Racing Jitters

June 26, 2016

This was the year I finally did the Logan Peak Trail Run, which has intrigued me for years.  It covers a strenuous route (7,000 feet of elevation gain), over a respectable but sane distance (28 miles), all on trails in Cache Valley.  And it was good, but also really tough. 

The Route - sign up for it here

I enjoy running, it makes me feel light, strong, and fast.  But I LOVE trail running.  When I hit a section of single track trail something stirs inside my soul.  I start composing songs about my love of trail running and usually start singing whatever is on my iPod (classics include “If I Could Turn Back Time” by Cher and “Shake It Off” by Florence and the Machine).  It’s like a spiritual revelation every time: THIS IS WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING WITH MY LIFE!  You know how every time you have cheesecake you’re reminded that it is the best possible option for desert?  Trail running is just like cheesecake: rich, interesting, worth savoring, good for your mental health, and so much better than regular cake (or road running, in this metaphor).   

I’ve got a history with Logan Peak, mostly a history of striving and failing to reach it.  I tried twice in 2009 but always started too late to make very far past 8,500 feet.  The first time I tried it I saw a bobcat, which was really cool.  The second time up I ran into moose, which was just scary.  Both times I ended up in Dry Canyon after dark, scared of being cougar bait, running as fast as I could, in order to minimize my time in the canyon, while singing and clapping so I didn’t surprise potential cougars.  (Side note: the only songs I can remember when I’m are church hymns, and based on my experience cougars are scared away by “The Spirit of God.”)  I reached the peak on my third try, having started early with my cranky pants on because of dating drama the night before.  Reaching the top felt great, I could still complete difficult hikes, even if I made poor dating choices.  But the summit also felt silly because I interrupted the prayer at a family picnic, turns out you can drive to Logan Peak. 

Lesson from attempt Number 2: act bigger and braver than you feel

The same week I conquered Logan Peak I started training for my first half marathon and six years later I’ve gotten to be alright at running long distances in the mountains.  I do as much of my training as possible on trails; they’re more interesting than roads and have shady places to sit and regret the life choices that led me spending my weekends on un-fun training runs.    

The weekend before the Logan Peak Trail Run I ran Ragnar Wasatch Back; I don’t think there are two more different races I could experience back to back.  Eight-hundred teams registered for Ragnar, which means there were more than 9,000 runners and 2,400 volunteers gathered for that event in thousands of vans with a quarter-million cowbells.  After months of pre-race preparations, you’re literally herded through pens to view a slickly produced safety film, sign a second waiver, and prove you’ve got the appropriate nighttime gear before you can begin running.  I had a lot of fun running with my team, who happen to be 11 of the best people you could ever pay to suffer with, but I feel a bit out of place with all that structured running.  The Logan Peak Trail Run, on the other hand was preceded by a few emails noting how to avoid getting lost on the trail.  Saturday morning 140 runners gathered for a pre-run meeting at 5:55 a.m. and then we were off at 6:00 a.m. 

Team Kabooti - Van 2.  Such great humans!

Sunrise at the base of Mount Logan - so un-Ragnar they don't even use Honey Buckets

As quickly as everything got started, and as excited as I was, I’ve never felt more in-over-my-head than I did during the first 4.5 miles.  Sure, we were all hiking up the hill together, but I thought I might get to run a little.  Nope, I just settled into my dorky uphill speed-walk and remembered that Dry Canyon is very steep for miles.  At my most nervous I passed a couple as one asked the other, “Feeling better?  Got all your racing jitters out?”  It made me smile because Racing Jitters is the perfect name for the tummy troubles I had that morning.  Everythingcomes down to poo, especially in running.  It took an hour to stomp to the first aide station, I was cold and seriously doubted my ability to make good choices.  Why did I sign up to hike Logan Peak the long way at a stressed out pace?

South Syncline Trail views - living the good life

Life got infinitely better at the first aide station.  The sun came out, I got trail mix, the grade eased from 13% to 6%.  I tightened up my shoelaces and finally started running up the South Syncline Trail, a beautiful and new-to-me trail.  The route wound through the forest south of Logan Peak from Miles 4.5 to 12 and I was so happy by the time I reached the aide station below the peak there was no doubt I was going to put in the full 28 miles and go tag the tower.  I was making friends with the others who were trotting/hiking at my pace, the sunshine felt delightful, I believed my legs were strong enough to carry me back down the mountain, and I found the snow.  Life was great and reaching the tower did not feel silly this time, even though I did it the hard way (on foot as fast as I could). 

