Time/Place: DNF
Well, this is going to be a first as far as race reports go. My first writeup of a race I did not finish, that is. More on that later, but for now I'll just say "goodbye, cruel world!" Just kidding. Don't call the suicide hotline. I'll be ok.
Cody and I ditched out of work early on Friday afternoon, and after grabbing some Jimmy John's we left Logan for the wilds of western Wyoming to make our rendezvous with the unruly, unparalleled, and sadly under-publicized El Vaquero Loco 50k.
After running it last year, this race quickly became one of my favorite trail races. The scenery has only occasionally been matched by anything I have seen, especially in a race. The course is very tough, but is well worth the effort. Being tucked away in Star Valley, WY, it doesn't get a whole lot of publicity, but it is definitely one of the best 50k races out there. It amazes me that more people haven't discovered this gem of a run. Ty Draney, the original Vaquero Loco (complete with flip flops and a cowboy hat on race day), is the race director, and he does a wonderful job of putting together a great race, from the aid station volunteers and Search and Rescue members who pack into some very rugged country on horses and motorcycles, to the scrumptious post-race hamburgers and huckleberry soda.
After attending the short pre-race meeting at the park in Afton and picking up our race packets, Cody and I hung around shooting the breeze with Ty, Luke Nelson (then 4-time winner of EVL), "Fast Evan" Honeyfield, and helping get the packets out to the stragglers. It was an enjoyable evening, and we even had a little rain to clear out the smoke from the bajillions of forest fires that are currently burning up the West.
After that we made our way to Cottonwood Lake to see if we could mooch half a campsite from someone, in which we were successful, and set up our tent. It was a good thing Cody brought a tent, because shortly after hitting the hay we were treated to a series of nice rain squalls. This was good though, because it cleared the air and made for perfect trails the next morning.
Race morning "dawned" clear, cool, and moist, with the promise of a beautiful day ahead. I was hoping for some fog after seeing photos from Balls two years ago, but no such luck. I ate a couple of granola bars for breakfast and filled my two bottles. I had been debating on whether to go with one and save weight, or two and be guaranteed to have enough water. I decided to split the difference and go with two but only fill them halfway. I go to college.
After a brief wait, we got started just as the ground became visible without the use of a headlight. My goal today was to go out with Luke, see what I felt like, hang on for dear life, and see how fast I could go pushing hard. Luke and I took off at a brisk pace, and I immediately knew this was going to be a hard effort. I was breathing pretty hard at first, but soon my body got used to it and settled down. The climb up Balls was super tough. I had not experienced this section of the course last year, due to the shortened snow course, and more is the pity because this is hands down the best part of the race. We kept things light, chatting a bit, but still we were pushing pretty hard. Cody hung around behind us all the way up the climb, but as soon as we reached the top he dropped off the back for good. After such a steep, technical climb it was fun to run at a suicide pace down the steep and rocky singletrack on the other side into a beautiful valley. The scenery was absolutely stunning, especially as the sun was just breaking the tops of the surrounding mountains. I was in awe. We blew through the first aid station at the bottom of the valley. Luke seemed to be enjoying the company (he's usually alone by this point), and we talked and swapped a few stories and whatnot. He is a great guy to run with whether you're just out for a training run or in a race. Probably one of the most positive individuals I've met. We continued at a breakneck pace up into the lakes portion of the course and waved hi to the aid station crew as we sped past. Can't say enough about these people who hiked in the night before, braving rain and cold to set up a remote aid station for us. We slowed down a bit for the climb out of the lakes, but then picked up the pace again as we began the long downhill run into the turnaround. I had been eating well (one of my goals for this race: proper fueling), and I felt very good and had plenty of energy at this point. Luke seemed to feel the same, and broke his radio silence about wanting to break 5 hours, a crazy goal for this course, but if anyone could do it, he could, and we were on a great pace to do so. I was feeling good so I told him I'd go with him as long as I was capable. We were flying at this point, and I was having more fun than I've had in a race in a long time.
We blasted into the turnaround in just over 2:21, whooping and hollering at the 25kers and we got some good cheering in return. I grabbed some S-caps and filled my bottle. Luke was a little quicker than I out of the aid, but he kindly stopped to water the flowers and let me catch up. We were both enjoying having someone to talk to and pulling each other along. We passed Cody just after getting back onto the singletrack, and wished him luck. He looked to be doing really well and on track to set a PR. Shortly after this, my stomach suddenly began to feel queasy. Luke encouraged me and I stuck through it initially, chalking it up to a sudden effort up the steep climb on the first part of the singletrack. But, unfortunately, that was not to be the end of it. After a couple of more miles, my stomach became even more upset, and no matter what I did I could not get it to go away. Things went downhill so fast my head was spinning. After less than a quarter mile I could barely hang on to Luke's pace and began to lag a little. Luke continued to try and bring me back, but no amount of mental effort seemed to help. Suddenly I stopped, doubled over, and vomited into the weeds. I knew I was in trouble. I could barely even stand. After puking, I felt a lot better and took off running again, but I only got about 10 steps before retching into the bushes again. I decided to try and walk it off to see if I could get something going again later. I knew that Luke was probably long gone, but I could still finish with a spectacular PR if I could get past this quickly. But, as time went on, it became apparent that I was only getting worse, not better. I passed Evan taking pictures (he was photoshooting the race) and he tried to encourage me, but by then I could barely hike without dry heaving. I reached the aid station and asked the volunteers if I could sit down for a spell. They were very helpful and got me some water and Coke and a jacket because I was shivering. I wanted to get past this so I could keep going, but my stomach refused to cooperate. After 45 minutes I was still in no condition to tackle the remaining 11 miles or so, and I knew the game was probably up. I told the aid station volunteers that I would be dropping but that I could hike back to the turnaround under my own power. Better that than have to be packed out of the lakes on horseback if I got worse.
The hike out was long, hot, and a little humiliating. You could tell the runners who had experienced similar setbacks in the past by the look on their faces and their kind gestures of offering food, s-caps, etc (none of which I felt like), but others were oblivious and I felt obligated to explain why I was going the wrong way. After a long time, I made it back to the turnaround. The aid station had long since been packed up, but an S&R guy was there with his radio and called in a ride for me. Eventually Cody showed up to pack me and another woman out and back to the start. He didn't even make too much fun of me. I went back to the start and had a huckleberry soda. Ty and Luke and the others were all very gracious. One of the things I love about trail running is that most people have been through everything you have, so they are always very understanding when you have a bad day.
After thinking a lot about this race, I have decided to take it as a learning experience. It was bound to happen sometime, and I will take what I can from it and move on. It's not always about winning every race, but about getting up each time you take a fall. Sure, I'm a little bummed about the outcome, but it gives me all the more motivation to come back and do better the next time. Much like life, trail running is about the journey, and failure is an essential part of that journey.
That's quite the story. Hopefully you can get redemption next year.
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