I'm not sure where to begin with this race. So much happened in the span of twenty-four hours, and so much of it was simply amazing. It will take me quite a bit of time to absorb it all.
With an extra two or three hours of driving to get to Rocksprings this year than last, I decided to get on the road earlier. I didn't want to feel rushed, plus I wanted to visit with friends and get a better night's rest. After a brief pit stop in Austin for some grub, I hightailed it west. Besides the fact of getting to Camp Eagle before sundown, I am glad I got on the road around midday so I could appreciate the startling beauty of the Texas Hill Country. It has been so long since I've been deep in the heart of it; the visit simply was refreshing.
My excitement began to set in as I neared Camp Eagle. This was only my third year out there, but the stretch of Highway 41 to Hackberry Road is one stretch I know like the back of my hand. It took me to my first amazing trail running experience in 2011, to a humbling and exhilarating 50K last year, and now to the unknown this year. After the eight mile dirt road crawled into the camp ground, I felt at peace and at home. No anxiety for the miles ahead of me tomorrow; simply contentment.
I swaggered into packet pickup in full business attire: lavender dress, long black coat, tights, and black pumps. I was mistaken for the wife of one of the many runners and it took a bit to get someone's attention and convince them that, yes, I was running in tomorrow's race. Understandable considering my get up...
I finally was able to head to the cabin, where I would reunited with my closest running buddies. I literally stumbled in to the cabin, loaded with bags, blankets, and bags of soda. There they were: Brenda, January, Manny, Diana, and a few who I came to know much better this weekend over a few miles. I instantly felt at ease, knowing I was where I needed to be.
After a quick change into normal clothes (i.e., sweats and a t-shirt), I walked to the mess hall to catch up and feel the pre-race buzz. We spent the rest of the evening talking about good and bad, funny and sad, gossip and fact. It was perfectly comforting and I was so glad my day had allowed me to get to camp in time to do so. By the time my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.
Five a.m. came accordingly, though nosily, and I began my pre-race rituals. Crack! Fizz! Sizzle! First Diet Dr. Pepper of the day for the first jolt of energy. I began to fold my blankets and organize my race bag for quick access at the start-finish split after the first loop. Lara bars in one pocket, change of shoes and socks in the other, and my IT band strap front and center. Crack! Fizz! Sizzle! Second Diet Dr. Pepper of the morning as gun time neared. As the sleepiness began to dissipate from the room in anticipation of the day, we all began to make our final arrangements and took the deep breathe to prepare for the deep plunge in the cold morning air.
I'd made the decision to wear my Texas flag shorts, in honor of Texas Independence Day, in spite of the cold start. I figured I'd be out there for quite some time and knew this course is wont to heat up rather early in the morning. I also knew my legs were the least likely to be uncomfortable due to cold. Two layers of long sleeves and a pair of gloves would take care of the rest. As Leah and I neared the start, the butterflies fluttered and my legs began to twitch with excitement. Here I was, two years after my first trail race, ready to hit the trails most familiar to my legs and memory. There was no unknown this time around: I know this trail better than my route to work in the morning, and I know how to tackle it twice in one day. My only thought? "Let's do this."
I began the race with a smile on my face, which stayed there nearly the entire time. Quite frankly, the entire race was rather unremarkable. My legs simply kept going. They only tired late in the second loop. The first aid station always is late on the uptake in this race, at least by my experience. It seems to take much too long to arrive, but it didn't feel quite that way today. Regardless, I felt good, fresh, and energized, so I blew through it and on to tackle the climbs of the middle portion of the loop. I was anxious for the long, long downhill at the top of a gentle, rocky climb. That's where I wanted to open up the running for real, and I wanted to vindicate the small "loop" just before the drop down in to the Wall aid station.
This was the only portion of last year's race where I felt I actually had not given the course all that I had to offer. It is where I walked unnecessarily, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I vowed to vindicate that feeling today. It wasn't difficult; I was feeling great and breezed through the trial and down into the Wall. Again, I felt great, energized, and didn't want to lose my pace or rhythm. I breezed through the Wall toward my favorite portion of the race, which takes me along the riverbed, both on the riverbed, as well as along cliffs above the riverbed. It's absolutely stunning and this year, as with last, I was jazzed to know I'd get to run it a second time in the same day.
