After
putting the girls to bed and kissing Brenda farewell, I hit the road Saturday
night, and finally pulled into the parking lot at the base of Dutch Henry Hill
right about 11:00 PM. I quickly folded
down the rear seat and set up my “bed”, but sleep eluded me, dozing on and off
for most of the night, until my internal clock roused me just before 5:00
AM. I groggily rolled out into the chill
morning air and somehow set off the car alarm, though I quickly fumbled for my
keys and shut it off. With no line, I
quickly picked up my bib and race packet and made my way back to the car to
start my pre-race prep.
As I was
getting myself together, I glanced over at the car to my left (which was there
from the previous night) and recognized Rachael. After some quick greetings, we both resumed
our preparations. Upon a last minute
review of the forecast, I decided to go shirtless and with a single water
bottle. In the cold, pre-dawn air, I
rushed through the sunscreen application and unfortunately missed about a
quarter of my back. Of course I didn’t
know that until that evening when I sat back uncomfortably in the driver’s
seat.
I had just
enough time to throw my drop bag into the back of the waiting pick-up, hit the
lineless port-o-potties, and toss my warm clothes into the car before jogging
down to the start line. I saw many
familiar faces as I made my way up towards the front, in time to listen to the
national anthem. And then we were off!
I briskly
walked my way up the steep ski hill, watching others foolishly overexert
themselves. While I certainly didn’t
want to be stuck at the rear, going into oxygen debt in the first 200 feet of a
50 miler is not a wise move.
After the
first mile or so, we settled onto a dirt road section which made socializing
easier. There were lots of greetings,
reconnections, and new encounters as we slowly made our way up. I hooked up with Sean Westine and we chatted
for a good bit. He told others that I
was a good guy to pace off of as I tend to run a steady effort throughout a
race. It’s taken me years to improve my
consistency on long races and I appreciated being acknowledged for it.
Many runners
passed throughout these first 8 miles or so, and it wasn’t until we got close
to the top that I started to reel a few of them in. Once we poured out onto the road, I took full
advantage of my downhilling abilities. I
passed more runners as I ran a few 7+ minute miles, but didn’t push my limits,
as the day was still young. The views
looking back towards the Leadville valley were magnificent. The snow-capped peaks glittered in the
morning sun, above a cloud-shrouded valley.
There seemed
to be even more cars lining the road to the Printer Boy aid station, with
welcoming cheers and energy. I made my
way quickly through the aid station and dove off into the woods. As the single-track led back out onto another
road section, I was surprised and a little disappointed to see Sean and a few
other runners right on my tail. It was
too early to be competitive, but I figured that my fast downhill would have
separated us a bit more. Oh well, I
tried to look on the bright side, figuring that it was a sign that I wasn’t
over doing it yet.
Making our
way up towards the Rock Garden aid, I kept slowly passing other runners. I was really looking forward to the alpine
terrain from the Rock Garden to the high pass before Stumptown. I could feel the altitude a bit in my head,
but my breathing was fine, and I was running well. But in the treed section before the pass, I
caught a toe and hit the trail. It
wasn’t quite the ninja-style roll I would have liked, and I ended up flat on my
back for a brief instant. I bounded up
quickly, as the nearby runners inquired to my condition. I was fine, losing no more than a second and
a small patch of skin on my left elbow.
I did also gain some gravel on my bare back, which was an itchy
annoyance for the rest of the day.
Feeling
strong, I made my way past more runners on the way to the pass, and then
continued my progress down the other side.
Unlike the previous year, I remembered that it wasn’t all downhill to
Stumptown so I wasn’t as mentally drained by the undulations. I saw the lead runners coming back, two miles
before the turn-a-round. I told myself
not to bother counting runners like I typically do, but I did anyway. I got up to 15 before coming close to the
chaos near Stumptown and giving up, with an estimate of thirty something.
The aid
station was moved a few hundred feet and I found it to be a bit more confusing
as out and in-bound runners had to cross over.
