Lack Of Water: The Bangs Canyon 60K/30K Trail Run

Shelter is a place
That I would like to behold
Better get to getting
Before I get old 

The Bangs Canyon Trail Run, Fatass, whatever you like to call it, is an old tradition that was off for a few years locally. Then, Kevin Koch picked up race directing for it a few years ago, and a great post-New Year's tradition was back. This first year he threw it, I wasn't there, but it sounded like fun. As I mentioned in last year's recap of this race, a Fatass, in trail running terms, is a very low-key, no-frills longer trail race, commonly held just after the start of a new year. But, Kevin's version is definitely a some-frills variety. He marks the course the day before, provides you with a trail map, and brings out a fire pit, beer, and snacks to the Bangs Canyon parking lot. This year, our friend Ray was also bringing a tent up so if runners chose, their kids could come along and play. I did a decent job at this last year, finishing around 3:57. I didn't anticipate breaking four hours then, so I was pretty stoked about that. This year, I figured with my increased volume and better trail feet, I'd turn in an even faster time.

Since the new year, I've been running, but haven't really run longer than about 12 miles in the past few weeks. My fitness seemed good, though, and there's a lot of hiking on the second half of the 30K loop, so I figured, hey. I'm golden for a good power hike. I slept fairly late that morning, ran into Angela and Kristin at the nearby Albertsons parking lot where I'd just bought some bananas, and headed up Little Park Road to Bangs Canyon. There are multiple trailheads off this road, and we climbed and twisted up the road for about ten minutes before arriving at the Bangs parking lot. It's been bitterly cold lately, and today was no exception. Still, the sun was out and looked like it would be a good day for a run. The lot was covered in snow, and I knew the trail would be as well.

The other big thing that happened recently is that I registered for the Leadville Trail 100. It's in seven months, which gives me plenty of time to build my mileage base steadily but gradually. When Kevin saw me walking up, he said "Here's our first 60K entrant!" I laughed it off. Nope, not ready for that today. I'd been in kind of a hurry getting out the door and did not grab gels or food for the run. I didn't really think I'd need them; the year prior I didn't have a ton of water, and had maybe a gel and was fine. I figured I should probably have a banana, though, and shoveled one down.

 I got my pack ready, and a lot of the usual suspects started arriving. While this is officially a 30K and 60K, Kevin records times for whomever shows up, at whatever distance they run. Hence, it's a "the more the merrier" vibe with some newer or shorter distance running folks coming out who might not otherwise be there, planning on everything from 6 miles up to about 16 miles, the distance covered if one runs all the way down to the river's edge at the bottom of the loop, and then runs back up the same way they came.

Everyone was pretty darn chilly, so we were excited to get the group photo taken and get this sucker underway. I had my Nathan pack about 2/3 full, which seemed just about right for a run under four hours.

Then, we grouped up together (I'm not sure you'd say we "lined up"...it's early, people), and Kevin sent us on our way. 

On the way down the hill, there was a lot of chatter, and I felt pretty good. I was by myself some of the time, but also talked to folks along the way whenever we passed one another. All the snow had kind of evened things out. I'm stronger on downhills than uphills, and I felt like i was mostly flowing down the trail, but did have some slips and slides in the snow. Keith (she's a chick) caught up and passed me a few miles in. My friend Jen from Delta also caught up and moved past. We said howdy before she moved along. 

I was just behind neighbor Bryan, dropping further back on climbs, and usually catching almost all the way back up to him on downhills. And Marty, who wasn't even sure if he was running down to the river or all the way around, had decided to run with a 40-lb pack with sand tubes inside it (a sandbagger, literally), and fun-photo-run until he decided not to run. I leapfrogged him a number of times as he stopped for pics.

Lack of water
Got to free yourself
Maybe I'm to blame
But it's not too far to see

Getting all the way down to the river, I was feeling warmed up, and now I was thirsty. I realized I had not had a single sip of water all the way down; I just hadn't felt thirsty. Now, I was sweating, and had some serious hairsicles. Whoops. That was sort of a dumbass move to not drink for eight miles. I went to sip on the end of the line to my pack, and-nothing. I tried again. Nothing. Well, shit. While water was sloshing around in my pack, the line was frozen. This might be a problem.