After trotting through the woods and winding riverbed, I turned and saw the dreaded Gorilla Climb: a one mile hike up, with nothing but rocks and cactus as footing, and no cover from the sun whatsoever. Somehow, however, the top of the climb came faster than a snap of the fingers, and off I went to find the last two rolling hills before the final aid station and the start-finish. The running was cool and easy, and I didn't let up once. Soon enough, I was running past the final aid station and toward the finish. Again, nothing remarkable. Nothing remarkable except for the ease of the running itself, that is.
At the start-finish, I was cheered on by my friends: Brenda, Manny, January, Marcia, and I'm sure a few more. As I heard them cheer my name, I was renewed with more energy and inspiration to kick it on the second loop as I did on the first. I grabbed a snack, some more Diet Dr. Pepper, and headed out for Round 2.
I recalled the second loop from last year, remembering how warm it became and how my energy quickly plummeted. I was waiting for that to come around this year, but I didn't actively wait for it. In the meantime, I simply kept running. My rule had become, "If the terrain is runnable, I'm running. It will hurt no matter whether I run or walk, so might as well run!" Thankfully, the fall in energy and motivation never made its way to me.
During the first five or so miles of the second loop, I realized someone had fallen in step behind me. I could sense a lack of urgency to pass me, so my next thought was that they had fallen in behind me and were following my pace purposefully. This tends to make me nervous, because it makes me less likely to slow down or walk when I need to do so. Sure enough, after a few minutes, he called out that I was pulling him along to the first aid station. "Crap," I thought. We started chatting and I learned this was his first 50K. My take on the circumstance immediately changed: I'm always excited to hear about a race being a person's first, whether 5K or 50 miler. The revelation rejuvenated me and I hoped we would finish together so I could witness that moment myself.
Suddenly, though not as quickly as on the first loop, we were upon the first aid station. We had such a great clip going that neither of us slowed down. We blew right through the aid station to tackle the woods and climbs of the middle section. The sooner we made it through the brush, the sooner we would be on the long downhill and into the Wall. I did, however, make a point to slow down long enough to point out to him, Scott, that only a midweek long run stood between him and his first ultra finish.
This, again, was the portion of the course I wanted to dominate, vindicating my perceived short fall from last year. At this point, it became clear that this race was remarkable in how unremarkable it had been. No pains, twists, falls, stumbles, mental low points, unnecessary walking...nothing to hang my head in shame about...what on earth was going on, here?
I ambled into the Wall and decided on some water and a few orange slices. I quickly downed those and high tailed it toward the Gorilla Climb. By this point, my feet were started to pound and swell. My quads were screaming at me. In spite of all the pain, I kept moving, simple as that, and happily. Not once did I resent the running, which isn't necessarily uncommon on the longer races. The running was just perfect and as the miles added up, I was enjoying the next mile more than the last. It simply was incredible and striking!
The Gorilla Climb felt longer the second time around, but I kept my eye on the folks in front of me and kept climbing. The sunshine was a bit warmer, but it was also rejuvenating when paired with the perfect late winter breeze. Finally, I saw the red "WRONG WAY" sign that signaled the turn off from the fence line and the last two or three climbs of the course.
My pace had slowed considerably, but I kept running. My excitement was getting the better of me as I felt the 50K of a lifetime coming to a finish. I was afraid my excitement was too early and I wouldn't be able to pace it out to the finish with the same energy. Regardless, I kept moving. I played cat and mouse with a few other runners, but we all came into the final aid station around the same time. As per tradition, I joked with the volunteers about the day and how I'd see them later, "I mean next year!" Humor is relative after twenty nine miles...
With less than two miles to go, I decided to take a calculated risk. I'd checked my watch only once during the race and the question was whether to check it one more time before getting down to the finish. Scott, the tag-along runner from earlier, and I had decided to run for a sub-six hour finish. Would I make it? With only fifteen minutes or so until I crossed the finish line, my patience wore out and I decided to see just how much time I'd either (1) gone over six hours already or (2) how much time I had to make it to the finish to reach my goal. The answer? Twenty one minutes left in the bank. It was interesting, this was better than caffeine, or a gel, or electrolytes to get me to pick up the pace. Certainly, my ankles howled and my feet were screaming, but I was almost there. I didn't see Scott behind me anymore, but I kept going.
I ambled down a few hills, across the small field leading down to the final stretch, and through the first creek crossing. Suddenly, I was on top of a shrub. I seem to recall flipping over in some fashion, scratching up my legs on thorns and getting stabbed in the thigh by an unyielding branch. I still am not sure where the shrub came from, but after a few sharp expletives, it was on its way to a mere memory.
