In my ongoing reading about the Bridger Ridge Run (unbridled lust from afar), I found this summary of the race from some badass who finished 5th last year, despite almost completely destroying one ankle:
The Bridger mountains form a steep, rocky north-south ridge line just outside of town. The race is 19.7 miles, with 6800ft of elevation gain, and 9500ft of elevation loss. The course is not marked, nor is there an official maintained trail for much of the race. Basically, stay up on the ridge; keep running south; don’t die.
When I read stuff like that, together with his detailed description of the challenge of the course (and the picture of his ankle the next day), it’s like a glass of ice cold water reality in the face. Or a good old fashioned slap. A healthy dose of what lies ahead for me on August 13. This is crazy, but is going to be epic!
If you’ve read prior parts of this journal, you know that I’ve gone hot and cold on the science of running and its slavish adherence to heart rate levels. There’s a lot to be said to just listening to your body, without the aid of a Garmin or any other device to translate. But I am well aware that I’m trying to tackle a beast, a physical challenge tougher than anything I’ve ever done, so I need all the help I can get. I’ve committed to following my trainer’s guidance, which has meant paying close attention to heart rate, and getting comfortable in zones 1, 2 and 3 where I’m burning the body’s stored energy and can maintain that pace for the close to 6 hours it will take to run the Bridger. That’s the theory at least.
This week is my last big training week before I taper down over the next two weeks. On Tuesday, I ran 6 miles with a 1,000 feet of gain. On Thursday, I added 9 more miles with 1,800 feet of uphill. And then today, 20 miles (the Bridger distance) with 3,750 feet of climbing. On each of these runs, I’d slow my pace whenever my heart rate approached 150. Results were quite interesting. I was able to keep my average heart rate quite low, even on a 20 mile 3,750 feet of climbing, run. And on the long run, I worked out how much fuel and water to bring and take in, and gave my new shoes a good test. Yes, it was slower than normal, but if I could run anything close to that pace during the (hellish) Bridger, I’d be ecstatic. And, despite the length (and time it took to do it), I felt fine afterwards, none of aches, pains, tightness I’ve experienced on my lone marathon and two double Dipseas. Maybe the science does make sense?
But more importantly, I feel like I have a gameplan to survive/succeed in the rarefied air and bizarre topography I will face on August 13. Slow down. Don’t die. I’ve done hill climbs in Kirkwood, Cody and Banff, and have learned how my body deals with 20% less oxygen while climbing. And now I’ve tested (though at sea level) running at a sustainable heart rate for 20 miles. Yes, things can go wrong. I could twist an ankle, or blow out a hamstring. Or trip on a rock and roll two thousand feet left or right and be discovered by a grazing sheep a few days later. Even worse, I could oversleep and miss the whole darn thing. But I feel, quite strangely, like I’m ready.
Side note. My 20 mile run today was the second longest run (in distance terms) I’ve ever done, and it took (because of terrain, elevation changes and adding 18 years) 40 minutes longer than my lone marathon. As I passed the 3 hour 47 minute mark, I paid homage to my good college friend in Texas with whom I ran side by side every step of the 1998 Napa Marathon. I have no desire to do another marathon, but it was interesting to think about it as ran along Redwood Creek Trail before my final climb back up the Dipsea towards home.
Two weeks till that slow climb from the horribly, misguidedly, named Fairy Lake.