Capt'n Karl's 30K (Round 1)

On Saturday, Adam and I set out to do our longest trail race to date, Adam's longest distance to date, and only our second night-time trail race.

Sound like 3 ingredients for disaster?  Don't tell these guys.

We had signed up for this race about two months before hand because we really enjoyed our first night trail run, we thought it would be great race experience for the GV 50K, and because we wanted to camp at Pedernales Falls.  As the race grew closer, I was really glad we signed up for it because I keep feeling under-prepared for the 50K.  It might just be because it's the first time I've ever done some serious trail running and it will be my furthest distance yet.  I'm trying to remember how I felt when I trained for the marathon the first time.

Then our 16 mile long run the week before the race didn't as well as I would have hoped.  I wanted the training run to give me a mental edge like "You've got this Jen!"  I attribute the not-so-stellar run to the heat.  It's just getting harder and harder to run in the heat now that we're up in distance and cannot avoid it when you're running for hours and hours.

The week of the race, I think Adam and I were both in denial that we were actually going to do it.  I guess we avoided thinking about it because we knew it was going to be really tough.  We were going to be running over difficult terrain that we don't get the chance to train on and we had a tough training run the week before.

I wonder if all of the doubt we had going into it turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

When we got to the start of the race to pick up our packets, I was definitely starting to feel intimidated.  It seemed like everywhere I looked, there were pros.  They had all this fancy trail racing gear like trail shoes, race vests, and these little cuffs on their ankles that I had never seen before.  So this feeling only fueled the flame of me feeling not so great about what we were about to do.

It is a bit ironic that I felt intimidated by the other runners because I am always telling people that want to run or are new to running to not compare themselves to others.  Running is a personal sport that you should do because you enjoy it.  Every runner is on their own journey out there.  You can't compare yourself to them.  You're out there doing it just like they are.  I needed to listen to my own advice.

The race started at 7PM, so we had light  for about an hour and a half.  With all the negativity I've been spouting for the last few paragraphs, it wasn't all bad.  We had a good time for the first 10 miles or so.  Adam even did a few heel kicks.

The course took us through grass, rocks, climbing over boulders, along the river, ducking under trees and over vines.  We saw a couple of scorpions (which, by the way, caused me to NOT sleep under the stars that night).  Everything was going well.  The sun had set.  The night sky was absolutely gorgeous.  You could see the rolling hill country horizon for miles and miles.  I allowed my competitiveness and my energy from being in such a beautiful setting to kick in and started to pick up some speed.  Started passing some chatty ladies we'd been back and forth with all night.  That's when it happened.  I tripped.  And skidded full force into some gnarly sharp gravel.  Adam was right behind me and saw the whole thing.  I sat up and looked back to find the culprit.  A rock.  In the middle of all the gravel was a large rock sticking out of the trail.  A few of the chatty ladies. ran past asking "Are you okay?"  "I'm fine."  But I wasn't.  I couldn't move from my sitting position.  My body was shaking, my back and elbow numb, and my skin was on fire.  I told Adam I just needed to sit there like that for a minute.  I felt like I couldn't move my arm.  I tried, and thankfully I could, yet it seemed detached from my body.  I finally made it to my feet and asked Adam to take a picture so I could see it.

It didn't look nearly as bad as I felt.  I mean my skin was ON FIRE!  My arm was NUMB!  Even in all this pain, my brain hadn't caught up to the fact that maybe I wouldn't be able to continue to run.  I told Adam, "Okay let's go."  "Are you sure?"  "Yes."  I took a few steps.  Body in total rebellion.  I stopped.  Adam, seeing me in so much pain suggested we walk for a bit, and I agree. 

At the aid station, Adam poured some water on my back to clean off some of the dirt and I used some paper towels to wipe down my hand and elbow.  The location of the aid station was such that you went right to continue and did a loop that came back to the same aid station and took a left to run 6 more miles to finish the course.  I asked Adam, "So if we turned left here, we'd only have to go 6 more miles?"  "Yeah, do we need to do that?"  I pause and really consider this option.  I wanted to because I was in a lot of pain.  Then I remembered when I fell on my bike during a triathlon a few years ago and continued and went on to set my personal best 5 mile time.  I told Adam I did not want to give up.  We went right.

For the loop, we took it easy.  We ran some, walked some.  If the terrain was in any way difficult, we walked.  We walked the uphills, we walked the downhills.  I did not want to fall again.  Back at the aid station, we re-filled our water bottles with Heed which we thought was water because it is clear.  Heed is absolutely disgusting.  Like make you feel sick disgusting.  We drank what we could stomach.  When we got to what we thought was the end of the loop section and were back on the shared portion of the trail that would take us back to the previous aid station, we dumped the rest of our Heed so we could re-fill with water.  What a dumb decision.  It was dark, and we didn't have maps of the course with us.

So then, we had no idea as to where we are on the course and nothing to hydrate with.  The negative thoughts just kept filling our minds.  Where's the aid station?  I'm so thirsty.  My body is in agony.  We would realize how negative we were being and then stop to take a moment to take in the scenery and try to spot a meteor, but the negativity would flood back in soon enough.  Finally, we saw lights ahead.  The aid station!  Yes!  Wait, What???  There's no more fuel???  No, I'm not kidding.  There was no more water, not even any Heed.  There was half a bottle of coke.  There were also about 8 other runners there who were in the same boat as we were.  (Not to mention the 60Kers that were going to be doing a double loop of the course.)  Adam and I both got a small cup of coke to help us wash down a gel.  We were pretty worried.  Six more miles is a long way when you have no hydration in the heat after we'd already run 12 miles.

From there on out, we decided to walk.  We didn't want to push ourselves due to not having any water.  That could put us in a very dangerous situation.  We walked for about 45 minutes and we see a group of people ahead.  They're standing around...water coolers!  An impromptu aid station was set up probably due to the previous one being depleted.  What a relief.  We were so weary and thirsty.  Plus the lack of hydration was really creating some bad chafing for both of us despite practically bathing in body glide before hand.

Even after the aid station, we just couldn't get our bodies to react to our will to run.  We were just completely spent.  We kept telling each other something Adam's dad, Alan, says.  Keep moving forward.  It was just one step at a time.  Even that was hard for me.  I seriously wanted to stop and sit.  I have never wanted to stop and just sit during a run before.  Stop and walk? Yes.  Stop, and have a quick water break? Yes.  But stop and just sit down on the ground? No.

And finally, we were there.  We walked in.  Didn't even try to fake it.  We were spent, but we made it.  We got our medals and went to the jeep to dry off and get out of our shoes and into some sandals.

This is how we felt in our head.  It's over!  We did it!

 This is how our body felt.

We got to wrap the night up with the best tasting hamburger ever.

I can honestly say this was the worst run/race I've ever done.  Prior to this one, I used to cling to an 18 miler I did in preparation for the Houston marathon in which (no exaggerating) it rained every single step of the way.  That run has always been one I think back to when I'm feeling bad on a run to help give me a mental edge.

With that said, we did accomplish what we set out to do.  We loved being out with Mother Nature under the stars pretty much in the middle of nowhere with no one around.  We got to camp at Pedernales Falls (and thank goodness they had showers).  And the best part of this catastrophe was that we did indeed gain very valuable trail running experience.  I'm still mulling over the lessons I learned about the sport and about myself as a runner because of my experience with this race.

If you think I'm crazy after reading this race report, I've got an even better one for you.  We're going back for more on September 4th.  That's right.  Cap'n Karl's 30K Round 2 coming soon.  It will be the same distance, different course, also in the hill country.  We have no where to go from here but up.