Crazy Desert Trail Race

March 7, 2020

I felt calm. Only a little nervous. There was nothing to compare this to, so no reason to stress. It was going to go how it was going to go now that I was here at the start line.

For six months straight I ran consistently. It was the first time in my adult life I had stuck to a long term hobby goal. I was all consumed by it. Spending days planning routes to satisfy the impossible sounding long runs. Making sure every minute and every run was accounted for. Every workout was given my all. Recovery and strength training were kept consistent. I found myself on the starting line without ever having an injury.

I have always pushed myself hard when I tried to run. The minute/mile pace seemed like it was in direct correlation with my worth as a runner. So I pushed for those satisfactory numbers that never quite seemed fast enough or good enough. It always ended it failure, injury, or just plain exhaustion. I knew I had to change something or I would be stuck in the cycle of starting running again over and over.

Running an ultramarathon was on the back of my mind for a while and with the push of my cousin asking if I would do a marathon I decided I would get to work while I still had six months to get ready. I was starting from scratch again, not having run much while we were in Florida. I read different articles about finding pace and effort and decided to try a running plan that went by time instead of mileage.

I knew I needed to give myself grace and not think of the pace number that popped up on my Strava. I just had do go at a pace that felt right and easy, no matter how slow it might look to someone else. Why did it even matter what anyone thought of my pace? Why had I cared so much? I had to let it go.

Letting go brought comfort and freedom to my training. An “easy” pace can vary greatly depending on a lot of factors so I tried to find a balance in my every day training. I dedicated myself to four runs a week and ran some days back to back. Something I had never done before in fear of injury. Each week I would do two easy runs, one workout run, and one long run, two to three strength training sessions, and as much yoga and foam rolling as I could stand. That was my commitment.

While training I taught myself a lot. I practiced eating food and drinking while running and figured out what worked and how often I should be eating and drinking. I learned that I could run three days in a row and that I was more than capable of running for at least 3 hours without stopping. I learned the local trails in San Angelo State Park forwards, backwards, and upside down. I knew every bend, curve, rock, and cactus. Every hill and technical section. We became good friends, the trails a form of comfort and growth.

I feel so fortunate to have been able to do almost all of my training at San Angelo State Park. We moved to the area shortly after I started my running training in Florida. The State Park provided gentle rolling desert terrain. No insane elevation changes and the heat was not much of an issue as we were lucky to be there and training through the winter.

As I was not working, the State Park became my way to get out of the house. To enjoy solitude and build strength and endurance. I built a strong connection with the area as I gave it everything. Each run felt different as I raced along the same trails my thoughts moved through so many different things. I worked out life situations, blew off stress, and laughed out loud at podcasts. I said hi to cows, tarantulas, bunnies, and endless lizards.

San Angelo State Park is where I grew into someone who felt like she could call herself a runner. I pushed boundaries and destroyed weekend plans by running for longer than I ever thought possible and being understandably tired. I grew my confidence here to be able to run my first ultramarathon, the Crazy Desert Trail Race.

I ran every inch of those trails at San Angelo State Park and it never felt old. Sometimes I still think of the comfort it gave me to run there and yearn for it. I overcame challenges and boundaries in myself that I thought might be set in stone. The trails aren’t world class or even anything special really. The park doesn’t boast endless views and mountain summits. But it felt like home and a place of growth.

The place I just said I knew forwards and backwards, upside down, every curve, every hill, every rock. San Angelo State Park is where the Crazy Desert Trail Race took place and where I would get to celebrate my run training achievement. My home trails, a true cherry on top of hours and days spent training. I had an advantage and nothing to lose.

Sunrise (the lake is actually a few miles from this spot now)

There were not very many of us at the start line. Maybe 50 or so runners total for the 50K. The sun was barely lighting up the sky at 0700 when the race director sent us on our way. The course was 2 laps of the same loop. I had done the loop before and I knew I could do it again, but twice was certainly a lot.

As with all things endurance, one step at a time. Michael and I set out under the arch and turned right along with everyone else. I tried not to get wrapped up into the excitement of the start and made sure I found my “forever” pace. I was going into uncharted territory. The worst thing I could do for myself was not have any energy in the end.

Runners surged in front of me, including Michael. I tried to ignore them and any self-deprecating thought about being slow. I knew myself and my pace. Endless hours of training had prepared me to know this feeling. It just feels right. I can’t explain it. It was the pace I knew I needed to go to sustain 30 miles. Could I have gone faster? Probably, but not this time.

The pressure was off, because my only goal was to finish. I didn’t have a fastest time to compare it to and nobody was sponsoring me or had any expectations of me. I was completely free to run and race the way I could best figure out how at the time. So I ran at the pace that felt good.

Runners went into and out of sightline as we trotted along the exposed singletrack of the Dinosaur Trail. The course is mostly flat with rolling inclines and declines. A few short hills sprinkle the course. Just enough to keep your legs wondering. The longest and steepest incline, which would be unimpressive for any mountain runner was about 1.5-2 miles in the course.

