Race Report: 2023 Spitfire 30k, or “We Can Do Hard Things”

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 my race went, I also discuss what my training was like up to that point, and my overall thoughts on my performance. Enjoy!

There seems to be a group of people who find themselves willingly being tortured for hours on end on their days off of work. And this cult does it for fun.

They call themselves “trail runners".

I get it now.

TL;DR
Race: Spitfire 30k

Location: Menan, ID
Result: 7th OA, 3:23:30

Storytime!:

Before:

I wrote previously about my desire to race again, but knowing that when I came back to the starting line, it would look a little different. The energy would come from a sense of wanting to enjoy the race, without the outcome of the race affecting my mood. It was a mindset that I needed to adopt in order to think about racing again. I raced the Bengal Tri last year and enjoyed it. It was liberating to be back out on the race course. I even felt competitive!

Turns out, that wasn’t the most motivating way to get out and train. And certainly, there is something to be said to participate in a race to simply run and finish it. It’s another to go out and try to win. All the extra work that goes into trying to get the best out of yourself. I missed that.

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on my burnout and the events leading up to it. There was a lot of negative emotion that I did not want to face, and so instead of facing them, I made excuses. I lowered my expectations. The competitive edge was gone, replaced with a sense of complacency that would knock me out mentally if the going got tough.

Turns out that if I only wanted to experience positive emotions when associating myself with running, then it would just lead to boredom. Positive emotions need negative emotions to balance out the spectrum of emotions and help us feel.

With that in mind, I started the 2023 race season not just with the mindset that I would stretch myself physically, but also go in with the mindset that I’m going to show up with my best self and compete.

I’ve been wanting to break into the trail-running scene for a few years now, but races haven’t lined up or I was injured during some of them. This year, I committed myself to run a 50k in July. I had never raced anything above a marathon, and this would be a few miles longer and a few thousand feet of climbing more than I have ever experienced. Fun!

As part of that build-up, I signed up for the 30k at Spitfire. I had run the 12k a couple times, placing pretty well in both of them. Running a 30k would definitely stretch me, considering that I have only run a handful of distances longer than it, and just during marathon training. Normally my main distance is the 13.1 miles, and this would be five miles longer.

Also, the winter was long and snowy. I was still able to average 20 miles a week, but that was also a couple miles above the race distance. Most of my exercise involved skis and all of my hill running activity occurred on a treadmill.

I was able to run on the Menan butte the week before the race. However, the butte was still covered in snow, especially in the caldera, where I postholed my way across. This was going to be difficult. That being said, everyone was going to experience the same conditions.

The course starts directly up the butte, a steep 600-foot climb that burns your legs early. From there, the course figure-eights up top, where runners dip into the caldera a couple times as they turn out left the first time and right on the second. That leads to a climb up to the tippy-top of the butte before leading down a service road. Halfway down the road the course veers off into a half-mile of single-track before emerging into the west parking lot. The course runs on the perimeter of a farmer’s field on private land before leading up the South Butte, where runners run around the top. The farmer’s field may or may not be covered in manure, according to the race director. Once down, the runners run back to the parking lot before running up the service road to the top of the North Butte and then back down to the start/finish line. 18 miles and 3,300 feet of elevation gain and loss.

My plan for this race was to split the race into three sections, three 10ks. I think I could manage that. The first third I’d run smart; don’t go out too fast, manage the race, understand that it is a long race. The second 10k would be run with my body; remind myself of the training I put in. The third third would be run with my spirit; “How bad do I want it?” I would ask myself, especially if I was in a podium position while running up that hill back to the top of the North Butte, the crux of the second half of the race.

I was running well at this point. I felt good about my chances. I didn’t think a deal with God would be necessary.

My first trail race was a go!

During:

I didn’t have a whole lot of anxiety heading into this race. That is, until I woke up that morning. Suddenly all of the worries that I should have had previously were thrown at my head. We’re running how long? How cold is it going to be? Should I pack an extra jacket, in case things go to shit? We’re going to be running through shit?

The outcome of this anxiety attack was the decision to carry my jacket in my pack in case things went to shit and I had to walk out to the finish line. The high of the day was going to be in the 50s but it probably wasn’t going to be realized until the afternoon, and I would be chilled in the attire I planned to wear.

Race morning was chilly. My car’s thermometer said 25 degrees. There was an inch of snow in some fields I drove past on my way up to the butte. In the distance, the buttes themselves seemed bare, having been treated by the heat that had been present a few days before. The Weatherman was helping out here with the race.

