RACE REPORT: 2024 Spitfire 30k, or “B̶u̶i̶l̶t̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶T̶h̶i̶s̶ Still a Work in Progress”
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!
Races are weird. They mean everything and nothing at the same time. They force us out of our comfort zone, but are still a blip in the overall journey. The define us and they don’t define us.
I had a friend one time mention why pay for a race when you could just go out and do it yourself self-supported. Like just a 50k trail run on a random Saturday by yourself. And sure I am into the ideas of self-supported adventures and epics. It all goes into Strava the same.
But there is just something about pinning on a bib that makes the experience extra special.
Also, this is relevant to the story and probably relevant to my near-term running career in terms of mantras.
Unfortunately, my “Built for This”-subtitled race report will have to wait, hence the strikethrough.
TL;DR
- Race: Spitfire Ultra Trail Challenge, 30k (18.6 miles for the metrically-challenged)
- Location: Menan Buttes, north of Menan, ID
- Course description: lots of ups and downs as runners travel among the two buttes, my watch measured 3,600 feet of gain
- Result: 3:06:28, 5th OA
- Strava Link
STORYTIME!
Before:
This is the second year in a row running the Spitfire 30k. I had written a report on last years venture but never got to the point of finishing it. Why, I don’t quite remember but I think it was due to lack of pictures to break up the monotony of words. Anyway I recently ghost-published it to help provide context to this year’s race. You can find that HERE.
In short, in last year’s race I went out a little too excited and wrecked my IT band halfway through. While I walked it out and finished, I felt like that day did not reflect my abilities as a runner on that course in particular. The 2024 race would be that redemption race.
Since that morning on the buttes, I ran my first 50k. Then I decided to run another one (with my dog). While I still have a lot to learn on the trail circuit, I feel like I learned quite a bit about myself and the way trail racing works. Coming into 2024 I felt much better about my chances and position within the sport.
Through all of that as well, I kept getting injured. I had a hard time managing the injuries, which in turn kept me injured. I also had been having a hard time managing all of the other things I enjoy doing physically. I needed some help. I also felt like I could flourish in the sport given the right guidance and support.
So this offseason I made a big step: I hired a coach. I joined Cody Lind’s Goat Adventures running group. Cody himself is an incredible trail runner who runs professionally around the world. So far it has been a great partnership and I am excited to see where it takes me in the sport.
So this race wasn’t just a chance at redemption, but it was also my first race as a “Goat”. I was excited to see how the hard work would manifest come race day! It was a very successful training block with effective workouts and few hiccups. The mileage increased from last year, from 20 miles per week to 30–40. Similar to last year though, a majority of the uphill workouts were completed on the treadmill and there was little downhill running.
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 exactly the same as last year, except this time I would actually execute it and not go out too fast and have a bad time. Again, we were splitting the race into three sections, three 10ks. The first third I’d run smart; don’t go out too fast, manage the race, understand that it is a long race, between 60–65 minutes. Failure to respect the terrain of the north butte could make for a very long day. 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.
There were a couple workouts I planned to draw from. I ran a session out on the Menan Butte about a month before the race. I timed myself in the first five miles, running what I felt was chill and was able to run from the parking lot to where the first aid station would be in about 55 minutes. Knowing that there would be about a mile at the beginning that I didn’t run, I felt confident that I could hit that 60–65 minutes in the race.
On the climb back up the Butte, the stretch took about 20 minutes to complete. There was a treadmill workout back in February that I drew from; 20 minutes at 12%. One of the mentally-toughest workouts I’ve completed in recent years. In the latter stages of the race, I would draw from this workout.
In short, I was built for this.
During:
The “during” portion began at the beginning of race week. I began to feel a twinge in my right IT band. Ugh, not again. The runs leading up to the race did go well and the band ended up relaxing, but I had a hard time shaking the feeling that the IT band could blow up again. Due to the up and down nature of the first part of this course, I would know early on if I’d be able to survive or if I needed to call it. The first aid station would be a good litmus point.
So yes, my main anxiety was how the IT band would hold up. After a few months of hard training I did not want this race to come down to that.
Now race day. I arrived at the trailhead about an hour before the race was scheduled to start. It was chilly and incredibly windy, much more than I had expected it to be. I hoped that it was mostly due to the time of day where sun-heated air would rush in to displace the air from the night. Regardless, it didn’t help the chill. Still, I opted to race sans jacket; after the first hill climb I would be plenty warm. Last year I had carried it in my pack in case shit hit the fan. Well, shit did hit the fan and I didn’t need it then so no point carrying it now.
In the corral I positioned myself about middle of the pack. The last thing I wanted to do was go out excited like I had done previously. I knew I could start pretty mellow and still hit my benchmarks. I had practiced that. Quickly, the countdown concluded and we were off.
