Nine Hours One Minute Thirty-seven seconds.
It was hard, it was really hard, but no, it did not feel like it took all day.
*Pardon the curse words, but this is how it went down*
Pre race details:
The reason for running Cactus Rose 50mile (80km) was to learn what it will take to run Bandera 100km (62 miles) in early January. I’d never gone over 37.3 miles or 6.5 hours, so I really wanted to go much farther before my big race in January, and this was the perfect venue. Cactus Rose is held in the same State Park as Bandera; plenty of overlap in the hills you climb, the terrain you deal with, but certainly not the same “course“. The goal was to see how it feels to run that far, test out nutrition, hydration, salt intake, pacing, physical condition, clothing, gear, etc. This was not a race, it was a recon mission, a train-through race, a supported long run to learn. I also didn’t do a normal 2-3 week taper (rest) leading up to this, as I ran 82, 58 and 68miles the weeks prior to, including 7 hours on the last weekend, 3 of those hours at a hard pace. The week of the race, I took Monday off (as usual), ran Tuesday and Wednesday for a total of 17 miles, took Thursday and Friday off.
I made it down to Bandera, TX, in a little less than 2.5 hours. Picked up my race packet, set up my tent, sat through the race director speech, went and dropped my drop bags, and then just relaxed by my tent eating my pasta dinner I’d brought with me. I had nothing to heat it with, but that was the least of my concerns. (While I ate, I spent some time imagining how I could build some sort of a contraption I can put in the engine of my car with my food as a type of heating oven for January)
The course is a 25 mile mile loop that you run twice, first clockwise, then counter-clockwise. There were aidstations every 5 miles or so that were easily accessible by car. We would see 2 aid stations twice(Nachos and Boyles), and Equestrian aid station 4 times. See map first loop map:
http://www.tejastrails.com/maps/CactusRoseElevCW.gif
The organizers had water and ice for us there, but it was up to us to bring anything we’d need at those stations. I chose a high calorie/carb cookie-type food, sports gels(I always eat in marathons), Boiled potatoes, potato chips, turkey sandwiches on wheat and salt pills. I also placed extra long sleeve shirt, short sleeve shirt, sleeveless shirt, socks, sunglasses, caps, gloves, sunscreen, chapstick, toiletpaper, in each. You never know what you might want or need, expecially when you have no idea what the hell you’re doing out there to begin with!
Race:
Layed in my track pants, sweatshirt, gloves and head beanie in my sleeping bag reading till about 9 pm, then have a decent night’s sleep all considering. Did get woken up by a couple things: some snorer closeby, then some woman laughing in her sleep. By 2:30am it got unpleasantly cold and by 4am when my alarm rang, my car registered 35 degrees. The neighbor’s car read 39, so we agreed on 37. Forgot my cereal at home, so I ate a cookie and gel before the race, washed that down with 16oz of water with electrolytes in it, and was happy to get a nice bathroom session in before the race. I opted to run in short sleeve, long sleev e, rain shell, gloves and beanie, because it was friggin’ cold out! (headlamp on head (small replacement in back short pocket ) and two handheld water bottles.
Email from Jason L: “…get lubed up like a pig at a rodeo before and then have it available for hot
spots.” He’ll be glad to know I put on so much body glide on, I was slicker than eel.
5am start, and we were off. I lined up way way up front and Melissa H joined me there along with Fagan who’s in town… hadn’t seen him in over a year… he cut his hair off! I counted what I think were 11 or 12 people ahead of me, and half of those took off like they were running a 5km road race. I settled in to a decent pace but was really struggling. It was really cold out, my legs hadn’t run in 3 days and they felt dead and heavy. The first climb of the day “lucky peak” greeted us inside of a mile of the start. “’Hello Lucky, I’ll be seeing you later again”, I told it in my head. About 20 minutes in, we reached a hot spot within the trees and I started to overheat. I commented to a couple of people around me. Mistake #1 – way too much clothing on – overheating!
Pretty uneventful first 4.5 miles to the Equestrian Aidstation in 47 minutes. I just concentrated on not falling on the descent and avoided some near sideswipe falls in the few but large mud pits! Phew! John Kuss is there to greet me but I don’t need much help from him as I’ve only had ½ of one bottle of water since it’s been so chilly out. It’s still super nice to have someone out there to call family who shows supports and cares how I’m doing!
