RACE REPORT: 2023 Palisades 50k, or “The Body Keeps the Score”
Welcome to another one of my race reports. A race goes beyond what the results say, and I want to share with you, usually with too much detail, the ins and outs of my race and what I thought about it. Along with telling you how the race went, I also discuss what my training was like up to that point, and my overall thoughts on my performance. Enjoy!
Since running this race people have been asking me how I train for something like this. The answer is more complex than you may think.
Run a lot. Stretch a lot. Know your limits. Rest and cross train. Trust your body. Hope like hell you don’t get hurt in the meantime. And then run some more.
Then on race day, spend pre-race wondering if you did enough to prepare for the task that is beyond the start line. Because no matter the amount of willpower, vigor, and “mind over matter” you throw at it, for a race of this caliber, the body knows its limits. The body keeps the score.
TL;DR
- Race: Palisades Ultra Trail Series, 50k (that’s 31 miles)
- Location: The mountains surrounding Palisades Reservoir, ID
- Course Description: 7,000 feet of elevation gain/loss, only for those who possess a healthy appetite for beauty and some pain (the website’s words, not mine, although I agree)
- Result: 6:30:01, 4th overall, 1st AG
STORYTIME!
Before:
Trail racing has been something that always intrigued me but never had the room to break into. Sure I love trail running more than maybe just about anything, but a vast majority of my races since high school cross country have occurred within the concrete jungle of modern society.
So what took so long? I actually haven’t concentrated on racing at all for the last five years. In the middle of 2018 I found myself completely burnt out and in the need of a reset. I didn’t think it would take this long to get back, but other priorities and interests popped up (also, that pandemic thing). I had been running here and there during this time, but injuries and mental health issues took away my true A-goal attempts. But I was there, I was ready to come back in full.
Also I turned 31 in June 2023, and at the beginning of the year I figured it would be appropriate to run 31 miles around the time of my birthday. It would be the longest I have ever run, surpassing the two marathons I’ve completed. While it would have been cool to race 31 miles on my birthday, the closest race actually on my birthday was in southern Utah, and I had already committed to running a relay with some friends. Additionally I don’t think my body was quite ready for 31 miles yet. So I delayed it a month. No big matter though, trail racing was something that I wanted to do for a long time, and now I was ready to commit to it. It was my A-race. It was my new years resolution.
I chose to run the Palisades race simply because I love running in the Palisades area. After Gnarly Bear keeled over and died, Palisades became the local trail race. It felt fitting. I’m not sure if it was the smartest decision to choose a race with over 7,000 feet of gain for my first 50k, and there are certainly easier races to choose from, but when people discuss pain and misery and course difficulty, it intrigues me. Maybe that’s why I’m a runner.
The course begins on a brutal steep incline that the Idaho Falls trail running community calls Bruno, after the Encanto character that we’re not supposed to talk about. At a little over 2,000 feet of climbing in less than three miles, there is not much running going on in this stretch. Once at the top of Quaker Flats, the trail drops a thousand feet into a shale-covered basin known as Blowout Canyon before rising back a thousand feet to Spaulding Basin and then dropping 2,000 feet into the North Indian Creek valley. From there, runners hit the first aid station and then run a “tame” five miles with a thousand feet of elevation gain (it feels flat though) to the next aid station before the true crux of the mission: the climb up Garden Canyon. It is another 2,000 foot climb over 3 miles, but it’s quite exposed and the terrain is a bit more technical than anything on Bruno. Once at the top, it’s a 2,800 foot drop into Dry Canyon, where runners cross Big Elk Creek and rendezvous with the Big Elk trail and it’s various ups and downs. A 5-mile out-and-back awaits before runners are guided back to the Big Elk Creek trailhead and to the finish on the top steps of the YMCA Camp cabin. According to CalTopo, the course boasts just under 7,000 feet of gain and loss.
I wasn’t entirely sure how to train for one of these, other than run a lot. I did loosely follow a training plan I found through COROS, which emphasized tempo runs near threshold pace and high mileage days on the weekends. My highest mileage stretch was a 16 mile trail run followed by a 12 mile tempo run the next day.