Loose rocks and boulders lay along the trail that was once a road grade and climbed moderately steeply for less than 50 yards. A baby hill of sorts. But having trained out here, my hill experience was small. I decided to walk. As did many others. I thought maybe I would need that energy later. Ahead of me another runner said her coach told her to ask herself, “would I run this on the second lap?” If the answer was no then she should walk it on the first lap too. Great advice.

As the course went on and the sun came up gently I fell more into my pace. To my surprise I wasn’t alone in my pace. Five of us ran along in a train, our paces closely matched. We talked and cheered for each other as we ran along.

The fastest way to make a friend is to have something in common. We were all out here running 30 miles, so we at least had that in common. All of us were running our first ultramarathon as well and now we had each other, we weren’t alone. At least not for now. We ran along the northwestern edge of the park going south as we learned where each other was from and how we ended up here.

I listened and laughed along with them feeling light. The positive energy and comradery had made the running feel light and without stress. None of us had anything to lose, we’d never done this before. Why wouldn’t we have fun and enjoy the ride. We enjoyed each other’s company for at least an hour before losing our fearless leader to an aid station.

Then there were four. We were approaching the southernmost point of the loop and would soon turn east before going north back to the start. Some of my favorite trails were in this area. We snaked our way along the chaparral talking less now as the mileage was starting to add up. I tried to soak it all in. The company, the perfect weather, the privilege to run, and the culmination of all my hard work.

I felt proud as I ran. I hadn’t passed any milestones yet, but everything just felt so right. We started our way north on the Playground Trail. A fun flowy section of trail with ups and downs, twists and curves, and views to the reservoir. I was having so much fun I hardly ever thought about where I might be in the pack of runners because it didn’t matter. I barely felt competitive at all.

It was just a good run, and I was glad it was happening on my race day. I felt so thankful for all the practice with fuel, the extra salt I put in my drink, and the delicious Honey Stinger waffles that made me feel full for a while. I was thankful to be following behind someone running at the same pace as myself and so grateful I knew these trails. I didn’t have to wonder where I was, how far away I was, or what kind of terrain or obstacles stood between me and finishing a lap.

The woman in front of me and I dropped our other two runners at an aid station as we kept going. It was an unceremonious goodbye as we never stopped. We followed the blue flagging, chatting periodically but trudging ever forward. I still felt great as the first lap was coming to an end.

I already had my plan for when we got back to the start. I would change out my socks, refill my water and electrolyte water bottles, grab more snacks, go pee, and stuff half an aid station PB&J into my mouth. This would be all on the clock of course, so I was hoping to take less than 5 minutes.

The trail followed along the North Concho River as we approached the start/finish line. A photographer snapped photos of the woman in front of me as I tried my best to photobomb her, but was too slow for the finger bunny ears to get captured. The start line was in view as we split off after congratulating each other on finishing a lap and telling each other how awesome we were doing.

My plan went well. It felt amazing to change my socks. I grabbed snacks and stuffed them in the pockets of my vest, put electrolyte powder and salt into one of my drink flasks, and put on some more sunscreen. I peeled off my compression shorts when I got into the hot porta-potty and went to the bathroom. I went to the aid station and refilled my water and electrolyte mix while I shoved a quarter of a PB&J in my mouth. The volunteer giving a friendly smile and cheers, asking if they could help. I was able to refill the flasks myself and only requested one more quarter of a PB&J of them. I thanked them profusely for the sustenance and for taking the time to come support a bunch of people they didn’t know.

And then I was ready. Was it insane to do something twice? Perhaps, but the outlook was so good. My body, mind, and stomach felt good and clear. I could do this. My legs ran forward back into the unknown, but the familiar. Leaving the start again meant I was embarking on the longest run I had ever been on.

It meant that I had trained and put in the hours to do this. It meant that I could break down barriers and do new, different, or seemingly impossible things. It meant that I could do what I set my mind to and committed to. It meant that change can and will happen over time.

I was overcome with pride in myself as I made my way all alone this time across the Dinosaur Trail. I felt humbled and grateful to my body for already carrying me this far. My first lap crew was gone and I just had myself this time. It gave me more time to feel in the moment and appreciate this unique place.

This lap no one was passing me, but I was catching up and passing people. I couldn’t believe it. My slow and steady pace was starting to prove its worth. I congratulated, cheered, and engaged in friendly banter with other runners as I passed them by. Two runners who were walking at the time told me they were getting their money’s worth and asked me what my hurry was.

The endorphins from my laughter helped propel me forward. My legs and body felt less fresh and light now. Even left me wondering if walking might actually feel nice. But I knew I didn’t have to walk, not right now. I could still run. When I couldn’t run anymore I would walk. After that I would have to crawl. Luckily it wouldn’t come to that.

I caught up with a few of my first lap friends and left them at the aid station where they stood. My super salty electrolyte drink was making me dry out my water flask quicker than I had hoped, but I could make it to the second aid station before a refill.

I ran along the familiar trails southward all alone. It was different from the first lap, but still enjoyable. Most of my training miles were solo and I enjoyed running alone. This race taught me that running with people is also highly enjoyable. Especially when your paces are matching.