I ended up at the trailhead at 7:10, 50 minutes before the start of the 30k race. There I picked up my packet before returning to the car and warming up. The warm-up was cold; the sun had not risen over the butte yet so anything west of it was still being chilled by the cool night air. During the warm-up I contemplated starting out in my jacket on, it was that cold. However by the time the race was about to go off, the air temperature felt like it had risen a few degrees, so starting without the jacket was a little more palatable.

I stuffed my jacket in my pack, which also consisted of my water bladder, food, and micro-spikes for my shoes that I wouldn’t actually need. For food I was carrying two Kind bars and a couple gels to eat every 45 minutes. If the race blew up in my face I could rely on the aid stations to help with nutrition.

At the start line I ended up with a few former coworkers as we discussed the race and the course. At the pre-race meeting, it sounded like the entire course was essentially bare of snow, minus a couple spots which had hard-packed snow. Footing would not be a problem, it seemed like. Good! It may actually not be as bad of a race as the weekend before made it out to be. We were then corralled to the start line and then sent on our way.

The first part of the race would be an out-and-back on a dirt road opposite the trailhead. Originally not part of the course, it was added at the last minute because the course on the buttes was more like 27k. Anyway, one guy went out in a super blazing pace. I let him go and tucked behind runners 2 and 3. At the turnaround back to the trailhead we were already 30 seconds up on the rest of the field. The guy in first came back pretty quickly and we overtook him.

The next section was a fun 600 foot climb up to the top of the north butte. I consider this part the toughest of the course, especially near the top when it gets steep. One of the guys ran up in first all alone, while me and the dude who originally went out fast pursued his tail. The guy behind me sat on my shoulder, forcing me to do the work up the mountain. While I would have totally done the same thing if I was in his position, it was annoying. I tried to coax him to pass me. It was early and I really wasn’t trying to push this hard. Even at the parts where we walked up the rocks, he matched my actions.

By the time we got to the top, he had taken over in second position. I let him go. It was still early. As we rounded into the caldera, the wind suddenly blew my hat off. Thankfully there was a volunteer who rounded it up for the next time I passed that point. Running down to the bottom of the caldera was steep. The #2 runner was much better at it than I was. Granted I’m not good at running downhill to begin with. He gained quite a bit of ground between us. Once we hit the bottom of the caldera it was flat and so I was able to work the pace a little bit.

It was still a little too early so do that, however.

The first climb out of the caldera was difficult; my cardio system was still recovering from the run up the butte. There were a couple technical sections at this point that slowed up the #2 runner, and had I made an effort I probably could have gotten back on his tail. I decided not to. It was a long race and I was struggling at this point.

Mind. This is the mind part of the race.

As I circled back towards the second lap through the caldera, I quickly did a mental check and body scan. In all honesty, I wasn’t feeling too great at this point. My chest was hurting and my stomach was in knots. I looked at my watch. 35 minutes had gone by. I would need to eat in 10. Could I down a Kind bar at this point? Mentally, the race fire was taken out of me. I didn’t feel that competitive edge that would allow me to push past the pain. It was a struggle. Hopefully it would change. Thankfully I was still in podium position and it seemed as though 4th place was pretty far behind me.

After retrieving my hat, I dropped back into the caldera and saw the race in front of me. 2nd place was halfway through the caldera while 1st was exiting it. Lots of work to do to get back up to the front but it was going to be a long race. I still hadn’t reached the 10k point.

The climb out of the caldera was rough but I wanted to make sure I ran up the hill the entire way. I wanted to ensure I still had the mental fortitude to climb up the hill.

At the top of the hill I was awarded with a nice downhill, which was very welcoming at this point of the race. This downhill would extend for a number of miles. Sure I would have to climb up it again near the end of the race, but that was a future-Joe problem to worry about.

Present-Joe, meanwhile, was dealing with 4th place somehow making his way onto my tail and passing me shortly before the dirt service road became single track. I let him go. It was still early in the race. I was able to stomach down half of a Kind bar during this time.

The single track trail was very nice to run on. I had no idea these trails even existed on the backside of the Butte. They were rolly and fun! At this point of the race, I began to see the first of 55k racers who were coming back from their run on the south butte. They would need to run the course twice.