Each aidstation had two notebooks, one for the 100 milers one for the 50milers and a watch. We were to write out bib number (131), and our time, and our name if we wanted to in the notebook to show that we’d been there. I check in, noticed that I was 3rd for the 50milers, and already 5 minutes behind the leaders. Stripped down to my short sleeve, kept beanie and gloves and refilled my waters. I figured if it got colder again, I could suffer through 90 more minutes of darkness before the sun comes up and heats me up. It wouldn’t be an issue. The next 5 mile leg over to Nachos aid station was also uneventful. I kept calm, letting my legs warm up, and taking advantage of the friendly rolling trails as I knew what lied ahead.
Tip from Meredith: "It’s not IF you’re going to face a problem you need to overcome, it’s WHEN you’re going to face a problem and how you will overcome it."
Mistake #2 – In freezing cold weather, things like cookies tend to get really hard and REALLY tough to chew. Mistake #3 – I had a couple of new handhelds and they were a little tougher to drink out of than my 3 yr old usual ones. I decided over a long drawn out thought process, that I will boil them in hot water to make them less hard. But the inability to eat my cookies is a problem. More than 50% of my calorie intake strategy lies within those cookies, at least for the first half of the race. In the distance you can now see the early comings of day break. It’s a beautiful view, black silhouettes of the landscape outlined by a slim line of yellow and orange. It’s absolutely gorgeous. Right there, looking west is that one star, I think mercury?, and for some strange reason, a song I haven’t heard in 25 to 30 years pops into my head. “Ain’t no UFO gonna catch my diesel. I don’t care if it came from outer space. Ain’t no UFO gonna catch my diesel. Ain’t no machine gonna take it’s place.” I’m singing these 4 lines outloud cranking away on the trail, with a big smile. It’s cracking me up. (it was on my cassette with the “Ah shaddup in you face” song I listened to when I was 7 ot 8 years old!
RIGHT CLICK and OPEN IN NEW WINDOW HERE FOR THE SONG!)
At Nachos (Mile10) I reloaded with a bunch gels hoping they’ll keep my fueled, refill my handhelds, and noticed that I was now 12 minutes behind 1st and 5 behind 2nd. It made me happy as I wasn’t racing, and it meant that I was controlling my pace.
Aaaaaand here’s where the fun starts. At mile 11, you reach the first of many climbs over 28 miles… (right click, to make this larger in a different window). That's right 28 miles of continuous torture.
Ice Cream Hill is the first hill. It’s a bitch of a climb because it’s steep and tons of loose rocks so impossible to even power walk. You just need to make sure you don’t lose footing and crest it. It stung a little, but not too bad. A couple of miles later we reached Equestrian Aid station again (mile 14 of the race) and I decided it was time to switch from Handhelds to my camelback (water in backpack) as I didn’t like not having hands free to grab salts, food etc. Took off from Equestrian 12 mins behind 2nd, who signed the book: 131 - F. Garza - XX:XX (whatever time it was.)
Dawn was fast approaching and I technically could have run without a light from Nachos on, but I opted to play it safe. A friendly woman by the name of Eliza ran up to my side. “I need to stick to you because I left my headlamp and figure you can lead me if we hit dark tree areas.” Are you kidding me?! I adore company! Woohoo! We enjoyed out chats. She was from San Antonio, she was running the 100miler, and it would be her second 100miler. We had some overlap in running friends so it was fun. I had my trusted little course map (like the one I linked to) so I knew I had 3 climbs before the next station. When we reached the top of Sky Island, Eliza told me how the backside (our descent) which was very steep and ridiculously slippery due to the loose rocks, was nicknamed Mt Fuji. I figured it was a weird name till she told me the meaning of it. Mount Fuji. Mount F U J(i)oe. Race director’s name being Joe, people had kindly named him that. On the descent then climb of the next hill, I put some distance on Eliza.
