prickly pear 10 mile trail run
[see photos from this year's race]
i had ran this race only one other time, in 2004. that race involved tornado warnings and a disturbingly wet trail course. two years later, it's déjà vu all over again.
[...]
i woke at 6am to allow myself enough time to travel down to san antonio before the 830am start. a quick check of the weather informed me that a massive storm front was moving into san antonio from the west at about the same rate that i would be moving into san antonio from the north. no time was wasted as i conducted final preparations and went out the door for the commute south.
monstrous thunderclouds loomed to my right as i hot-stepped it down I-35. i spent a majority of the drive hoping the front wouldn't pass until i got off the freeway. fortunately, my wish was granted--i roll into the park neighborhood around 745am, needing to only navigate local directions to get to the race.
a simple enough task, no? after about 5 minutes of driving, i sensed that i was off the intended path, and had no hesitation for turning around and going to the nearest gas station for assistance.
that's when the storm front passed. blankets of rain that washed away any concept of visibility and lanes; downpours that caused half of the motorists on the road to simply stop their cars where they were at the moment. damning the torpedoes, i fought my way to two gas stations, where the second station attendant actually knew local directions. in the 5 seconds total that i spent under the open air running from my car to the stations, i was instantly soaked head-to-toe.
it is no small irony that i was lost on a street with the moniker of "wetmore" this particular morning.
i found the park with relative ease upon getting directions, but i arrived at the check-in pavilion at 820am--hardly time to register, let alone warmup. fortunately, the director announced a 15 minute delay to the start moments after i arrived. the time lost on wetmore was recovered. i received my bib and proceeded to prep for the race. i tightend my laces with a minute to go before the start, and assumed the position for the gun. through careful planning, i was able to keep my race shoes and socks dry in the safety of my car, waiting until the very last moment to dry my feet off and don my equipment.
within the first minute of the race, i found myself crossing two waist-high runoffs with unstable footing below, along with dozens of other runners in the shaded woods of mcallister park.
i went out fast the first 2 miles, lest i get trampled in waterlogged stampede. i was wise to back off that pace soon after. for miles 3-5, i found myself running with a fellow by the name of robert, and we played some simple cat-and-mouse. he, in the lead, mistakenly took a wrong turn; i called him back onto the trail. i botched a handoff at an aid station; he, being behind me, grabbed an extra cup and passed it forward.
i say "simple" cat-and-mouse. for the past week, central texas has been hammered storms and downpours. the one-person-wide trails that we were running on have absorbed all this water, making a sheen of 3"-6" of mud on every square inch of the trail. where there wasn't mud, there was loose, fist-sized rocks over which we had to navigate. quite often, your best bet was to bushwhack alongside the trail, through knee-high grass, under shoulder-high branches. turns were present at a frequency of approximately every 50m, making for dicey manuvering. at least the bark on the trees was softened by the storms so that it didn't shred your hand apart when you had to grab a tree to keep balance. it was through these conditions we played cat-and-mouse, all the while following orange ribbons hung from the trees every 50m or so, for the course path wasn't always apparent.
after mile 5, i let robert go and found myself running alone for the rest of the race. the serpentine nature of the course coupled with seriously impeding trail conditions led to the illusion that the mile markers were much further apart than they actually were. i can only estimate that i was running 8-to-9 minute miles with effort that would easily harvest sub-7 miles on the road. all one could do was continue forward and hope that an orange ribbon would be in sight within the next 30 seconds.
running alone in these conditions also offered the illusion that everyone else in the race has gotten lost on the course except me. despite the fact that i was continually seeing ribbons and incrementally increasing mile markers, i had no damn clue where i was and heard no signs of life around me. nonetheless, i was on-track and surged ahead. under the trees it was dimly lit, rank of humidity; heaven help someone who sprains an ankle now.
around mile 8, i began to feel more aggressive, knowing that the finish would be in the next 20 minutes or so. however, some of the most treacherous water crossings would be found in this stage of the race. one open-air crossing was ~75 yards in length, ~4 feet in depth and had dense ~8 foot high vegetation growing throughout. water flowed at a strong shear from right-to-left. if one were to get knocked down by the current and spun around, all orientation would be lost. you just charged through the crossing in the direction you entered it, and put full faith in there being high land and orange ribbons up ahead. somewhere.
another crossing, this one under the cloak of treetops, was of similar length, but varying depths due to all the bases and roots of the surrounding trees. there was little circulation--rather the water had a sense of stagnation, thick layers of leaves and branches floating everywhere. in one instance, a single step took me from secure ankle-high water to a shoulder-high plummet, causing imbalance and disorientation. i crawled out of that crossing, only to find no ribbons in sight. 10 seconds of searching found ribbons just 10 yards off to the right; a few moments of bushwacking and i was back on trail.
