Barkley Fall Classic Race Report - Dethroned!

Laz makes the time to chat with racers at bib pickup.

Enjoying the wonderful company of the BFC community at the finish line.

After racing the Barkley Fall Classic (BFC) twice, I was two-for-two on wins. This year, I didn’t know if I’d race BFC until a few days prior to the event. Based on my window to take a week away from life, I went into my Superior Hiking Trail Fastest Known Time (FKT) realizing that I most likely wouldn’t be able to race BFC less than two weeks later. I had never DNS, so I maintained a glimmer of hope that I wouldn’t miss the BFC community. Coming out of the FKT with minimal soreness, I was more hopeful to make my third appearance at BFC. After gauging my fatigue during a hike on Tuesday, I felt I’d be able to at least finish the race, and I began packing my bags to depart Thursday for Tennessee to become the race’s only three time winner.

Let’s see how it goes

Racers crawl over Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary’s prison wall, which is just the first of many barriers to escape.

I arrived at BFC not having run since the FKT, so I didn’t know until the race started if I was racing for another win or attempting a finish. I wrote my race goals down, a stark contrast to my goals last year (having fun was #2 compared to #6). As I jogged the early miles, I felt I could make a run for another win. Shortly after hitting the singletrack, I soon caught up to a conga line with at least ten guys ahead of me. I was so close to the person ahead of me that when he slipped and swung his arm, sweat from his arm flew into my face…at least my mouth wasn’t open. The pace felt more like my six day FKT pace rather than a 10 hour effort, which concerned me. I had the most women I’ve ever had ahead of me at BFC and was worried the leaders were putting a huge gap of time on me that I’d have to push solo to bridge. Instead of being a jerk and trying to pass on the singletrack, I just held my position at the back trying to relax in the early miles. Coming off of my weeklong FKT, I was very much used to not talking on the trail, so I didn’t feel the need to strike up a conversation.

Busting away from the conga line to reach the first aid station. Photo credit: Brittany Koether

Damage control

I knew we’d reach a few hundred meters of doubletrack before the first aid station, so I was poised to surge ahead to not get hung up behind the masses. I expected a mad dash, but to my surprise, no one challenged, and I was the first to arrive to the aid station. I was an hour into the race and seven minutes behind the leader, so I picked up the pace on the road to the climb up Bird Mountain. I was happy to crest in exactly 30 minutes well within myself. The group had strung out, but two guys weren’t far behind me on the final switchback. As I began descending, I was concerned why I couldn’t see or hear anyone behind me. Many intersections on this course are not marked, including this one, so I reevaluated the course from at least three angles to ensure I hadn’t made a wrong turn. Eventually they caught up to me on the long descent. Turns out they had stopped to look at their map to ensure they turned correctly after they lost sight of me. One of the racers was a virgin and anxious about cutoffs…I assured him that we were in about 15th place and in no danger of cutoffs (unless Laz was aiming for a finisher rate similar to the real Barkley!)

Attacked by hornets!

Minutes later they may have regretted catching me as I stirred up hornets and they both got stung (and I didn’t). It wasn’t long before I was initiated as hornets swarmed my head. I kept moving while swatting and managed only a single sting on my temple. Just as my body chemistry returned to normal, I felt another sting on my right ankle. At least this was a solo wasp which I easily knocked off without losing a step.

Follow me!

Once again, I lost some time on the downhill, a theme for the day, prior to entering the next aid station. I had survived the most technical downhills without any ankle rolls, which have plagued me the last several years and is always on my mind that with a single step God could allow my race to be over. My next descent was a non-technical jeep road that I planned to haul on. I opted not to stop at the aid station so I lost my two companions, who were the last of the original conga that I would run with. At another unmarked intersection, two more men were stopped holding their maps as if they were tourists from the 1990s on a road trip. I yelled to them as I flew by, “Follow me,” and they promptly folded their maps with a look of relief on their faces. I was pleased that on this three mile descent no one caught me. I probably would have been faster if I wasn’t distracted with constantly pulling up me shorts. Not only am I still a few pounds under my normal weight from the FKT, but my shorts have lost some elasticity over the years. As convenient as it is to just pack the same gear, it may be time to retire these shorts after using them for BFC year after year!

No man’s land

At this aid station, I took the time to refill both my flasks since this section was the longest between aid stations. The local football team (a fine one with an undefeated record) run the aid stations and were awesome to help me out and get some protein powder dumped in. Now I was onto Chimney Top Trail, my nemesis. I glanced down and saw one guy a switchback behind (and would never see again), and knew this would be a several hour solo push. This was the first time I wasn’t in the lead pack on this climb. I eventually passed Jenny, the race photographer and a friend, along with a few hikers. I finally saw another racer, but as I walked by, it was apparent the rest of the race would be a slow slog for him and I instantly left him behind.