As I moved along the river, I made one brief wrong turn but immediately corrected myself, running into Shannon and Marty when I found my way back to the trail. I said "my line's frozen." Marty said here, take this, offering a handheld about 1/3 full of Perpetuem. Don't you need that, I asked? Nah, I have another, he said. I didn't give it a second thought in accepting the bottle, then, knowing he had another. He's so damn fast and strong I figured he'd probably pick up the pace shortly and haul buns in to the finish. We leapfrogged once more (we think maybe I took an accidental parallel turn), and then they were gone. I had guzzled the Perpetuem and felt like crap now trying to slog uphill in the snow. I was super thirsty and started scooping up handfuls of snow and sucked on that as I hiked up.

Somewhere along the way, I had what could best be described as a series of unpleasant texts that further soured how I was feeling. I tried to block that out of my mind, and kept moving, but there was no denying that I felt like shit. It was beautiful out, though, so I tried to focus my energy on that, and not feeling terrible. At one point, I turned around, and was surprised to see that John was back there. When he eventually reached me, he said he was self-appointed sweeper for the day, and started moving along with me, saying it would suck to do this hard by myself. He was right, and I was glad he was there. He helped me get some water poured out of my pack into the handheld, and I immediately guzzled that, filling it back up right away. He also had some gels on hand, which I happily scarfed down when he offered them. All the while, I felt kind of like a dumbass. I should know better than to be out here with no calories to consume. Even the rest of the bunch of bananas would've been something. I'd left them in the car, though. I hadn't expected to get this worn out or dehydrated on such a cold day.

Continuing along, I realized I would come nowhere close to my 3:57 finish last year. John trotted ahead for awhile, but he'd drawn some funny pictures in the snow and written words here and there with his trekking poles, which was rather amusing and kept me focused. Finally, we hit the high point, and the trail started meandering downhill. Thank you! Finally! I felt marginally better, but still like crap. The downhill helped, though, to not blow all that was left of my energy.

I followed John all the way down before the trail starts climbing again, where we ran into his wife, Julie. PHEW! I was starting to worry, she said to John. He said nah, I'm fine, just appointed myself sweeper and taking it easy. I told Julie I was lucky he did, because he really pushed me along there for awhile, and bailed me out on water and gels. She mentioned that she had just given Marty some water, and that he wasn't looking good, either. Wait, what? I was not expecting to hear that the guy who ran three hundred-milers last fall, and wins almost everything he enters, was still on the course, let alone in bad shape. I figured he was likely done by now, though, with just a mile of uphill left. John and Julie went down the trail a bit to hang out and hike and I continued on uphill. Not too far ahead, I was totally surprised to completely catch up to Marty, who was alternately hunching over, and walking very, very slowly. 

The first thing he said when I caught up was "Do you have any food?" No, I said. But, I have a full handheld of water. Here, I said, passing it over. He took a good swig but then asked me to take it back and hold it for him. Wow, he was in really bad shape. We kept crawling slowly up the canyon and I was glad we were almost done. I kept offering the water since I wasn't sure he'd remember to ask for it. Every once in awhile he'd stop, but did keep moving. When we got to about half a mile from the finish, I asked where his stuff was in his car so I could trot on ahead, and have his food waiting at the campfire, and brought the handheld with me to run back down. He'd guzzled it. I came up the hill, Kevin saw me, got up, and took a picture after I'd finished. Last year, 3:57. This year, a sucktastic 5:03. But hey. I made a bunch of dumbass mistakes and was done. He cracked "just one more lap to go!" I think you can tell by the look of this that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I was getting out there again.