I arrived at Boyles Aid Station, mile 20 of the race and my legs are definitely not as fresh as I’d hoped they’d be. All I needed here was to fill out the notebook, refill my camelback, and take off. I’m now 9 minutes back from 2nd, but really don’t care, it’s so early in the race, and there’s no telling how badly I’ll fade. I give half of my cookie to one of the volunteers, and take off to climb Boyles Bump. I figure I’ll be at the turn in about an hour to hour 15, which puts me waaaay too fast. My loose plan was to run 5 miles per hour, to start and see how well I can cling on to that idea. This would mean it should be 9am, as I’m 20 miles in, it’s a little past 8am. Not good, not good at all. Should I slow down? Naah. Might as well just roll with the punches till I can’t roll no more. So I take on Boyle’s Bumb, and when I reach the top, I fly down the backside, run maybe a quarter mile only to be greeted by Cairn’s Climb which is equally as nasty as all it’s friends I’ve had to scale. My legs are burning on this one, but I continue to climb as fast as I can without sending my heart-rate to the moon. When I reach the top, am greeted by oncoming traffic. The first place 50miler is running like he hasn’t broken a sweat. I ask him how far, and he tells me 14 minutes. I now have a mile and a half of descent and flat lands to cover to the return to the lodge and be done with loop one. I’d see 3 or 4 more runners heading back out as I get to the lodge, including Mr. “136 F. Garza”. I write my name in the book in 4:12, 3 minutes behind 136. Rush over to my drop bag pull out my bred, my turkey, my sprey butter, my gels, my potatoes and a new shirt. I’m switching to sleeveless. Robert Janiak is kindly there to help me open my turkey and grab a couple slices for me, and refill my camelback. Joe P chats with me too, and I tell them both I think that speed may have been a big mistake. Joe replies: “well, now it’s time to refuel so you can have enough energy to do it again.” I gobble down as many baby potatoes with salt as I can. Oh my, they taste soooo good, and they’re so easy to eat and swallow. I shove as many as I can in my mouth like a speed Hotdog eating contestant, grab the sandwich in my other hand and take off.
And now I’m thinking and cursing to myself. 4:12??? That is fucking absurd. What the hell am I doing? I’m fucking 45 minutes ahead of the time I was planning on. This is going to be a disaster, a death march. I figure I’ll just wave as runners run by me in the last 5 mile and say “Hello! I’m mike, I’m a fucking idiot! Have a nice run! Congrats on pacing yourself!”
I take a bite of my sandwich from one of the corners, and start chewing, and chewing. As I’m chewing I’m seeing runners coming the other direction as I know head back for another 14 miles of continuous hill climbs. The bite of sandwich, it’s still there. I can’t swallow it. There’s nothing wrong with my stomach, but I just can’t get myself to swallow it. I climb the first climb on the return trip, Cairn’s Climb and when I reach the top, decide I need to wash the bite down the throat with water. 24 minutes of chewing on one piece is more than enough. I then look at my sandwich, which only has one corner bitten off, thinking of Joe telling me I need to refuel, and how I absolutely HAVE TO EAT SOMETHING and I shove as many bites as I possibly can into my mouth. I’d say close to half the sandwich is now wedged in my mouth and the other half gets flung into the cactus for some armadillo’s dinner tonight. I chomp away at whatever gets in the way, breathing as much as I can through my nose, as I’m running along the top of Cairn’s. I stop and suck as much water as I can out of my camelback and then just force that paste of bread and turkey down the pipe. For good measure, I pop another Hammergel Espresso since I won’t be climbing again till I reach the bottom. At this point I’m nearing 5 hours of running. The trails along this 28 mile rollercoaster are littered with Texas Sotol. A leafy cactus usually about 1 to 2 feet tall, but with all the rains they’ve had these things are wide and they’re reaching way out into the single track trail. Not only are they wide, but they’re tall too, reaching well up to my shorts. You simply cannot avoid them, and just run right through them. Hell, both Eliza and I had blood dripping from over our knees barely 3 hours into the run when we encountered the first race photographer, so this has been going on for a while. On the descents, there are some small options here and there; you can either step down through a really steep section, or take a slightly less steep trail that’s runnable, but littered with Sotols. Since downhill bombing is what I love to do, I take on the Sotols, and bomb the descents.