The first mile or so was a generally flat out-and-back. It would be easy to go quick on this section, but I dialed back to what felt like a jog (in reality it was about an 8 min/mile pace). Three runners took it out much quicker than the rest of the field. I jogged along, not a care in the world where I was in the field. When the dust settled and I was finally able to count the bodies in front of me, I found myself in 8th position. This was the position I held as we began up the climb.
It was a group of four of us as we began the first big climb up the butte. I was in no hurry to overtake these runners. I began to walk in one section and it ended up being a similar pace to the guys struggling to run up the hill in front of me. Cool! I began passing the runners one by one with little effort as the climb continued into the steeper sections. By the time we reached the top, I had overtaken them, now running in 5th.
Something that I had reminded myself during this section was that I did not have to push in order to reach the time goal I was looking for. As I hit the flat trail inside of the caldera, I was running a pace that felt a little slower than my tempo, which put me at about 7:30–8 min/mile pace. My IT band was talking a little bit as I climbed out of the caldera the first time, but nothing critical. This section lead to some scrambling up rocks before leading us back into the caldera a second time.
The second climb out of the caldera turned left instead of right and was deceptively a pretty difficult climb. Like, it was runnable the entire way, but a lot longer and tougher than I usually remember it being. I ran-walked up it, making sure as to not unnecessarily burn any carrots this early in the run. This was still within mile 4.
I could see 4th place ahead of me. He was also run-walking. I figured that he would come back soon enough.
I took the opportunity here to chow down on a Honey Stinger waffle. It was a little stiff due to the cold so it took a little bit more effort to get it down but it eventually found my stomach. Now at the tippy-top of the butte, it was time to descend.
If there was anywhere where my IT band would start to flare up, it would be on the downhill. Thankfully things held up fine as I went down. I still wasn’t pushing the effort at this point, just letting gravity take me down the service road. I started seeing 55k runners coming back up the hill, approaching the end of their first lap of their race (they run the course twice).
The course veered me off the road and onto a rolly single-track, which led me to the parking lot and the first aid station. I did a body scan at this point. Things felt good. Well except my sinuses for some reason, maybe allergy season was going to start prematurely for me this year. Anyway it was a pretty easy choice to move onto the rest of the race.
I hit the first 10k split. 63:30. Perfect! I was in the clear. Now to begin reeling people back.
The course continued on a chipseal road for about half a mile. There was a slight downhill, and I continued to let gravity take me. I could see 4th place up ahead. If I continued steady, then I would eventually overtake him (and hopefully more). The gloves came off, it was time to fight.
The course turned off onto a trail that formed the outer perimeter of a farmer’s field. Last year this part of the course started frozen and then got muddy. This year the footing was pretty good and dry. I still kept a steady pace, 7:30ish or so, but I was still worried about the IT band and so I didn’t push any faster than that. It was continuing to talk and present itself and I was a little cautious to push faster than at the rate I was going. No matter, the pace felt good already.
The field turned into a windy single track on the banks of the Snake River. I was beginning to close in on 4th place. I noted earlier that he didn’t seem like a strong uphill runner, so maybe I could overtake him on the climb up the south butte.
The trail went up, down, right, left, and all over before finally beginning to climb up to the top.
Except about a minute into the climb, I noticed that there were no human footprints in the sand. Had this been part of the race course, I would’ve at least seen the imprints of 4th place’s soles, if not everyone else’s. It was breezy but not to the point where footprints would get lost that quickly.
After a groan I continued down and retraced my steps. I could have sworn the course arrow was directing me up that slope, but upon further investigation it was a “keep going straight" arrow for the runners coming back.
This blunder helped 4th place gain a couple minutes on me. Crap.
This was the most mentally taxing part of the race for me, going from a hot pursuit to back in no-man’s-land due to a dumb error on my part. I continued to run but I wasn’t pushing forward. I felt unable to gain that extra gear that I was hoping racing would provide. I had put in a lot of work for this race and rested pretty well, but my body wanted to treat it as a casual weekend trail run. Honestly, I would probably push harder on those casual weekend trail runs.
I flipped through any mantras I potentially had for these moments. “Continue focusing”? “We still have a lot of race to go”? “Remember your training”? “You didn’t wake up at 5 am for workouts multiple times to not compete here”? Whichever one I was trying to use to get into a focused motivated racing gear wasn’t working.
It was a run/walk up the south butte. It was terrain I could have easily ran and been sustainable on, but mentally I was not there. Maybe a gel would help; I consumed one. Between the blunder and thoughts of my IT band blowing up kept me at a less-than-aggressive mindset. I wasn’t in a great spot.
But I was also at the top of the south butte with little to no IT band pain. This was further than I got last year.
