When I did think of it, my primary thought was about the weather. I mean, we're talking Vegas in May. I was anticipating (and not in a good way) it being hot. But other than that, I was confident. I mean, it was a 10k. I've been doing pretty good and I had totally killed it a Big Sur, doing a 9-miler, at the end of April. This should be a piece of cake. So other than being a little concerned about it being hot, since I don't do well in the heat, I figured it would be fine. After all, it was pretty close to where I did the back to back 10ks at Labor of Love the month before and I set a new 10k PR at one of those.
We got to the race start at about 6:30 Saturday morning, to pick up our race bibs and goodies and I still felt awesome. Our friend Shawna, who was running the 100k) and her son Colby (who's 12 and had signed up to run his first 100 mile race that weekend) had headed out on their race at 6 that morning, so we missed seeing them but her husband Brady and 6-year-old daughter, Mimi, were also signed up for the 10k and we got to see them before the race started. I had a great moment because Brady, whom I hadn't seen since BLU in March, didn't even recognize me at first! I loved that. :)
A few minutes before the start, the race director gathered all of the half marathon and 10k runners together to go over instructions for the race. At one point, she said, "It's harder than you think." And this is where the Universe really started laughing at me because I still didn't get it. 7:00 am came and with it the official race start. We all headed off down the road to where the trail actually began. It didn't take long to realize that this was a lot more technical of a trail than I'd been on before. Before Saturday, "technical" was a term I'd heard but I didn't really have a grasp of what it meant. So let me tell you what a "technical trail" or "technical terrain" means. It means that it's loose, uneven, and rocky as all get out. It means that you have to keep your eyes on the trail and your feet so that you can stay on those feet. It means that it's a real challenge. In many cases, it means that you're better off maintaining a fast walking pace because there are times when it's just not safe to run.
It wasn't long before the trail started to climb. The 10k loop has a 660 foot elevation gain, mostly during the first two miles. At just before the two mile mark, you top out at just shy of 5000 feet. To be honest, I thought those first two miles were going to kill me. As I was mentally composing this race report during that part of the race, I was considering the factors that were contributing to what even then I realized was going to be a less than stellar finish time. It was at this point that I realized that while I'd considered the heat factor, I hadn't given a single thought to the elevation or the difficulty of the trail. There was a lot of climbing involved in that first 2 miles of trail. None of it exceptionally steep, really, just a fairly steady journey up. The elevation was making me queasy and I was hoping it wasn't going to be a repeat of last year's ET 10k, where I ended up puking my guts out a little over 5 miles in. I was drinking sparingly of my water, not really to ration it but because more than a sip at a time increased the queasiness factor 10 fold. I was also definitely aware of my breathing during this stretch.
When I finally made it to the top and it was obvious it was as high as I was going to have to go, I was happy to see this trail marker.
I will admit that it cracked me up that it was called Dead Horse Loop. I kind of felt like a dead horse at that point. As you can see, it was at just shy of 5000 feet elevation. I stopped and looked back towards the start, just to see if I could get an idea of how far I'd come.
From this point, the trail headed downhill. Which I typically love. I've been known to say that I wish everything was downhill. After Saturday, I might have to revise my opinion on this. There were portions of downhill here that were extremely steep. Combined with the loose dirt and rocks, you really had to watch how you were stepping on those sections. That being said, I *loved* miles 3 and 4 of this race. As hot as I'd gotten during that first two mile climb, there was a nice breeze going at this point and it wasn't too terribly hot. At this point of the race, my mental race report was focusing on what I really liked about this race. I loved being out there on the trail. I was enjoying the challenge that the technical terrain represented. My pace picked up even though any time I tried to kick it into high gear, I'd end up tripping on a rock. I tripped probably at least 7 or 8 times during the race and feel extremely lucky that I managed not to fall any of those times.