Raching the bottom, you then get to climb Boyle’s bump from the other side. It’s not as long as from the front side, but it’s very rocky, and simply slows you down. I catch up to Josue who’s doing the 100, wish him continued luck and strength for his journey. He looked very focused and strong. I’m now coming up on many runners - 50 milers and 100milers all streaming one after the other headed for the final climbs before they get to turn around and come back my way. I look for familiar faces and suddenly there he is... Mr Gordon Montgomery in all his splendor. Two green amphipod hand held bottles and a nice smile. I reach up to high five him, he throws out his elbow “chicken wing style” as he can’t high five with handhelds, and I wish him luck and to stay strong through out.
Eventually I catch Steven Moore as well (or did he catch me? I forget, but we’re now running together) He’s out for his first 100miler, and the one that beat me by 20 minutes out at Captain Karl’s 60km out and Ink’s Lake two month prior. He and I spend some probably 30 to 45 minutes within 25 yards of each other, I’m taking the hills a little harder than him, but then want the company so don’t push the pace. We chat a while about this and that, then eventually separate as we reach the aid station. I need nothing but a refill of cookies, since I’m barely 5 miles out from the turn, sign the book, and notice I’m now 9 minutes behind 131 - F. Garza and head out. This is where I think to myself. Fuck this guy. I just can’t seem to gain on him. And that’s where it dawns on me. 131 F. Garza. Precisely! F Garza! Ha ha ha
I’m now almost 32 miles into the race, I look at my watch, and it’s 10:45am. Why look at my watch? I want to remember the moment I take on Mt FUJI, and I proceed to curse at Joe all the way up the dam thing. It’s steep and it’s a bitch. I know I’m repeating myself, but this one is clearly the worst, because it zigzags, it has steep step ups, tons of loose rocks and turns yours calves to burnt toast. “Fuck You Joe, Fuck you Joe, Fuck you Joe”, is my mantra that I repeat quietly to myself till I reach the top. When I reach the top I stop to look back and spot Steven’s Orange shirt at the bottom about to take it on. I yell out: “STAY STRONG STEVEN, STAY STRONG!!” he replies with a “WOOOOOOOOO!!!”, and I take off guzzling down enough water to hydrate an army from my pack.
I reach the bottom of Sky Island and still have 2 more climbs, “3 sisters” and one more before I reach Equestrian. Why is this pertinent? Well, at every friggin’ aid station, I’ve forgotten to unload my headlamp and my backup headlamp. No I don’t have them on my head anymore, but it’s still unnecessary weight I’m carrying, and I’m many hours removed from darkness yet still carrying these stupid things. Clearly my brain isn’t functioning. I also made the mistake of forgetting to grab my Sunglasses at Equestrian at mile 15, so mile 35 would be my next chance, and I can really use some shades. I’ve been running on my own now for quite some time, once in a while I run into oncoming traffic, but they’re getting sparse. I do what I can to keep myself entertained, forcing myself to sing to my iPod that I picked up at the turn. I knew the battery wouldn’t last the entire race, so I figured I’d treat myself to music on the second half.
Eventually I reached Equestrian for the second to last time. I remember Josue telling me: “Good luck man, once you reach Equestrian, you’re home free.” I took his word for it, since he’s won the Bandera 100km, and obviously knows a hell of a lot more than I do about this sport, and I’m happy as can be to see Equestrian at mile 36. This time when I see the notepad, I see 131 F Garza! Only 5 minutes ahead! I’m thinking that’s good news, but I still take my time at the aid station. I need to refill my waterbottle, I need to pop more salt pills because my calves have been hinting that they’re not happy, and I need more gels, and I need to dump headlamps. MISTAKE #4 you guessed it. Carried Headlamps for 20 miles too many.
As I depart Equestrian , Eliza comes in to the aidstation. I run about 100 meters, and stop and turn back. I forgot my sunglasses. There’s no way I’m going another 10 miles with out them. I’d rather lose another 2 minutes. As I leave for the second time, people are talking about Steven. I tell them he shouldn’t be far behind, and like the whole thing was staged, as I’m heading into my treeline, he pops out on his side. We wave to each other and I’m off to attack my last significant climb of the 28 mile stretch from hell. Or so I thought.