The training road was pretty rocky, as it normally is. I ran a tune-up race, the Spitfire 30k in April, and wrecked my IT band in the process. I have been dealing with ITBS for quite some time now and this was another episode on this record-on-repeat. I went to PT (again) to try and figure out how to get my muscles to function properly. This PT block felt different from my previous ones. There was a lot more focus on strength work and muscle massaging than previous, and I learned more of the biomechanics of the hips and legs and why injuries happen when some muscles are weak and not firing. It was valuable information that helped me deal with small bouts of IT band pain that popped up from time to time.
Living an hour away from the trailhead provided me with the wonderful opportunity to preview much of the course prior to the race. I ran the Bruno section up to the top of Spaulding Flats on one run, then ran a couple times up to Garden Canyon. Having run Big Elk quite a bit, the only parts of the trail that I had not seen prior were the downhill sections off Spaulding Flats and in Dry Canyon.
In the weeks leading up to the race, I struggled mightily with muscle and hip tightness. The tightness was causing my IT bands to fire, which was the total opposite of what I wanted them to do. It took a massive amount of work with the foam roller and massage gun to keep my legs functioning correctly. Additionally, general aches and pains were catching up as well from all of the mileage, which honestly wasn’t a ton all things considering; I think I peaked at 45 miles in a week, but I wasn’t great about ramping up. Some knee pain here, stepping on a rock wrong there. Despite tapering pretty well coming into the race, I wouldn’t call myself the freshest I’ve ever been.
Taking in all of my training and how I felt, I came up with a strategy of how to tackle this course: I first split it into five 10k sections, keeping in mind a specific mental state for each based on the course profile:
- First 10k: This section was brutal so I would have to make sure I did not burn myself up on it. Even more, try not to burn any carrots on it. Conserve a lot. There would be a lot of race to go. Projected time of completion: 80–90 minutes.
- Second 10k: This section was more mellow. Good time to get into a rhythm, but also not take it too fast and burn myself here. Projected time of completion: 60 minutes.
- Third 10k: This would be the Garden Canyon climb. Will need to tap into strength. It will be a brutal climb and within the true throes of the race. Be strong. Projected time of completion: 80–90 minutes.
- Fourth 10k: Downhill plus the first part of Big Elk, which was pretty mellow. I figured I could make up some time here. Time to start racing. Projected time of completion: 50–60 minutes.
- Fifth 10k: The last bits of the race I knew would challenge me to the core. Thankfully the trail was pretty mellow to finish. Projected time of completion: 50–60 minutes.
This would put me between 5:30–6 hours. Maybe a bit of a lofty goal but I was ready to challenge it. To attack it. Sure it was my first ultramarathon, but my mindset went beyond the successful completion of it. I wanted to go out and have a great performance within the field, and maybe end up on the podium. Based on what I thought I could accomplish and the times ran in previous years, it was not out of the realm of possibility.
That was until there was a little wrench thrown into the fray during race week. This was when my girlfriend Kiley came down with Covid (yes it’s still a thing). Amidst all the Covid tests and the shitting of bricks I was going through all week, I never ended up testing positive or showing any symptoms. On Friday afternoon, after testing negative for the seventh time, I considered myself a go for the race.
During:
I arrived at the YMCA camp the evening before, poised to eat and camp and hopefully get some rest prior to the jaunt the next morning. After setting up my tent, I took my prerace burrito and headed to the prerace meeting. It was geared towards the 50-milers but there was some valuable information gathered, like: it was going to be really difficult, it was going to be really hot, and it is really important to make sure your water bladder is full when leaving each aid station. Noted, noted, and noted. I was anticipating to be done before the true heat of the day (mid-90s) really set in, but you never know.
I did not pack a water filter as I assumed the aid stations would be plentiful enough to support me. I did pack bear spray though; I wasn’t afraid of encountering bears on the course, but there had been some aggressive moose reported in this area, and learning from past wildlife encounters, it’s much better to have it than not. Along with that were a wag bag, first aid kit, InReach, second aid kit, my phone (for pictures), and my nutrition, consisting of six Kind bars and two Honey Stinger Gels. Assuming the race would take me six hours, that would get me through if I ate every 45 minutes or so, and if shit hit the fan I would raid an aid station for some sustenance.
As the sun began to set I ventured towards the start of the race. I walked up the incline up to where the Bruno climb starts. Was it as steep and intimidating as how I remembered it? The answer was yes, it very much was.
Afterwards I tried my best to get some shut-eye, but still laid awake as the 11:30pm alarms went off for the 50-milers camping next to me. It was going to be a long night. Next thing I knew it was 2:30am, the 50 milers had since started, and the camp was quiet again. I dozed until my 4am alarm went off.
