Friday, December 2, 2016

Rough Trail Race Report

Race report by MRTT Louisville member Dannielle Copeland




On Friday, November 11th, I packed up my car and my gear and I made the two-hour trek to Koomer Ridge Campground at Red River Gorge. Jeanette Dunlap's husband and brother and their friend had rented a campsite there, and since we had a 7:00 a.m. start time, I thought I would get the best rest possible by being there and (mostly) ready in the morning.

About halfway to the campground, I realized I had forgotten my Garmin. After a mild panic attack, I pulled it together and thought that it may actually be for the best. NONE of this race had gone as planned anyway, and not having my Garmin would just be a reminder that I was there to simply enjoy myself.


Since I'm pretty much the definition of a "city girl," I had zero camping equipment. The plan was to sleep in the back of my Traverse (my bed is pictured.) I got to the campsite at around 8:00 p.m., chatted with Jeanette's family for a while, and we all had an early morning so headed off to our respective beds. As you can imagine, it took me a while to fall asleep. A small branch had fallen on my car, and when I peaked out to see what it was, there was a running car parked right in front of me. I looked around a bit for the nearest object that could pass as a weapon, and stared at it until they drove away what felt like an eternity later. Eventually, I dozed off.


I woke up periodically throughout the night, because even though I was in a comfy cocoon of warm blankets, it was under 40 degrees outside, and if I moved my body an inch in any direction, the cocoon was broken. Even with all of the obstacles, I got relatively good sleep. I felt rested when my alarm woke me at 5:15 a.m., but definitely not ready to come out from under my blankets and change into my race gear to go get my race packet. I got all changed, teeth chattering and all, and meekly headed over to the packet pickup area.

My confidence is pretty well shot at this point. I had barely run or worked out at all in the past month due to vacation and moving. I had never done a 50k before. The mileage along was intimidating, but I was also painfully aware of the elevation change. It was eerily similar to the marathon that MarianJeanette and I had done two months earlier, which had us using our hands to climb at some points. I had to keep reminding myself that this was going to be hard, I was going to need to dig really deep for the strength, but that it was only temporary, and that it was still going to be fun, if I let it. It was a gift to be able to be out there.

So I waited, with a portion of my body exposed to the fire that they had lit for us all (until a man walked directly in front of me and stole my heat) until the race would begin. The race director gave us a few directions, walked us over to the starting area, counted down from five to one, and set us loose. As we're starting, I'm noticing many t-shirts around me of people who have run in 50-milers, 100-milers. I feel out of my league.

Less than a mile in, likely due to deer-in-headlights look on my face, a guy started chatting with me. We laughed about the guy that had run past us with no shirt on (in 40-degree weather) and I quickly found out that he also trained for the race on the Siltstone at JMF. Not only was he comfortable at the same speed that I was at, we also had something to talk about. I felt instant relief. Maybe I was going to be able to do this!

The next eight-or-so miles went pretty smoothly. A fair bit of it was runable, and my new friend (wish I'd have gotten his name) and I stayed on pace together. At around that point, we had come onto a gravel road that we would be spending around three miles on. I thought a lot about Marian here, because I know how much she loves running on gravel 

During this point, we had run past a bunch of firefighters that were out there containing the wild fires. They clapped as we went by, told us we looked great, and one even said, "you're making me feel lazy!" I laughed and thanked him for his important job out there. They have no idea how encouraging that felt to me.

Soon after this, we'd come to our first aid station, which took us into a large loop - about five miles? This is where we came out onto the natural bridge (pictured) and eventually down, and down further, and further. First rule of trail running? Always watch your footing. Second? What goes down, must come up. On this downhill portion, I met three guys who I'd end up spending the majority of the rest of the run with. At this point I asked one of them how many miles we'd done, since I didn't have my watch, and he'd said about 12 miles. I was pleasantly surprised. Then we started going uphill.....

After getting through there, we got back to the aid station that was at the beginning of the loop. I fueled and kept on tracking. We had to backtrack on about two miles of gravel to find another trail. There were some workers in there tending to some downed trees, lots of big rocks, and it started to go downhill again. I was "by myself" with the three guys I'd met shortly ahead of me. I heard a whistle, one of those whistles where you're just trying to get someone's attention, from behind me. I looked back, and nobody was there. I heard it again, looked back, and a guy ducked back behind a boulder. I freaked out a bit, picked up my pace, and caught up to me friends. I don't know what the guy was doing, except for being a creep.