I passed by the aid station ran by the Idaho Falls Trail Runners which meant friends! And dogs! It was nice to see friends and dogs amidst my struggles. I gave one of the dogs love as I exited the aid station, hoping to gain a small boost of energy myself through the interaction.

The course turned into a chipseal road with a slight downhill. The 10k mark was around this point. 58:28 for the first 6.2 miles; about where I wanted to be at this point. Time to shift my focus from being smart in the first third to digging into my body’s ability. Hopefully I was smart enough in the first third to execute the rest of the race.

From a physiological perspective, my legs were struggling. I could feel that the right muscles were not firing. My glute max wasn’t activating, forcing me to rely more on my glute med and TFL at this point. I realized this because the sides of my hips and my IT bands were beginning to burn. The downhill wasn’t necessarily helping the cause here either. Hopefully it wouldn’t become catastrophic…

The course shifted into the edge of the farmer’s field. I could make out the race in front of me. The first place guy was long gone, but 3rd was beginning to gain on 2nd. Maybe I could take advantage with the fact that 2nd was beginning to come back.

The footing was a little suspect on this part of the course. Thankfully the ground was still frozen, but it was uneven. The farmer was beginning to lay manure, which smelled, but it wasn’t anything I’ve not dealt with before. Living in the country, you get used to this smell. Smells bring back a lot of memories; this one in particular was helping my dad spread manure on our garden when I was a kid. I consider it a “remini-scent”.

Okay enough with the bad puns, back to the race.

The trail veered off into single track again that followed the river and up to the south butte. I was starting to feel a little pain on the side of my left knee at this point; lots of downhill stress that my body wasn’t used to. I spent the last five months travelling downhill on skis, so it wasn’t something that my legs were used to. Oops.

Anyway, this was the stretch where my race went to shit. I knew this pain all too well. I’ve had IT band issues from the moment I decided that running was fun. This particular injury has knocked me out for weeks at a time.

In any other situation I would immediately turn back and head towards the car. However, in this case I was in the middle of a race, in a bit of no-mans-land where a DNF would take the same amount of effort as collecting the finisher’s medal. I would need to power to the nearest aid station, which was on the other side of the south butte and the furthest spot away from the start. Alternatively I could turn back and make my way to the IFTR aid station.

Meanwhile my body was still moving forward. My ego was not going to let me quit. Not now. The damage was done. The result would be the same. I would still end back up in PT when this was said and done.

I stopped to stretch my hamstrings, hoping that would help relieve some pain. I ran. I walked when the pain got excruciating. I was still in 4th. I could DNF or also just walk it out and still end up in the middle of the field. Not sure what that would prove but finishing is finishing.

I could have quit at this point, but my willpower (or ego) to keep going was still in check. All things considered, I was still running well. Apparently injury wasn’t a good enough excuse to stop. The feeling of needing to finish and bask in the laurels of celebration and Instagram likes was outweighing my logical brain saying “You’re hurt. Give it up!” Needless to say, this was an incredibly dark spot in the race.

It didn’t help either that the people ahead and behind me were very far apart. Turns out trail racing can be a bit of a lonely venture at times.

Being no where around support, the only choice I had was to keep moving towards the next aid station. I looked at my watch. 9.5 miles. I was just over the halfway mark in the race. I took half a gel. I surrendered to the second half of the race being in survival mode.

Once at the top of the butte the flat land helped take some pressure off the IT band. Downhills helped too. The only issue was going to be running uphill, which aggravated my knee. I dropped down to the next aid station.

“I need a tailgate,” I shouted as I came in. They had a truck that would be perfect for helping stretch out my hamstring.

As I was stretching out my hamstring, a volunteer asked if I needed anything else. There were some Hammer gels on the table next to me. “What flavors of Hammer do you have?”

“Banana and orange.”

Banana? “Orange please.”

Meanwhile a guy pursuing me had passed. My 4th place now became 5th.

I continued on. In hindsight I’m not sure if it was the best decision for my body but for my mind it was necessary. My body was still willing to move forward. If anything, this moment taught me the essence and point of trail running and life: sure it is fun to compete against others, but this flavor of the sport is you competing against yourself. This experience wasn’t meant to be the best among the field. This experience was meant to push our abilities, our boundaries, force us to struggle, and provide concrete evidence that we can do hard things. Why give up now when my body is still willing to move forward?

I completed the circuit on the butte, running the flats and downs while run-walking the uphills. Going down the butte to the river, my watch signaled the end of the second 10k: 1 hour, 4 minutes.