Ice Cream Hill is a climb that is best described as follows. Trust me, I had tons of time to really think about this one, since I spent many hours along out there. Imagine yourself buying an icecream, the cone with a big heaping scoop of your favorite flavor falls out of your hand and SPLAT! Lands upside down on the ground. From the ground up, you’ve got ripples of icecream, then a bulge of icecream, then the cone sticking straight up. That’s Ice Cream hill. It’s pretty nasty. Especially nasty when it stand between you and your record longest run you’ve ever had to date (37 miles). It hurt, and it really took a toll on my legs. From the top of Ice Cream you could say, it’s smooth sailing. Only slight rolling trails with some minor not-so-steep climbs, but continous climbing for 12 miles before you finally reach the final climb of the day: “Lucky Peak, then a screaming fast 1.5 miles to the finish”
Email from Brownie: “You'll have high points and low points in your race. Just keep moving forward.“
This is where it started getting tough. Very tough. The mile and a half from the top of Ice Cream to Nachos aid station takes me about, oh I don’t know , seven hours maybe? Actually, probably only 20 or so minutes, but it felt horribly long. My legs are jello, my calves are pulsating and I’m popping salt pills with reckless abandon trying to eliminate any possible cramping. I’m almost out of water but I know I’ll refill at Nachos and dump some water on my head too. I sign in, only to find 131 F Garza 9 minutes ahead again. F Garza!!!!! LOL!
Joyce, Joe’s wife was at the station making sure there was water in the coolers, and she’s an angel. She and her friend help me refill my pack, and we discuss salt and cramping issues. I figure she’s probably heard or faced more cramping situations than all of us combined being Joe’s wife and all. I depart Nachos to what should be an easy 6 miles back to Equestrian via rolling hills, and open fields. I’m really suffering. I feel like I’m going a tad faster than a snail at this point, and can’t stop thinking about Brownie’s email and also how we kept saying “Relentless Forward Progress” during our 3 day stint in Colorado in July. At the end of the day, this is a learning run, a recon mission, and training run, but you know what, I’ve been running in 3rd place for about 6 and a half hours, and this is now a race to pretect 3rd and a podium finish. 4th gets a medal, just like 3rd, but 3rd gets an award. I’m now digging deep for anything to get me through these 6 miles. I’ve decided to turn off my iPod because I’m thinking I’d rather have music for the final stretch from Equestrian home, than for this stretch, so now I start looking for help everywhere. I’m thinking of every race, every painful training run, every friend that wished me luck, all the support I’ve gotten, all the people I know are thinking about me. I’m thinking about John Kuss and how the day prior, he and I looked at the Metal Roses for 1st through 3rd and him saying: Mike, I predict you’ll be taking one of those home tomorrow.” I’m thinking about how Gordon and Steven have twice my distance to run. I’m thinking about how fresh and peppy Eliza was, I’m thinking about 100 mile and 50 mile race reports I’ve read. I’m thinking about how Erin has sacrificed part of her weekend to take care of my dog. I’m thinking about forward progress.
There were about 4 maybe 5? Road-crossings on the course, each one a simple, run straight across and keep going. So I reached yet another one and ran across and straight through. I’m now about 1.5 miles from Equestrian, meaning about 6 to 6.5 miles from the finish, and I’m running along. There’s a barb wire fence along the field to my right, and I vaguely remember running next to a fence line in the dark, so this is all good. Except, it doesn’t feel right. Something isn’t looking right. The trail is a jeep trail on soft dirt. I stare at it as I’m running, and I realize all I see are fresh horseshoe prints. How are there not 200 shoe prints all over this thing?? I stop, look back, and see that my shoes are leaving big prints. What the fuck?!!?! I start freaking. I decide we must have run on the grass part on the way out or that it was wet from frost so no footsteps. I continue running till I reach the end of this field because I see what I think is a course marker (red streamer) hanging off a post. But when I reach it, I notice it’s not a race marking, it’s an official park post, that is painted in orange. FUCKING SHIT. I’ve run the wrong fucking way. I look down at my watch and pick up the pace substantially as I backtrack for ever along this field to the road. I’m an emotional wreck at this point. If I wasn’t already in the dumps, I certainly am now when I see a guy in a dark red shirt running along this other field. It’s not Eliza (green top), it’s not Steven’s Orange shirt. FUCK. There goes 3rd place. I reach the end of the road seven minutes later, meaning at least a 14 minute detour, and there they are. Two big bright yellow sheets of paper with giant arrows point LEFT, and a BIG RED WRONG WAY sign on the trail I took. How the hell did I miss those signs??? There goes 3rd. I’m done. I’m so demoralized seeing this guy 200 meters ahead of me, that it’s all over. I’m ready to walk it in. Afterall, it wasn’t a race to begin with. I gather myself and start running as hard as my calves will allow. They’ve been unhappy with me for about an hour now, and all I’m thinking is, “Shit, in Boston they seized up something fierce, and I still was able to slow run my way in for 2.5 miles”… I’m gaining on red shirt man, but I know there’s no fight in this dog, so if he’s got a 50 miler bib, he can have 3rd place. I look down, he’s got a 100 mile bib, and I just hug the guy! “Thank god!” I say to him, and explain the deal. He tells me he went of course somewhere else earlier on so sympathizes with my pain. Crisis- naah… more like Catastrophe averted because that would have been the final nail in my coffin. I finally reach Equestrian, sign in, and don’t even bother to look at F Garza. Hell, I didn’t even bother to say F Garza.
