How even to begin this one? This wasn't a race I had ever planned to do, and even though I am still so sore I'm lurching about like a novice, I feel great about it and am anxious to get my next race on the calendar.
This was my much anticipated first race back in the post-Covid world. Not that it's really post-Covid, but at least events are happening again. I did five Virtual Events in 2020 that I can remember off the top of my head. One was because it was the Boston Marathon, and the other four was to support racing organizations of which I am fond (Foot Traffic, GoBeyond Racing, and the Oakland Running Festival) through tough times, and also to keep myself somewhat motivated.
When the 2020 Boston Marathon was postponed from April to September (before eventually getting cancelled and downgraded to Virtual), I signed up for a different Daybreak Racing event - the Tillamook Burn, so I could at least capitalize on all that training. Then literally (honestly) 2 days after I paid my entry fee to that race, they cancelled it, saying "no refunds". I whined and protested, and they were kind enough to give me a credit to be used in 2021.
So early this year (or maybe late last year? Who really can even with time anymore?) I thought about taking a chance on a big city marathon in the summer, but then ended up choosing to do the Backcountry Rise instead. I figured a smaller, longer, trail run would have more of a chance of happening in person, so I threw my chips in for this race.
The training was really hard for this. Being a woman of "a certain age", there are some aspects of trail running that have been much harder for me this year. One is that I am experiencing the hormonal changes of midlife, and having a harder time than I used to keeping my weight down. Throughout my training, I have held on to an extra few pounds that may or may not be visible to strangers, but I definitely feel it when dragging my corpus around the forest. Secondly, my eyes are not as good at anticipating the million things I can trip on out there. The combined effect of these factors seems to have been more of an 11 minute mile than a 9 in the woods. It's fine, and it's just my ego that protests, but protest it does.
I went into this race with as little expectation as possible - the Backcountry Rise bills itself as a particularly challenging race, not only in terms of terrain (8,000 feet of climb, and it's at a bit of altitude to boot. Plus because it is so remote, there are only aid stations at mile 5, 15, and 25, so a solid fueling strategy is necessary. They do make you prove that you have successfully completed a 50k before they even let you register for this one. I've done 5 other 50k runs/races before, and have finished between 5:20-5:50, so I thought maybe 7 hours would be a reasonable guess, but maybe up to 8 hours. I had no idea.
Anyway, all that said, I was down to have a good time running with other people for the first time in 17 months and see what I could do.
I woke up at 3:00 am the morning before to drive up there. There was a car camping option, but I'm not a great sleeper in my bed, and sleeping in my car didn't seem like a good idea. The ride out was gorgeous, and I'd never seen Mount Saint Helens except from I-5, so I enjoyed the 2 hour drive quite a bit, and arrived at 6:15 am, plenty of time to pick up my bib and use the facilities. Interesting side note: this was the first time in my life I've seen a line for the men's room and no waiting at the ladies' room. I had time to snap a couple pics of the topographical wire map they had of the region, and some beautiful fog obscuring the mountain and skimming Clearwater Lake:
I had my required 1.5 liters of liquid (Cherry Bomb Heed for Electrolytes and calories, plus Cola Fizz for extra Electrolytes - all fuel except for actual food by Hammer Nutrition, my excellent and benevolent sponsor), plus 16 oz of Perpetuem (Cafe Latte flavored - the best!), which is calories plus amino acids for very long workouts) and 16 oz of just regular water. All of this would be gone by mile 15! We were also required to carry a whistle and a light jacket. I forgot the jacket, but I run pretty warm, and thankfully nobody checked. At the starting line I felt like a pack animal. In addition to the fluids, I had Hammer gel - both espresso and peanut butter flavored, and some pretzel nuggets for when I got sick of sweet stuff. Here at the starting line, I got the great idea of taking one picture for each of the 31-plus mile voyage. It's fun to have an agenda, and it wasn't really going to be to try to win, so why not photography? What follows is my 32+ photo voyage through the backcountry of Mount Saint Helens.
Here I am full of caffeine and nervous energy at the starting line. 188 started, which is a nice size for a race like this - only 176 finished (I'm assuming because they didn't make the cutoff mostly, although I did see one guy on crutches at the end).
The race director explained that the course was more rugged than in previous years, as trail stewardship had suffered like everything else during Covid, so it might be a little slower going in certain parts. He also said that the snow had not melted enough to allow passage on part of the trail, so they made a rugged detour around mile 9. Interesting, I thought.
