Wahsatch Steeplechase (author unknown)
I hear about hard trail races. The Wahsatch Steeplechase
is one of them. But all those other trail races lack one element which makes
the “Steeplechase” stand out from the rest – rock climbing. This race is
definitely not for trepidatious, safety conscious, acrophobics. If heights make
you queasy, you need not apply.
This race is literally up one side of a mountain and back down the
other. The hills are relentless, and therein lays the challenge. It’s a
seemingly never ending onslaught of climb after climb, with brief sections of
gentle climbing which is the best opportunity you're going to get to catch your
breath. And if you think you’re hanging in there OK, it has the last word on
that by saving the most brutal climb for last. This was my second year running
it, and it helped immensely knowing what lay ahead. As I watched everyone dash
off at the start line, I thought to myself, “fools, I’ll see them before long.”
A friend of mine was running it, and was one of those “fools”
pulling away from me at the start. He knows he’s a much slower runner than me.
I don’t know what he was thinking, but I let him go. A mile later, I find him
walking up a hill. As I go by him, I thought I’d play with his head a little
bit, and said, “if you’re walking now, what are you going to do when you get to
the real hills?” That should give him something to think about for the next
hour and a half of climbing.
After spending the last year running these trails around this
mountain, and adapting to the elevation, I’m running much stronger than last
year. I find myself running more of these hills and only having to walk the
most severe inclines, passing a lot of people along the way. I notice this, but
it doesn’t mean a lot to me. It’s still me against those damn hills, and
they’re getting harder and harder, so I just have to keep my head down and
continue pushing. Concentrating most of the way on my form, making sure I stay
as efficient as possible. Last thing I need up those hills is to waste precious
energy.
I’m on the last climb, but as I mentioned before, it’s a
doozy. The kind where you put your hands on your knees to help push your legs
to straighten them. The foliage is getting sparse at this point, otherwise it
would be a great place to be grabbing trees and bushes to help pull yourself
up. Scratch that, what you really need at this point is a ladder. If the
steepness wasn't bad enough, it's all loose rock, so footing is critical. Every
time your foot slips, it takes so much out of you to catch yourself. I
pass a girl who asks aloud, “please tell me this is the last climb.” I reply to
her honestly, “the good news is, yes! It’s the last climb. The bad news is, it
goes on for a while.” After you’ve climbed about 5,000 feet in the first
6.5 miles, your nearly depleted carcass finally reaches the summit of Black
Mountain. You now get to spend the next mile and a half scrambling another 500
feet up the mountains' narrow, spiny ridge, which is rated 5.4 climbing in the
Yosemite Decimal System. Not only is there a good bit of climbing, but there’s
lots of exposure. One slip and it’ll be a while before you hit the ground.
Sheer drop-offs on both sides keep you “on edge” the whole way. Since you’re
running along the top of a geological plate that’s been pushed up to near
vertical, you’re running/climbing atop sharp ridged rock slab which poke up
through the bottom of your shoes. It pays to have a really bomber pair of trail
shoes. The notion of a dirt trail becomes pleasant nostalgia while you’re
navigating the cracks and crevasses along the peak. Route finding here can be
key, since there’s no longer a trail to follow. Last year I was lucky and had
some others to follow. This year, I was alone. Lucky for me, I’ve done this a
few times since I last raced it, so I sort of know the route. A wrong turn can
leave you looking at a 30’-60’ drop-off, forcing you to do some backtracking to
find out where you went off course. Either that, or take a risk in climbing
your way out sans protection, which I’ve heard of instance of people doing
that, albeit very rare. I only make one small mistake navigating the crags
along the ridge, but get back on track quickly. I’m so focused, I don’t even
notice the potential danger. My eyes only see where I need to go and block out
all steep drops to my flanks.
After finally clearing the ridge and beginning the descent
via an alpine forest, you’re still not out of the proverbial “woods” as the
trail is steep, loose, and full of off camber switchbacks which will do
everything possible to shake even the most cautiously tenacious of runners. Overgrown
ferns cover the trail, hiding roots and holes. Add to that fallen
pinecones everywhere, and every step is like running through a minefield
filling you with nervous anticipation of being violently uprooted at any
moment. But it is a race after all, so you run hard and hope for the best. For
the second year in a row, a rock or root hidden under the cover of foliage
catches my foot and begins the imbalance that would have sent me hurtling head
first off the trail and down the steep
embankment, where I most likely would have augured into the hillside like a
javelin. But once again, with the
abundance of dense foliage, I was able to make a desperate grab of a sturdy
fern to not only save me from bodily harm, but right my balance and momentum
keeping me moving at high speed down the trail. Phew!
Last year I came into one of the switchbacks so fast I couldn’t
negotiate the turn and slid right off the backside. It was a mad scramble back
up the embankment to the trail. This year I watched carefully for that turn! Ha
– it didn't get me. Finally you hear the roar of the winters’ runoff, a
drainage creek at the bottom of the canyon. A pleasant sound signaling that he
technical running is over. Now it’s just 7 miles of blood and guts hard
running down the canyon floor to the finish. This is the same trail I was lucky
enough to come upon a Bobcat a few weeks ago, but with all the runners about
today, I don’t expect to see anything but buzzards circling overhead.
The beauty of this race is there's so much to it. Hard climbing,
technical descents, mad scrambling, fast downhills. It seems that just when you
can't take anymore (or perhaps you've just gone beyond you're limit), you're on
to the next challenge. The dynamics of this race make it one of the most interesting
and fun races I have ever done.
They say that this ~17 mile race takes about your marathon
time less 10 minutes to finish. That’s about right as I ran a 3:02 last year
and did a marathon in 3:10. I knew just from my new strength on the uphills
that I was going to PR this race, but when I came in at 2:53, it was quite a
pleasant surprise. However, they did move the finish line up a bit b/c of some
construction in the park where the race usually ends, so my time was probably
more like 2:56.
I’ll take it. And I’ll be back next year. After all, this is my favorite
race!
The Mud Puppy