I’m so tired, and beat, and my calves are so ready to pop that there’s no catching him, there’s only survive to the end. The last stretch of Bandera 50km is eventually on the same trail so I realize this as I look at my watch which reads 1:39pm. I know where I am. I know I have some winding trails amongst big cedars, some rolling single track mountain back heaven trails, the mud pits, Lucky Peak, and then a wide heavily used jeep trail home to the lodge.
My calves are seizing and I’m stopping to work on them with my hands, but can’t afford to stand around too long as I’ve give up 14 minutes to 4th place. Who knows how far back he is. Maybe he’s charging. Maybe he’s 30 seconds back. Must. Move. Forward. I do what I can, welcoming any down hills since the calves get a break, but dread any step ups I must face. I finally reach Lucky and just pray to everything that is nice on earth to allow my calves to get me up this last steep ass climb. I crest the top, look back to see as far as I can and see no one. I drop the backside as fast as I can. Thank god for downs and no calf use! I get to the bottom drink as much as I possibly can out of my pack, I pop 2 more salt tabs for good measure, and squeeze the crap out of my calves with my hands asking them for one last effort.
I’m doing all I can here, but it’s probably no more than 8:45 min/miles at best. I keep looking at my watch and now sub 9 won’t be possible as I simply can’t risk calf blow ups, so instead I look back to see if anyone is gaining on me, I take my iPod off and decide to enjoy the last ½ mile or so as much as I can. I started thinking again of the wonderful support team of fellow amateur athletes, friends and family that gave me so many good luck wishes and support prior to the race. John Kuss, Robert, Joe and Joyce for playing the role of my family and support crew at the race, because there is nothing that pulls you to the next aid station like knowing that someone might be there waiting for you. The countless hours on the trails with my trail running friends, the 5:30am Barton Springs runs for 10, 12, 14, 20 miles, Meredith’s support and mentorship, Erin’s continuous friendship and dog sitting volunteering. It all got me to this point, and I’m forever grateful.
Josh, a fellow Rogue and freelance photographer is there in the trees a few hundred yards from the finish, he snaps some photos, and reaches out for a High Five. As much as I want to comply with his request, I tell him I can’t veer off for 5 feet and risk a calf cramp! I keep running with “stretched out toes” and finally cross the dry creek, round the corner and there’s the finish.
I’ve done it. I’m going to finish a 50 mile run. Holy shit! I did it! And I think I’m going to get 3rd!!
I reach the mat in 9 hours 1 min 37 seconds, good enough for 3rd place overall and Joe is there to greet me with a handshake, my Metal Rose award for 3rd place, and a beautiful medal.
I was done; so happy to be done, but even happier to have done it, to have reached the finish line and run 50 freakin’ miles! And I can finally say that I'm an ultra-marathoner.
And now it’s quick recovery week, then 7 hard weeks of training for the real race, Bandera 100km on January 9th. See you there, for even just the 25 or the 50km. It's too awesome to pass up! Drive out that morning, then camp out and stay that Saturday night!!
PS -
- Steven went on to finish in a strong 6th place for his first 100 mile finish.
- Gordon ran strong all the way to the finish and got his first 100 mile finish.
- Eliza continued to run strong and WON the 100mile race in a record time!!!
Congrats to them, and every single other finisher!