The gun went off right at 7:00, which is nice. I like to be punctual. After about a quarter mile hustle through the parking lot, we were settled onto the brushy, single-track trail where we would spend the next 5 miles. Trail runners are generally nice about letting people pass, but there was little point with this long line and narrow path, so everyone in our mid-pack group settled in to a nice 11:15-ish pace. Much of my view looked like this (miles 1 and mile 2, respectively):
It was really warm at the start. I noticed on my drive in that it was already in the low 60s when the sun was rising, so I worried a bit about all the clothes the racer in front of me had on. In fact, she bopped off to the side in mile 3 to take off that jacket and tie it around her waist. I was pleased to see her finish about an hour behind me, though, so being warm didn't stop her.
When they named this race Backcountry, they were not kidding. There were quite a few bottlenecks in the beginning to cross some precarious passes. You can't quite tell, but there was a steep dropoff to the right, so nobody wanted to step carelessly. The first of many at mile 3:
By mile 4, I'd fallen in behind this guy, whom I affectionately thought of as Patton Oswalt until he lost me around mile 8. He fared better in these initial hills than I did and I was never able to catch up.
Mile 5 I crossed probably the 4th or 5th of many streams. My shoes still looked blue. There was an aid station just beyond this, but I didn't stop.
Just after the mile 5 aid station, we started up a long and grueling hill, peaking at mile 9. The trail was alternately obscured by brush, loose with rocks, or just painfully steep. I walked A LOT and got passed by so many people I was beginning to feel discouraged, but as one of my trail mates told me "there's no such thing as too slow going up to the mile 9 peak". I may have stressed that point, and pulled out a few 24-minute miles, but I kept in mind my mantra for this race: 
I knew it was going to be a long day, and I know the pitfalls of being too pushy too early. So I tried not to let it bug me that I was going so slowly and getting passed like crazy. But it did a little bit.
I consoled myself by looking at this absolutely stunning country (miles 6-9, respectively):
At mile 9 exactly, according to my Garmin, we crested that first big peak and ran right into a big patch of snow. It felt hilarious, even though I knew it was coming, to be sweating in the heat of the day (it was probably in the 70s by now) and trying to run across slippery snow. I couldn't get a picture because I was trying to stay upright and mobile, but it was great fun. Mile 10 felt like a series of twists and turns atop a beautiful ridge looking down at some of the most amazing views I've ever seen. I was so happy to be able to run, and was exclaiming aloud at each new vista. Amazing! Mile 10 (Mount Adams straight ahead):
Although it felt incredible to run, we had to walk a lot of this, too, as the path was overgrown. The woman in front of me face planted when she caught an unseen root. I tried to find the right balance of running a little but not falling off a mountain. We got to the "rugged detour", which was hilarious. Barely navigable, loose dirt, sliding sideways holding on to branches. It was probably 50 feet of going up the mountain to get around a snow patch. It was so ridiculous and fun, I was laughing. As we came back down to where the snow met the path, I turned back to snap this around mile 11:
Mile 12 was harder. We were up really high, on the leeward side of the mountain, which was beautiful with wildflowers, but also rife with biting flies. Every time I slowed to catch my breath or take a picture, I got swarmed by the little suckers. From mile 12 till mile 15 I was in a bit of a dark place, thinking "there's no way I can run 19 more miles while I'm being eaten alive." (Mercifully, they stopped biting once we got to the windward side of the mountain at around mile 16, and thanks to the aid station at mile 15, who provided a little relief with bug spray). Here I am at mile 12 feeling discouraged (sweaty lens providing fog!):
As down as I was in the moment, I gasped when I came around the bend and got my first look at the blast side of Mount Saint Helens, right at mile 13:
So beautiful. I was still being eaten by bugs, and wondering where the aid station was (I'd thought they said mile 13, but it apparently moved this year to mile 15. It was fine and I didn't die, but I was out of liquid by this point and really looking forward to the chance to stop for a minute and refill the tank).
I was talking a bit to the guy behind me right around here (mile 14), and he said he'd run this race in 2019 and the brush was so noticeably thicker this year, and that he was slowed down significantly in comparison, just by navigating the unseen trail. That was somewhat comforting, but I really wanted bug spray and water. Still, look at this majesty:
Hallelujah! Mile 15 brought the elusive aid station 2, which had bug spray in addition to water, electrolyte, snacks (that I didn't take, as I still had Hammer gels), and friendly volunteers. Feeling refreshed mentally, hydrationally, and emotionally, I pressed on.