Thanks to the runner who took a picture for me

All my friend’s well wishes and good juju came in when I switched my phone out of airplane mode at the top and I headed down feeling accomplished.  I hadn’t just run 14 miles, I climbed a mountain!  I MAKE GREAT CHOICES!  Now I just had to run downhill for 14 miles. Downhill running isn’t my strength, but gravity was going to start helping me.  Miles 14-18 were nice times, Type I fun: good while it was happening, easy to forget.  The runners were all in a good mood, the aide station people were on top of getting us hydrated, my iPod was making alright choices. 

Around Mile 18 we moved onto the North Syncline Trail, real nice single track running after all the dirt roads.  My heart swelled as I rounded corners and hopped over roots, but my brain was tired of negotiating the terrain and slipping into paranoia.  Someone has to fall on a trail run, sometimes it’s me.  About half a mile in I tripped hard on a rock and caught myself in a way that really hurt my left ankle.  OHMYGOSH, it hurt so much and there was nothing I could do but keep moving.  I had 10 miles to go, so I proceeded to tiptoe-run through the forest like I imagine Princess Trailrunner would (if she were real), convinced I had sprained my ankle.  I tripped a few more times, but tried focusing on how pretty the trail was.  It was Type II fun for sure, and consistent with my marathon experience, where Mile 18 is Peak Suffering. 

Happy on my way down

Miles 18-23 were spectacularly beautiful and rolling and almost enough to take my mind off my ankle.  The route swings by Logan Canyon and then over Cache Valley.  It’s easy to see why they choose that trail for this race, it was meant to be run and I made a great choice by signing up for the run.  The pre-race instructions even pointed out the springs located along this section, the water tasted amazing and felt great on my face and neck.  I was going to come in an hour over what I’d hoped for, but I wasn’t sad about it because the running was so good.  The hardest part of that section was not stopping to smell and identify the flowers, they were totally popping.

There is nothing redeeming about the last 4.5 miles, but it’s nice there is an aide station beforehand with Nutella sandwiches and Sprite.  Most of my racing jitters were driven by the descent through Dry Canyon.  I was discouraged by how slowly I was running downhill, scared of falling, and hurt because I kept catching my right toe on rocks (seriously, Right Leg, you are terrible).  I felt like the pug that can’t run and imagined myself “…bouncin’, flouncin’, fallin’all around the show.  Rollin’, bowlin’, I just can’t get it right.” I got passed by more people on this section than in the entire previous 23 miles, and I was trying to be quick.  Around Mile 25 I felt a really sharp pain in my right big toe, like a biting insect was in my shoe, so I had to scrunch my toes while also tiptoeing and trying not to fall.  Then a different but equally sharp pain started in my left toes.  I was convinced my shoes would be filled with blood and renegade toenails when I took them off.  The trail offered no shade but lots of loose gravel; it was my punishment for making terrible life decisions. Type III fun - suffering.  

The only thing that kept me going through the last miles was the prospect of collapsing on Brent once I reached the finish line.  At the mouth of Dry Canyon I actually spotted Brent pulling up on his motorcycle (he looks good on his bike) so I stopped tripping for a few seconds, grabbed a hug and told him I was hurting. 

Many thanks to Brent for always being there to capture my finish line moments

A mile or so later I finished at 6:35:54.  I got my finisher’s mug, made a great sandwich and sat in the shade with a Sprite.  I really love Sprite right now.  I took my shoes off and my feet were dirty but there were no blood or blisters, so I think I was actually hallucinating those last few miles, which is weird and frightening.  Days later it appears my toenails are all committed to staying in place.

I can't overstate how important and motivating it is to have my person or my people waiting for me

The Logan Peak Trail Run is fantastic.  It’s so well organized, covers a beautiful route, and feels like a real accomplishment.  It’s not the longest run I’ve done, but is the hardest.  I highly recommend it!  But be prepared for the emotional rollercoaster that comes along with long, difficult routes.  

(Note: Strava stole >1 mile and 500 feet of elevation, but it tracked most of the route)