The race morning was like any other, filled with loud pump-up music as I drank my coffee and ate oatmeal, coaxing both my body to hype up and my colon to activate my prerace ritual in the bathroom. Thankfully both happened as planned. I went up and checked in at the lodge before lightly jogging in circles in the trailhead parking lot. The first part of the course was a doozy, so I wanted to ensure my body was up and ready. My legs felt good, not tight as they had been on previous runs that week. Good sign!
The startline was filled with 99 other runners who were probably just as anxious as I was at the time. I ran into a couple friends within the corral, which helped calmed my nerves. The anthem was sung, and I made a quick silent prayer to the energies above, to which they replied with a quick stern “Bet on yourself.” They were right. I was ready. The countdown began and a few seconds later an airhorn sounded and we were off.
The first quarter mile was a slight uphill that quickly narrowed and lead straight up Bruno. The only advice I ever got in this race was to position yourself where you think you would be in the pack because it is difficult to pass once you hit Bruno. Gray Augustus, a running friend of mine, bounded past me and I hopped on his shoulder. Once we hit Bruno, our run turned into a jog which then evolved into a brisk hike. That’s really what trail racing is: competitive hiking.
There were two people running in front of us. I let them go. Either they would sustain and run an incredible race or run out of gas and come back to the rest of the field.
Our chase group formed with me, Gray, and two others named Jessica and Cody. Through the first couple miles we hiked up the steep trails, talking about trail running and the beauty of the area and accidents in the Tetons and how underpaid schoolteachers are. It was great camaraderie.
Another runner passed us. We let him go. Again, he was going to run incredibly well or bonk.
At two miles the trail was beginning to mellow out. Gray was setting a great pace, but I was beginning to get a little bit antsy hiking the flats. I loved the group I was in, but this was still, in my mind, a race, and while there was a lot of field still to cover, I visualized me running this part of the course. I bid adieu to my friends and ran down the trail, hoping this early gamble would be okay.
I neared the top of the first climb in about 45 minutes, just in time to mack down on a Kind bar. This proved difficult though, as the bar dried out my mouth and made it hard to swallow. Water may have done some good. What ended up happening was that the bite of the bar I took camped out between my gums and my cheek like a massive wad of tobacco, and in a couple minutes it was soft enough to swallow. It took ten minutes to chomp down my first Kind bar.
Also a photographer popped out of the bushes. I was a little spooked.
At this point I had hit the first downhill, which was incredibly steep at parts but was a nice respite from the effort I had made going up. The trail lead to Blowout Canyon, where the trail turned from rock and dirt to straight shale and scree. As the trail transitioned from down to up, the timer hit an hour and I started walking again, being careful still not to burn any of my carrots. I looked back briefly to see Cody about a quarter mile behind. The hike up to the top of Spaulding Basin was actually not too difficult and only took 20 minutes to reach the crest. At this point it was a long downhill.
I blasted it. Maybe I shouldn’t have but in this moment I felt really good just letting gravity do the work. The trail weaved its way through the forest, past a really dirty trough, up and down and around until I reached the first of many stream crossings on this course. My first 10k was clocked at 1:31, a little slower than what I had projected, but I was still happy where I was at.
A couple minutes later though, I tripped on a rock, and unable to regain my balance, fell right onto the trail. I popped up and assessed the damage. A small scratch on my right hand, but a dime-sized divot on my left palm. It started oozing blood a couple minutes later. I had my first aid kit but I figured that the medical people at the aid station would have bandages, so I ran ahead.
Always a constant reminder though, during trail running, your foot hitting the ground wrong, tripping on something, and not regaining your balance could potentially end it. I was able to run off that fall, but there were always other trail sharks awaiting their next victim.
The trail turned into a single-lane dirt road before turning onto a forest service road that lead to the North Indian Creek trailhead. A truck had just driven on it, making the surrounding air dusty. The rising sun was still low in the air, so all I really saw at this point was a burnt orange glow and the road. The road was slightly uphill but virtually flat, and it took a little bit for my legs, used to the reprieve of the downhill, to wake up, so they did not feel as fresh in this moment as they had been. This was just a moment, I’m sure I would feel better later on as my legs go used to the flats.
