Bandera 100k Recap - Staying Humble

The rugged descents resulted in little free trail. Photo credit: No Sleep Media

After my worst ultra performance, I have no fingers to point except back at myself. Going into the Bandera 100k, I felt I had been snubbed as a top racer in all the race predictions, after two consecutive 4th place finishes. But it turns out they were right. Although I thought I put in solid training, I didn’t have “it” on race day. Other than a poor last-minute shoe choice, my body felt fine. But my desire to be a competitor left me being dropped, sitting along the trail multiple times, and wanting to call it a day before even pushing my limit.

Into the abyss

Under the blanket of darkness we entered Texas Hill Country. The initial uphill double track allowed the pack to thin just enough before hitting single track. I prepared for a completely different experience on the second loop where I would be totally alone midday. From my past experience, hills that I did not feel during the initial excitement of the race would grow into mountains. Initially I worked in ten foot increments under the beam of my headlamp which gradually grew to twenty and thirty feet as the darkness dissipated.

I was surprised to find myself running solo just a few miles into the race with absolute silence outside of my breaths and footfalls. Occasionally I was greeted with a couple chirps or the sound of the gentle breeze through my hair. I was glad I was comfortable with the race course since I rarely had a runner to follow cues for turns. That and the mist and resulting fog didn’t allow for any free trail. My pace was off from the prior year off the bat. I told myself that would be ok so I’d have more for the second lap, but by the time I reached the second lap I had fallen so far off my pace that it was utterly disheartening.

Sotol serrations

Two years earlier I had won a sotol trophy, which had returned for 2022 winners. Numerous race reports advise on wearing tights to save yourself from hundreds of cuts. After enduring the notorious briars at Frozenhead State Park at my last ultra, the Barkley Fall Classic, I figured I could handle this. About ten miles into the course I scoffed at heeding the advice in prior years. No sooner had I made this self-proclamation, the sotol made its presence known. Admittedly a few times my momentum took me down a bad line on a volunteer trail littered with sotol, which I paid for. However there was also a stretch that the sotol overhung on the trail that a machete would have been welcomed. And I wasn’t looking forward to round two on the second lap.

Shoe blunder

In an attempt to keep my feet dry with the moist conditions I wore my Gore-Tex shoes. Deviating from my original shoe plan backfired. Although they have worked great in runs with several inches of fresh snow I found these shoes didn’t have the breathability I need for my sweaty paws. Also the supposed gaiter style collar (which I read in Ultra Running Magazine’s shoe review were removed from this year’s model) served as funnels for pebbles, grit, and even mud flying off the soles.

The worse part was the pebble that jammed my second toe. Of all the places to find in my shoe why did it make its home in the place I didn’t have a millimeter to spare? My second toe is my longest which gets plenty of ridicule from my husband and is the first nail to be lost. It’s so out of place I’ve worn a hole in every single pair of my running shoes from the constant beating. With no crew, my only chance to remedy this rookie shoe mistake was at the halfway mark. When I removed my sock, I gasped at the pasty white, wrinkled, and deathly tarsals that resembled those seen in a morgue. No wonder my feet felt so uncomfortable! Swapping shoes was a godsend.

Texas mud

Also with the moist conditions, I had dreaded the accumulation of Texas mud that I experienced two years ago. Not only did the mud create awkward footing, but the mass felt like a million pounds. It became so thick that whatever accumulated beyond my trend thickness periodically flung off. The trajectory often further impeded me, either flinging ahead or seemingly funneling into my shoe. The jettisoned wads of mud by faster runners littered the trail. I wondered if I’d be less likely to add to my high heels by intentionally stepping on the mini cow pies rather than picking up fresh clay. As I completed lap one the mud literally pulled on my foot each step, taunting me to throw in the towel at attempting another lap. Post-race I used multiple methods including a paint scraper to little avail to remove the mud from my shoes.

Lap 2

The two lap course gives 100k runners an all-too-convenient reason to drop out on the two lap course. Not only are you within sight of your car, but you know the challenges that still lie ahead. While other runners would be greeted with the enthusiasm of a pacer to accompany them for the remainder of the course, I would continue my solo slog. I imagined who my phantom pacer would be and a standout local runner that I had idolized twenty years prior popped in my head. He had gone on to run professionally and even went to set an American track record but I’m not sure how he would have fared on the gnarly terrain ahead.

On the second lap I didn’t feel a need to look up from the trail for confidence markers. It wasn’t that it had been my sixth lap on the course in three years but the mud streaked rocks, reminding me of my days following the white line during my cross country running days two decades ago, marked the course.

Derailed

Just when I had conceded that my time goal was not in the cards and I would finish the day having fun, I took a misstep and rolled my ankle. I let out a scream of agony mixed with frustration and began hobbling. Now Plan B was out the window too. Miraculously my body seemed to direct me down the course even though I knew a cutoff that would lead me to my car in minutes. Coming to grips with reality I used the next several miles to convince myself to hobble on. The reasons were stacking up against me. As runners flew by, one runner shared it wasn’t his day either but he still had to finish to earn his Western States qualifier. I hadn’t considered this scenario, but I had to as well.

With live tracking only having a lap split, I implored strangers at the next aid station if I could borrow a phone so I could let my husband know I was ok since my pace had slowed several hours behind goal pace. In typical running community fashion someone volunteered their phone and miraculously I could notify my husband of my failure with one bar of service.

I continued on, at least to the next aid station. I had slowed to a crawl on the rocky descents as one more misstep would certainly end my day and possibly result in a trip to the ER. At this pace, I conceded I’d experience a race as a back of the packer. I hadn’t conceived racing into darkness, so I panicked that I didn’t have the gear to even finish. Luckily I had jettisoned my headlamp on the first lap with my drop bag at the next aid station. Hopefully it would have enough battery to last however long I needed it. I had also added the long sleeve race shirt I had received at bib pickup to that drop bag in case I had underdressed at the start. As I passed volunteers on course I inquired if they knew the overnight forecast which I never looked at since I planned to be snuggled in a cozy bed from the glow of my race. One volunteer said, “Not too bad only mid-40s.” He was dressed in long pants and a jacket and it was currently the warmest part of the day. My drenched t-shirt and shorts seemed like a possible recipe for hypothermia. That was further re-motivation for me to get going. After a few miles, I realized my body (ankle included) felt fine. There was no reason to continue my pity party and I picked up the pace.

Experimentation

With every race goal out the window I recognized this as an opportunity for experimentation. At an aid station when a volunteer asked if I needed anything, I saw some pickle juice, which I’ve never tried racing, and said, “Why not!” as I downed it. I upped my dose of caffeine as well. I also learned that at 12 minute miles, the sotol were more like ticklers than knives.

Final thoughts

I managed to salvage the race and finished an hour slower than last year, just before dark. Although I’m glad I finished, I’m still concerned how I unraveled so easily. I’m at a loss for what’s next since I didn’t get selected in either the Western States or Leadville lotteries and embarrassingly missed my “guaranteed slot” for Barkley Marathons. So I guess I’ll have time to figure it out.

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