Race Reports

Race Report: Soulstice

Many apologies for the delay in getting this posted. Some may consider it shameful to post a race report five weeks after the race. I, however, consider my actions to be merely irresponsible and bordering on lazy. If you are still interested to read about my first trail race, continue. If not, I’ll be back to my regularly scheduled programming on training for Mt. Taylor and some new nutrition experiments.

Three miles into the Soulstice Mountain Trail Run, I decided to push the pace a bit. After climbing a relatively short 50-meter hill, I could feel my heart in my throat and my pulse slamming in my ears. Out of curiosity, I stopped and checked my heart rate.

Two hundred and ten.

For you Polar heart rate nerds, that’s 16 percent above my maximum HR.

“Shit-gawd-damn. This is going to be a go(o)d run.”

That was one of the many epiphanies I experienced during the Soulstice on October 14. Nestled in the gorgeous San Francisco Peaks on the outskirts of Flagstaff, at 8,500 lung-searing feet above sea level, Soulstice is the highest elevation trail race in Arizona.

Let’s stop for a little science lesson: The percentage of oxygen in the air at two miles (about 10,500 feet.) is the same as at sea level (21 percent). However, the air pressure is 30 percent lower at the higher altitude due to the fact that the atmosphere is less dense. Where I live in Las Vegas, the altitude is 2,200 feet. That gives me an effective oxygen concentration of 19.4 percent according to the altitude gurus at www.higherpeak.com. Soulstice takes place just shy of 9,000 feet which sees the oxygen concentration plummet to 14.8 percent.

In other words, I was going to be on the course feeling like I had been a five-pack-a-day smoker.

The First Loop

After coming to the conclusion that any prolonged hill assaults or attempts to pick up my pace would instantly rocket my low-altitude-conditioned body to Zone 5, I settled down into my four-minute run, one minute walk routine. My Ilg-directed goal for this race was to finish it…run, walk or crawl.

Recalling that I couldn’t run around the block at sea level a mere eight months ago, and only having one 12-mile run under my belt the weekend prior, I was agreeable to that guidance. Three weeks prior, I had completed my first Olympic-distance triathlon…recovered half of the second week…got in a few training runs for Soulstice the next week…then had a half-week taper going into the race.

The first loop is a five-miler that follows a rolling fire road with a fun series of hills known as the “Seven Sisters” (a.k.a. “The Seven Bitches”). The sisters weren’t as dramatic as I had originally thought, although it was a challenge to descend the rocky, loose terrain at times.

Although I was under the mandate to finish, not race, the course, my internal plan was to cruise the first loop and start kicking it on the second loop.

Most of the passing was done within the first 30 minutes…mostly by others passing me. No biggie, this was all about energy management. Especially after the night I had.

The Night Before

I had driven down from Las Vegas the night before, after a long day of excruciating meetings. There was an exquisite light show from the thunderstorms near the homestead and were part of this huge weather system that would also be creating a bit of moisture in Flagstaff.

After a four-and-a-half hour drive, I made it to the Schultz Road turnoff just north of Flagstaff and made the slow drive up the mountain to find the trail head where the race director, Neil Weintraub, had suggested I camp.

A little after midnight, I had my tent set and was ready for some well-deserved sleep. I never sleep well the first night camping but I figured the constant patter of rain on the tent would lull me to la-la land.

No luck.

This night was no different. Some RV’ers blasted in about 3 a.m. hootin’ and hollerin’ for about an hour, so no rest for the weary.

The sound of the raindrops falling on my tent crescendoed and at one point, sounded like a steady downpour. Or then again, it could have been the RVer’s bastard dog taking a piss on my tent.

The Crack of Dawn Arrives
I figured I had about 60 minutes of total sleep before I gave up and decided to head down to trailhead to pick up my race packet and spend some quality time in my usual pre-race space: the crapper.

As I made my way toward the center of activity, there was energy in the air. Everyone I passed had this goofy smile on their face. They were happy.

“Crazy mountain people,” I murmured.