From there, though, I didn't sit down right away, running over to grab Marty's stuff, and handing Bryan the empty handheld which he then filled and ran back down to him. I grabbed a few bananas from his bag and ran back down the trail. He was moving really slowly, but despite that, didn't want to take off the pack. He scarfed the bananas, and made a couple of not-fit-for-print comments about his hunger level. Sense of humor was still intact, though, and we all walked up the hill and on in to the finish. I am pretty sure that was a first for him-a legitimate dead last finish. He'd made more or less the same dumbass mistake I had, but on a grander scale with the pack, and the running back and forth, adding extra distance to his run, at "normal people" speed and not fast guy speed.

Recharging by the fire, I scarfed down some of Ray's most awesome beans, and watched my youngest playing with some of the other kids in the snow. By the time I got on dry clothes, and had eaten plenty of food, I was feeling far more human. My middle daughter Kaia also arrived, which was great.

After the race, I was sort of dumbfounded as to how someone like me, who should know WAY better, managed to get herself dehydrated in this race. Other people said this was a hard day for them, too-that they worked harder and drank more than expected. Thinking back to the conditions the year prior, it had been warmer, overcast, and just a few patches of snow on the trail here and there. With the low temperatures, sun, and snow all the way through, i guess we were just expending a lot more energy. And, thus, needed to be taking in even more calories and water. To be fair, I'd skimped a bit last year on that, and really just got lucky because of the conditions.

On the upside of things, I got myself a good learning experience. And, it was on a day when really nothing was at stake. I thanked my lucky stars that John had been out there to help me along; it would've been worse had he not decided to have a trail enjoyment stroll. And, I can say thank goodness there's seven months until Leadville; I have a great deal of work to do between now and then. Until then, I will keep training, increasing the miles, and trusting the process along the way.

*******

***Most local friends know by now, but there was tragic accident that took place on the Grand Mesa at the County Line cross country ski trailhead parking lot on the same day and during the timeframe of our Bangs Canyon run. This accident claimed the lives of Julie's parents/John's in-laws, who were up there to enjoy a cross country ski, where many of us also enjoy skiing and snowshoeing. Please keep their family in your thoughts, and if you're the praying type, please send them prayers as they deal with their loss and grief. Live and love each day to the fullest, and hold close those who matter most in your life.***

Oh, The Places You'll Go: The Year That Was.

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

Last fall, I ventured out with my kids to a Dr. Seuss bonfire, hosted by running friends Mike and Julie at their place in Olathe, about an hour from my home. Kaia and Carter had a great time reading the books they'd brought along with all the adults listening attentively. The highlight of the night, though, was Mike reading "Oh, The Places You'll Go," giving note to the uninitiated that the book sort of has cult status in ultra running circles.  With the fire pit sparking and warming us, we were treated to the coolest reading of a night full of cool Dr. Seuss readings. If one did not understand why another might find deep satisfaction in this pursuit, I think Mike cleared it up pretty well that night.

 As 2012 played itself out, my running organically evolved into my first real foray into ultra running, and with it, the limits I'd placed on myself fell one by one. And it seems only fitting that I recall the things I saw, places I went, people I met, and all other great experiences via this great piece of children's literature.

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own.  And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.

 You're lighter if you leave the chains, buffalo pelts, and other such accoutrements at your vehicle. And if you want to be the only dude who runs 30 miles, well, there will be folks who are happy to drink beer, warm up by the fire, and wait for you at the finish while you steer yourself along on the trails. 

Run your own race, at your pace. It'll carry you all the way through 34 miles, whether it's a first-time ultra finish, or a dark horse win. 

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

When a kickass outdoor and sports photographer calls for trail runners to shoot, you put your name in the hat. You just do. Even if you have no idea what you're doing. At a minimum, you get a cool experience, some great photos, and a bit of money. And, sometimes really cool things happen, like that kickass photographer gets a picture of your friend during the shoot that winds up on a magazine cover. And, let's be honest. It's fun to get to play the the superhero version of yourself, if only in photographs.

And if you meet someone at a race with whom you become friendly, and eventually she says "Hey, would you like to be sponsored by a hat company I represent?" You say yes. Especially when the hats are awesome, and it's owned, operated and marketed by some fabulous outdoorsy women stateside. (Thank you Paige, Kim, and WizBang!)

