1 Year, TNF50 & a 1-year-old – Buffalo Edition
I survived my first big trail event, The Buffalo Stampede. I’d love to say I did more than survive, but I really was in struggle town in the closing couple of kms. However, just a few weeks on, all of the unpleasant bits have pleasantly faded away. What I have left are great memories of a fantastic atmosphere, awesome scenery, and most of all, a huge sense of achievement despite the fact that I didn’t win (surprise!). In fact I was nearly an hour behind the first lady traily, Emma Rilen, but I am still highly recommending this trail running caper to anyone who cares to listen. So this is how it unfolded;
I happened to be staying with the eventual winners of the Sky26er who know important race related stuff, so I was fortunate to get some insider news a few days before the event. The conversation went something like this;
‘So Bron, I’ve got some news about the race’
‘Oh yeah’
‘Well they had to change the course a bit so it’s not the Sky26er any more, it will be more like…..er…. 30’
Silence.
‘Oh and there is also now closer to 2,000m of vert, and 1km after the start is basically a wall, most people wont even be able to run it!’
I think my stomach sunk at this point and my first thoughts were as follows:
- Sh*t. What? Sh*t.
- That’s an extra 4km. I haven’t even run that far before… Like ever.
- Sh*t. What? Even more climbing. Sh*t.
- How long will it take me now? OMG. That could be an extra hour!
- Repeat first thought.
However, by the time race day dawned chilly and clear in the gorgeous alpine town of Bright, and with some great training runs on fabulous trails in my legs, I was feeling a little more confident. It’s hard not to be inspired when the local landscape consists of looming mountains, autumn colours and fresh air. There was a sense of anticipation at the check in where I picked up my green Buffalo Stampede race singlet and although I’m not usually a fan of green clothing, I donned my race bib with both trepidation and excitement.
On the start line I was heartened to see quite a few people with walking poles, surely this was a good sign for me? Little did I know that for the first climb of the course grappling hooks would have been handy. Within a few minutes of the start I was earning myself some new lungs alongside my fellow trailies in one mass act of self-flagellation. 1km down, only 30 or so to go.
It turns out that I can actually go uphill fairly well, and was both surprised and motivated by passing people on all of the ascending parts of the course (everyone politely commended me on my way past, such unique and supportive sportsmanship!) However, on the steep descents I noticed that some people have a kind of fast-footed fearlessness that allows them to bomb down hills like a pebble down a well. Alas, I am no pebble. I am more like a cumbersome boulder with a set of disc brakes.
The outcome of being a brakes-on descender is a bit like throwing the towrope out behind my rowing boat. Not only slower but hard on the body. I couldn’t help but focus on the braking force tearing my quads apart with every heavy downhill impact. I tried to relax but the prospect of face planting or arse surfing my way down a hill kind of worked against that idea. Consequently, my legs and joints got hammered on every descent and I found myself looking forward to any uphill. Lucky for me there was plenty.
In the closing km’s, just after a point called ‘The Apex’ I was expecting a downhill trundle to the finish line. After all, my watch said nearly 30km gone and that was the distance, right? Wrong. As I stepped off a section of single track, the happy go lucky marshal waved me cheerily in the direction of one last leg snapping uphill. At the summit I may as well of been standing atop the White Cliffs of Dover and at this point reserved some fairly choice expletives for the race organisers. While this cliff was red dirt, my brakes-on process of getting to the bottom left me feeling like a crumpled mess. I really need to learn how to kamikaze down hills!
In the end, the km count was just shy of 33! While it scared the running shorts off me initially, it has ended up being a great confidence builder on my way to the North Face – only 17kms to go (Woop!). I wasn’t anywhere near the winner, but then again neither was 2nd place. However, the sense of personal achievement has been overwhelmingly large enough to erase the feelings of being deep in the hurt bag and I am now looking forward to the The North Face 50 in a crazed, demented sort of way!