And as I dipped down to the second aid station, I saw the 4th place guy heading out of it.
We’re so back.
I didn’t stop at this aid station either. Reported my number and ran right through. I was locked in on the guy in front of me, about 15 seconds at this point. On the ups I slowly gained and on the downs I worked my best to keep up with him. My plan now was to pursue him until the final climb; that seemed like the best place make my move and secure the position.
Second 10k mark was reached according to my watch, although with my small detour it came a little early on the course. 54:41.
The course continued downhill off the butte. I ate a fruit bar as I passed by other runners going up the butte. There were some cheers and “good jobs” and I probably should’ve said “thanks, you too” and I normally do but I was locked in on #4 at this point. We ran past one gal who had made the same off-route blunder I did. I mentioned that she wasn’t the only one to go straight when she should have turned left.
The course ran back to the perimeter of the fields. 4th-place was starting to slow up a bit so I took this opportunity to make my move. We exchanged pleasantries as we went along our merry ways.
So now I was 4th. I kept steady. I didn’t see any runners to pursue in front of me. I knew that nailing this final climb would secure my position. This was the part that I trained for all winter, what I visualized all winter. When the workout reps got tough, this moment, this climb. The hours of running inclines on the treadmill in the tiny stuffy gym at work were for this. And I knew one thing, encapsulating the theme throughout this training block.
I was built for this.
Yes I stole that mantra from Kalen DeBoer and despite of how I feel about him leaving the Washington football program the way he did, it still doesn’t take away the feelings of hype and inspiration as I witnessed the Huskies claw their way to an undefeated regular season and championship game appearance. So yeah, the mantra stays.
As I turned onto the road that lead back up to the aid station and began the climb, I looked to the side to find that I didn’t really shake runner-who-was- 4th-but-now-5th, as he was about 15 seconds back and on the pursuit as I had been ten minutes previously. Look ahead, you’ve got this. My quads were beginning to cramp a little bit. I knew at the end of this road section the aid station would appear and would have pickle juice. Despite the cramps, I still rolled strong and steady.
You are built for this!
I ran the final stretch up to the aid station. The best part about this aid station was that they were also my friends. It was an honor to receive nourishment from them, although at the time I was in a bit of a veil, caught up in the trail race effort and emotions that I wasn’t sure if I was even coherent talking with them. Still much appreciated though!
My pursuer also stopped at this aid station and switched his shirt from long-sleeve to short. In response I turned my hat backwards. Showtime!
Race time at this point was 2:30. Unless I felt really good, a sub-3 was probably out of the question at this point. Based on the last time I ran this section during training, it would take about 35 minutes to get from here to the finish. Oh well.
But hey let’s focus on getting under 3:05. It started with this section. 20 minutes to the top, just like we practiced and visualized and fought for.
Built for this.
My quads had different ideas. As the trail turned to the rolly single-track section, the cramping continued. I took another gel and kept drinking water, hoping that I could help them relax. You’re built for this! The visuals in my head kept going to the UW football team, their fight and their resilience as the going got tough. It was a struggle on my end though; my legs were not having it.
The-guy-who-was-in-4th-but-then-5th caught up to me and took back his 4th place position.
“Go get it, I’m struggling,” I said.
“It’s pretty touch-and-go for me too,” he said as he left me to struggle in 5th.
The fight was hard to maintain. I was shuffling through the mantras in my head, trying to find one that could stick.
Built for this. Make it happen. Fight and win. Fight. Fight. Focus on your arms. Penix to Odunze.
The voice on my other shoulder was calmer and understood the inner workings of what my body was capable of and knew it was keeping score.
What’s the difference between 4th and 5th? If you beat him up the hill, he’ll just beat you down to the finish. Your quads are messed. Your left IT band is starting to make noise. And for what?
It was settled.
As the trail moved from the single track to the service road that went up the butte, I had lost contact with 4th. He was moving very well in this section, despite his own doubts. Meanwhile I was in survival mode. Quads didn’t have enough electrolyte. My left IT band was starting to give me fits (maybe I should’ve given it as much attention as my right). The tail end of the 12k field were walking up the hill, cheering me on as I ran-walked. I looked behind and saw no one in pursuit, not that place would’ve really mattered for anyone other than my precious ego.
I had visualized myself running the entire section, willing my way up, fighting, digging deep. I had practiced it this way. Now I was walking up as I watched the guy-who-was-4th-but-then-5th-for-a-little-bit-but-then-reclaimed-4th running the final stretches up the final Spitfire climb to the top.
That should be me.
I tried to will myself to get back into action, get back to the plan. Despite the want to finish strong on the climb, I was run-walking the steep sections up to the top. As I finally crested, I was relieved that the hardest part of the race was finished, and at this point getting to the finish would be a walk in the park.