As I began crossing the creek for the second and final time, I heard Scott call out to me. I was so excited, because I knew we were about to finish at our goal time. I was so happy for him to meet his goal during a great, though grueling, 50K race. As we laughed, smiled, and made strange noises on our way to the finish, it all set in for me. The tears began to form, and the pace began to quicken. I didn't experience the same all out sprint I have in the past, perhaps due to the aggression I showed over the course of the entire race, but I was still moving. I didn't dare look at my watch. Rather, I quickly turned to see the clock and saw I was at least four or five minutes under six hours. My first year at Nueces, I ran the 25K in over four hours. My second year at Nueces, I ran the 50K in around 6:30 or so. And this year? This year I ran the 50K in under 6:00. Where did all of this come from? I couldn't say but my heart was glad.
My disbelief multiplied as a trophy was thrust into my hand: fifth female finisher for the 50K. I still cannot comprehend this particular part of the day and unfortunately, I really can't speak to it. I simply don't know how to do so. At bottom of the disbelief is the fact that I never have placed in a competitive individual sport. The only other trophy I has says "DFL" on it for Hell's Hills 50K (2011), "DFL" standing for "dead f*cking last." I don't know how to process this fifth place finish; maybe I will be able to at a later date. All I know is I am flabbergasted and extremely proud of myself. At the same time, I don't know what, exactly, I did to get that trophy, so I'm not sure what I'm proud of? The process of getting to race day with the wherewithal to make that happen? The race itself? The problem is, I never go out to a race with the idea of placing in any capacity, even in my age group. The idea never has seriously crossed my mind. We'll see how the fact sits with me over the next few days and perhaps I'll have more to say. For now: wow.
This weekend was incredible. It was filled with amazing time spent with some of my closest friends, inspiring miles with friends new and old, a striking finish in under six hours, and my first trophy. The drive back to Houston wasn't enough time to take it all in, in fact. At the end of the day, my love for this race simply deepened and was affirmed. This race is life changing and I will be back for as long as I can run.
Nueces 50K
Rocksprings, Texas
5:55:18 (unofficial)
Fifth Place Female Finisher
With an extra two or three hours of driving to get to Rocksprings this year than last, I decided to get on the road earlier. I didn't want to feel rushed, plus I wanted to visit with friends and get a better night's rest. After a brief pit stop in Austin for some grub, I hightailed it west. Besides the fact of getting to Camp Eagle before sundown, I am glad I got on the road around midday so I could appreciate the startling beauty of the Texas Hill Country. It has been so long since I've been deep in the heart of it; the visit simply was refreshing.
My excitement began to set in as I neared Camp Eagle. This was only my third year out there, but the stretch of Highway 41 to Hackberry Road is one stretch I know like the back of my hand. It took me to my first amazing trail running experience in 2011, to a humbling and exhilarating 50K last year, and now to the unknown this year. After the eight mile dirt road crawled into the camp ground, I felt at peace and at home. No anxiety for the miles ahead of me tomorrow; simply contentment.
I swaggered into packet pickup in full business attire: lavender dress, long black coat, tights, and black pumps. I was mistaken for the wife of one of the many runners and it took a bit to get someone's attention and convince them that, yes, I was running in tomorrow's race. Understandable considering my get up...
I finally was able to head to the cabin, where I would reunited with my closest running buddies. I literally stumbled in to the cabin, loaded with bags, blankets, and bags of soda. There they were: Brenda, January, Manny, Diana, and a few who I came to know much better this weekend over a few miles. I instantly felt at ease, knowing I was where I needed to be.
After a quick change into normal clothes (i.e., sweats and a t-shirt), I walked to the mess hall to catch up and feel the pre-race buzz. We spent the rest of the evening talking about good and bad, funny and sad, gossip and fact. It was perfectly comforting and I was so glad my day had allowed me to get to camp in time to do so. By the time my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.
Five a.m. came accordingly, though nosily, and I began my pre-race rituals. Crack! Fizz! Sizzle! First Diet Dr. Pepper of the day for the first jolt of energy. I began to fold my blankets and organize my race bag for quick access at the start-finish split after the first loop. Lara bars in one pocket, change of shoes and socks in the other, and my IT band strap front and center. Crack! Fizz! Sizzle! Second Diet Dr. Pepper of the morning as gun time neared. As the sleepiness began to dissipate from the room in anticipation of the day, we all began to make our final arrangements and took the deep breathe to prepare for the deep plunge in the cold morning air.