Then, you'll find yourself in Boulder for the annual 10K there. Your two younger kids come along too, and you stay in a house with a bunch of your friends also running the race. And it just so happens that the place randomly found on Craigslist is owned by an Olympian. A marathon runner. This is cool. But then she stops by to say hello to everybody and introduce herself. Then, out of the bright fabric purse/bag she's carrying, she pulls an Olympic bronze medal and asks if folks would like to see it. You can't get that thing off your son's neck.

(Lorraine Moller, a 4-time Olympian for New Zealand, winner of the '84 Boston Marathon, and bronze medalist at the Barcelona Olympics. She is the mom to a 10-year-old daughter, and is still involved in the sport as a running coach.)

And when things start to happen,
don't worry.  Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.

50 miles is a long way in the brain if you've never run it before. But just keep logging the training miles, and if you're local, run that course every weekend if possible. Practice your nutrition, consider all the what-ifs. You might be one of the last ones out there, but you'll still be out there, happening. One of 29 men and 5 women who were happening in the blistering heat. And you might just have some support from some pretty awesome friends who knew what a big deal this was to you.

You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

So there's a little race in California called the Western States 100. It used to be on horseback only. Then this guy named Gordy had a horse go lame in the race, so he finished it on foot. And thus, ultra running as we know it was born. Fast forward...your friend the immigration attorney in New Hampshire has a few pacing and crewing opportunities available to you, and some other solid runners, with a couple of the best female ultrarunners in the world. You say yes to the chance and road trip west, catching views of the starriest skies you've ever seen in the middle of nowhere, Nevada. Then the incredibly blue waters of Lake Tahoe. Then you get to Squaw Valley, meet incredible athletes from all over the world, and work to help them realize their goals on little to no sleep. And it's amazing. Some succeed, while others are unsuccessful. You start to understand the "why" of the sport. 

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted.  But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out?  Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

Then, with that experience complete, you are excited to do it again. When friends need help in Silverton, in Leadville, and in Steamboat, you go. There's a hellfire-and-brimstone thunderstorm at one. You and your runner consider whether you'd rather die by hypothermia or lightning strike. Your runner lays down and threatens to quit at another. And at a third, your runner is trucking along fine except when he gets lost, and is trying to not succumb to the warm fire that claimed many an overnight runner who just wanted to get a bit warm only to not start again. You're so comfortable now with crewing that you're that girl in the sleeping bag in the bushes, comfortably sleeping away until your runner gets there. And you're never quite in a deep sleep because you know your runner is probably coming in to the aid station soon.

At two of these races, you see a local finish who has won in Leadville, and in Silverton. He ran with you and your friend while training for your second and her first ultra, and never, ever made you feel like a noobish loser. Rather, he was happy to have company on the run, and if you asked for advice, yeah, he'd share. But you'd never guess what a rock star he was. Oh, and he's finished Leadville and Hardrock 18 times apiece. No bigs.

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored.  there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame!  You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

And you become aware of The Tony. And decide you liked The Tony. Not in a creepy, stalkerish way, or anything. You simply admire his running. Your friends start thinking The Tony thing is funny so they tackle him and get you a picture with him in Leadville. Because that's not weird at all.

(props to all the elite ultra runners above...Anna Frost, in the pink jacket, working her butt off crewing and pacing for Salomon runners in Leadville, and Hardrock. She paced the winner, Thomas Lorblanchet, in his run which wound up being one of the fastest in Leadville history. Scott Jurek, pacing Tony, center. He was a genuine friendly guy when we asked to get a picture with him at Leadville, got one on his own camera, and tweeted this to his fan base. Joe Grant, in yellow, at bottom, racing at Hardrock. Joe finished second and ran the fourth fastest time in Hardrock history, behind winner Hal Koerner who ran the third fastest time.)

