My first race of the year and also the first since Baker Lake 50k was the
Orcas Island 25k put on by
Rainshdow Running. That was a lot more time in between races than I like, but I was banged up and lacked a little motivation. Over the last several weeks, I've gained a little more consistency with my training, but the volume and quality just aren't there yet. So I went into this one with the fun factor in mind. A cool trail race on badass trails with a ferry ride thrown in there. And yes, I'm still excited every time I get to ride the ferry. I grew up in Illinois surrounded by a sea of corn and beans, not a real sea. So driving your vehicle onto a boat, and cruising around one of the most beautiful areas of the country is simply amazing.
Holly and I had originally planned to head over to Orcas on Friday evening, but because neither of us wanted to miss a half a day of work, or get in late to the camp, we opted for the early Saturday ferry. And by early, I mean, really early. The alarm went off at 3:30 am. Yikes. But because it was a race weekend, I was able to get right out of bed. Why is it so hard to do that on a daily basis?
I slept most of the ferry ride over to Orcas which was nice to get a little extra sleep, but a bummer because the trip is usually so cool. But without the sun to show me the surrounding beauty, nap time won out. We were the third car off the boat and we led the racer train to Moran State Park, where the race takes place. It was nice to arrive a full hour and a half early. I just don't like cutting things close, ever. But considering it was under 40 degrees and a relatively long race, I hadn't planned on doing much warm up. I actually didn't warm up at all. I did half a stride and some abbreviated form drills to be exact. But we had a nice warm building with a wood burning stove cranking out heat to hang out in before the race. Deciding what gear to wear was the toughest part of the pre race routine. It was just cold enough to worry about freezing but not quite cold enough to really double layer. I opted for the man-pris my Saucony tech t and then my arm warmers, hats, and gloves. I still have to see if Saucony can get me some digital camo or something so that I blend in during these trail races. Instead, I stand out like a beacon to my competitors..... "catch me, I'm only a little way in front of you and I can't hide."
The race plan was to run easy up the big climb with Jason and then bomb back down the other side and then every man for himself. Not knowing anything about the rest of the field, it seemed like a good plan. We lined up for the downhill start and after some brief instructions about following red ribbon and warnings about the snow, we were off. Nice and easy down the gravel road to the blacktop loop through the campground area and then into the trail. I let Gulley lead as I have a tendency to get amped up and hammer early. We ran a nice easy pace talking throughout the first three miles, just waiting for the course to get nasty. The early miles were great (
The Good Stuff). Flowy winding single track that every so slightly climbed up.
26 minutes into the race, we hit the real tough stuff. A couple miles of steep, technical, rocky, rooty uphill trail with many switchbacks. Gulley bailed out on the climb and I was left to motor up in my "granny gear" which can only be described as walking disguised as a run. Tiny little baby steps up and up and up with a lot of arm swing. Surprisingly, I was able to keep going at this pace, even though I had told myself that walking was ok and might actually be preferable. Slowly, the trail turned from dirt and rock to snow. There was a bike track and a couple sets of footprints almost the entire way. The snow was at least ankle deep most of the time, but it was also pretty hard. It caved with full body weight, but since it was hard for me to avoid the footprints, or land fully in them (I have size 13, the footprints were much much smaller) I had to just make due with a wobbling gait the whole way. The Peregrines performed admirably though. Always felt sure footed and comfortable.
Eventually I would reach the tower, my only real landmark in the entire race. It took roughly 57 minutes to get there. Wait, I thought the tower was 6.5 miles in. I wanted to run sub 2 hours. How will I run two additional miles in only three additional minutes, unless its all blazing downhill. Well duh! I'm at 2400 feet. I just ran uphill for an hour. Naturally I would have to come downhill. And the downhill was fast and furious. Faster for some than others. The most treacherous footing in the race, the next 75 meters down the path from the tower to the parking lot. Almost fell on my head. Thanks for the warning Todd. And then you drop down off of the asphalt and into the switchbacks of doom. Maybe a mile of snow covered, long and steep switchbacks winding down and down and down. As I was nearing the bottom, I heard a yell. Another comptitior? Yup. Blue shirt. Gulley? Nope. New guy. And he's BOMBING down that friggin hill. And just when I was sure he would catch me, we hit the bottom of the switchbacks. Time to go to work.
Over the next couple miles of rolling terrain, I tried pushing the pace. I was going to make the guy behind me hurt if he wanted to keep up. He better be hurting because I wasn't so sure I could maintain this pace. But just as quickly as he came up behind me, he was gone again, and I was left in solitude. This is about when I started thinking that I haven't run more than 10 miles since the 50k in October and that fitness might be an issue. I was also hungry. Like, really hungry. But you just play the mental games and try to distract yourself from felling bad. I like doing race splits in my head, although splits were useless in this particular race. Eventually, after a good chunk of time and some beautiful scenery, we hit the second portion of endless switchbacks. These, fortunately, were not covered in snow. What a relief. But my quads were still in protest after the first set of switchbacks. Probably a good sign telling me that I braked too much up top, but it would be more of the same.
I like to consider myself a decent downhill runner. I've put up some good performances on the Ski to Sea course. I've got good turnover and decent natural speed, but there is just something different about railing downhill on rocky rooty trails. That, and they were just steep enough to not be comfortably run-able. So naturally I was worried that that guy behind me was screaming downhill again, and he'd come from nowhere and overtake me just as I bonked and I'd have to stagger in around the lake dejected about losing for the first time in a couple years. After what seemed like eternity, I saw some of the small out buildings from the campground so I new we would be crossing the road and heading around the lake and in to the finish. I heard the first spectators since the tower cheer for me, although I couldn't see them. And then, a mere 20 seconds later, I heard them cheer again. Was he really that close? Were my works fears going to come true?
And I began to panic a little. I crossed the road, but the red ribbons marking the course were a little hard for me to see, especially without my glasses on. As I cautiously navigated my way onto the trail around the lake, I was worried that I was jogging while I tried to pick out the next marker with my eyes squinted. And by the way, isn't the most common colorblind-ness red/green? Not that I was looking up for the markers anyway. I was looking at the snow and uneven terrain where my feet were supposed to go. So once again, I put on a big surge. And we're speaking in relative terms. This is a tough course where I probably had everything from a low 5 minute mile to a 10+ minute mile during the heard of the climb. But it was still an acceleration, and I began pulling away from the guy behind me. Yes he has a name. It's David Brown, but I didn't know that until afterward, so for now, its that guy behind me that scared the bejesus out of me. The lake looked huge, but I flew through it and soon I exited the trail for the campground road, then up the final steep hill (what a cruel finish) and into the grassy lawn with the finish line (
Photo Here). Nobody was in site behind me. And I stopped my watch at the line (
2:01:26), smiled, and ran another 50 feet right to the bathroom. Relief!
David came in just over 2 minutes later, followed by Jason Gulley. Mark Kerr got himself lost unfortunately. Holly ran well despite only deciding on Friday that she was actually going to run. Lots of amazing results for the large Bellingham crew. A great Happy Birthday run for Laura Gulley. Just an awesome race top to bottom.
And then there is the post race. The most amazing roasted red pepper tomato soup. And a nice warm building with a wood burning stove. And shower. And beer. And desserts. And snacks. Oh my. Runners post race heaven. Thank you thank you thank you Rainshadow Running. This is what every race should be. A real celebration. I only wish I had stayed around for the evening dance party. But Holly and I decided to make it a long day but sleeping in our own beds was a proposition that was too good to pass up. We took the late ferry back to the Anacortes and drove home to sleep in with the kitties. But what a day. I'll be back again next year.
