Big Bend 50-Miler

I wanted a “win.”

And for me, that didn’t mean 1st place, or a podium spot, or a PR. It simply meant: Get to the start line uninjured. Get to the finish line without a catastrophe.

50 miles is a strange distance. I’d never raced it before. I had raced 60k (37 miles) and 100k (62 miles), both which seem close-ish to 50 miles and both distances about 5 years ago. The 100 km distance is notably longer than the 50 mile distance and is a big leap (in my opinion), while the 37 mile distance feels like tip-toeing into ultrarunning. 

For me, racing 50 miles felt short. I keep comparing it in my mind to a marathon for trail runners. It's long enough to take seriously, but not so long that it wrecks your day. 

I finished the event in 10 hours 27 minutes. I didn’t have a time goal going into it, but I expected a time between 10-12 hours and I was prepared to be out there for 14 hours if something turned sideways. But time was never a factor in the equation (which can be a tricky thing to let go of because runners can get a bit obsessed with time/pace). I put on my hiker’s mindset and let go of time and pace (which is such a freeing feeling if you haven’t tried it!)

At about mile 35, I decided to set an arbitrary goal for myself to finish in under 10 hours 30 minutes. This just sort of helped me keep moving a bit when fatigue set in later in the day. Could I have run that course faster? Yes, probably if I had trained for it or really wanted to. But I held steadfast to my goal which was experiential, not time-based. No catastrophes today. 

I had not done any speed work (or legitimate training) so I knew attempting to go fast or bombarding my GI system with carbs would result in chaos. So I chilled. Truly. I’m not trying to “humble brag,” because I know to most people a 10.5 hour untrained 50 mile effort doesn’t seem like “chilling,” but my mindset was relaxed and my body followed suit. I didn’t desire a huge sufferfest or to be out there for eternity if I were to fall or develop a bronchial spasm in my lungs. “Just enjoy being in west Texas today and see what comes of it,” I told myself. I leaned on my cycling conditioning from October/November and hoped my soft feet would survive running again. I had lost all my running calluses and knew this could be an issue.

I hardly slept at all the night before my race. My room had a little fireplace in it and around 1:00 am a wind storm struck the area and the wind was oppressively HOWLING. There is nothing more anxiety-driven than trying to be all cozy and sleepy while hearing the wind scream. I had white noise playing from my phone, but nothing could make the sound or my anxiety disappear. 

3:55 am – My alarm went off and I got up and had a minor BM. It was insufficient, but I needed to get ready and not just chill on the toilet reading about the weather. The forecast said “feels like 18 degrees,” and I contemplated starting with pants over my shorts. I ultimately realized I should just stick to the plan and the wind storm was supposed to die down right at 5:00 am. Two nights prior, my sister went into labor and again, I was up most of the night  with excitement about becoming a tia!

Carolyn Gump – my long-time Decker friend who is like a big sister to me – woke up to take me to the start (she raced the 20 km later that morning AND crewed me at my 50 km mark!). I was SO relieved to not have to worry about driving myself, parking, etc. I didn’t even realize how much it meant to have her be my morning companion until then. Just having a close friend nearby to talk to and share ideas with the morning of made things feel so nice and more relaxed. 

The lesson of this whole race revolves around what happened next. I loaded up with caffeine. I never drink coffee in daily life and save it for big efforts. I had some coffee and some oat milk mocha latte in a can. It swiftly prompted many morning thoughts and filled me with optimism and confidence. Caffeine is an amazing drug! (and with no sleep the last two nights, I really felt like I would need it!)

The start was in the dark and the front pack took off. Their headlamps disappeared in front of me after about 5 minutes. I took my wind jacket off after about 10 minutes and never used it again. I heard some voices chattering behind me and after a few miles the jeep road turned to single track. Still, no headlamps in front of me. Finally, Fred, the guy behind me, was trying to strike up a conversation. My eyes were watering so much from the cold I could barely make out the trail. Plus, I had my visor on so my headlamp was shining a few feet in front of me and I couldn't exactly see where my feet were landing. This was fine, but it required some concentration. 

Everything feels a little harder when your hands are unavailable. I had arm warmers on that covered my hands like fingerless gloves. I had stuffed hand warmers in the arm warmers and had gloves with mitten shells over them on top. I had pre-cut my nutrition so I wouldn’t have to struggle to eat in the cold, and the hand warmers REALLY helped keep my fingers functional.