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And there will be a few times you just won't quite nail it. Or just totally miss the target. The inaugural Thelma & Louise Half is just a bit too soon after the 50-miler to have full speed back. Hoping to podium here, it doesn't happen. It's still a great time running an all-women's race for the first time.

The Rim Rock Marathon proves to be easily the greatest disappointment of the running year. A course you've always run strong, and almost won once. A marathon PR was set here another year. This time, it's a brutal slog through wind, snow, and frigid temperatures. When your park ranger buddy high-fives you at the Visitor Center, it's one of the only things that keeps you moving on the way to a PW (personal worst) in the marathon, and failure to run a Boston Marathon qualifying standard. Only other time that happened was the five second miss in marathon number one. Despite the disappointment, it's something that motivates you to work harder and do better the next time at handling bad conditions.

On and on you will hike

and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

That race, Imogene. A woman's name, they say. She's been a bitch to you the past four years, or perhaps you didn't know how to handle her. After trying hard and specifically every year to run the 17 mile race in under four hours, you didn't have any official strategy or formal training plan to accomplish the goal this year. This time, though, things are different. The 50-miler, the pacing through the night at Leadville, the speed work for almost a year with friends who motivate you...somehow, this was going to be the year. It just was, and you seemed to actually know it this time. 

When it didn't seem like it was going to happen for the first 13 or so miles, you didn't panic. You were just excited that it was still going to be your best run here, even if it had a 4: at the front of the time. And then you realized with just a few miles left that it could be done in 3: something. But you're going to have to be all-out for three miles, so all-out you run, and clear that four hour hurdle by several minutes. When a lot of things have come more easily in running, but this deal has always been a "how can I f#ck this up" kind of endeavor, it's a special day when you're there with your friends for the sub-4. Some of them wound up on the podium, and some of them finished for the first time. It's a beautiful day.

You'll also throw a few special running events-not "proper" races, mind you, but stuff that sounded like fun, and a good opportunity to train as a group. For six hours, you'll go up and down on Serpents Trail. Then, coming back from Western States on no sleep, there's a conversation that starts something like this. "You know what would be cool? A six hour run. In the desert. With a gong." So you go on an excellent adventure to locate a gong. Eventually, you own a share of a gong with your two other friends and race-throwers. It's absurd, and it's awesome. The gong rotates from house to house, and sort of takes on a life of its own. It goes to races. Everybody gets to enjoy its sound at the start of the Winter Sun, and later on at the awards. Oh, and you find out that you've got some darn competitive and fast friends, even when they're having a beer or a shot, every quarter mile. You also learn that it's probably not a great idea to compete in both beer and shot divisions at the same event; still, you have fun, and everybody just laughs about the post-run silliness. One of your friends who was instrumental in pulling of these events almost didn't get out of her car at her first speed work session a year ago-now it's like she's been part of all the craziness for years. And that's cool.

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

You'll have two hard-fought podium finishes in the last year of your 30s, coming back from an absolutely terrible run at The Other Half the year prior to finish third. And wind up being the runner featured in the race program-an honor that feels really special when you have a special affinity for a race that was your first half, and where you first proved to yourself that yes, 13.1 is NOT too far for you to go. And that you've come a long way since then. For the last trip of the year to Moab, at the Winter Sun, it's clear that making the podium is going to be harder this year than ever before. Laying it all out there, you run your second best time at the race and squeak into 3rd at age 39 in the 30-39 ladies, in a time a few seconds faster than what won you the age group the year before. It feels really good to have fought hard and raced smart. This was no cake walk. Your friends clean up big time, too. People set PRs, and there's a lot of "from Grand Junction" during awards.

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

There were many other places I went, people I met, and other moments of awesomeness throughout the year. Some strange, yet cool, birds, certainly populate our sport. It's always great to feed into that positive and maybe a little crazy energy. You stop thinking about what you can't do, and focus on what you CAN do...put one foot in front of the other. It's pretty simple. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot from left. Get out on the trails, or take to the streets (the roads really aren't evil; and I still love those Moab races very much). Because...

be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!