Escarpment Trail Run race report

While having my start date at NYP pushed back an extra two weeks means a certain amount of headaches and two more weeks of twiddling my thumbs, it does have a two-fold silver lining.  I'm using this week to visit family in KC, including my now five-month old niece, grandparents, and three particular friends from high school and college.  (Hence the delay in posting.)  But it also meant that the planning around the Escarpment Trail Run was at my leisure.  Considering the massive increase in difficulty compared to my race history, I used the prep time for all it was worth.

The race takes place on the Escarpment Trail in the Catskills of greater New York.  The course is 30k (~18 miles) with a cumulative elevation gain of 10,000 feet.  For perspective, Bear Mountain was ~6500 feet climbed across 50 miles, or an average of 130 feet of elevation gain per mile. Traprock was ~7000 feet across ~32 miles, or about 218 feet/mile.  Escarpment comes to about 555 feet/mile.  And keep in mind that is an average.  In reality you have hand-over-foot steep ascents followed by descending the other side of the mountain, which means the actual climbing portions could be 1000 feet/mile. 

The rain started a few days before, with occasional derechos to make sure the course was loosened up.  Continuous rain started the day before while Nathan and I made the drive from NYC.  It meant I slept like a log.  It also meant that the so called 30% chance predicted by weather.com was not gonna happen.  I packed a shirt that would handle sweat/rain well, but I forgot arm warmers or a running jacket, items that you may not need until you take the one wrong stumble, break a bone, and have to death march (death slog?) your way to the nearest aid station for safety and medical help.  Hypothermia strikes during warm rain when you may not expect, 70 degrees be damned.  Nathan brought his running jacket by chance, and though it was oversized I was glad to have it.  Nathan also suggested the vest to have two free hands for ascent/descent assistance.  That turned out to be a solid piece of advice.  Not the first time (and not the last, either) that I've been grateful to have his support at a race.

And so I found myself at the side of Route 23 by the trailhead with 200+ other runners, jumping into the woods for one last pre-performance pee, and waiting around in the rain for the start.  Everyone was calm, joking, chatty.  I love the small race vibe.  It welcomes all.

I had no idea what the elevation would feel like, so I had only one goal - finish without injury.  The trail went up almost immediately.  I didn't survey others, but finding myself in a quiet group of power hikers always makes me smile.  The forest canopy was dense enough to control the rain, enough to help keep you cool but not enough to oversaturate clothes or thermal equilibrium so long as you were moving.  The trail was a different story.  Lots of smooth rock, the type where most shoe rubber does no good, alternating with an equal amount of puddles/streams.  So, in keeping with my ultimate goal of non-injury, I let the speedsters pass on technical downhills.  I had no quams against sliding down via my butt and hands rather than jumping down like some of the guys.  I like my ACLs, and many of the guys were taller than me anyways.  Once given some time on the "flatter" or ascending stretches and I could catch back up to a handful of them.

Times like that also remind me of the difference between men's and women's sports.  The way endurance is utilized, the way planning and strategy are integrated in lieu of blatant power plays.  It is absolutely hysterical the amount that some men freak out at the premise of being passed by a woman.  I don't catch many, but I do catch a small handful.  Sorry, fellas.  Hazzah.

I don't remember exact splits, but 6.5 miles took somewhere between 1:15 and 1:30.  By then I was second female.  Thanks to the hydration vest I didn't need to stop but for a quick extra sip of fluids at each aid station.  I had all the salt pills and gels I might need.  The middle climb was the steepest, reducing the power hike to a mere hike with lots of arm use and a certain amount of labored breath.  The views were completely obscured by clouds.  Many returning veterans joked that it was better to not see the view since inevitably that means taking your eyes off the trail for at least a second and, more likely than not, taking a fall.  My eyes rarely came off the trail, particularly because the canopy obscured what little light the downpour allowed, at times so much that I wondered if a headlamp would have been helpful.  So you keep going up, and up, and up.  Eventually you pass a sign demarcating 3500 feet (above which you are not allowed to camp unless in an emergency situation).  That kind of elevation does not mean much in the scope of things, considering what races like Leadville and Hardrock offer.  But this is the highest above sea level that I have ever run before, so it's a little personal landmark.  So goes a life in the city at sea level....