And despite all of that, it took a little over 20 minutes to reach the top.
The way I felt at this point, I would be a run-walk in the park. This section was a little more technical as the trail went up and down and around some lava boulders. The toughest part was navigating through the sea of the 12k field, there wasn’t much room to pass. Once that small section was over, it was a b-line to the steep trail that took us to the finish.
The top of the trail is really steep and slick rock, and it was probably my least favorite part, but thankfully there was a chain to hang onto so I wouldn’t lose my balance. I ran past a coworker, we exchanged pleasantries, told I’d see her again in a little bit, and continued on. That section transitioned into much more manageable switchbacks that I blasted.
I looked at my watch. 3:03. Could I get under 3:05 if I really tried? I went as fast as I could at this point. I’ll give it a shot. Unfortunately I was still a bit away from the finish. The clock ticked past 3:05. Ok, sub-3:06. I hit sand. It had a lot more give so I could really go for it. I turned and saw the long downhill stretch to the finish. 3:06 ticked by.
And despite all of that, all the emotion around competing against the clock and other people, I had finished the race. Not only that, but finished without my IT band blowing up, running a time and performance that was more reflective of my prowess as a runner than the year before. I may not have placed, or held off 4th, or broke 3 hours, or 3:05, but I could show to myself and everyone else what I was capable on this course. Overall, I had run a smart race. I’d call that a redemption.
There was still work to do though.
The last matter of business was actually crossing the finish line. Through the pain I was able to muster a smile. Truth was that I was happy and relieved and all the emotions that muster a smile for the reasons that I stated two paragraphs above. So yeah, crossing the finish line with a smile was an accomplishment.
3:06:28.
Now at the end of the race I needed to reorient myself with reality. I really needed electrolytes to calm down my quads. I saw Kiley who just happened to be right in front of the finish line. I picked up a cow bell which acted as the finishers medals for this race. It was nice not to finish injured like last year. It was nice to be able to bend my knee (although later on in the day that proved to be more difficult). Ultimately I walked away knowing that I had given what I could out on the course and that what showed in the results was what I was fully capable of accomplishing that day.
But it was just a blip, an insight to how my training was going. I knew I was built for this, but this season was still a work in progress.
Post-race:
As I’ve waited for the dust to settle, it has given me some time to reflect on the race and the outcomes.
There really wasn’t anything groundbreaking that I feel like needs to be shared, and I don’t think every race should result in something that changes my point of view or my outlook on life. However, they do help provide insight to training and what my body was capable of on race day.
The real question is if was I prepared. I feel like I was, to an extent. The issue I ran into and continue to run into and need to break out of the habit of is treating downhills like free miles. Sure, they offer some reprieve to my cardiovascular system and allow me to run faster at a lower perceived effort, but they are hell on the legs and the wear on them could negatively affect the legs and performance later on.
I was confident that I had done enough uphill training for this. However, my quads were not used to the decline pounding that that tortured them in this race. It’s what ended up wrecking my IT band last year and probably what caused my cramping this year. That’s my biggest takeaway from the race as I am still having some issues that stemmed from this race a couple weeks later. There is no such thing as free miles.
While prepared, I came into this race a little gun-shy. I was nervous about my IT band blowing up again, especially since it had started talking again. I’ll admit that it was a big reason why I didn’t end up pushing as much in the middle portion of the race. I was conservative and not confident in my body’s ability to maximize the training and go for it. Maybe that would have allowed me to break three hours. Maybe I would have broken sooner and ended up finishing at the same time, albeit feeling much worse.
There was another thought that had crossed my head as I was running steady, that maybe part of the modus operandi of trail running: just holding a steady pace will get you farther than having quick bursts of energy. Hey, it worked for the tortoise and the early humans hunting on the African savannah.
Overall I was happy I had finished and finished with a performance that reflected my training and overall performance ability as a runner. Simultaneously I do not believe that this race fully defines my ability as an athlete, as that is much more holistic.
Spitfire is a great early season trail race that always motivates me to train through the winter. It’s no walk in the park; it’s a brutal course. But Jenn puts together a wonderful event and is always incredibly positive throughout.
I recently came across a picture of me racing in my first Spitfire back in 2016. It was flattering and humbling to realize how much younger I looked and how much more hair I had. It also provided a moment to reflect how much I have learned in the process and the experiences I’ve had since that day on the butte. National championships, world championships, injuries, burn out, redefining my love for the sport, pushing farther, challenging myself, and ultimately reigniting my love for the sport. Over the winter I made a massive next step of bringing a coach onto this journey.
So much has changed. However the shirt has stayed the same. 😅
Anyway I can’t wait to look back at this eight years from now to see how far I have come.
Perpetually,
A work in progress