As I climbed, I knew the race didn’t begin until we got to the offtrail sections ahead; however, I still questioned how much faster my pace was than my six day FKT effort. Since GPS of any kind isn’t allowed, I had no way to gauge my pace and focused on the blazes and what I needed to do at the next aid station. I was proud to have made it up Chimney Top Trail within myself, especially after my first BFC needing to muster everything within myself to just keep moving.

Not again!

As I rolled into the aid station, I stowed my soft flasks inside my pack for safekeeping from the sharp thorns and the football team helped me fill my bladder. After punching my bib at the fire tower, I got my pants on and unrolled my sleeves to enter the briar-infested Rat Jaw. I was pleasantly surprised the going seemed much faster than last year where it took me an hour to descend a mile through the thick briars.

For the third year in a row, I caught up to the leaders prior to the halfway point on Rat Jaw and soon found myself in the front trying to find the path of least resistance. The going was faster than last year when we followed the wild boar game trails, which occasionally required us to crawl. Just when I got into a rhythm, we reached an intersection, and I lost the game trail. Luckily another racer soon found it and he took the lead. When we arrived at the prison, I was the last of the eight of us that had bunched up in the lead pack (including the lead woman, Kris Rugloski).

Reaching the base of Rat Jaw neck and neck with the women’s winner. Photo credit: Brittany Koether

Since headlamps are required, I decided to make sure mine was handy for the dark prison tunnel. I barely needed it since this was the first time most of the tunnel was dry as I ran side-by-side with Kris. After getting my bib punched at the prison wall by Keith Dunn (who’s known for his Twitter updates of the Barkley Marathons), who I admire for his witty sense of humor, I rolled my ankle in a divot on the mowed lawn of the prison. I quickly got up, frustrated that with all the briars, rocks, and roots that this is where I rolled my bad ankle. Luckily it was fine, and I headed to the next aid station before attacking more infamous climbs and descents.

Melting

Although my pants kept me unscathed from dozens of briar scratches, I was paying the price of overheating. I had been here last year where full sun and warm temperatures added to the mix. Even though temperatures were mild, and the skies were overcast with impending rain, I was still melting. I longed for ice and a Coke that revitalized me last year at the upcoming aid station. I kept my pants on as I approached the next power line cuts since that section of the course had shredded me the prior year. As I continued to melt, I determined there were less briars than last year and I took off my pants to cool down.

These climbs seemed shorter than last year, a testament of all my hill climbing since last year including an Everesting. However, when I reached the descent, I felt like a grandma with several people flying by me. I longed for poles (also not allowed in BFC) to give me stability on the uneven terrain. I eventually reached the aid station, a turnaround for an out-and-back, and had only lost four minutes to the female leader since the prison, and still in striking distance (and in hindsight within a minute of my 2022 split from Tub Springs from the prior year). I didn’t expect her to crumble since she seemed confident when we were descending Rat Jaw together (turns out she’s an obstacle course racer so that makes sense now). I didn’t get down when there was no promised ice or Coke at the aid station and focused on my mission.

Which is worse - the saw briars on Rat Jaw or the barbed wire at Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary?

I was happy the rain held off until I was descending the final power line cut on this section which meant the only climb to face wet conditions would be Rat Jaw, unlike the rest of the field behind me. I managed a full Superman fall in front of an oncoming racer, but was relieved that the show didn’t require any medical attention. As the rain began falling, I took solace that I would cool off. Unfortunately, I was already drenched in sweat due to the humidity, so it took an hour before I began to feel better. As I approached the prison, I formulated a game plan where to bolt to puke to not compromise the race with Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary visitors or the kids working the aid station. Luckily, I was able to settle my stomach and liquid calories were adequate to get me to the finish.

Slip n’ slide 2.0

I reached Decision Point where Laz attempted to tempt me with being the winner of the marathon distance. I just muttered, “That’s not the reason I’m here.” after finding Kris had put several more minutes on me. But I wasn’t giving up. At the base of Rat Jaw, Laz had a front row seat to the best show in town, racers ascending and descending Gunnysack Hill. Based on my prior experience, I found some solid foot and handholds, until being stuck on the final few feet of the wall. After a few attempts, I managed to pull myself up to the delight of the crowd. The concentration needed to climb the hill refocused me and my only dose of caffeine was kicking in at the right time and I was feeling much better.

