Salida's Run Through Time Marathon - race report

Salida, Colorado, just north of the San Luis Valley in what is known as the Arkansas Valley (named for the Arkansas River), is known for its proximity to Monarch Ski Resort and for its kayaking community.  The town is wedged at the base of hills, with its own town mountain marked with an "S" the same way Del Norte has Lookout Mountain marked with a "D."  But where Del Norte's hills give way to more small foothills with few trails, Salida's quickly become an entire network of progressively bigger elevations that become the San Isabel National Forest.  This was to be our first local race, a mere 1.5 hours from home.  Since our race in Moab I integrated a lot more hill work thanks to the snow melt, so I was hopeful to have a better race.  Or, at least, to not be so horrifically sore afterward.

Run Through Time Marathon course, per my Garmin (minus the first 1/2 mile)

Elevation profile, per my Garmin (minus the first 1/2 mile).  Blue line = my pace.

The race starts just across the river and railroad tracks at the base of "S" mountain.  Just ahead of us in the glob of a start was a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, two triathlon bottles strapped to his chest (it takes too much energy to pick up the bottle with your hands, so they have long straws so you barely have to turn your head to drink), and two trekking poles.  The race commenced at 8:00am sharp, and but five seconds later the dude already dropped one trekking pole and caused backup while he tried to retrieve it and nearly tripped everyone around him.

The first couple miles are a loop around the base over dirt roads to help the pack spread out.  There's a small climb at a half mile in, during which I realized my Garmin was not set to autolap every mile.  I accidentally hit the interval setting instead, and in disabling the intervals it ended up restarting my time.  Whatever.  (So when looking at the elevation chart, know that I refer closer to the true mileage.  The chart shows everything a half mile before it actually occurred.)

Suddenly some woman decked out in Salomon gear (read: expensive) wearing Salomon shoes 2-3 sizes too big went sprinting past in a panting fit.  What the heck?  The race just started, lady.  A minute later she was pulled over to the side, hands on knees, huffing and puffing.  I said to Nathan, "I know it shouldn't bother me, but I find that really annoying."  Nathan agreed.

We wound over that first small hill, back down to the water's edge, and toward the "S" hill to ascend singletrack and begin the real race.  Miss Salomon Specialness again sprinted past.  I silently shook my head.  Two guys just ahead of us pointed at her and chuckled.  It was her all out sprint start that made us all react, because that's just downright dumb in a marathon with a supposed 4000feet each of climbing and descent.  Once part way up "S" she was again pulled over, hands on her knees.  Honey, its going to be a long morning....

The trail ascended with the town shrinking in our hind view.  Once on the backside of "S" it winds up and down, in and out, along the waves of topography.  Many parts remind me of the east coast but for the desert dryness and different flora.  The weaving became repetitive, feeling like an M. C. Escher work in much the same way that part of Pine 2 Palm felt.  That's just how mountains build.  The east coast has less of that repetition since they are declining and crumbling mountains where it has all smoothed over.  I felt good on these hills.  Nathan did too.  We were able to run the ups without feeling any rehash.

Photo by race photographer Russel O.

Photo by race photographer Russel O.

Mile 8 opened up to a full sized dirt road that was the big, long climb of the day.  Steep enough to make things slow going and occasionally require walking stints, though just shallow enough to run (albeit slowly) and to fool you as to the severity of its actual grade.  Per my Garmin, it varied from 5-15% grade.  Here is where Nathan started to fall back, trying to preserve his stomach and ensure he could finish.  A women slowly passed me midway.  She asked if I ran Moab, and said she kept seeing me on and off throughout the first 20+ miles.  I asked her name: Emily.  She was moving well and I wished her a good race.  Some guys passed me at the base, but I caught most of them by the lollipop turnaround at its climax.  I wasn't very far behind Emily by the turnaround, and we exchanged a high five as I neared the turn and she was on her way back.  Nathan started the lollipop as I neared the aid station at its base.

I paused to refill with water and dump another salt tab into my fluids.  I had to get help to undo the capsule since my hands were cold enough to lose fine motor control.  It only took about 30 seconds total at the station, but it was enough for Miss Salomon Specialness to pass.  F***er.  She was within easy sight as I began the second half of the race, and I knew I could catch her once we hit the upcoming downhills.  In fact, I was looking forward to it.  I wanted to finish in 4:20, and I hit half way right on target at ~2:10, though my new goal was simply to beat her. 

