Creede Mountain Run, 22 miler

It didn't feel like I was racing yesterday until we were half way to Creede, Colorado.  This was after Nathan dutifully tried to figure where we were going - as though events in small towns in or just outside the valley give actual specifics.  There is a website, though it just says "Creede" and mentions that the race travels along Main Street within the first mile.  There are no stats for prior races, no description of where to park, and no such thing as a pre-race update whether by email, website, or on the equally slim Facebook page.  I had to search Google for ten minutes to find a map to guestimate my finish time.  We'd either see a sign leading the way once in town, or else we'd follow someone running gear until we found it.  Nathan sighed, resigned to go with the flow. 

Creede is an old mining town at 8850 feet.  It is only a few blocks wide by about a dozen blocks long, totaling 403 residents as of the 2010 census.  Still, it's little Main Street has more going on than our town that is at least four times as populated - a proper gear store, a modern bar/grill and at least four other restaurants as well as Creede Repertory Theatre.  The town keeps itself cute for tourists.  And the hills begin directly at the edges of town. 

Sure enough we found signs with an arrow directing us to a parking lot by the grocery store.  It is the same lot that was filled with funnel cakes, leather workers, hot dog stands and the like during the July 4th event.  An orange line was spray painted onto the road as the start.  Less than one hundred people lined up for the combo of three races (2, 12, and 22 miles).  A man wearing a sleeveless shirt, spandex shorts and Altra trail shoes and a young woman in a white tank top were working a few sprint warm up drills.  I usually prefer the old-runner warm up, which means I stood around taking in the morning light and pointed out the cute dogdogs to Nathan, who stood just off to the side.  He was signed up for the 12 miler, though was sidelined after his little accident last weekend.

The race took off south for two blocks, east for one block, then onto Main Street through the north end of town and onto gravel/forest access roads.  By the time we hit Main Street Sleeveless Guy and White Tanktop were both heading out of sight.  I waved at Nathan and trotted along.  Many kids were in the 2 miler, and a few boys didn't like it when some "old lady" passed them before they got to their turn-around at 1 mile.

Once north of town the ascent began.  From Creede's 8850 foot base we were to climb to 12,500 feet and then loop back down, basically one giant hill with a few little blips to mix things up. 

Race elevation and my pace, per my Suunto watch. 

The climbing started early through Willow Creek Canyon, old mining sites off to each side.  I chatted for a half mile with a guy named John from Colorado Springs who looked and indeed was ultra experienced with a few 50ks and 50 milers.  I didn't stay with him long, since everyone but me and one other guy were intent to "run" all these semi-steep hills.  I fell into my happy walking pattern, determined to not blow up early, and reasonably caught up to them on flatter stretches before dropping John.  Apparently we were somewhere on/between "The Pitch" and "Heartbreak Hill."  One woman in a pink tee shirt passed me.  Her legs looked marathon-esque, so I assumed she was a 22 miler as well.  But she was running a lot of those hills, all but an occasional 20 foot stretch here and there.  Impressive.  Wondered how long she and the others would keep it up.

The degree of incline eased by the fourth mile to what I consider reasonable for running.  I had bounced back and fourth with Tanner, for whom this was his first attempt at such a race.  He was without a bottle and without a watch, and his plan was to get to the cut-off spot quickly (had to reach 5.5 miles by 1h 30m in order to do the full 22 miles) and then ease off his pace.  I had flashbacks to my first half marathon, the Brooklyn Half, where I stupidly enough completed 9 miles within the first hour before I crashed and burned to total quad seizing by half way down Ocean Parkway en route to Coney Island.  I also met Rick, who seemed pretty fresh on the modest hills.  Tanner stopped at the aid station while Rick and I forged on.

Aid stations were every two to three miles, which seems ridiculously cushy compared to the long stints to which I am accustomed during ultras.  A bit more light climbing and we hit another station marking a left turn onto a short but steep climb.  I grabbed watermelon to eat along the way.  A little girl helping her mother called out "Why aren't you running?"  I laughed, thinking because we're not teenagers.  Rick called back "Because we can't!"  A bit over her head at that age to understand.

We rolled along while chatting.  He used to live in Creede and worked in one of the mines for two years.  Has a cabin or something in/near Telluride, so he was also there watching Hardrock back in July.  Currently living in Dallas for the last two years, so has been running with a group that is younger and faster in order to regain his own speed.  A large group of his family, up to 22 members previously though more like 12 this year, alternate between this race and a different race along a mountain pass.  His goal for an upcoming road marathon was 2h 55m.  I laughed at that idea - I SO want a sub-three hour marathon just once in my life, but I'm pretty sure I have lost a majority of my speed since running longer races and moving to 8000 feet.

With all the chatting I didn't realize how much my pace was probably a bit faster than it would have been otherwise.  Nothing crazy, but running with someone else can have its benefits.  Plus the race quickly became very spread out.  We saw the faintest hint of a lime green shirt a half to full mile ahead, no one visible behind.  I do almost all my training solo, so company is a huge pleasure.