I'd made the decision to wear my Texas flag shorts, in honor of Texas Independence Day, in spite of the cold start. I figured I'd be out there for quite some time and knew this course is wont to heat up rather early in the morning. I also knew my legs were the least likely to be uncomfortable due to cold. Two layers of long sleeves and a pair of gloves would take care of the rest. As Leah and I neared the start, the butterflies fluttered and my legs began to twitch with excitement. Here I was, two years after my first trail race, ready to hit the trails most familiar to my legs and memory. There was no unknown this time around: I know this trail better than my route to work in the morning, and I know how to tackle it twice in one day. My only thought? "Let's do this."
I began the race with a smile on my face, which stayed there nearly the entire time. Quite frankly, the entire race was rather unremarkable. My legs simply kept going. They only tired late in the second loop. The first aid station always is late on the uptake in this race, at least by my experience. It seems to take much too long to arrive, but it didn't feel quite that way today. Regardless, I felt good, fresh, and energized, so I blew through it and on to tackle the climbs of the middle portion of the loop. I was anxious for the long, long downhill at the top of a gentle, rocky climb. That's where I wanted to open up the running for real, and I wanted to vindicate the small "loop" just before the drop down in to the Wall aid station.
This was the only portion of last year's race where I felt I actually had not given the course all that I had to offer. It is where I walked unnecessarily, and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I vowed to vindicate that feeling today. It wasn't difficult; I was feeling great and breezed through the trial and down into the Wall. Again, I felt great, energized, and didn't want to lose my pace or rhythm. I breezed through the Wall toward my favorite portion of the race, which takes me along the riverbed, both on the riverbed, as well as along cliffs above the riverbed. It's absolutely stunning and this year, as with last, I was jazzed to know I'd get to run it a second time in the same day.
After trotting through the woods and winding riverbed, I turned and saw the dreaded Gorilla Climb: a one mile hike up, with nothing but rocks and cactus as footing, and no cover from the sun whatsoever. Somehow, however, the top of the climb came faster than a snap of the fingers, and off I went to find the last two rolling hills before the final aid station and the start-finish. The running was cool and easy, and I didn't let up once. Soon enough, I was running past the final aid station and toward the finish. Again, nothing remarkable. Nothing remarkable except for the ease of the running itself, that is.
At the start-finish, I was cheered on by my friends: Brenda, Manny, January, Marcia, and I'm sure a few more. As I heard them cheer my name, I was renewed with more energy and inspiration to kick it on the second loop as I did on the first. I grabbed a snack, some more Diet Dr. Pepper, and headed out for Round 2.
I recalled the second loop from last year, remembering how warm it became and how my energy quickly plummeted. I was waiting for that to come around this year, but I didn't actively wait for it. In the meantime, I simply kept running. My rule had become, "If the terrain is runnable, I'm running. It will hurt no matter whether I run or walk, so might as well run!" Thankfully, the fall in energy and motivation never made its way to me.
During the first five or so miles of the second loop, I realized someone had fallen in step behind me. I could sense a lack of urgency to pass me, so my next thought was that they had fallen in behind me and were following my pace purposefully. This tends to make me nervous, because it makes me less likely to slow down or walk when I need to do so. Sure enough, after a few minutes, he called out that I was pulling him along to the first aid station. "Crap," I thought. We started chatting and I learned this was his first 50K. My take on the circumstance immediately changed: I'm always excited to hear about a race being a person's first, whether 5K or 50 miler. The revelation rejuvenated me and I hoped we would finish together so I could witness that moment myself.
Suddenly, though not as quickly as on the first loop, we were upon the first aid station. We had such a great clip going that neither of us slowed down. We blew right through the aid station to tackle the woods and climbs of the middle section. The sooner we made it through the brush, the sooner we would be on the long downhill and into the Wall. I did, however, make a point to slow down long enough to point out to him, Scott, that only a midweek long run stood between him and his first ultra finish.
This, again, was the portion of the course I wanted to dominate, vindicating my perceived short fall from last year. At this point, it became clear that this race was remarkable in how unremarkable it had been. No pains, twists, falls, stumbles, mental low points, unnecessary walking...nothing to hang my head in shame about...what on earth was going on, here?
