Northface Endurance Challenge 50k

Brutal...humbling...dnf. Biggest lesson learned: NEVER forget to respect the distance.

Very little was published about the course for the Northface 50K. The website described the 32 mile journey from Cougar Mountain to the top of Sauk Mountain and back in very poetic terms, talking about things like trolls living under bridges and owls stealing hats off runners heads. There were no elevation profiles published either. I had hiked a bit in that area and thought the trails were nicely maintained and very runnable, even the long uphill switchbacks could be walked at a good pace. I had already run 2 trail races of marathon distance or greater, so this race looked like the perfect 1st 50k. I couldn't have been more wrong...

The week leading up to the race had been stormy. Autumn had arrived a month early to the pacific northwest. I was prepared, though. I had a great packable rain jacket, wool running socks, wool gloves and nice, new winter tech gear from Brooks. I stocked my hydration pack with extra gels and sports beans in case the rain and cold sapped more than the usual amount of energy out of me. I even tapered for this race, something I rarely do.

Race morning I was up at 3:30 to make the 2 hour drive to Cougar Mountain. I arrived to find the starting area shrouded in darkness and veiled in a heavy mist, sometimes turning to rain. After a quick briefing by the race director (“it's slippery out there, you'll be jumping lots of logs, watch the descents!”), we were off. the course rolled gently until we hit the first aid station at mile 4, then it was a screaming downhill just as the sun was rising. Mile 7 start ed the first ascent of Suak Mountain. It didn't seem too bad at first. The trail was wide, steep and long. We climbed and climbed and climbed. Some of the leading 50 miler's flew past us on their way back down Suak and I got my first view of what real ultra marathoners look like when they descend: downhill lean, arms out like chicken-wings, legs wide and feet splayed in duck fashion. I made a mental note to hike a bit more before my next trail ultra and to practice downhill technique. I was getting tired, but still marching on, then suddenly the course veered off the main trail and straight up the mountain side. What started as a run, then turned to a hike suddenly became an all out scramble. I found myself using my hands to hold onto roots and branches as I climbed upwards. I finally understood the quote on the race shirt “run when you can, walk you need to, crawl if you must.” We reached the summit then quickly descended down the backside.... and on my backside too. The trail was so steep and muddy that I found myself sitting on my heels as I weaved through the trees. Two miles later we were on the valley floor, finally able to run again. I've never been happier to run. The small group I was traveling with were all rejoicing in the glory of actually running a segment of this ultra. Our joy was short lived, however, as we faced climbing Suak Mountain again..... first a hike, then back to scrambling up deer trails. The second ascent fried my quads. They became weak and wobbly, but I still managed to reach the top. Once again, we headed back down, this time toward Cougar Mountain. Our small group had scattered and I was running all alone. I liked it that way. I knew people were all around me, but at the same time could enjoy the solitude of the forest. I reached the 17 mile check point and for the first time looked at my watch. It was 11:00... 4 hours into the race and I was only half way! I had estimated a 6 hour race for myself based on past trail races. That wasn't going to happen, so I called my family and gave them an update so they wouldn't worry. I had one problem though, I had to be done by 2:00 to make it home in time for evening obligations. That gave me 3 hours to cover 15 miles. Very doable as long as we didn't continue to scramble up sides of mountains. Right after I left the aid station we started to climb again. Within 20 minutes my stomach started to act up, then around mile 20 I jumped over a log and when I came down my legs seized up in one gigantic cramp. I was completely immobile. I fished around for an electrolyte tablet hidden in my vest, downed it with a big swig of water and forced myself to continue hobbling down the trail. It seemed like hours passed, but in reality it was only minutes before my legs loosened up again and I was able to resume running. The cold rain had tricked me into thinking I wasn't sweating and therefore didn't need electrolytes. I decided to start popping succeed tablets every 30 minutes and try to restore some balance in my system to fight off future cramps. I passed what I thought was aid station 22... an unmanned water station...an hour after I left the station at mile 17. I looked at my watch. An hour had passed so that meant I had picked up my pace. Finishing by 2:00 seemed a real possibility and my spirits lifted. I ran on, and on and on. 30 minutes later I rolled into the next aid station. Great this must be mile 25! The aid station volunteers were all huddled around a few runners that were dropping out but I managed to get their attention and asked if I was indeed at mile 25. Nope, mile 22! It had taken me over and 1 ½ hours to cover 5 miles. My heart sunk. There was no way I was going to be able to run another 10 miles over this terrain, especially if I wanted to get home by 4:00. I decided to continue on and drop at mile 25 which should put me back at the start line. I struggled through the next 3 miles questioning my decision to stop my run. When I rolled into aid station 25, I gave up my chip and announced my decision to withdraw. Everyone tried to convince me to keep going, including some of the people I had run with earlier in the day. It was hard but I stuck to my decision to quit and headed back to my car.

Later that week, some of the marathon maniacs went out and remeasured the main loop since many of the experienced 50 milers were questioning the distance. The loop that was supposed to be 25 miles actually came in at 28 miles which explained the tremendously long time between mile 17 and mile 25. Somehow knowing I had actually ran 28 miles before dropping made me feel much better about everything.

I've been analyzing my performance and some of the lessons I learned may help others:

You can not predict your ultra time based on past performance. My two previous trail races of 26.2 or greater indicated a 6 hour finish for me. I was not mentally prepared to run for 8+ hours.

Do not rely on race websites for info: talk to people who have actually run the course. This was a new race though, so it wouldn't have mattered.

Never make promises to be somewhere the evening of a long race. I had family obligations and promised to be home by 4:00. As I was struggling along the course I kept weighing the advantages of finishing (even at a walk) against the disappointment of my family if I didn't show.

Electrolytes are still necessary even when it's cold and rainy.

Never check the race results when you DNF. Once the decision is made to drop, don't look back and start playing "what if" games with yourself.

All in all, it worked out for the best. I'm not injured. I am hungry to race again. Also, as I was driving home a huge explosion happened in Tacoma right when I passed. The whole freeway shook and debris starting hitting the pavement. I managed to get through, but the freeway was closed for hours afterwards. If I had finished the race, I would have been stuck for hours on I-5.