Deadman Peaks 53 Mile—Some Days Just Don’t Go as Planned
It’s quite possible I was as fit as I’ve ever been going into Deadman Peaks. I’d only been doing 60-70 miles per week, but those included speedwork, hill repeats, and some tough long-runs, including a solid 14thplace performance at the Mount Taylor 50k. To cap off training, my friend Michael and I did a solid long run consisting of 14 mountainous miles with 4000’ of climbing and descent, followed by 9 miles hard on the road with the first half downhill and the second half uphill (~150 feet of elevation change per mile). I averaged around 6:30 min/mile for the downhill portion and 8:15 for the uphill portion.
But at the start line of Deadman peaks, I stepped aside to fix my shoes with 10 seconds to go until the start, and that was the beginning of what felt like a long and difficult day. Once the race started, I began behind by about 5 seconds. My buddy Michael, undoubtedly a favorite to win, was at the front, and I thought it would be nice to run with him for a couple miles. As I started trying to make up the 5 second gap from my delayed start, however, I realized that he was running insanely fast—about 6:50 pace on a dirt road in the dark. The pace was too fast, frankly, for both of us, nevertheless I tried to catch up in the first 3 miles. Just as I was approaching him, the trail inclined and we began to ascend, and I decided it was not worth it to continue at this pace, so I backed off.
I felt alright through the first 10 miles, solidly in second place, and I was reminded in miles 10-17 just how slow-going parts of the course could be. The race has three aid stations leading to a turnaround at mile 26.5, thus splitting the entire course into six sections. The second section, and the fourth on the return leg, is challenging in a unique way. It’s not technical, but it is quite rocky with steep sections dropping onto and off of long sandstone beds. While you run on these, you hear your feet clopping along as though you’re running on very uneven pavement. It’s beautiful, but it takes a toll.
At the mile 17 aid station I felt mediocre. Shortly after I left I could hear cheers for third place. I anticipated he would catch me as I started to fatigue, but I entered and left the third aid station—the turnaround—still in second place with third still right behind. As I entered into the return leg, the wheels began to fall off. At mile 32, I walked for the first time on a flat section of trail, and the runner behind me went by. Entering the mile 34.5 aid station, I knew I was in trouble.
The fifth section, back onto the rocky sandstone beds, was a pure struggle. I lacked energy, my achilles hurt, and I did what I could to push onward. Several more runners went by. I noted an 18 min/mile split on my watch at one point, still calculated from my intermixed periods of walking and running, and realized it may be a while before I made it to the finish. Entering the fifth and final aid station at mile 44, I sat to eat and drink. I was familiar with the aid station workers here so it was nice to see some friendly faces. Honestly, at this point in the race, I felt so horrible that I might have dropped except for one thing—there wasn’t really a way to do that. I could’ve waited 6 more hours for the aid station to close, but hell, I might as well just march the remaining 2.5 hours to the finish. Plus, I remembered that after 2.5 miles of rolling and steep uphill terrain, it would be mostly downhill and runnable to the finish. I had high hopes of running some of the nicer trails to the end.
While my pace remained slow, 14-15 minute miles, the time-to-finish seemed manageable. As I entered the final 2 miles of dirt road to the end, I focused my attention on finishing before darkness truly fell. By the time I crossed the finish at 11:40 elapsed, the footing was sketchy in the low light, but I never had to remove my headlamp from my bag—one last goal achieved.
Trying to deconstruct the less-than-successful race, I can’t fully say what led to my demise out there. The cheap answer is, it just wasn’t my day. That’s honestly how I feel, but, I do know that “not my day” is probably a product of other factors, so here are some thoughts:
1. Nutrition was not as well planned out as it could’ve been. I was drinking roctane and eating gels, but I wasn’t sticking to a schedule. I’m not sure the latter is necessarily a bad thing, however, it does seem to be the case that my best races happen when I follow a strict routine (i.e; roctane plus a gel every 30-40 minutes). I really wish that wasn’t the case honestly… but this is what the data shows. Granted, the runs wherein I used such a nutrition plan were 50K’s. Who knows if that will hold up in a 50 miler, but it’s worth a try.
2. I was generally hasty about this race. I camped out, woke up a little late, etc etc. I honestly don’t think my planning was all that poor, but I was a little bit anxious getting ready. Maybe I’m just not the guy who shows up late, sleeps in his car, and then dominates. Or maybe I need to figure out how to not let that get to me.
3. Running the first 2.5 miles at 7:00 pace was a stupid thing for me to do. Michael has a style of running that involves pushing himself hard, early, and sticking the ending even if there are some rough bits in between. It works fantastic for him, and he’s a total crusher. But, it seems that does not appear to work for me. It leads to early fatigue, and then anxiety over that early fatigue, which leads to poor outcomes later-on. The fix for this, perhaps just knowing myself a bit better and racing accordingly—or maybe I just need to find a way to change my mindset? I don’t totally know.
Regardless, I think of this sport as my craft, and in the same way that a craftsman practices to improve a physical object on which he works, I want to improve my races by working through my weaknesses little by little, making subtle improvements that will hopefully lead to some solid races. Truthfully, I don’t really view these tough races as failures—only opportunities to think deeply about my craft and figure out what it will take to do better in the future. This process, along with training and racing to the best of my ability, brings me tremendous satisfaction in life, and I don’t require good results to feel that way.
Not sure what’s next, but I’ll figure it out! As much as I was cursing the rocks and sand of this race at mile 40, I’ll probably do it again .
Mitchell
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