A few moments later I entered the trailhead parking lot and my first aid station. I refilled my water and had a cup of Tailwind electrolyte drink. I also asked for a bandage from medical but at this point the wound had stopped bleeding and I didn’t see the point in applying the bandaid. I took it and stuffed it in one of my pack pockets. I looked around at the food offerings. I wasn’t going to take anything but they had a gourmet set up: pancakes and bacon and other things. Great offerings if I was working on finishing a 50 or 100 miler.
This was a good place to gut-check. This aid station would essentially be my only opportunity to drop out of the race. Thinking back to my Spitfire race a few months prior, my IT band really began to mess with my mechanics around mile 9, and I would have dropped out if convenient.
I did a body scan. Biomechanics were good. GI system was good. No IT band pain. Overall effort was good. Okay, good to continue on.
A few seconds after I left the aid station, I could hear the volunteers cheering on another runner as they were coming through. Depending on how long that person stayed at that aid station, I probably had a couple minute lead on them.
I walked down the trail as I put my pack back on, coming to discover that somehow one of the straps came off! Unfortunately it was the one that had the magnet that I used to secure my nozzle. Crap! I looked back behind me but the aid station was back about a quarter mile. Now the decision of doubling back and scanning the ground for this strap in the process crossed my mind, but quickly decided that it really wasn’t worth the added effort. Sure it was an important function, but I could stuff the nozzle in one of my shoulder strap pockets and be okay. It was a material item I could replace later if I asked Osprey nicely, not a huge deal.
Along I went. This trail I had run a couple times leading up to the race. In fact, this section was one I had visualized quite a bit in my prerace meditations. For four miles, the trail was relatively tame with a couple of knee-deep creek crossings. This part gave me the opportunity to bust out a little bit of speed and rhythm. Although it was my first 50k, I was still in the mindset of wanting to compete for a podium spot.
I was in 4th, by a long way at this point I imagined. I kept the fight though, knowing that if one of them bonked, they would quickly come back to me. That was the thought that kept me moving forward at this point.
In general, the trail was fairly rocky and I needed to be careful about footing. Last time I was lucky to bounce up with some minor scrapes. The next one could be a broken bone, death, or worse, expulsion from Hogwarts. However I knew there was a section that was flat and tame that I would be able to relax on.
However that section never seemed to come, or if it did I must have recalled it differently. What did come was another 10k split: 1:03, a little slower than anticipated but still within a reasonable tolerance. In these moments, I felt like I was pushing it but I still felt good.
Only need one bonk in front of me.
What also began to come was the smell of smoke in the area. There were two possibilities: either the start of a forest fire or a camp, most likely the next aid station.
I entered the aid station with joy of reaching the next check point. “The beacon has been lit!” I exclaimed as I passed the small campfire. My friend Takara was at this aid station and helped me out getting water and Tailwind. After a few more pleasantries I was off again.
I guess I’m not one to really stick around an aid station. At least not at this distance. It’s kind of like a triathlon transition in my head; in and out as fast as I can.
Anyway back on the course now I was in the beginning stages of the run up Garden Canyon, a 2,000-ft, incredibly steep section of trail that took me from the forest floor to the alpine at 8,800 feet, the highest point of the race.
The climb started on a snowmelt run-off basin that forced me across multiple small stream crossings. In my training runs I had been running this section, but now 13 miles into the race I found myself run-walking it. As I made the turn into the canyon I looked back. I could see about a mile down the valley. Not a runner in sight. I looked ahead up the canyon. Again, not a runner in sight. I was in true no-man’s-land at this point, essentially running by myself since mile 2.
One last stream crossing and then it was up the canyon for real this time.
It was going to be a hike. I was comfortable with that decision. It was probably going to be a hike for everyone else unless they were saving all their energy for this one section.
However my legs had a different idea. Not long into the climb they were beginning to yell at me. My quads were cramping. My calves were cramping. My peroneal tendons were cramping. At some points my hamstrings would begin talking. I exhausted my gels. My water was going fast. The sun was beating down; there wasn’t much shade. Pickle juice would have been good here.
It only way I could describe this section was that it was a “death march”.
There were a lot of dark thoughts at this point. At what point do my legs completely wonk out? Will I even complete this? Will I make it to the top? Did I start out too fast? Did I make a mistake leaving that group to chase the podium in my first attempt at this distance? Will I have enough water? If I have to walk this out, do I walk out the out and back and finish or just DNF? Was I dumb to think that people run the entirety of these things?