upon re-engagement of the trail, i heard steps behind me, much to my alarm. "how in the hell could someone be gaining on me in these conditions?" i thought. i turned to see a pack of eight doe in chase through the woods.
mile 9 found itself on higher ground. knowing the finish was near, i attacked the trail, keeping in mind that every mile has seemed longer than 5280 feet, given the conditions. my pace was hot and i felt dangerous, orange ribbons passing by at a greater frequency. all of a sudden, ahead was posted a sign that simply read "CHOICE" with two arrows, one pointing left and one pointing right. "what the f*ck?!" i audibly exclaimed--i had no clue where i was, and was wholly relying on the ribbons to tell me where to go. i went with my momentum and stayed right. for whatever reason my reaction was as if i were presented with a "lady or tiger" decision--for all i knew it was, given all that this course has thrown at me so far. in hindsight, it was obviously a "six or half dozen" election, which is an absolutely brilliant element inserted by the director. loved it!
soon after, i sensed that i near mile 9.75 and saw a tent up ahead. the trail turned right in front of the tent; five or six ribbons were visible on the trail upon making the turn. i was high gear, sensing i only had a but a few minutes of running ahead of me. note that a 50k race was being held in conjunction with the 10 mile race.
"you're on the second lap of your 50k?" a volunteer exclaims as i turn in front of the tent.
"no! i'm finishing the 10 mile!" i shout back. i heard nothing in reply from the volunteers. i grabbed a cup from the table in full stride and aimed for the ribbons ahead.
something seemed amiss, but i've been surrounded by illusions of time and distance all morning. i charge down the trail for several more minutes, increasing in speed as i go, knowing that i'm getting closer to the finish with each step. soon, i find myself again in waist-high water crossing. waist-high crossing that looked all too familiar. two runners were up ahead.
"THE 10 MILE FINISH IS LIKE, RIGHT UP AHEAD, RIGHT?!" i shout.
two two 50k women look back. "oh no honey, you gotta turn around... it's way back that way!"
my heart was crushed. we spoke and decided my only recourse was to follow ribbons backwards. i had overshot the finish line by almost a mile.
i downshifted and turn around, not knowing exactly what to look for--i hadn't missed a single ribbon for the past hour and a half! my travelling in reverse, i can see through the woods the area where i parked my car. i jump off the trail and find my way through the parking lot, knowing that i could find the finish from here. i throw it back into high gear, flying by traffic, pedestrians. i cut through the pavilion where several runners who have finished are enjoying barbeque and beer. i see the finish line and cross it, in the opposite direction of flow.
i step on the finish line and turn around. the timers looked at me like i was from another planet.
"10 mile. finished." i tell them. they were still looking at me funny.
"so, you finished the... 50k?" the fellow asks me.
"no, the 10 mile."
"then why is your number red?"
boy, that question caught me completely off guard. i thought to myself: "i don't know dude, why the hell is the sky blue?!?" then i looked around. half of all the runners were wearing black numbers, half were wearing red numbers. i looked down; scarlet numbers were affixed to my chest.
"the red numbers are for the 50k. you signed up for the 50k, no?" he asks.
it all hits me like a ton of bricks. i was mistakenly given the wrong number at registration before the race! i look up and to the left, and although i can't see the clearing from where i popped out from when i was on the course, i can see the water tent only 30 yards away from the finish--the water tent where they asked me if i was on my second lap. the tent where, surely, all of the volunteers were instructed to let the red numbers continue on the trail, and tell the black numbers to jump off the trail and run through the grass to the finish line. those volunteers did their job and let me go. i did my job and kept following ribbons.
as a result, i have declared myself the champion of the inaugural prickly pear 12 mile trail run. to the victors go the spoils.
understanding that i was wearing a red number and assuming that the volunteers based their decision on that fact alone, i was still a little puzzled as to how the volunteers let me go as a 50k runner given that (a) i was *flying* through that turn at a pace a full two minutes faster than the eventual winner of the 50k, and (b) i *told* them i was running the 10 mile. oh well... that's trail running. love it or leave it. i was damn exhausted on top of being puzzled about it all, but i didn't really care much to be upset about it. i was covered head-to-toe in mud, i had a blast, i didn't even know that i had a 12-mile race base in me (in wicked conditions to boot), and the post-race beer and fajitas were free flowing. the sun cracked through for the first time that morning and the smell of the grills pierced the air.
in all my years of running i have never participated in a race where there was greater risk of ankle injury, drowning and/or contracting malaria. but hey, you should see the shirt for this year's race... it's pretty sweet.
i had ran this race only one other time, in 2004. that race involved tornado warnings and a disturbingly wet trail course. two years later, it's déjà vu all over again.