I also didn’t have the luxury of a personal valet volunteer like in the
past, so I found my drop bag and refueled on my own. A little way out, I came across Rosarita,
waiting on the sidelines to cheer on and assist her husband, Henrique. She graciously asked if I needed anything,
but I was good, thanked her, and slowly proceeded on.
For the
second race in a row, I had employed a new strategy, taping over the time and
pace on my watch. The intent was to run
the first half totally by feel, without the undue pressure of racing against a
time goal. This is quite effective, as
long as peeling the tape off doesn’t reveal an unexpectedly slow time. The tape revealed good news. I was right on track for my 8:30 goal, IF I
could maintain the same pace for the second 25 miles.
I felt
strong as I made my way back up to the pass, and exchanged a “god job”, “nice
work”, or “way to go” with each oncoming runner. As I neared the top, I could hear runners
noting that the gal who I was chasing up the climb was the number 1
female. This shocked, but also energized
me, as I had previously finished with the 4th or 5th
place women, and here I was barely past the half-way point, closing in on the
leader. A little way down the other
side, I finally passed her, and we exchanged words of encouragement.
I kept
passing individual runners every mile or two as I made my way back to the
Printer Boy aid station. With a large
chunk of refreshing watermelon in my hand, I quickly left towards my least
favorite part of the course – climbing back up the road that I had sped down
that morning. It was now the hottest part of the day, with a strong,
high-altitude sun and in contrast to the 7+ minute miles coming down, I was now
struggling to push 12+ minute miles on the way up. All the while, I was carefully calculating my
chances at that elusive 8:30 goal.
Things were not looking too good as I finished the climb with a 14+ minute
mile, but at least it was over. I would
have 1:35 to run the final 10.5 miles.
That doesn’t sound too tough, given that it was “mostly” downhill, but
running 10.5 “mostly” downhill miles at the end of a 50 miler, at altitude
isn’t quite as easy as it sounds. I also
remembered from last year’s experience that the final couple of miles are
pretty flat and exposed to the hot afternoon sun.
I topped out
with a guy named Ted, and we exchanged positions repeatedly as we came into the
last aid station. I made quick work of
refilling the bottle and downing a few cups of Coke. With only 7.5 miles to go and a partly cloudy
sky, I handed off my emergency poncho to one of the volunteers and told him to
give it to anyone of the later runners who might be caught up in the expected
storms.
As Ted and I
sped off together, we were told that we were in the top 15 or 20. Wow!
Much better than I would have expected.
I stayed on Ted’s heels for the first half mile, but he was pushing a
bit too hard and I knew I had to save something for the last couple of miles,
so I let him go. Luckily, he never got
too far, and on the straighter sections, I could still see him up ahead. We caught and passed a couple of other
runners and eventually, I was back on Ted’s heels. We ran together for a few miles and I noticed
that he was now showing signs of fatigue.
I didn’t know if he was in my age bracket or not, but with about 2.5 to
go, I pushed the pace on a flat section and he fell back.
I knew 8:30
was possible, but far from guaranteed. I
also knew that I wanted to eke out every single placement I could, both age
group, and overall. I passed two more
runners, struggling with the heat, and then, with only a half mile to go, I
passed one last runner (and a very important one at that).
It felt like
an eternity, but I finally passed through the inflatable arch, wound my way
around the top of hill, and careened down the impossibly steep section to the
finish line. The clock read 8:26:02 and
the announcer welcomed me in as first place in my age group, as two young
ladies handed me my medal, coffee mug, and my award - an awesome gold-panning
pan. It wasn’t until quite a few minutes
later that I looked up the results and realized that the last runner I passed
was number 10. I finished 10th! That was even better than the age group win and
beating my time goal.
I hung out
at the finish for a few hours, watching so many friends finish. I felt great, except for being rather
dehydrated. Every time I would get up
from my chair, everyone stared as I teetered and came dangerously close to
passing out. It took more than an hour
of resting and drinking for that feeling to dissipate.
The SilverRush was my first 50 miler and still among my favorite races. It is exceptionally well managed, has a nice
large field, and always attracts many friends.
I hope to keep doing this one in years to come, though it’s hard to
imagine topping this year’s results.