I thought about how I could escape. I thought about how I would be walking the rest of this race. I thought about my dad. I thought about David Goggins for some reason.
I was hoping someone in front of me would bonk. Now I have become that person. I am the one who bonks.
I really needed pickle juice.
Throughout the pain I forced myself to look around, trying to inject the beauty of my surroundings to help gain some sort of life. I could see a thin trail on the hillside above me. Man I still had a ways to go.
I looked down at the trails below me, expecting to see a train of runners below me charging up the hill. I imagine I could see 20 minutes of trail behind me.
I saw no one.
I was virtually all alone on this section. Shoot I’ve been alone since I left the group at mile 2. They talk about running your own race but I was forced to at this point. The lesson was being learned quickly: some get lucky, but generally trail running is pretty lonely.
I hit a patch of flat land and attempted to run. It actually felt pretty good, i.e. I wasn’t cramping. Maybe I would be able to recover after all. Maybe these dark moments would clear up to blue skies that would allow me to finish strong on this course.
A wild hill appeared. It was highly effective. My legs began to cramp again. Okay, hike the inclines and run everything else. That was my go-to for the rest of the climb, which moved into a cut on the side of the mountain. It wasn’t quite like running on a ridgeline but it was about how people imagine mountain running to be. Me, a tiny organism, surrounded by massive monoliths that couldn’t give two shits that I was here and will be around so much longer than I would be. So much power, so much beauty. And only so many people would be able to see this in real life.
This is why I do this.
The final crux to the top was a steep climb up to the 8800' point that marked the top of the race and the end of that crazy climb, the horrific moments.
And despite all of that, all the pain, all the drama, I got up and over in 3:50.
“Good fucking job, Joe,” I said to myself as I finished the last significant climb and began the downhill that was just as long as the last uphill.
In my prerace visualizations, I thought that getting from the top to the finish could take 2 hours, considering the decline and tamer trails on Big Elk. It was 14 miles from this point. It was worth a shot.
The downhill started with a section of short switchbacks. I bolted down them. Now that different muscles were firing, the cramps were gone. I was in the forest now. I was moving forward. These moments were good.
Until I tripped on a rock. I was thankfully able to catch myself, but it caused my calves to cramp like the heavens were wringing out a towel. I stopped for a few moments to try and loosen them up. After some calf stretching they felt close to normal again. I needed to watch my footing. Having to continuously stop and treat my cramped calves would put a damper on the momentum I was gaining. Also it hurt, both the cramps and ramming my toe into rocks, and I was trying to avoid that.
The difficult part about this was that this section was so overgrown that I could not see where my feet were landing. I had to be graceful in this section. Thankfully it was downhill but I wasn’t moving particularly fast, certainly not the speed that I was going the first major downhills off of Quaker Flats and Spaulding.
The trail leveled out and turned into a bit of a grind but I could at least see where I was landing. For some reason my watch wasn’t lapping at 18.6 miles (after the third 10k) and I theorized that somewhere the lap button was pressed inadvertently, likely when I fell.
I also wasn’t entirely sure at which mile point the Dry Canyon aid station was. Boy I needed some electrolytes.
My watch beeped. 1:45 for that half-score of kilometers.
During this time I also saw a person! I hadn’t seen a human in quite a bit. It was a teenage girl without a bib pinned on her. I assumed that she was sweeping the half marathon. This made me feel like I was getting close to civilization again.
It wouldn’t be for another mile until I heard the rush of Big Elk Creek. Soon after I made the turn and saw it. A moment later I was in it, wading the twenty feet to get to the other side. Immediately after was when the aid station appeared.
I knew some people at this aid station which was nice. Mentally I felt like I was strong but I was having trouble verbally communicating so I just yelled out “PICKLE JUICE”. They had some of the pickle juice shots. I pounded one and took another for the road.
“I can’t wait for your comedy bit on this one,” said my friend Josh as he was helping to refill my bladder (I’ve recently adopted the hobby of standup comedy).
“I’m sure I’ll come up with something,” I replied, unsure how to communicate to the general population jokes that honestly only people who do this crazy shit can laugh about.
“You’re doing so well! I think you’re in the top three. I think one of the guys in front of you was a 50-miler.”
That’d be cool if I was in podium position but I’d confirm that soon enough. I placed the pickle juice in my shoulder strap pocket, grabbed one of the steamed potatoes, profusely thanked the volunteers, and went along my way.
