Rut the Deuce?!?! - 2018 Rut 50k

September 04, 2018

Rut the Deuce?!?! - 2018 Rut 50k

When my wife first learned the intricacies of what a skayrace is after I told her I signed up for the 2017 Rut 50k, she might have thought, “rut the hell are you thinking, old man?” Despite that I DNF’ed that year (disaster report here) and my brother swore never to run over that much scree and exposure, I signed up again. Surely my wife must have thought, “rut the deuce?” But we'd be wrong as by now she's surely calloused to my geriatric idiocy. On the morning of my departure from comfy California, I shouted out with glee, “hey, i just got my condolence letter saying I got into the Euchre Bar Massacre!”. She went through her 7 stages of i-can’t-believe-i-married-this-clown so quickly, her windswept hair swooned as she told me make sure I obtain a GPS satellite tracker. Anyway, that’s another story for next month. One rutter at a time.

If my failure in 2017 was going to be of any help at all, it would be in guiding my training. More squats, burpees, hill climbing, weight vest/pack training, Chihuahua sprints, reverse escalator climbs, endurance macarena, and just about any rut-hole puckering exercise I could think of. Surely some of that must help, if only as a placebo. Wishfully, I felt more secure in my training than I do with TSA patting down grandmothers for weapons. But I would be wrong, so wrong.

It was heartwarming to see that all the excitement from the weekend’s UTMB race in France had spilled over into SFO airport. I managed the switchbacks and conga lines of security check-in with patience, unlike many “elite” American runners, and didn’t DNF before reaching the gate.

Spot the Gallatin

After Bozeman, it’s an hour drive up the Gallatin river valley to Big Sky. I don’t know what Spot was thinking about (she’s pretty private in her thoughts, not unusual for a stuffed turtle), but I was reflecting on my wife’s grandmother, G.G., who grew up here. I was wearing her late husband’s ring, a gift bestowed on me due to our shared connections even he and I never got to meet. We’re both veterans, though he of the more serious kind, WWII and Korea. I wonder what he would have thought about his granddaughter marrying a Korean. I wonder if one of my kids will end up with a Kuwaiti. I wonder what GG and JR would have thought about what I’m doing up here this weekend. Knowing GG, she would have taken her husband’s ring back.

"Why! Why? Why!" - kids of the Rut Runts Run

Old idiot, unfortunate fans, aspiring idiot

Rut race reekend begins with a 28k race and the Rut Runts Run, say that 10 times fast, on Saturday. Watching the little kids, I couldn’t help but think… I could so kick their ass right now. But in 3-4 years, they will mop the trail with my tears. They should have a Rut Seniors Run so I have something to look forward to in my cane, walker and wheelchair days, a race where you run around trying to find a bus stop before an orderly catches you and takes you back to the nursing home and forces you to put on underwear. Anyway, I’m not quite there yet and I still have time to influence young runners into healthy habits, you know, future ultra-idiots. I met my niece and her husband, the latter who was registered for the Rut as his first 50k but resigned himself to spectate due to the discovery of a serious genetic heart condition. If I ever saw a doctor, I’m sure they’d discover a humorous generic brain condition. Anyway, to lift his spirits, I talked him into picking up his registration and t-shirt, and then into walking the first 5 miles. He talked himself into doing another 13 miles, including the torturous climb up Headwaters Ridge. Nudge gently and the idiot will find his way

Conga, conga, conga!

Don't look up!

Told you not to look up!

The race starts in three self-sorted waves. I figured the third wave would all DNF, so I placed myself at the back of the second. The first mile climb up the fire road is a game of hurry up and wait in that we try to not get behind too many people. At the end of the first mile is the conga line waiting for us as we funnel into the single track. The initial 1,500 ft climb in 2.5 miles and the remaining 8 miles to the second aid station is standard trail running fare similar to the candy ass trails I have at home. Rolling single track, some fire roads. You’d be forgiven for thinking you were at a normal trail run. Just don’t look up - anything above you is something you’ll have to climb later.

Spot the scree!

You might see us emerging from the trees in the distance across the scree

Serious climbing fun!