I picked up my packet and asked if it was OK to wear my race belt. I had seen people with numbers pinned on their chests and didn’t want to poke holes in my brand spankin’ new North Face Windshirt.

One of the volunteers overheard me and proclaimed, “Race belt? What’s that?”

I told her we used them in triathlons and how handy they were for, you know, not poking holes in your overpriced “performance” shirts.

“Race belts?” she queried again and shot me a look like I had just fallen off the turnip truck. “I’ve been trail racing since I was 12 and I never heard of a race belt! They want your number pinned on the front.”

Seeing that my quest was going into a black hole, I shrugged my shoulders, and headed toward the other “hole” to make my pre-race deposit.

Walking back from the port-a-potties, I saw this crazy dude who had decided to make the race a duathlon. He rode his mountain bike up from town and was already soaking wet and shivering before he even toed the start line.

The crazy dude was none other than the mighty Steve Ilg. Friend. Coach. Advisor. We exchanged hellos and went our separate ways to make our private pre-race preparations. Ilg, perhaps intimidated by my prowess on the trails, opted to do the 10K while I did the full 11.5-mile course.

Note: Go to Illg’s blog InDirect Lines and pay attention to the difference between the photo of me above and Steve’s. Both were captured at the same spot on the Sunset Trail. Other than his studly gams, what did you notice? Look at how he is dressed. Here is a dude who is not only built for speed, but is dressed like he is there to race.

Now, look at me. I’m out there in my long johns (albeit high-tech thermal bunders) dressed like I’m out for a day’s jaunt in the woods…which I was.

The photos alone will tell of the current gap between our two levels. Read his account of the race and you’ll see exactly what I mean. (For what it’s worth, I would suggest shelling out $10 for at least a one-month subscription just to read his full race report. It’s worth its weight in gold if you want tap into the mindset of an elite athlete-warrior in full “battle” mode.)

Second Loop
Coming out of the First Loop and the conclusion of my first five miles, I was feeling pretty strong. Ilg, his race long done, was at the intersection of the two loops, freezing his nuts off, cheering me on.

What a great coach!

I stepped onto Sunset Trail, re-charged and ready to start adding a little more steam to my run. Then this friggin’ hill from hell popped out in front of me.

Figuring it wouldn’t be that long, I kept running.

The bastard never ended. It just kept going up to the summit. A 1,000-foot climb over two miles. I had to walk it. I saw no one in front of me or behind me at this point. It was just me, the forest, the rain, and this freakin’ hill.

Once I reached the summit, I took a minute to drink some water from the volunteers who were shivering their asses off, and at long last took off on a run once more on the Upper Brookbank Trail and worked my way to the Lower Brookbank.

A short hop later I ascended to Dry Lakes Hills, and then down Little Gnarly Trail to Shultz Creek Trail. How anyone but a mountain goat could actually run some of the sections on this trail amazed me. I would have loved to sit on a boulder and watch them make the technical descent springing from rock to root like Tigger.

From there, it was on toward Shultz Creek and across a nice mud bog to the finish area. I crossed the finish line 2:37:54 after I started, earning me 28/28 in my age group (no surprise there) and 93/98 overall.

Of course, as I turned to thank to two gents at the finish line, that’s the only time I slipped and fell in a nice pile of muck.

I scraped the mud off my leg and hands, and made a beeline to the beer wagon. Yes, Hak loves mountain people who provide post-race brewskis. Screw the bananas and gels, just grill some hot dogs and have two types of beer on tap.

What’s not to love about this race?

Lessons Learned:

• The layering I had with a base layer of the REI light thermal shirt, followed by the Mountain Hardwear Wicked Tech t-shirt and topped off with the amazing North Face Apex wind shirt. The North Face shirt kept me dry until the last 30 minutes of the race and warm throughout.
• I need to get some strength and get in touch with my inner Tigger so I can run instead of walk those gnarly rock-strewn descents.

The Soulstice was the best race of the year. It was just a hoot to run and the vibe on the course, as well as that with my fellow runners, was an incredible experience…rain or shine.