Chatting with the 2023 BFC women’s champion, Kris Rugloski, at the finish line. Photo credit: Steve Durbin

Got to check out some main intersections the day before the race after receiving our race maps, including the the creek crossing just before the finish line.

My first year at BFC in 2021 was the first time it had ever rained. I had the experience of climbing Rat Jaw, equivalent of a milelong slip n’ slide. It was a hoot and distracted me from the 2,000 foot climb. This go around, I was a mission, I had to overcome an eleven minute deficit if I wanted to fight for the win. I told myself to “Work smarter, not harder,” as I navigated the slippery slopes. I wouldn’t win an Emmy award for best drama as I slipped repeatedly backwards. I looked for any rock, root, or stump to grab onto but often found my only choice was grabbing a handful of briars. Unlike 2021, I also had to watch out for descenders, sometimes sliding wildly out of control. A few times I thought I was catching up to someone, only to find them descending backwards, using the downed cable to rappel. I used the cable occasionally, but often it was too squirrelly, so I tried to hug the edge of the briars. Occasionally, the briars would catch my clothes, pack, or flesh and I’d need to tear away from them. Every time I slipped, I wondered if my shoe choice would cost me the race.

“We have a race”

When I wasn’t sliding on mud slopes, I cranked up the hill and passed two men, but I was only interested in reeling in my female competitor. The hundreds of thousands of feet of climbing over the past year had paid off and I felt like I could keeping Rat Jaw forever. I finally recognized Kris’s pack and was ready to attack! “This is epic,” I thought, a showdown on Rat Jaw, the first women’s battle in the final miles for the win. Then I realized we literally had feet left of the climb. I wanted to decisively pass her, planting doubts if she could catch someone that looked so strong. As I pounced to make this monumental pass, she hesitated briefly and said, “Can you please pick that up?” She hadn’t realized I was the one behind her and was asking me to pick up a piece of litter! It was the right thing to do, so I complied. (I ribbed her afterwards for making the pass so anticlimactic.) She didn’t put up a fight as I passed, and I got up to the fire tower in third place overall for my bib punch.

As I descended, I looked at her in the eyes and made the mistake of saying, “We have a race.” She told me after that she had been demoralized that I made up so much time on Rat Jaw, but that statement lit a fire in her. As we began our three mile descent to the finish, she unleashed and put a 20 second gap on me in a few hundred meters. I had hoped she’d stop at the final aid station, but she flew down to the trail without a moment of hesitation. I feared she’d be able to descend, so now I needed to minimize the gap, since the race isn’t over until it’s over. I descended the fastest I could without being reckless. I was starting to think I’d make my first descent down South Old Mac without getting passed, but then one of the men I had passed on Rat Jaw flew by. As I made the final turns, the other man that I had dropped on Rat Jaw passed me. I was racing faster than I had in years (I haven’t run a race shorter than 50k since 2008), but I knew I wouldn’t have the closing speed of others, as I fell to 6th place.

Getting some time chatting with race director, Steve Durbin. When I arrived at bib pickup, he was quick to welcome me back.

I crossed the finish line in the 10th fastest women’s time in BFC’s ten year history, within one minute of my time in 2021 despite a longer course this year. Despite not coming in 100%, I was only three minutes off the overall podium, after being the first woman to crack the top three last year. It was great to see Kris had repeated that feat this year and to see more depth in the women’s field.

My post-BFC ritual of covering my legs in antibiotic ointment.

I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to race, and didn’t expect to break ten hours based on this year’s course. I was glad I made the trip and proud that I gave a fight to the end. (Not only did I overcome a eleven minute deficit, but both my split up Rat Jaw and down South Old Mac was several minutes faster than last year’s despite extremely slippery conditions.) I had worried if I was making a mistake racing so soon following the FKT (my feet were still numb and blisters still visible and one popped during the race), but my results show that my body was capable. I was blessed to reconnect with so many of the BFC community, and meet several more wonderful people representing an incredible 23 countries, 7 provinces, and 47 states. I called my husband to let him know the good news to him (my preparations for Barkley last year were all-consuming) that despite a great effort, I got 2nd, which means that I didn’t earn a guaranteed slot to Barkley this year. So now it’s in Laz’s hands to determine if I am worthy to be at Barkley this spring. Thank you to Laz, race director Steve Durbin, and the countless volunteers that make this event so irresistible!

Banner photo: No visit to Frozenhead State Park is complete without a photo at the infamous yellow gate!

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