I ambled into the Wall and decided on some water and a few orange slices. I quickly downed those and high tailed it toward the Gorilla Climb. By this point, my feet were started to pound and swell. My quads were screaming at me. In spite of all the pain, I kept moving, simple as that, and happily. Not once did I resent the running, which isn't necessarily uncommon on the longer races. The running was just perfect and as the miles added up, I was enjoying the next mile more than the last. It simply was incredible and striking!
The Gorilla Climb felt longer the second time around, but I kept my eye on the folks in front of me and kept climbing. The sunshine was a bit warmer, but it was also rejuvenating when paired with the perfect late winter breeze. Finally, I saw the red "WRONG WAY" sign that signaled the turn off from the fence line and the last two or three climbs of the course.
My pace had slowed considerably, but I kept running. My excitement was getting the better of me as I felt the 50K of a lifetime coming to a finish. I was afraid my excitement was too early and I wouldn't be able to pace it out to the finish with the same energy. Regardless, I kept moving. I played cat and mouse with a few other runners, but we all came into the final aid station around the same time. As per tradition, I joked with the volunteers about the day and how I'd see them later, "I mean next year!" Humor is relative after twenty nine miles...
With less than two miles to go, I decided to take a calculated risk. I'd checked my watch only once during the race and the question was whether to check it one more time before getting down to the finish. Scott, the tag-along runner from earlier, and I had decided to run for a sub-six hour finish. Would I make it? With only fifteen minutes or so until I crossed the finish line, my patience wore out and I decided to see just how much time I'd either (1) gone over six hours already or (2) how much time I had to make it to the finish to reach my goal. The answer? Twenty one minutes left in the bank. It was interesting, this was better than caffeine, or a gel, or electrolytes to get me to pick up the pace. Certainly, my ankles howled and my feet were screaming, but I was almost there. I didn't see Scott behind me anymore, but I kept going.
I ambled down a few hills, across the small field leading down to the final stretch, and through the first creek crossing. Suddenly, I was on top of a shrub. I seem to recall flipping over in some fashion, scratching up my legs on thorns and getting stabbed in the thigh by an unyielding branch. I still am not sure where the shrub came from, but after a few sharp expletives, it was on its way to a mere memory.
As I began crossing the creek for the second and final time, I heard Scott call out to me. I was so excited, because I knew we were about to finish at our goal time. I was so happy for him to meet his goal during a great, though grueling, 50K race. As we laughed, smiled, and made strange noises on our way to the finish, it all set in for me. The tears began to form, and the pace began to quicken. I didn't experience the same all out sprint I have in the past, perhaps due to the aggression I showed over the course of the entire race, but I was still moving. I didn't dare look at my watch. Rather, I quickly turned to see the clock and saw I was at least four or five minutes under six hours. My first year at Nueces, I ran the 25K in over four hours. My second year at Nueces, I ran the 50K in around 6:30 or so. And this year? This year I ran the 50K in under 6:00. Where did all of this come from? I couldn't say but my heart was glad.
My disbelief multiplied as a trophy was thrust into my hand: fifth female finisher for the 50K. I still cannot comprehend this particular part of the day and unfortunately, I really can't speak to it. I simply don't know how to do so. At bottom of the disbelief is the fact that I never have placed in a competitive individual sport. The only other trophy I has says "DFL" on it for Hell's Hills 50K (2011), "DFL" standing for "dead f*cking last." I don't know how to process this fifth place finish; maybe I will be able to at a later date. All I know is I am flabbergasted and extremely proud of myself. At the same time, I don't know what, exactly, I did to get that trophy, so I'm not sure what I'm proud of? The process of getting to race day with the wherewithal to make that happen? The race itself? The problem is, I never go out to a race with the idea of placing in any capacity, even in my age group. The idea never has seriously crossed my mind. We'll see how the fact sits with me over the next few days and perhaps I'll have more to say. For now: wow.
This weekend was incredible. It was filled with amazing time spent with some of my closest friends, inspiring miles with friends new and old, a striking finish in under six hours, and my first trophy. The drive back to Houston wasn't enough time to take it all in, in fact. At the end of the day, my love for this race simply deepened and was affirmed. This race is life changing and I will be back for as long as I can run.
Nueces 50K
Rocksprings, Texas
5:55:18 (unofficial)
Fifth Place Female Finisher