I couldn't remember when the real downhill would start.  The next four miles included another mile of steady ascent within 4 miles of snow and ice.  It would have been slushy and muddy had the weather been 10 degrees warmer with sun, but the cloud cover and high in the 40s kept things pretty solid.  I started walking the icy bits just to make sure I didn't wipe out.  I passed a handful of guys.  I usually wait until I know my pace will continue faster than theirs and until I have an open enough spot appropriate for passing.  Once or twice I softly asked to pass only to then trip once in front.  I apologized each time for being that jackass, wincing at the thought of Mr. Blue Wobble's similar shenanigans during last year's Escarpment.  I ran a good 2 miles with one guy.  Adrian, perhaps?  I let him pass when I slipped a few extra times and decided more food and drink mix was needed.

Now the real descent began.  I still felt good.  We could see the next valley and peaks to the east.  It was a beautiful view throughout the entire course.  I kept reminding myself to keep my eyes on the trail to avoid tripping.  I hit a 120 degree turn to the right that, per my Garmin, then descended at 21% on loose dirt and rocks that acted more like thick sand underfoot.  I paused, knowing that two flags were posted to the right before the turn (indicating a rightward turn) but I did not see any confirmation flags afterward.  Standing with feet in place, I turned my head back to scan for other flags I may have missed.  I reasoned that I'd have seen others leading elsewhere, so turned my head around to continue on.

Without having stepped my footing gave way.  SMACK.  Right knee and right palm hit hard.  I'm really good at this falling-while-running thing.  My Garmin beeped completion of another mile on the way down.  I stood up to walk it off like usual, but my leg would not accept any weight.  That's when the flood gates opened, and all the stress of relocation and acclimating to a new place (both for me and for Nathan) came pouring out.  Apparently I hobbled at a 56 minute per mile pace trying to get down off that hill, reasoning each step with myself that my knee was not showing signs of instability and that now was not the time for a mental breakdown.  See the largest blue spike above.

It took five minutes for others to catch up from behind.  One woman recognized me and asked if I was okay.  By then I was at hobble jog pace, moving slowly on all rocky drops.  My ankle was feeling it too, though I could not tell if it received a little twist when I fell or if it was secondary to a sensitive knee.  A half mile later was an aid station.  I thanked them for being there but didn't stop, didn't even give myself the option.  The leg was slowly warming back up.  I had stopped crying, but I felt very much on an emotional ledge.  I had probably added a good 10 minutes to my total time.  I knew that my previous goals were no longer reasonable, so I went into salvage mode to simply finish.  I was much more cautious on the rocky downhills thanks to difficulty seeing depth and less confidence that I'd clear my foot properly.

The downhills kept on for a few more miles.  I could see the tower at the top of "S" hill, so I knew we were somewhere within the finish.  I just kept moving at whatever pace I could muster.  Again the trail wove up and down, in and out.  There was a modest sustained climb that I hiked.  Eventually on the back side of "S" was the last aid station.  "Just over two miles to go!  Keep up that smile!"  I realized I had smiled at them, trying to hide the melancholy I felt.  I just wanted to be done, I wanted Nathan to be okay, and I wanted to can our plans for the day in Salida and instead simply go home.

The want to be done can do amazing things for one's progress.  It helped that was mostly downhill along the switchbacks of "S."  A little out and back along the waterfront, over the bridge, loop back under the bridge, and then pop out next door at the Steam Plant to finish.

4:26:34.

Less than one minute too slow to make the top three for my age category.  Had I not fallen I'd at least have made 4:20 if not faster.  So it goes.

The afternoon after.  The real bruise started coming out this morning.

I hobbled to and from the car a few times to get warm clothes, water, a protein drink, etc, all the while watching for Nathan and desperately hoping to see him finish.  Our car was parked in the lot on the "S" mountain side of the bridge, so I had full view of those coming down the mountain.  I was cold, emotionally labile, and anxious for Nathan.  I kept seeing black long sleeve shirts with black/gray shorts but it was the wrong bag, or the wrong hat, or the wrong movement patterns.  As my nervousness escalated near levels from Moab Nathan finally appeared, walking down the last zig zag of "S."  I moved close to the finish line and waited for him to get through the little out and back and get across the bridge.  He finished with a drawn face, so I knew he was hurting, but he mustered the best jog to cross the finish line that his stomach would allow.

Nathan, finishing in ~5:20.

Nathan's stomach turned sour at mile 14 again, with florescent yellow puke the same color as during Moab.  At least this time was not nearly so bad.  We sat inside the Steam Plant during the awards ceremony.  He had one more puke on the way to the car, but then made the hour and a half drive home without incident, probably because he fell asleep.  Once home he stumbled into bed and slept for a good three hours, and managed to get in some juice and chips in the late evening without incident.