After a few washouts and possible turn-offs, I asked Fred “is this the right way?” I still couldn’t see any lights ahead and it had been a minute since I had seen a confidence marker. He replied “I have no idea! You’re the one leading us and I’ve put all my trust in you!” A few minutes later, I saw a trail marker and I told Fred he could go ahead and pass me… to which he replied “no way! You’ve got about 30 runners behind you that you’re leading. It's a big responsibility and I don’t want it!” (ummm…. Me neither!)

For the first 3-4ish hours, the headwind was pretty brutal. Some sections were more exposed than others, and I these men behind me never took a turn in front. At one point one of them even made a joke about how I was a small draft and I thought to myself, “Yeah! Maybe you could take a turn blocking the wind!” But no one ever did and I never drafted the whole day. In some sense, I enjoy seeing the trail in front of me instead of being right behind someone, but it definitely takes more work to stay focused on footwork as well as being the one to take the force of the wind. I just told myself it was making me stronger, and smiled to myself.

I ran whenever the trail was runnable, which was most of the time. I skipped the first two aid stations and the sun rose and I finally dropped the trail of little ducklings behind me, as most (all?) of them stopped at aid stations. I found a spot to poop at mile 7, and lucky for me that was the one and only time all day! 

Food: I ate a fig bar, a packet of Cliff chews, two bean tacos, a baggie of angel hair w sesame oil, a UCAN gel, Frito chips (½ small baggie), liquid IV electrolytes, and salt tabs. I refilled with scratch at the aid stations but it was super watery. 

The first 50 km were pretty uneventful. At some point I took off my long sleeve shirt as it began to warm up to a perfect temperature and ran the rest of the day with my arm warmers + short sleeve shirt & shorts. My running vest has a tendency to chafe my neck so I used my buff and gloves as padding underneath my shoulder straps to mitigate chafe.

As I wrapped up the last bit of the 50 km loop, I began to see many familiar faces as much of our crew was out there running the 30 km race. I rolled to the finish line area (which was my turn around spot to begin the 30 km loop) and saw Carolyn and Holly who had just finished their respective races. Carolyn was slated to help crew me at that spot, but the moment was a bit chaotic as she had JUST finished herself! It was fun to see them and I took off for the last 30 km, seeing some more friendly faces finishing up as I headed out.

At about mile 35 I started to fade. I felt SO tired. Sleepy tired. WHY? Later, I realized it was likely from all the morning caffeine and I was now crashing. I rolled into an aid station and told them I was sleepy and I drank a sip of Coke. I never do well with it bc of the sugar + carbonation combo, but I took a few sips and it seemed to help a little. Miles 40-45 were slow going. The elevation was more than I remembered (although I was running the 30 km in the reverse direction from years past so everything felt unfamiliar and harder). I was alone and tired. My legs were definitely sore as well, but nothing hurt. I walked the uphills and trotted the downhills, but I was just… so… tired.

At mile 45 things shifted. Maybe nutrition kicked in, but the course also became flatter and more familiar. The last 3 miles were a net downhill! I began passing people slowly and with each mile I picked up more energy. At the end I was running well and had plenty of gas in the tank. I leaned into the speed and enjoyed pushing myself. 

I don’t think I could have gone much further and still had a smile on my face at the finish. My leg muscles felt like they were at their limit and the rest of the day I could hardly talk without a coughing fit. The lung issue was bad again. I was hacking up chunks of phlegm and had to seriously limit talking (and laughing). My steroid inhaler seemed to do the trick that evening as I was able to sleep without too much coughing.

Overall reflections – 

It was really nice to check off a win and not have any mixed emotions of imposter syndrome. I enjoyed this distance a lot and I think it is a reasonable distance to pursue in the future as I know my lungs can hang on for about 10-12 hours without catastrophe. I had one very small toe blister on my big toe that turned into a callus and I took a few weeks to fully recover. But all in all, my spirits were high and I felt like I was able to keep everything in total moderation, which was refreshing. I got 3rd place overall female, which was unexpected but of course felt good. I don’t know how many more races I will do this year (or in general) as ultras are just so expensive. So, I will likely turn my sights to unsupported efforts of my own in cool places! Stay tuned…!