[...]
i woke at 6am to allow myself enough time to travel down to san antonio before the 830am start. a quick check of the weather informed me that a massive storm front was moving into san antonio from the west at about the same rate that i would be moving into san antonio from the north. no time was wasted as i conducted final preparations and went out the door for the commute south.
monstrous thunderclouds loomed to my right as i hot-stepped it down I-35. i spent a majority of the drive hoping the front wouldn't pass until i got off the freeway. fortunately, my wish was granted--i roll into the park neighborhood around 745am, needing to only navigate local directions to get to the race.
a simple enough task, no? after about 5 minutes of driving, i sensed that i was off the intended path, and had no hesitation for turning around and going to the nearest gas station for assistance.
that's when the storm front passed. blankets of rain that washed away any concept of visibility and lanes; downpours that caused half of the motorists on the road to simply stop their cars where they were at the moment. damning the torpedoes, i fought my way to two gas stations, where the second station attendant actually knew local directions. in the 5 seconds total that i spent under the open air running from my car to the stations, i was instantly soaked head-to-toe.
it is no small irony that i was lost on a street with the moniker of "wetmore" this particular morning.
i found the park with relative ease upon getting directions, but i arrived at the check-in pavilion at 820am--hardly time to register, let alone warmup. fortunately, the director announced a 15 minute delay to the start moments after i arrived. the time lost on wetmore was recovered. i received my bib and proceeded to prep for the race. i tightend my laces with a minute to go before the start, and assumed the position for the gun. through careful planning, i was able to keep my race shoes and socks dry in the safety of my car, waiting until the very last moment to dry my feet off and don my equipment.
within the first minute of the race, i found myself crossing two waist-high runoffs with unstable footing below, along with dozens of other runners in the shaded woods of mcallister park.
i went out fast the first 2 miles, lest i get trampled in waterlogged stampede. i was wise to back off that pace soon after. for miles 3-5, i found myself running with a fellow by the name of robert, and we played some simple cat-and-mouse. he, in the lead, mistakenly took a wrong turn; i called him back onto the trail. i botched a handoff at an aid station; he, being behind me, grabbed an extra cup and passed it forward.
i say "simple" cat-and-mouse. for the past week, central texas has been hammered storms and downpours. the one-person-wide trails that we were running on have absorbed all this water, making a sheen of 3"-6" of mud on every square inch of the trail. where there wasn't mud, there was loose, fist-sized rocks over which we had to navigate. quite often, your best bet was to bushwhack alongside the trail, through knee-high grass, under shoulder-high branches. turns were present at a frequency of approximately every 50m, making for dicey manuvering. at least the bark on the trees was softened by the storms so that it didn't shred your hand apart when you had to grab a tree to keep balance. it was through these conditions we played cat-and-mouse, all the while following orange ribbons hung from the trees every 50m or so, for the course path wasn't always apparent.
after mile 5, i let robert go and found myself running alone for the rest of the race. the serpentine nature of the course coupled with seriously impeding trail conditions led to the illusion that the mile markers were much further apart than they actually were. i can only estimate that i was running 8-to-9 minute miles with effort that would easily harvest sub-7 miles on the road. all one could do was continue forward and hope that an orange ribbon would be in sight within the next 30 seconds.
running alone in these conditions also offered the illusion that everyone else in the race has gotten lost on the course except me. despite the fact that i was continually seeing ribbons and incrementally increasing mile markers, i had no damn clue where i was and heard no signs of life around me. nonetheless, i was on-track and surged ahead. under the trees it was dimly lit, rank of humidity; heaven help someone who sprains an ankle now.
around mile 8, i began to feel more aggressive, knowing that the finish would be in the next 20 minutes or so. however, some of the most treacherous water crossings would be found in this stage of the race. one open-air crossing was ~75 yards in length, ~4 feet in depth and had dense ~8 foot high vegetation growing throughout. water flowed at a strong shear from right-to-left. if one were to get knocked down by the current and spun around, all orientation would be lost. you just charged through the crossing in the direction you entered it, and put full faith in there being high land and orange ribbons up ahead. somewhere.
another crossing, this one under the cloak of treetops, was of similar length, but varying depths due to all the bases and roots of the surrounding trees. there was little circulation--rather the water had a sense of stagnation, thick layers of leaves and branches floating everywhere. in one instance, a single step took me from secure ankle-high water to a shoulder-high plummet, causing imbalance and disorientation. i crawled out of that crossing, only to find no ribbons in sight. 10 seconds of searching found ribbons just 10 yards off to the right; a few moments of bushwacking and i was back on trail.
