So, there I was at mile 23 trying to get up the nerve to try running again. My quads and calves were cramping violently every couple of strides when I ran and I had been reduced to power hiking the mostly flat, rolling, smooth single track trail that would make up all but a mile or so of the remaining course. I had left the mile 21 aid station just a short while before after fully recognizing that my head was totally fucked but I could still move so I was going to finish, just not the crushing PR I had set out to run. I looked up from the trail at the sun peaking out finally and took another step.

The day before I was driving through whiteout conditions outside of Graham, TX on my way to set up a race for Kyle that I hadn’t planned on because of the timing. I knew I was going to need to sleep well in the days leading up to the race and for reasons I don’t really want to go into, I hadn’t been sleeping well most of the week. 3:30 am rolled around on Saturday and I dragged my way out to the car to get on the road by 4:00 am so I could make the 5:45 am time I wanted to be on site. Things were going fine but as I was driving out, around 5:00 am, the rain started falling. I’m no stranger to wet conditions, Lake Murray was a mud pit, but I wasn’t really looking forward to setting up this race in the pouring rain when it was 30 degrees out. I kept driving, the rain started getting louder and then it got silent. The rain was snow. Big, fat, sticky flakes, like something out of my childhood in eastern Montana. Legit snow. Visibility got worse, 20’ down to 10’ down to 5’ and that is where I decided to pull into a gas station and make a phone call. I was going to miss my time window and wanted the RD’s to know I was on my way but couldn’t keep driving in the snow because Texas farm roads don’t have the right kind of reflectors to actually show where the road ends, the road that was now under two inches of snow.

It’s been 6 years since we had snow in this part of Texas. The temperature was 29 and the snow was falling faster and thicker. I called the RD, I called Kyle, I took a video. Visibility seemed to be getting better so I decided to chance it and follow my GPS out to Wildcatter Ranch which was only 12 minutes down the way. I managed to make my way to the race venue and, after a couple attempts, to the top of the hill where the race started. I talked to the RD and asked him if he was planning to start on time, now 30 minutes away, and he was surprised I asked. I told him to give me 15 minutes. His race started on time with three minutes to spare. I hung out to get the second race started and then hit the road to Bandera.

4.5 hours later, 40 degrees and I was down outside of San Antonio to check in with Ben and Liz who came down Friday since Ben was running the 100k. Ben came through around 3:00 pm on his first loop, 7:30 hours after the start. He looked pretty good but told me that the course was really tough in the first half and then super runnable on the back end and I should save my legs for that part. Well, I’m not one to listen most of the time and this one was no different. After we saw Ben off, I followed Liz back to their Airbnb and took a nap and then made dinner and got ready for the race the next morning.

I woke up early, I heard Ben come back in after finishing his 100k and while I was able to get back to sleep for a bit, I didn’t really get deep sleep after that. 5:00 am came around and I got my stuff together and had some coffee and breakfast before I headed out for the Hill Country State Natural Area and the start. I got to the park around 7:00 and grabbed my timing chip before taking care of a couple of last-minute things. I purposefully didn’t look at the course ahead of time, I didn’t know what the distances between aid stations were and I didn’t have much knowledge other than what I got from Ben the day before. I ran into Janiel at the start and chatted a bit with her, she’s done the 100k and 50k at Bandera a few times and I figured I would settle in behind her to make sure that I didn’t pass her because that would mean my pacing was bad.

The countdown came and we started out running down the road. I took things really easily, people passing me along the way and I wasn’t worried, I was running my pace and looking at the almost 32 miles on the course. That held together until we got the first big climb and my “easy” race took a change for the fun. As soon as we started climbing, I started passing people because of my hiking pace. On that first climb, I ran into Janiel again and as I passed her I said something about passing her was probably a bad idea but I kept moving at the same pace. We got to the top of the first climb and suddenly I was bombing down a technical, steep descent, arms out and head down. What a blast! For the next 16+ miles, that is what I did. I climbed hard and descended harder, spent very little time in the aid stations to fill up bottles and slam down some calories before I was back out on the course going hard. I wasn’t looking at the mileage on my watch, I was just clicking off miles with no regard to where I was. I’d ask the aid station volunteers how far it was to the next aid and keep rolling through. And things were fine! I felt solid, my legs were good and my gut was cooperating. I was using some gels for the first time in a while as an experiment and they were working for the most part. I came out of the first half of the race exhilarated, legs a little worked but still working and I got moving through the 16-mile aid station on my way to 21.