I think it was sometime during miles 3-5 that I realized that I'm happy doing my own race. I don't feel the need to "run" anyone else's race. Yes, I *love* getting PRs - who doesn't? But I'm not trying to impress anyone else with my race time or performance. I realized that I didn't care what anyone else thought about me or how slow or fast I went. I was out there to run *my* race, in my own way, however that meant I got it done. And that realization made me happy. I was pretty much out there by myself at this point. The other 10k walkers were finally far enough ahead of me that I couldn't see them in the distance. Somewhere between mile 3.5 and mile 4, the first half marathoner passed by me. I was pretty happy that I'd made it as far as I had before that happened. I was enjoying being out there by myself, just taking in the rugged desert glory.
Once I got back down and crossed back over the branch, I could see that the trail did, indeed, branch off to the left and if I'd paid attention, I wouldn't have missed the turn because it really was plainly marked. Still, a little extra bonus mileage never hurt anyone. I was just glad to be back on the marked trail, heading in the direction I needed to go. At this point, I kept expecting that I'd hit the aid station that I knew was out there. It seemed reasonable that it would be somewhere around the halfway point or around mile 4 (which was now about mile 5 with the bonus mileage). As I continued following the marked trail, which occasionally seemed to be taking me the opposite direction of where I thought I needed to be going, I began to wonder if I'd somehow missed the aid station. I decided that it was good that I'd been somewhat sparing with my water, in case I had missed it and needed to make it to the end with what I had in my water bottle.
Physically, I had been feeling pretty good up through at least mile 5. My legs felt strong and I was a little surprised that the difficult terrain wasn't bothering my back and knees (both of which had been bothering me the couple of weeks before the race, most likely due to a flare-up of my arthritis). Somewhere between mile 5 and 6, I could feel my legs starting to get a little tired. Normally, I would've had at least one Island Boost in by then but I'd been reluctant to take anything due to the queasiness from the altitude. Island Boost doesn't generally bother my stomach - that's one of the reasons I use it as fuel since I can take it with no stomach or intestinal issues - but I figured that if even water was making me queasy, I'd be better off waiting to take anything until I really needed it. Since I hadn't hit the aid station yet, I decided it was time to go ahead and down one and hope for the best.
For about 10 seconds after I downed it, I wondered if it was a mistake as the queasiness kicked up. But one of the wonderful things about Island Boost is that it gets absorbed into your system and goes to work so fast. This meant that almost before I even had time to realize it had made me slightly queasy, that queasiness had gone away. In less than 5 minutes, my legs were feeling much better and I knew I'd made the right decision. The trail continued and so did I. Eventually, I made it to the aid station where I refilled my bottle with fresh, cold water. I also took the time to re-wet my cooling cloth and put it back on my head, under my hat. It's probably a good thing that I can't actually see myself when I'm out there during a race! By this time, I was ready for the race to be done. I was hot and it felt like I'd been out there on the rocky trails forever.
The remainder of the course was pretty much flat and slightly easier to traverse. When I finally came around to where I could see the finish line, I was happy. During the last couple of miles, I struggled with trying to keep my mental race report positive. This is the point where I realized that one of the things I really liked about this race was the real sense of accomplishment I was going to have for having finished it. It is definitely the toughest 10k course I have encountered and stepping up to that challenge and finishing brings a sense of accomplishment that finishing a flat, easy, and fast 10k course just doesn't have.
I'm pretty sure this race is officially my slowest 10k time ever. I don't know what my official finishing time was but my Garmin tells me it took me something like 3:35 to finish. And you know what? I will gladly take that. Because I finished. I went out there and challenged myself with a course that was tougher than anything I've encountered before. And I conquered it. In spite of the heat. In spite of the elevation. In spite of the technical terrain. The very things that made this race so challenging are the things that I appreciate the most about it. Would I do this race again, now that I know what it's like and what's involved? That's an unequivacable yes. I definitely would. But next time I'd have a better idea of what I was getting into and be better prepared for it.
This was actually one of the wider, more level and easier sections of trail. Somehow, on the narrower, more difficult sections, I must have been too focused on staying on my feet to bother taking a picture. :)
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