Baker Lake 50K
Is it self-deception, blind optimism or complete foolishness, when one believes despite all evidence to the contrary that results will great? In three ultra marathons this year, I was nearly an hour over my goal time, I was dead last and I was a DNF due to missing the cut-off deadline (could’ve finished!). Nevertheless, I was expecting my best 50K time ever, since the Baker Lake course didn’t have the elevation gain of other courses that I had run and my training had gone well. Undaunted, foolish or not, I departed at 4:30 AM in the darkness of an overcast sky for an Early-Start, which I’ve subsequently concluded is always a good idea for ultras because one never knows what can go wrong.
Finding the start in complete darkness and marked with only a couple of small signs was mildly surprising, but I took that as a good omen for good results. I love the smaller races: parking is a snap, no lines to the restrooms and camaraderie is always warm and friendly. My fellow early-starters were much lower key than other races that I had done; so friendly that they allowed me to forge the lead in the dawn of the day. This position was inconsistent with my race plan and worse, it would lead to me running out of gas. So, I held-back and allowed some to pass me.
The first few kilometers of the course began on a hard-pan Forest Service road, which is a good opportunity to get in a groove and start clicking off the Ks in the right HR zone. We had just crossed the dam at the south end of the lake and I was comfortably trailing the leaders, feeling good and THUD! I had tripped on something and my knees hit the hard-pan hard enough for the leaders to turn to see and check how I was. “No big deal just a couple of raspberries” I hollered. “Get-up and get going! Otherwise you’ll stiffen-up.” “I know. I know”.
I did get going or more accurately hobbling. It didn’t take long for the mind games to get going as well. When is the pain going to get more tolerable? How long can I go like this, maybe not too much further, 49 Ks? We turned on to the trail, where the fun begins: maintaining balance, adjusting for all the trail vagaries and enjoying the view. The pain in my left knee increased, rather than decreased. Not a good sign, and it certainly was not in my race plan. How am I going to deal with it? Fortunately, the course presented an interesting distraction, a log across a steep gulley with a wire rope laced through stakes fastened to it to aid crossing the creek. That was cool. Only trouble is the pain was threatening to make me a DNF. If I didn’t think of some remedy, it was curtains for me. So, I doubled back on the trail and then off of it down to the creek, where I squatted down on my good leg to soak my knee in very cold running water. What a relief! I soaked it as long as I could stand not running, which was about a minuet and half.
OK, I was back in the race, what a good feeling. I can do this now! The pain was down to a somewhat tolerable level, but I realized that about 95% of my range of motion of my lower left leg was gone and consequently discovered that I had to walk on just about any incline greater than 5%. I can do this, walk, limp and run. I’m not giving-up yet. There’s strength and comfort in routine and I had a new routine.
Meanwhile people are passing me on a narrow trail and I’m trying not to be discouraged. Ultra trail runners are always cordial and mostly engaging. When passing one usually hears: “Thanks”, “Excuse me” or “How are you doing”. I alternate between lying and saying that I’m fine and being embarrassed that I’m so slow and explaining that I injured my knee. Occasionally, I see runners, who I know and that always buoys my spirit. Nevertheless, I’m clicking-off some Ks and making progress, even if it’s slow. Thinking about finishing is not helpful, but sticking to my new routine is. Walk, limp, run!
An hour passed, probably more (I avoided monitoring my Polar because that was discouraging) and the lead runner passed me from the opposite direction. That encounter raised my spirits, but I didn’t want to get to optimistic because I could still be a long way from the turn-around on this out and back course. Looked at my Polar and there was still over an hour before the noon cut-off time to reach the turn-around. Periodically, more runners would pass me from the opposite direction. Maybe, just maybe I was going to make it. Then through the trees I saw the foot suspension bridge at the end of the lake and moments later my body was flushed with endorphins and whatever natural pain-killers the body generates. I was suddenly able to forget the pain, lose the limp and crank my HR up to 140. Wow, that was incredible. I didn’t even linger at the 25K turn-around. I was going to ride this pony ‘til the end.
At this point I was harboring fantasies of a negative split, finishing the second half faster than the first, always a good goal for a distance athlete. Unfortunately, the chemical reaction had expired after about 10 Ks. My lower leg had stiffened worse than before the rush. The pain had returned with a vengeance and I had returned to walk, limp and run. That was fun, while it lasted, but at least maybe, I could finish, if I could just make it back to the makeshift log bridge with the wire rope and stakes. Walk, limp, run!
Although it was a long slog to my benchmark, I made it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the cheerful arrival for which I had hoped. The problem was that my leg would not swing or extend enough to mount the log. Several attempts from different boulders were necessary to find a suitable launching pad to mount the bridge and cross the gulley. Then I had to sit down and experiment again before I could dismount the bridge. Finally, the mind games were done and I was just a few kilometers from the finish.
The 9-hour finish was far from my goal, but I felt it was a huge personal triumph just to finish and can truthfully say that I am an Endurance Athlete. Next time, I’ll be faster.