The last 10k was meant to focus on soul and spirit; how badly do you want this?

During the stretch along the river I felt an emotional high: my body was still allowing me to run and I was enjoying it, despite the left knee. I loved this sport. What an opportunity to be in this position right now!

The course routed me back onto the farmer’s field. Now that the day was beginning to warm up, the firm ground had turned soft and made it more difficult to gain good footing. There was mud in places. The most difficult part was finding where on this path was good to run. The lateral movements weren’t helping my IT pain. 55k runners were running the other way to complete their second south butte lap, along with the 30k runners on the back end looking to complete their first loop. Another runner passed me during this stretch.

The course went back onto the road and thus began the long climb to the top of the north butte. I had adopted a gait that forced most of the work on my right leg, allowing me not to bend my left knee as much, kind of like how Terry Fox ran on his artificial leg. It was probably hell on my overall biomechanics, but I had four miles left to run, which was significantly less than the distance across the sovereign nation of Canada. I got this.

I was cramping more at this point too. Thankfully I arrived at the IFTR aid station just in time.

“What do you need?”

“Pickle juice.” It would help with the cramps. I grabbed some gummy bears too. I shared with a couple friends the struggles that I was having during this race. As with the last aid station, another runner ran through it, placing me now in 7th. After some more doggie love, I continued on.

It was back on the rolly single track for a bit, then onto the service road for the last long climb. The first part of the road was a bit flatter and manageable for my knee. It wasn’t until near the top when the road became steeper that I began to have more trouble. I ran out of water in my pack. I started run-walking up the road. Miraculously, my body was still willing to move forward up the hill. Not the strong Kate Bush impersonation that I was visualizing at the beginning of the race, but still progress nonetheless.

The top of the hill was quite welcome. The rest of the race would consist of a flat half mile followed by the downhill off the top of the butte down to the finish line. It was essentially the home stretch. There was no one behind me, so barring a massive collapse, I’d hold my 7th place. My pelvis began to cramp a little bit too.

Through all this, I felt content; I felt gratitude. I was in the last mile of a very grueling race. It was a peaceful feeling. I thought of my dad, and how he raised me to have a strong work ethic and push through hell and keep going until the end was reached.

This experience provided confirmation that I can do hard things.

There was still the downhill to the finish line. The first section was steep and the footing wasn’t very good. Thankfully there was a chain that I grabbed onto to help keep me upright through the section. I pounded down the switchbacks as my knee was screaming in pain. We were almost there. The finish line was in sight. I could handle a minute more of pain. I turned into the home straightaway and into the finish.

The journey was over. The fight was complete. My body, which was willingly moving forward for three and a half hours, decided it had enough the moment I passed under the inflatable arch. Perfect timing.

The finisher prize was a cowbell. I chose a yellow one. I’d likely use it in the future while volunteering for a race like this.

I needed water and electrolytes. I found them across the parking lot. It can go without saying that I had a difficult time moving.

Once I was able to feel a little more comfortable, I ended up at the medical station, where the team helped stretch me out and deal with the IT band pain. Supposedly my hip ended up in misalignment, causing one of my legs to be half an inch longer than the other. Well there was my problem. After stretching out the legs and trying to align my hips back, my IT pain was a little better, but there was still trauma that existed from the run. That would last for a few days at least.

After:

My reflections of this race come a few weeks after I finished the event. At this point in time, I’ve been in PT working on my IT band and it has recovered quite well! I’m back to running my normal mileage which is incredibly encouraging.

The main issue I ran into was my lack of downhill running. I focused a lot on climbing up, but my body was not used to the pounding that the downhills provided. People see downhill running as just free miles, but over time it does take a toll if you haven’t been using those muscles. I’ll need to practice that in the training leading up to Palisades, which has double the downhill (and uphill, for that matter).

I also reflect on how I may have placed had the IT band not flared up. How would the race have gone? In all respects, even in that 7th position, I felt like I had pushed my body to the limit the moment I crossed the finish line. I was cramping more at the end and the way that I was waddling afterwards confirmed that I left everything out on the course, despite being slowed up.

Spitfire is a great early season race that kept me focused to stay in shape throughout the winter. Jenn is a great and exuberant race director who has a passion in making sure everyone finds and tests their limits. Spitfire certainly does that.

In the meantime, I’m still working on fully recovering from my IT band injury and building up the miles to prepare for the Palisades race. With the snow melting now, getting back on the trails will be very welcome.