Running and I have a tumultuous relationship. Current status: “it’s complicated.” I’ve recently rediscovered (relatively) long-distance trail running, and I’m happy with it so far. This time around, it’s not for a team, a professional requirement, or other obligation. I do it because it feels good, in that love-to-suffer type 2 fun way (the “runner’s high” is real), because I get to experience beautiful terrain, and because I get to eat as many snacks as I can carry. (Unless I sign up for a race; then someone else provides the snacks!)
Anyone who knows me well will readily tell you that I have a history of rash decisions, especially where outdoor pursuits are concerned. Hence, nobody will be surprised to hear that I decided, on a whim, in the midst of a road trip, to sign up for a trail race. There were a few in Austin to choose from that weekend, and I ultimately chose the Muleshoe Bend series hosted by PJ at Perspective Pacing. They offered distances from a kids’ one-mile race all the way up to the flagship 50k ultramarathon.
The next decision was which distance to sign up for. Kid’s mile? I’m too old. 5k? Too short. 10k? Too competitive. 20k? Doable, but pretty far outside my comfort zone. 50k? I could finish but work the next morning would be rough. Naturally, I settled on the 20k. Questionable choices, remember? Sort of my thing.
Muleshoe Bend is a beautiful park on the banks of the Colorado River, run by Texas’ Lower Colorado River Authority (LCRA). It’s about an hour from Austin, in Texas Hill Country. Emphasis on “hill.”
Registration via runsignup.com was easy – spell my name right, input my credit card information, and voila. Bib pickup on race day was well-organized. Race day arrival and check in were similarly easy. There was a volunteer at the park entrance to give directions to the race; when I asked if I was racing, I of course replied with something to the effect of “I wouldn’t call it that, but I’m running” – some variation of which I’m sure the poor girl had heard dozens of times by that point. Whatever. I’m funny.
PJ had a large section of the park reserved and marked off for camping and parking. Pickings were slim by the time I got there, but I found a flat spot to park and pitch my rooftop tent before picking up my bib. I assumed (correctly) that I’d be grateful to have my bed ready to collapse in when I finished. Bib pickup was smooth; I gave a lady at one table my name, got my race number from her, and got a fashionable prison-style ankle monitor from the gentleman at the next table – less than two minutes total. This gave me an hour to gear up, get some carbohydrates (Honey Stinger Chews) in my system, and soak up the music and good vibes.
About 10 minutes before the 7 PM start time, I lined up for the pre-race brief for the 10k/20k racers (we were starting at the same time and running the same loop; 20k runners had to do the loop twice). The gentleman giving the brief (it may have been PJ, but I’m not sure) focused on two key points. First, be cool. Everyone wants to finish. Ask for help if you need it, and give help if someone asks. Second, the second loop of the 20k would probably include some time in the dark for most of us, so headlamps are highly encouraged. Fortunately, I never go anywhere without one (neither should you, but that’s a whole different topic).
The start was surprisingly tranquil: no gun or whistle, just a “3, 2, 1, go!” I started in the middle of the pack and stepped off at what I thought was a slow, steady pace. Per usual, I was going a little quicker than I thought. The adrenaline gets me every time. The first half mile or so was open, grassy, and mostly downhill, providing plenty of time for the pack to thin out. After the hill flattened out, the trail took a sharp left into the woods, and quickly narrowed into single track.
Most of the course was narrow, well-packed dirt through the woods, with a couple of exceptions. There were three aid stations on the course. One, about a mile and a half in, was unmanned— just a table set up with coolers of water and Tailwind (the electrolyte powder of choice for this race). The second was about halfway through, staffed, and had plenty of snacks in addition to the liquid options. The third was at the start/finish area. On the first lap, I stopped briefly at each of the three to top off my fancy, top-of-the-line ultramarathon soft flasks Mountain Dew bottles, but didn’t take the time to grab snacks. I instead relied on Honey Stinger gels for my ongoing carbohydrate intake.
With the 7 PM start time, I think most of the 10k finishers finished their entire race in the daylight. As a slower runner doing the 20k, I knew I’d be doing most of my second loop in the dark, so I stopped to move my headlamp into one of the front pockets of my vest at the start/finish point before starting my second loop.
My second lap was much quieter; the 10k runners were off the course, and the 20k runners were very dispersed. It was also much slower going in the dark, a constant balancing act between looking down for good foot placement and looking ahead to make sure I was able to follow the trail. Fortunately, the course was well- and frequently-marked, and I don’t think anyone accidentally wandered down the wrong trail or into the woods. It was uneventful for me until a couple miles in, when I missed my footing, landed hard, and my right calf immediately cramped up – probably my body guarding against exacerbating an old Achilles injury. Of course, the cramping slowed be down a bit, and then a bit more when my left hamstring decided to join the party for no apparent reason! Jerk.
I was in rough shape when I stumbled into the aid station around the halfway point, but I managed to jog in and out of there – have to put on a good show… When I complained about the cramps, the two volunteers there knew exactly what to do. Two shots of pickle juice cleared up the cramping immediately, like magic, and I was on my way.
Immediately, but not permanently. A few minutes down the trail, I tripped and fell, and the cramps started anew. This marked the lowest point of my evening: alone in the woods, in the dark, cursing into the ether as I stretched and massaged the muscles and climbed back to my feet. I pressed on, knowing I only had a couple miles to go, and that the only way off the trail was to finish.
The next several minutes were serene, if painful, solitude in the forest. I saw the occasional glow of a headlamp in the distance behind me, but none caught up or passed me (of course, I didn’t see any lights ahead of me either– an indicator of how far behind the pack I was).
I was lost in thought when I saw two pairs of eyes gleaming in the woods, a few feet off the ground. No big deal – just a couple trash pandas hanging out in a tree, right? When I rounded the next bend in the trail, those eyes suddenly felt much more concerning when I encountered some sort of a pagan/shamanistic shrine just off the trail, which I somehow failed to notice (or it wasn’t there yet…) on the first lap. First encountering it in the dark, combined with the eerie feeling of being watched (because, you know, eyes glowing in the woods) made the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight, and gave me the boost of adrenaline I needed to finish strong.
The last mile or so after this was uneventful. I ran the flats and the downhills, and walked most of the uphills. I finished off my Mountain Dew, water, tailwind, and my last energy gel. I cursed my lack of fitness. I swore to myself that I’d never run more than 10k again.
When I finally crossed the finish line, the race volunteer collecting the ankle bracelets asked how I felt. After catching my breath, I replied “great! That was a fun course.” What I was thinking, of course, was far different; I’d re-learned a beautiful lesson in pain, loneliness, and resilience.
After collecting my participation trophy finisher’s medal, I limped back to my tent, bathed with a bottle of water and a towel, and collapsed for a few hours. When I woke up around 5 AM to leave for work, the 50k runners were still finishing; I could see the headlamps approaching the finish line and hear the cowbells and cheers. I was glad I’d opted not to attack that distance this time around.
As I drove out of the park to go to work too damn early, I pondered two things. First, signing up for a long race on a whim with no training was colossally stupid. Second, I’ll definitely do it again. Overall, this was a very well-run event on a beautiful and challenging course. I can’t wait to come back next year, maybe for the 50k. Maybe I’ll train for it. But then again, maybe not.
Excellent, what fun! Glad you’ve re-discovered long distance running! It so good for the body and soul (…unless you have knees like mine 😂 then it’s not so good for the body). Can’t wait to hear about the next one!