I stayed with my friends through this whole area until we found another aid station. This was the 17-mile aid station, as I'd find out from the people working it. At that point, the pleasantly surprised reaction was not my first one. Still, I had work to do. I fueled, filled my pack with water, took off running again, and hit a wall. I don't know if it was that my pack was heavy again from water, that I knew I still had about halfway to go, or what, but I started to doubt myself again.

Not a quarter of a mile later, three women ran past me, they yelled and cheered, "You're the first woman we've seen. Way to go!!" Well, because of the nature of the course, with loops and back and forths, I knew I was not the first woman coming through, but I didn't care! To them I was doing awesome. Their high-fives and cheers put a pep back in my step.

This whole time I had a weapon in my hydration pack. Jeanette wrote me a letter before the 50K and told me not to open it until I needed encouragement, until a point where going on seemed impossible. I can't even express what simply knowing that I had that letter in my possession did for me. I knew I had people on my team that would do anything to see me through this the best way they knew how. As much as I wanted to know what that letter said, I didn't need to. It served its purpose without me even opening it.

At about mile 20 is when I really started to see people coming back around -- 50k-ers that were at the front of the pack, and a few 25k-ers. I was hoping to run into Jennifer so we could cheer each other on, but it didn't end up that way.

Miles 20-26 were hard, but honestly, I felt better on those miles during the 50k than I did during the marathon. Probably because I had done that distance with that elevation change once before, so I knew I could. But my legs cramped horribly during the marathon, and they did not in the 50k. However, one of the guys I was running with told me that we were at mile 27 when we got to the aid station, and they informed us it was 25.5. That really stung.

At that 25.5 aid station you run about 1.8 miles to the next aid station, then the 1.8 back to the 25.5 aid station. This was the second hardest part of the race for me. On the way to, I fell, twice. I sprained my thumb and bumped my knee, cut my stomach. I was just tired. I took it easy, slowed my pace, and fueled more than I thought necessary, because that's what Marian and Jeanette would have told me to do. I got to the aid station at the turn-around point, and they told me way to go, you're sooooo close. You've got this. I turned around and headed the 1.8 back to the initial aid station. I passed people headed the 1.8 in, and they were beaten down and tired just like I was. One said she was envious of me being more done that she was. I didn't like that she was hurting, but it felt good to be able to encourage someone, and, with 100% honesty, be more done that she was.


I got back to the aid station, and I was at 28 miles. Further than I had ever gone before! I was elated. They said, "One more hill, then it's flat and you're pretty much done." I fueled, smiled from ear to ear, and stood there at the aid station to read my letter from Jeanette. An extra umph to push me through my last three miles (or four, as it would turn out.)

I'm running along with the three guys I had met at this point, and eventually we hit the "one last hill." One of the three guys, it was his first 50k also. He wasn't handling the whole thing as well as I was, as he had audibly said how much he hurt and how hard it was many times. Well, on this hill, he found his courage and I found my wall. The three of them made their way past me, with encouraging words along the way, "Keep going. You've got this. You're almost done," and they disappeared off into the woods. I wouldn't see them again until the finish line.

Eventually, I made my way up the hill of death, and thought, "Okay. Now it's just a flat and easy ride. And it totally was, but for the three flights of stairs I had to climb <insert sarcasm font>

Since I was nearing the campground, I was running past a fair number of hikers. They knew what we were doing out there, and they'd tell me about how long I had to go. I was grateful, since I didn't have my watch and I had zero comprehension of how much I had left to go or where I was. I ran past a lovely group of about five women who told me how awesome I was and that they'd never imagine running that far. They were so sweet, yet so distracting. I tripped on a root and fell flat down about 10 seconds after I passed them. Out of sheer embarrassment, I got up pretty fast. Had they not been there, I might have just laid there until somebody rolled a stretcher out for me.

I ran into one gentleman who said, "only about a half a mile to go." A half a mile never felt so long before. I was done. I wanted to be out of the woods. Two big blisters popped on my feet and they stung. Every step felt like it took more and more energy. I kept going, and somehow this guy came upon me on the trail again. Honestly, maybe I was hallucinating at this point? (Just kidding) But he was there again, and he said, "It's right there. Just around the bend, and you're there." He saw the desperation on my face. I didn't believe him.

Right after I ran past him, I saw the flags. It WAS right there. People at the campground started cheering. The pep in my step was back again!! "Go runner. Come on runner!! " IT FELT AMAZING. I smiled, I cried, and I saw my three friends again, waiting there for me at the finish to take photos crossing the finish line.

I had a beer waiting for me in my car. I hobbled over there, sat on my bed, took off the torture devices on my feet, and enjoyed my win.

50K Rough Trail Complete!