upon re-engagement of the trail, i heard steps behind me, much to my alarm. "how in the hell could someone be gaining on me in these conditions?" i thought. i turned to see a pack of eight doe in chase through the woods.
mile 9 found itself on higher ground. knowing the finish was near, i attacked the trail, keeping in mind that every mile has seemed longer than 5280 feet, given the conditions. my pace was hot and i felt dangerous, orange ribbons passing by at a greater frequency. all of a sudden, ahead was posted a sign that simply read "CHOICE" with two arrows, one pointing left and one pointing right. "what the f*ck?!" i audibly exclaimed--i had no clue where i was, and was wholly relying on the ribbons to tell me where to go. i went with my momentum and stayed right. for whatever reason my reaction was as if i were presented with a "lady or tiger" decision--for all i knew it was, given all that this course has thrown at me so far. in hindsight, it was obviously a "six or half dozen" election, which is an absolutely brilliant element inserted by the director. loved it!
soon after, i sensed that i near mile 9.75 and saw a tent up ahead. the trail turned right in front of the tent; five or six ribbons were visible on the trail upon making the turn. i was high gear, sensing i only had a but a few minutes of running ahead of me. note that a 50k race was being held in conjunction with the 10 mile race.
"you're on the second lap of your 50k?" a volunteer exclaims as i turn in front of the tent.
"no! i'm finishing the 10 mile!" i shout back. i heard nothing in reply from the volunteers. i grabbed a cup from the table in full stride and aimed for the ribbons ahead.
something seemed amiss, but i've been surrounded by illusions of time and distance all morning. i charge down the trail for several more minutes, increasing in speed as i go, knowing that i'm getting closer to the finish with each step. soon, i find myself again in waist-high water crossing. waist-high crossing that looked all too familiar. two runners were up ahead.
"THE 10 MILE FINISH IS LIKE, RIGHT UP AHEAD, RIGHT?!" i shout.
two two 50k women look back. "oh no honey, you gotta turn around... it's way back that way!"
my heart was crushed. we spoke and decided my only recourse was to follow ribbons backwards. i had overshot the finish line by almost a mile.
i downshifted and turn around, not knowing exactly what to look for--i hadn't missed a single ribbon for the past hour and a half! my travelling in reverse, i can see through the woods the area where i parked my car. i jump off the trail and find my way through the parking lot, knowing that i could find the finish from here. i throw it back into high gear, flying by traffic, pedestrians. i cut through the pavilion where several runners who have finished are enjoying barbeque and beer. i see the finish line and cross it, in the opposite direction of flow.
i step on the finish line and turn around. the timers looked at me like i was from another planet.
"10 mile. finished." i tell them. they were still looking at me funny.
"so, you finished the... 50k?" the fellow asks me.
"no, the 10 mile."
"then why is your number red?"
boy, that question caught me completely off guard. i thought to myself: "i don't know dude, why the hell is the sky blue?!?" then i looked around. half of all the runners were wearing black numbers, half were wearing red numbers. i looked down; scarlet numbers were affixed to my chest.
"the red numbers are for the 50k. you signed up for the 50k, no?" he asks.
it all hits me like a ton of bricks. i was mistakenly given the wrong number at registration before the race! i look up and to the left, and although i can't see the clearing from where i popped out from when i was on the course, i can see the water tent only 30 yards away from the finish--the water tent where they asked me if i was on my second lap. the tent where, surely, all of the volunteers were instructed to let the red numbers continue on the trail, and tell the black numbers to jump off the trail and run through the grass to the finish line. those volunteers did their job and let me go. i did my job and kept following ribbons.
as a result, i have declared myself the champion of the inaugural prickly pear 12 mile trail run. to the victors go the spoils.
understanding that i was wearing a red number and assuming that the volunteers based their decision on that fact alone, i was still a little puzzled as to how the volunteers let me go as a 50k runner given that (a) i was *flying* through that turn at a pace a full two minutes faster than the eventual winner of the 50k, and (b) i *told* them i was running the 10 mile. oh well... that's trail running. love it or leave it. i was damn exhausted on top of being puzzled about it all, but i didn't really care much to be upset about it. i was covered head-to-toe in mud, i had a blast, i didn't even know that i had a 12-mile race base in me (in wicked conditions to boot), and the post-race beer and fajitas were free flowing. the sun cracked through for the first time that morning and the smell of the grills pierced the air.
in all my years of running i have never participated in a race where there was greater risk of ankle injury, drowning and/or contracting malaria. but hey, you should see the shirt for this year's race... it's pretty sweet.
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