climbing and giving myself permission to walk. I'd run for a while, walk for a while, run some more. All the while trying to figure out where we were going! A few more turns and the answer revealed itself. Straight up. Almost literally straight up to what looked like the roof of the mountains. There was no running there! Higher and higher we climbed until finally, the road leveled out and I could smell bacon. High Park! I'll be honest - a quesadilla cooked at 11,800' tastes utterly fantastic! Hot off the skittle, gooey, cheesy goodness to fuel me up for the five miles out and back to the mine! I even grabbed a second one to go when I came back.

The view just before the High Park aid station. Look closely on the hillside - the road continues along the slope!

Gotta take a photo of the turnaround! 

It was nine mostly downhill miles to the finish. I'd gotten my third look at second place on the out and back to the mine and knew that I needed to book it. She'd made up some good time since Poor Mans and was only half a mile or so behind me. Yikes! That was the only time I was regretting my bright pink shirt. While it made it really easy for Nick to see me, it also made me really easy to see in general. The pink I was wearing that day especially was one of those beyond neons that just glowed. I was the hunted and in flamboyant plumage, easy to find. No more stops for photos or anything else. Just keep moving forward as quickly as possible. While I hadn't seen the next nine miles before, Nick had given me some details from his ride on Saturday. Gradually rolling downhill with some steeper sections. Cross a small park area and then steep switchbacks across the high-line access road. Time to run. Nine miles wasn't that much in the greater scheme of things... I stashed my poles as I didn't think I'd need them for the rest of the run and turned my attention to the trail ahead of me. The clouds from my photo of the mountains had coalesced into angry clouds, pelting me with grappel. I thought briefly about putting on my rain coat, but looked ahead towards Fairplay. The sky that way was clear. Focus on forward, not on what was behind me.

Easier said then done. It was on the drop down to Alma that my not wanting to change socks after the river crossing started to affect me. There was a hot spot on my left heel and I could feel the rocks and pebbles in my socks even more. My feet were hurting, near burning at times. But again, with only five miles to go, I decided to just push through. Nothing felt that bad and I wasn't changing gait pattern yet. So keep moving forward. Again, decisions made at the end of a 50 are much different then in the middle of a 100. While I was doing a good job of forward momentum - still giving myself permission to walk when I needed to, I was doing a lot more looking over my shoulder then I wanted. Kind of getting into my own head about how close she could possibly be. I know that it doesn't really matter, but at that point, after leading for the entire race - I wanted to keep the lead. It helped that I knew the last few miles of the course - we'd driven in when checking out the crew directions to Poor Mans. Once I hit the top of the hill, it was all downhill to the finish. A least that's what it had felt like in the van! Running at mile 51, the gradual hills were a little more noticeable....

Cruising down 6th Street towards the finish. Huge smile on my face!

Then we were off the dirt road and onto the blacktop. One turn left and into the home stretch! The red roof of the rec center loomed large, but so far away. Each step brought me closer. I felt great running - my legs were tired as to be anticipated, but I felt so much better mentally and physically then 3 years ago. I was sore, but not in shut down mode when I crossed the finish line. The only thing that really hurt were my poor feet! It was the wet that had gotten to them - only one small blister on each instep, a raw spot on my left heel from the pebbles in my shredded socks. But the soles were white and wrinkled - a sure sign of the coming maceration from the wet shoes and socks. Whoops!

Coming into the finish with a new women's course record. 

Sure, I hadn't broken 12:00s this time, running about 30 minutes slower then at Sheep Mountain. But that wasn't the primary goal on the day. The primary goal was to enjoy every moment of the race, learn as much as I could about myself and the distance and to keep smiling. I think I did a really good job on all three! I'd stayed in the moment the entire day, never looking to far ahead when I didn't need to. I'd focused on the now - not the time or the pace I was running, which had helped with the mental stress. Setting goal times is great and a solid motivator - but in the end, you have to show up with what you are able to do at the time and not let the goal become a huge stressor. I learned that last time and was able to put it into action this time. And that's that running ultras is all about - learning from the past and putting the lessons to work in the future.