Amid all the physical clamor that accompanies such an ascent (grunting, growling, blowing raspberries, I realized just how much fun I was having.  I could hear another woman behind/below me, slowly closing the distance to inevitably pass me on the descent on the other side.  I didn't dare take my eyes off the trail for fear of slipping on a smooth rock and breaking something.  It was the steepest climb I've endured in a race before - this race was something of a tester for how the knees respond, to know if the Old Ladies can handle more mountainous ultras in the future.  But it was SO MUCH FUN!  And I felt good enough that I decided to fight to maintain third place for the simple quaintness of getting a podium spot.  In reality no podium exists for this race.  The pride of finishing is your reward, and third place was just in a figure in a line of finishers.  But to me it was a nice idea to make a third place finish my goal.

The rest of the race was more of the same: up up up, down down down, arms and core of high relevance.  Mud and rain, splash and slosh, chug along, remember to drink fluids and down salt pills and gels/food.  At the next to last aid station a woman, wearing full length warm gear and boots and poncho like the other volunteers, was shaking as she handed me cups of water and gatorade.  Volunteering is no small act, especially when the crews have to hike in all the water and sustenance offered to runners as they fleetingly go by.  Their presence and dedication and thermal sacrifice means that we 200+ fools can run through the sloshy woods more comfortably and safely.  It is no small deed.  They are there for whatever duration the runners are on the course, which could be longer than it takes one person to complete the race.  No small deed.

Eventually I made it to the last climb, which has multiple false top outs before cresting alongside a small plane that crashed many years ago and was left atop the mountain.  The plane remained the only visual payoff since the clouds/fog/rain was holding strong.  Hit the last aid station, and down we went.

The last few miles were the slickest by far, what with an entire morning of feet and rain disassembling the trail in between an increased number of smooth, slick rocks.  Even on flat sections I had to be extra careful about foot placement and how I pushed off with my back foot.  I hit four hours, figured I had about 30 or 40 minutes left to go.  I started seeing hikers.  The guys would cheer you on, saying "You're almost there!"  The women would get super excited to see a female racer.  I never tire of that.  Were it not for the possibility of falling I'd have reached for high-fives from them all.  A smile and midget fist pump had to suffice.  Minutes ticked by.  The "almost there" touted by all the hikers seemed like the longest "almost" possible.  I was smelling the barn, big time.  Minutes from what would be the end came a huge overlook, and the ridge dropped straight down from the edge of the trail.  The rain had finally stopped and the clouds were starting to burn off.  The view was HUGE, the dropoff so severe (straight 90 degrees down) I opted to walk that stretch of ~30 feet.  I had not fallen yet, and that was not the place I wanted change that...

Eventually the trail came to a finish, everyone clustered around to see runners as they literally pop out from the woods.  It was very sudden.  Chug chug chug chug, done.  I managed to keep third female, 12 minutes behind second place and about a half hour behind first.  That converted to 65th overall.  I had enough fun that Dick Vincent, the race director, said they should knock my legs out from under me because I was smiling too much.  The finish area had tons of food for runners, including huge stacks of watermelon.  We hung around a bit, eventually had to leave to get my friend's car back to Brooklyn (thanks, Myriah!), take the subway home to Harlem, feed the beasts, shower, have dinner, pack for my 8am flight to KC, and attempt to get to bed on time.

If I were to stay in the northeast I'd definitely want to do this race again.  Numerous veterans return year after year, working their way towards the 100/200/300/400/etc clubs (add 18 miles for every year you finish and it makes your total mileage on the course).  Hopefully we'll land somewhere that has a slew of similar races available throughout the year.  Ultimately, for me, Escarpment was a great introduction to a new level of elevation.  The amount of fun I had, mixed with a little extra excitement and inspiration from the Olympics, leaves me very much looking forward to the next one.