At mile 12, we hit our first scree field. It’s fortunately downhill but that doesn’t mean you can run it. Most people gingerly walked across this field of loose ass-sized rock. I took my first of many falls of the day on this field, landed squarely, fortunately, ass first on a perfectly sized shrapnel of rock, and slid until the rocks settled. Whew! I would have 5 more non-injury falls and one of the other category. At mile 14.6, we emerged from the tree line to view the large expanse of scree and the tiny dots of runners climbing the Headwaters Ridge. It’s only a half mile, but it took most of us 30+ minutes to tiptoe across the scree and climb the steep ridge to 10,100 ft.

Downhill is easy, right?

The descent from there can be perilous and fortunately for my sake, I was surrounded by people a lot more cautious than I. Still, I covered the rocky and ridiculously steep 1.4 mile -1750 ft section a surprising 7 minutes faster than I did last year. Despite my record attempt, at 35 minutes, I’m a tad slower than the Strava segment record holder, Kilian Jornet, who covered this in 11:25. Show-off.

I dreaded the long slog from the bottom here to the third aid station at Stillwater. 1.3 miles and +900 over the hottest part of the day. The air here is stagnant letting the heat really soak in. I learned from last year’s disaster to carry extra water for this, and while I still went slowly and lost a few places in ranking, I managed to press on. I got to my drop bag here. Unfortunately, I was too large to fit inside of it and hitch a ride back to the start. I was too far ahead of the cut-off to come up with an excuse for dropping anyway. I would have to climb the ridge to Lone Peak.

Leaving the safety of solid ground

Trail? We don't need no steenkin' trail!

Starting the final push, meanwhile, massaging my thigh cramps

Obstacle course racing - skyrunner style

Some sections are steeper than average 35%

I kid of course, because I just absolutely adore this, the Bone Crusher trail. I don’t know why they call it that. They should call it the Ass Crusher trail, the Spirit Crusher trail or the Idiot Crusher trail. I managed to best my time from last year on the three sections of this 1.07 mile, +1965 ft trail by a lackluster 2 minutes, to 1 hour and 37 minutes. The PR is obviously held by Kilian in 24 and a half minutes. Kilian is my Spirit Crusher.

Riding the ridge downhill

The descent from Lone Peak is not much faster than the ascent. The scree and lose dirt laden section was tricky to navigate. The conga line leaving the aid station again probably saved me from a few falls, though not all. Going downhill should be called “ascent” since my ass got sent to the ground multiple times. Ass sliding and dirt skiing saved me 9 minutes from last year on this 1.14 mile -2,104 ft segment, cutting my time down to 36 minutes. The segment record of 11:10 is held by Pascal Egli, who without a doubt spent more time upright than I did.

When not going 3 times slower than race leaders, I felt okay. It wasn’t nearly as hot as last year and I had packed fruit cups to eat when my dry mouth couldn’t consume the salty aid station snacks. I’m a learned idiot (a sophomoron?). I crested the hill at mile 23 an hour ahead of where I was last year, making steady progress to the race’s sole creek crossing at mile 25 when not trying to shake imagined pebbles out of my shoes.

The last major climb to the final aid station at Andesite is a forgiving +900 ft in one mile. I took a Hardrock-disqualifying swig of beer from cheering fans and ice from a volunteer on the first part of the climb. The second part up goes up a mountain bike trail so ridiculously steep that we have to climb up a rope. It’s hard to believe people bike down this thing. This should be called the Bone Crusher, Helmet Crusher trail, or Watch-for-Idiot-"Runners"-Coming-Uphill Trail.

Here comes turtle! (pic: Britney)

At the aid station, after being told the finish was 5 miles and not the 4 that I imagined (I should study the course maps more carefully, or least once), I still had hopes for a sub-11 hour finish. 9 minute miles going downhill should be doable. At least it is on the candy ass trails I have at home. The rocks and ruts made maintaining a fast pace difficult, and though I mostly ran the first 4 miles non-stop, I don’t think I cracked 11 min/mile. There’s also a +300 ft hill at mile 30 - don’t worry, it’s only a half mile so it’ll be over sooner than if it was stretched out over a whole mile. So much for a fast finish, but at least it’s a finish. 11 hours, 18 some minutes of the hardest trail race I’ve ever done. Yes, I finished, but near the back of the pack. I got a lot of work to do if I want to graduate from middling, average ultrarunner to middling, average skyrunner.