It was time to compete. The question was if that was going to be against other people or my own body.
I had run the Big Elk trail quite a few times and knew that the trail felt flat but raised a few hundred feet going out. After the pit stop, I was feeling very good, ready to tackle the last nine miles of the race.
Until I started cramping again. My quads, hamstrings, and calves were yelling at me. There were muscles that I didn’t even know I had that began to constrict upon themselves. I chugged the pickle juice I took from the aid station. A few moments later, my legs loosened up and I was on my way again.
I was on a 5.5 mile out-and-back section. This would be the section where I would see how far behind I was the next guy and how far ahead I was from losing my position, the truth of where I really was in the field. Despite what my aid station friends had said, I still believed I was 4th. Soon enough, a runner appeared moving opposite of me on the trail. He was probably the first place guy.
Then another. And another. One of them was a 50-miler based on his bib number. Maybe I was in third. Based on my watch and the time it took from the last guy passing me to the turnaround, I was about 20 minutes behind.
I reached the turnaround at the 5:22 mark, and a volunteer confirmed my 4th place position. The dude in first must’ve been really far ahead!
Now to see how far I was ahead of the field. A few minutes later, I ran past Jessica, the gal in our original group. 5:28. I was 12 minutes ahead. The first guy I encountered was at 5:30, 16 minutes ahead.
So barring a collapse, my 4th place overall was pretty safe. My 1st-in-age-group was pretty much guaranteed. Now I just needed to get through the last 5.5 miles.
At this point I was walking up all the inclines. Even though I had a net downhill to go, the drop was so gradual that I did not feel it.
As I continued to run, more runners came up the trail. There were high-fives, fist bumps, even a hug. We were all in this painful and miserable experience together, and it was wonderful. Regardless of where we were in the race at this moment, we had all gone through the same experience, gone through similar dark places, drank the crazy ultrarunner Koolaid. How beautiful it was.
With four miles left I was beginning to struggle a little bit more. I could always make a stop to the Dry Canyon aid station, I thought, if things got really desperate. A stream crossing appeared. I basked in it, soaking my hat in the meantime. It felt rejuvenating!
New life! At least for the next tenth of a mile. It was good. I was good. I would have a strong finish, right?
My watch beeped, indicating another 10k had passed: 1:22.
Somewhere along the way I passed the 26.2 mile point. Everything past this point would be the longest I’ve ever ran. It was a true Samwise Gamgee moment.
As I passed the junction to Dry Canyon, I opted to bypass the aid station. I had three miles left. I would be good.
At this part I would not be seeing runners coming up the trail. There were a couple groups fishing and awing in the craziness of the crazies running for long distances and enjoying it. I couldn’t quite connect with them the same way as I could the other runners, but they did say “nice job!” and that felt good.
Outside of that, it was pretty lonely. That was probably the toughest part of this stretch; alone with nothing but the pain in my body and the only force moving me forward was the will to finish this damn thing. As I look back on my experience within this race, even considering the death march up Garden Canyon, this stretch was by far the toughest part of the race.
I wasn’t sure where the “2 miles left” mark was. My watch wasn’t helping; it would end up recording short. That penultimate mile was a struggle. I ran out of water. I had no fuel left. It would just be the rest of my reserves getting me to the YMCA cabin.
The bargaining began. “If we walk it out, the worst thing that could happen is what? Jessica passing me and shattering my fragile male ego? The next guy in the race seemed out of my age group range so maybe I’m safe for the age group award? A finish is a finish.” I kept running though, despite the pain, trying to find any and all motivation to keep me moving as fast as I could towards the finish line.
The 1-mile-left marker was around a rooted part of the trail. Normally there was a small stream flowing there but not this day. Okay, now I knew exactly where I was in the race. How much more I had left. My spirits lifted a little bit. I was ready to finish strong.
Before I knew it, the bridges at the beginning of the trail appeared. I was there! There were people on the trail cheering me on. The trail turned into the parking lot. I could hear the loudspeaker:
“Coming off the trail now, our fourth place in the 50k, number 306, Pat Balizan!”
Wait. Nope, that’s wrong. I was number 360. Honest mistake but now I was being introduced as a former 2-time high school mile state champion from New Mexico. I have never been to New Mexico but I will claim that accolade.
“Pat Balizan is here today with his wife and kids.” Ah how confused will they be when they see me and not their dad. Turns out kids, running 31 miles changes a guy, sometimes literally.