Another aid station.  More watermelon.  I turned to head out and a volunteer mentioned "First woman!"

I was baffled.  "No way!  Not even a woman in a pink shirt?"  The volunteer had no idea who I was talking about.  So apparently she and White Tank Top were 12 milers.  And I was first female.  Interesting.

I thanked them and turned to begin "The Ladders."  Basically a steep climb for a good mile or more than necessitates hiking for nearly everyone.  After my back-to-back weekends volunteering at Hardrock and racing Speedgoat, the hills seemed pretty tame but I still stuck to a reasonable pace.  Rick had pulled ahead by a couple hundred feet.  He is at least 6' 2" with long legs.  He stayed within sight through the whole climb.  He probably could hear my numerous snot rockets too.  A few quick backward glances showed someone a half mile back.  Could not tell gender.  But, really, I didn't quite care.

The area at the turnaround was beautiful (mile 11, but my GPS watch said 10.5).  I'm not sure that it was truly above treeline or if the area was simply sparse.  Light reflects differently, colors have a different saturation, the air is more crisp.  I was suddenly dreaming of Hardrock course clearing that took place above treeline and Jemez's sub-treeline magic in the Valles Caldera.  Rick brought me back to reality when he called out good wishes and from the aid station above before he began the descent on the other side.  I waved back and continued marching.  This is apparently part of the continental divide, and I was surprised to remind myself that we topped out at 12,500 feet of altitude.  All those long runs on Del Norte Peak and similar areas at/above 10,000 feet seemed to have payed off.

I may have taken the initial descent a bit quickly, since my thighs felt it after only two miles.  We had a few sawtooth areas and one modest ascent, but otherwise we had lots of downhill left.  I narrowed the distance to Rick from a half to a quarter mile.  During sustained descents I can develop abdominal muscle cramps if my hydration/nutrition is off or if I allow fatigue to take over my form; so far I was still in control.  The area definitely felt reminiscent of the Valles Caldera I experienced during the Jemez 50 in Los Alamos.  These were semi-technical ATV type forest roads/trails, which made it much more fun than smooth and flat gravel/dirt roads.

Two more aid stations and I nearly caught Rick just as we began the one modest ascent.  He stretched his lead to a couple hundred feet by the time we hit the top.  I wasn't sure if that was actually the last uphill or not.  Next aid station volunteer offered the tease "All downhill from here."  I warily thanked him, since nearly all my racing experiences indicated that "all downhill" is never true.  I caught Rick again, and after we rejoined the 12 mile course he confirmed we were on the home stretch with three miles of descent remaining.  I had not before realized the streamers on the sticks were mile markers.  Per my watch I thought we had four and a half left - I'll take that math!   

We were rolling with descent speed.  In the distance I could see the town below.  Two miles to go and I started to really open up.  I hadn't used such a high cadence in months, but it was refreshing and fun.  I was pulling away from Rick, so I called out "You have the speed - you'd better catch me!"  He response didn't seem so confident, but with one mile to go he was within 30 feet as we caught his wife, who was walking the 12 mile course with their dogs.  I decided to really go for it.  Those last few miles had been sub-seven minute pace, and I was barely holding control what with increasing jello-quads.  At a point I looked back to see Rick about 300 feet behind me and surged on.  The course cut onto walking trails within the skirts of town with a dozen switchbacks before emptying onto the road.  One more corner, and there was the finish line.  Rick came through a couple minutes later.

3:43:42, 1st female, 4th overall.

Before you get crazy over the whole first female thing, know that only 27 finished the 22 miler out of the 32 who had signed up.  And only 7 of those finishers were female.  But!  They had times from the previous year listed on a board by the start/finish tent.  First woman last year was Diana Finkel - one of my idols of Hardrock badassery - who finished third overall but three minutes slower than my time.

I FINISHED FASTER THAN DIANA DID LAST YEAR.

It is a ridiculous comparison.  I climbed slowly then worked my ass off to make it up on the downhill, and I could not have held that up were the race longer.  Diana probably ran the race more consistently and would have kept her pace were the race longer.  And, notably, her ability to do so was proven at Jemez where she was the first female of the only 20 finishers since the rest of us were slow enough to get caught in the squall before the race was called.  Plus she ran Hardrock already last year, and I still have yet to complete my hundred.  Plus she'd blow me out of the water were we in head-to-head competition.

But if mathematicians can use calculus to prove that two equals one, then I can relish in fleeting self-smuggery that my time is faster than hers in one barely-on-the-radar race.  Just like I beat Ezra once in handball, caveats aside. 

Rick, with whom I spent 3/4 of the race.  Not sure who was pacing whom....

Last 22-mile finisher in 6h 15m - 83 years old!  He deservedly received a standing ovation.