Rolling up and down hills of the endless desert alone in the sun I ran forward, never stopping. I kept my eyes forward and let my thoughts wander. I ate when I needed to and drank water. The sun was up fully now and the air was warm, but not hot. As I approached the second aid station I saw a familiar face.

The woman who was running in front of me the first full lap was there. I needed to refill my water. I had gotten much thirstier this second lap. She took off as I squeezed through some chatty runners to get more water in my flask. The volunteers offered me food, but that wasn’t in the plan so I politely declined. I wasn’t willing to take any chances with my stomach at this point. Things were going scarily smooth. I didn’t want to test the line.

I took off from the aid station feeling slightly competitive for the first time. I wondered if I could catch up to that woman. At this point I was stuck in one gear. A little competition may have put a little pep in my step, but my increasingly heavy legs weren’t going to take me anywhere particularly fast.

Eventually she came back into my sight and we were together again. This time she told me to go in front so I did, but our speeds still matched as we made our way north along the Playground Trail for the second and last time. We didn’t speak much. It was obvious we were both feeling tired and heavy, but I stayed positive.

As the trail dropped down off a short mesa and into a nice shady area with trees I wondered how far we had gone and how much further we had left. My companion had a GPS watch and told me we had six miles left. Just a 10K to go, we were 80% done. We were both celebrating the longest runs of our lives and talking about small things when I came around the corner to another surprise.

A familiar face stood next to the trail stretching their hamstring diligently. “There you are,” Michael said. I gasped. I was sure he would have been finished or close to the finish line.

My brain wasn’t functioning at a high level. I was in run or done mode so this caused a small malfunction. Michael explained that he had a tightness in his hamstring he couldn’t shake, it was just getting worse. He stopped to walk and stretch and eventually just decided to wait for me. I didn’t even stop as I caught up to him.

“Whoa, wait, aren’t you even going to slow down?” Michael asked. My brain just assumed he would fall in line and was scared if I started walking I would never bring myself to run again. He did fall in line with me and my running companion. He hobbled along as best as he could and still had no trouble keeping up with the shuffle pace I was outputting.

Periodically, he would stop in anguish as I offered no sympathy. I tried to coax him forwards fearing walking and offering my face-puckering-ly salty electrolyte drink to him. He wouldn’t take it, convinced it might be something other than a cramp. It was definitely a cramp.

The three of us hobbled along northward starting to look less and less like a well-oiled machine with each step. I do admit I could have had more empathy for Michael’s situation, but at the time I felt so good and just wanted to finish the race. I felt like the effort I was putting forward was going to conclude in a finish time I could feel insanely proud of. The thought of slowing down and walking hurt me.

Finally we made it to the last aid station. I refilled my water and ate something quickly. Michael had asked me how long I had spent at the start line in between laps and I told him about 5 minutes. He thought this meant I wanted to stay at this aid station for 5 minutes. Or maybe it was just an overall miscommunication, but I was ready to go as soon as my water flasks were refilled.

“Ready?” I asked Michael. He looked confused thinking we would rest longer, but sighed and started out with me again. Michael pushed through the pain for me, to get me where I was somewhat selfishly heading. I could feel all the hard work pushing my exhausted and heavy body closer to the finish.

I was still running. It didn’t feel good anymore, but I was still moving. We had left my companion behind at the aid station, so now it was just the two of us running ever closer to finish. It wasn’t far now. We ran along the western bank of the North Concho River in and out of trees and up and down a few short hills.

The Shady Trail would bring us to the conclusion of our first ever ultra. We were already ultrarunners even before reaching the finish-line, but the race finish makes it official. The aptly named Shady Trail was one of my favorites. The flat trail weaves in and out of trees along the river. The excitement of almost being done lifted my spirits. Michael and I ran ever closer.

Thunk. I hit the dusty dirt in one even splat. My toe clipped the only exposed root for miles and sent me flying. After the initial shock, Michael helped me up and I laughed. Then he felt safe to laugh too.

“It just wouldn’t have been right if I hadn’t tripped,” I said dusting myself off as we walked for a minute to shake it off. Then I was ready to run to the finish. As we neared Michael yelped out in pain. I was reluctant to stop, but was reminded that he literally just lifted me up off the ground. I could see the finish, but we were still in the cover of some trees. “Come on we can do this.”

So we ran or hobbled or waddled to the finish. However we got there didn’t matter now that we were done. We held hands and smiled widely across the finish line, Michael letting me finish slightly in front of him.

Woop! Notice the dirt on my legs from my fall.

30 miles was a long way for anyone to go on foot and we had both done it in less than six hours. A wooden medal was draped over our shoulders and the Race Director congratulated us. We headed straight for the aid station to eat a ton of orange slices and bananas thanking more of the volunteers. Finally, we waddled to the car to remove our shoes and free our feet. I laid back on the grass and put my feet into the air giving them a well deserved break.

All the hours, all the commitment, all the tired weekends, and all the hard work was for this moment. I felt so tired and so accomplished. It took me six months to get here. Imagine where I could be in a year, five years, or twenty years. I laid in the grass next to our car and smiled, feeling so proud and exhausted. Ready for some long deserved rest and hopefully some ice cream.

A dump of a few more state park pictures.

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