At what I thought would be the halfway point (15.6miles), I snapped a picture of my watch to predict my finish time, based on what I hoped would be at least an even split. I dared not to hope for a negative split at this point. I was horrified to see that I had been going for 5 hours! I was not doing a 34 minute pace, by the way - I stopped to get the picture. I was discouraged by the thought of a 10-hour race, and worried that my family would think I had an accident when I didn't show up within my predicted window. Luckily we were high enough that I got one bar of signal, and I texted that I would not be there as expected, but was fine.
Mile 16 was the highest elevation point of the course, over 5500 feet, and rewarded those of us who made the climb with this stunner:
WOW! Totally worth everything it took to get me here.
Also, now the bugs had gone away, the path was less overgrown, and I could finally RUN! The next 9 miles to the 3rd aid station were the best of the race for me. I hung out around a 10-11 minute pace and joyfully navigated these amazing climbs, descents, and views:
Miles 17 and 18:
Mile 19, where I was thinking my family is probably better off not knowing how steep this is, and how little room for error there is - this plummets for...I don't know, hundreds of feet?
Mile 20 - another gaspingly great view:
Mile 21, lest we forget there is a navigational challenge to trail running:
Miles 22 and 23 were great for me - easy trail and I passed scads of people who had blown past me earlier. I was feeling myself here, like I could go on forever:
Mile 24 featured a long climb up to the Mt Hood Observatory (and our third and final aid station), so there were tons of people out for a short hike, and I was really looking forward to the sliced grapefruit I'd put into my drop bag. I had electrolytes to add to my water, too, and some peanut butter pretzels, but I really wanted that grapefruit. The climb felt hard, but I was still on my adrenaline rush from finally getting to run freely. I finally got to the aid station, which was amazingly stocked and staffed by the Wy'east Wolfpack, and saw my friend Mikey, who encouraged me to sit down and eat while he refilled my water for me. I ate my grapefruit, which had been sitting in the sun and was hot and kind of gross, but I still enjoyed it. I foolishly let adrenaline and fatigue convince me that I only had 6 miles left (well, it was actually 7), and that I was in the zone, so I didn't top off my electrolytes. I took just water, which in retrospect was a mistake, as it made my finish noticeably slower than it probably could have been. I grabbed a few potato chips and headed out too soon, thinking maybe I could beat 9 hours if I just stayed on it. Eight-something sounded WAY better than 9-something, and a substantial negative split, I thought about bragging. Here's Mikey, trying to get carbs and rest into me at mile 24.5:
I took off from there pretty confidently, thinking I had about an hour and 15 minutes left (spoiler: I was wrong). Miles 25/26, mostly downhill and pretty easy to navigate:
Mile 27, thinking "don't get complacent, these rocks are loose on this switchback!"
Miles 28 and 29: some parts were shady, some parts were rocky, and I walked a bit. I was absolutely missing the electrolytes at this point:
Mile 30 was beautiful, with easy to run paths along Clearwater Lake, and if you think the temptation to jump in the water was strong, you are right:
At mile 31, I was thinking I was almost done, but oh my gosh, it was nearly another mile. 31.7 miles, in fact, and I was fading. It did not help that the last mile was uphill. Every time it looked like it was cresting, it turned and went up again for a while. Unfortunately I missed my chance to squeak in under 9 minutes, and decided to walk a bit, until I passed a guy vomiting in the bushes and decided to run it in. This was my view for most of the last mile:
I finally popped out of the woods and into the parking lot and sprinted in as if I'd been running the whole time. 9:11:25 was my clocked time. Here's my official finish photo, credit to
Nick Danielson:
So much credit goes to
Hammer Nutrition for the support and fueling help. I'm never perfect, but now that I've run longer than 6 hours, I know some things that I would do differently next time - namely, don't think you're too close to the end for more electrolyte, especially in warm weather, and don't leave the peanut butter pretzels for mile 24. You really need them sooner. Also, grapefruit tastes way better cold.
That said, I showed that I can do hard things, and that even when I'm in what my friend Kyle once called "The Dark Place", I'm capable of changing that up and actually finding a really good, bouncy place in its wake.
I really didn't feel like putting anything in my body after that, but I drank my Recoverite, changed clothes and got my finisher's beer, of which I was able to drink about half. Traditions, you know?
Results: I won some Goodr Sunglasses, came in 2nd in my age group out of 6, and although I was completely wiped out, I felt successful for finishing. And got an epic "mud tan" - look at those ankles.
