I had to find out why this course seductively entices our local runners to its trails each year. What makes it so special? Could I do it and would I enjoy the adventure? I went in search of Epic.
Miles 1 - 7: Like riding a new roller coaster for the first time, the climb upward heightened my anticipation for the thrill the downhill would bring. The first climb trudged from 7300' to 8000' and then dropped back down to about 7300. Then back up to 8100' before the next really long downhill segment. The trail ranged from decent jeep trails to single-track with a variety of large, embedded rocks or loose rocks. The Mile 5 aid station supplied runners with a bountiful smorgasboard of boiled shrimp, fresh fruit, Heed, gels, chips, crackers, etc.
I quickly found out that none of my training prepared me for the difficulty of the single-track trail. All of my long runs had been on the dirt and rock trails along the Rim Rocks but did not come close to simulating the difficult footing and steep downhills. I had to stay mentally focused the entire time or risk tripping. Letting my mind meander like I normally do on long runs was not an option and I became mentally and physically tired. I felt unbalanced and rather out-of-control. The course loses over 5,000' in elevation. How does someone prepare for that on a local level? I envied the good trail runners who floated over the rocks and down the hills effortlessly.
Mile 8: My toe finally caught a rock and I went down on hands and knees in the loose rock. It was jarring but overall I looked pretty good with just some minor trail rash on my left leg, a skinned knee, and a quickly bruising left palm.
Mile 10: I stopped to have my blistering feet taped by a handsome young man at the aid station. I was slightly horrified to have someone so precious tending to my dirty, sweaty, and blistered feet but he didn't seem to mind. What an angel.
Mile 12.5: We had lost significant elevation and the temps were become brutally hot with very little air circulation in the canyon. I was over-heating and the sound of the Tongue River rushing with the winter run off could be heard and seen in the valley just below the trail. What a cruel joke that was -- all I wanted to do was take my shoes off and cool my feet in the frigid water.
I felt seriously light-headed at this point and some running friends wisely encouraged me to take some Heed and Endurolyte capsules at this aid station. I also ate some watermelon and orange slices. Volunteers soaked us with cool water. I walked a while and began to feel better.
Mile 15: I felt pretty whiny until I came across a woman who was finishing the 100 mile route. She was barely putting one foot in front of the other so I slowed to walk with her a bit to help encourage her. She was at about Mile 97 and really hating life. She told me about her night alone on the trail and how she had been really afraid of bears. We talked about what motivates her to run the ultra distances.
A little boy with a garden hose thoroughly soaked us both at this aid station while his mother ran to fetch me a popsicle. I drank more Heed. The ultra woman and I parted ways and I didn't see her again until the finish. She shaved 3 hours off her last year's time.
So it wasn't pretty but I finished my mere 18 miles and found my husband who was nervously waiting at the finish line. My finish time was 30 - 45 minutes slower than I'd hoped but I lost significant time in the aid stations. "Never Again," I said. "That was the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life!" A male running friend smiled at me and said, "Well, now you've done THE BIGHORN."
That's been nearly 2 weeks ago and I find the pain has been replaced with a real sense of accomplishment and pride. I can already hear the seductive Bighorn sirens crying and calling to me. I will go back next year.
My GPS lost some mileage on the course but here's the overall profile.
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