I stopped to pee on the side of the trail after power-hiking for half a mile and when I started moving again I was run/walking. My stomach was finally not really happy with me and I had taken some Tailwind this time rather than the electrolyte tabs I was using to this point. I knew liquid calories would at least give my body something to work with while my stomach figured out what it wanted to do. My head started turning against me a little bit; pity party time. I was grinding down the mostly flat trail running a bit and walking a bit while my head was telling me I should probably drop at the aid station because I didn’t really have anything to prove, that I wasn’t really trained for this, that I didn’t have any reasonable expectation of breaking my PR, that my legs were going to hurt, that I had to drive home after the race, that there wasn’t anyone at the finish line waiting for me… And I kept telling myself to get my shit together and move. I passed another guy struggling to make it through and I moved on into aid at mile 21. They asked me what I wanted and I said something like a “kick in the head.” I talked to the other guy as he rolled in, he was feeling it pretty hard, and then I filled my bottles and headed out. They said the next aid was 5.5 miles away and I knew that I could make that, hiking it all if I had to.

And hike I did. Mile 23 rolled around and I realized I couldn’t run at all and I had to just settle into the grind. My stomach had started to settle down by this point too but I didn’t want to chance putting more calories in after things went a bit south earlier on, probably due to a calorie deficit. I’m not used to racing that hard and I couldn’t rely on my old formulas for calorie intake so I was playing it by ear. I knew the next aid was only 2.5 miles away and I finally started paying attention to mileage on my watch, if anything to pass the time. Mile 26.5 and the aid station wasn’t where I expected it. Honestly it was a good thing because it forced me to push past the “I can drop with 5 miles left if I need to” excuse that I had in mind just in case. It was closer to mile 27.5, at least on my watch, before the last aid station showed up and I had already resigned myself, or psyched myself into finishing strong. I blew through the final aid station and ground on. As the minutes passed, I say my PR slipping away and figured maybe I could squeeze out some easy running to try and keep on track a little bit. After a couple of false starts, I was finally able to get a run going and then…the final climb. Holy shit. What a sadistic move to put a steep climb in the final 1.5 miles of a race. I couldn’t believe it. Each step was testing my new found muscle stability from the cramping earlier and it didn’t really make anything worse. The descent on the other side was extremely steep and halfway down the hill was another couple of runners, one with a broken ankle. They suggested maybe sliding down on my ass, I declined and hobbled my way to the bottom and around the corner to find..another climb. Not as steep, not as technical but my legs were shot and I was withing spitting distance of the finish. I was passed going the other direction by the RD and his medical crew/volunteers and thought better of snarking off about the last climbs. In the final mile, I was able to run and came in with a PR after all, 7:30:28, 15 minutes better than I had at Tinajas the last time I ran out there.

I talked to Janiel for a minute and she mentioned that I had gone out with a fast pack of runners when I passed her earlier and it took me a minute to really let that sink in. I was running with fast runners. This has literally NEVER happened in my life. And while I blew up 2/3 of the way through the race, the fact that I was able to hang with the faster runners is simply unbelievable. I’m not that runner, or at least I wasn’t. Looking ahead, I’ll probably step back from the 100-mile goal in April because realistically I’ve been struggling to put together the mileage that I need to feel strong at that distance. I may do the 100k instead but I need to take a minute to reflect on where I’m at before I decide where I’m going.

It’s been an emotional couple of weeks but I know that I’m making my own way through things and getting a distance PR at Bandera is nothing to sniff at.