I still basked in the happiness of finally being back in the camp. So happy that I actually ran up the hill to the steps. I walked the steps and crossed the finish line.
6:30:01. 4th overall, 1st in my 30–39 age group.
My finish moment was a little overtaken by ensuring that it was Joe Matheson and not Pat Balizan who finished in 4th. I earned that 4th place, I was gonna fight for it. Thankfully it didn’t take much convincing at all to make the change, especially since the race directors knew me.
I found a spot in the shade to sit down. I may have never gotten up again; my legs had done enough today. The race director Jeremy Smith gave me multiple cups of water and the best Country Time lemonade I’ve ever had.
Jessica was actually really hot on my tail, finishing 30 seconds behind me. We essentially started and finished together. It was the 29ish miles in the middle where we ran two completely different races. I wonder how the experience would have played out had I not left that group at mile 2. Maybe it would not be as lonely and I would’ve ended up finishing in pretty much the same position. There is some alternate universe where this happened and I’m sure my counterpart would wonder what would have happened had he done the opposite.
Pat Balizan, the guy they thought I was, was actually the next guy to finish, coming in 10 minutes later.
The post-race experience was filled with trying to make my legs work properly again. There was no walking normal for me or really anyone. Gotta wonder why anyone does this.
Oh right, the challenge of finishing, of pushing yourself beyond your limits and find where the new limits are now set. Watching runners finish running 31, 50, and 100 miles was inspiring. The willingness to throw ourselves into the wilderness for many hours to test our abilities and face the vulnerability and humility of showing the world that our physical abilities may or may not match what we think we’re capable of.
In the end, the body keeps the score. It tells the truth. We seek the truth. We want to see what our bodies can accomplish and try to push past that limit. That is why we do these things and walk funny in the end.
Post-race:
My truth was this: six and a half hours over 31ish miles and 7,000 feet of elevation. The fourth fastest 50k-er of the day. In my first attempt at the distance.
Reviewing what I thought would happen, I guess I was not expecting to have as rough of a time up Garden Canyon as I did. Next time I may need to spend more time on the stair-climber. Getting up to the top in 3:50 was an accomplishment and I will definitely hang my hat on that, but I was also not anticipating the downhill in Dry Canyon to be so technical and overgrown.
I don’t know what would have happened if I had stayed back with the group I started out with. The race may have been a little more enjoyable with a friend. Plus it likely would not have changed anything in the overall standings.
Part of the emotional unpacking of a race is to acknowledge the negative emotions I felt during and after the race. Was I ecstatic to finish my first ultramarathon? Of course! Was I happy to win my age group? Absolutely! But there was still a twinge of disappointment experienced within all of that. It took some extra processing to understand what I truly felt:
Humility.
Looking back on my prerace reflections and my projections on how I thought the race would go, how it actually went was a little different, especially the last 20k. It’s humbling to realize that what you thought you could accomplish didn’t actually pan out. However looking back I’m not sure how I could do anything different in the race and improve. My body’s best effort was likely 6:30 over that course. Additional to that, there is some expectation management to account for. I admit, for my first attempt at an ultra, I was a little overzealous. I treated it like a race and not just an attempt to finish. I not only wanted to finish, but finish well. It was those expectations though that got me motivated, got me out to the trails, got me focused on racing again. And while I may not have run a sub-6 like I wanted to, the thought of breaking six hours was what lead me to perform the way I did. The body will ultimately provide the reality.
I certainly want to do more trail races and ultras in the future! I couldn’t say the same after running a couple road marathons, so that’s a good sign. The 50k is a great distance, as it is still pretty long, but short enough to where leg speed can be a factor. I still have some and want to utilize it. I’m not to the point where I do the ultramarathon shuffle for 10–12 hours. I’m not sure what my next one would be but I am excited to be back! In the meantime I plan to utilize my long distance fitness to explore some longer trail circuits in the area with my dog.
The Palisades Ultra is a fantastic event and one I highly recommend! Jeremy and Jeff have really made this a great race. The Palisades area, while rugged in some places, is incredibly beautiful! Some may be deterred by the elevation profile, but I loved it. As I had mentioned previously, it wasn’t so much running as it was competitive hiking. Having that really helped break the course up and while I may had finished faster on a flat course, I’m not sure how my legs would have held up without the walking breaks here and there. Go check it out!
As for me, I will be running and deciding what to focus on next!
