Participating in the 1999 Bridger Ridge Run in Montana
[Editor's note: Dave Mogk is a 40-something geology professor from Bozeman (Montana) who, like many of us, is ready for new challenges - even when we may not be perfectly prepared for them.}
Here (hear), then, is the tale of Dave's not-so-excellent, near-death adventure. The occasion: the 1999 Bridger Trail run--20 miles long, over 9000 vertical feet of gain and descent while running the length of the Bridger Range. It started with a crack-of-dawn rendezvous at the Sacajawea Trail head with 170 other runners, along with race support staff, and other helpers and hangers-on (many of whom were simply too smart to even attempt this). It's not a race, because only the elite can actually compete; it's not even a run, because the uphill stretches are so long or steep that there's no way to run the length of the course; rather, it's simply an event.
Preparation for the race includes an orientation meeting to make sure everyone was acquainted with the race course (there is no trail--it's all along the ridge, but there are places where you can veer off into side canyons, and everyone wants to avoid having to call out the search and rescue team). Two plates of pasta the night before, pouring in fluids til I felt like a camel, a bagel and 4 bananas for breakfast were intended to provide the fuel for the run (although, you can't possibly store enough accessible glycogen from start to finish). An anxious night before, preceded by a 1 AM return from West Virginia two nights before did not provide adequate rest--but adrenaline has a way of overriding common sense. Toenails clipped, vaseline applied for chafing, a fanny pack with 0.5 liters of gatorade, bandaids, moleskin, pieces of bagel, a couple of packs of PowerGel, toilet paper, a map, whistle, and advil…is any of this needed, is it sufficient to fend off potential trouble? What to wear? We had two days of thunderstorms preceding the race, and weather is highly variable up on the ridge. I elected a long sleeve cotton shirt, usual nylon running shorts, and trail running shoes (heavier than road shoes, but the sturdiness was requisite). I decided to forego carrying extra clothes--dry socks, extra windshirt in the event of bad weather, gloves--not for cold, but for inevitable impacts upon falling. A gamble, but one that paid off.
It was a perfect day for running. Race start temperature was 40 degrees F, end of the race was around 80 degrees F, clear skies, a gentle breeze…perhaps a bit too warm towards the end, but considering the magnitude of recent thunderstorms we were incredibly lucky. Other years the ridge was completely socked in by fog, hit by thunderstorms, or withered under 90 degree heat.
The event started at 7:00. I lined up towards the back of the pack--a strategic move knowing that the trail was narrow and this would keep me from heading out too fast. It was basically a power walk from the trail head (~7500 feet) up to the first pass at ~9000 feet. It was possible to run across a high meadow for awhile, but we quickly encountered the next big push to the summit of Sacajawea Peak at 9650 feet. Cleared this first checkpoint (mile 2.3) at about 40 minutes. Had a long descent of about a mile across scree, and then dropped into the woods for a long traverse of whoop-de-do undulating goat trail across scree, over logs, up and over cliffs and ultimately dropping to ~7600 feet at Ross Pass (mile 6.8). I'm not sure whether or not it was a good thing to know something about the geology. The spine of the ridge where we did most of the running is in the massive Mission Canyon member of the Madison Limestone. This is tilted up at an angle of about 70 degrees for the length of the Bridger Range, and we ran a good part of the race across the precipitous edge of these cliffs. Mission Canyon weathers into fist-sized blocks to boulders, which like to build up to angle of repose on the scree slopes--and these blocks like to roll upon the slightest impact. The limestone on the cliffs weathers with an extremely rough surface just right for ripping shoes, clothes, and flesh. The other units we crossed were the Lodgepole member of the Madison group--weathers to flat slabby pieces (ready to slide) and the red Amsden shales (which turned to slick goose crap clay after the rains of the previous days). Crossed the Ross Pass check point at about 1:40 not feeling too bad, careful to rehydrate.
The real heroes of the Ridge Run are the 60+ volunteers who haul water up to the ridge, serve as spotters and checkers, ham radio operators and some EMT folks. Anyway, they have the authority to pull anyone off the course who doesn't meet minimum times passing the checkpoints, or anyone who is obviously in medical distress. They are lifesavers!
I was not at all prepared for what was to come. Ascending from Ross Pass we basically had a scramble up the side of the mountain--over cliffs and deadfall, with just a few splashes of orange paint to mark the way. Hit a series of false summits at 8600, 8400, 8700 and 8600 feet--all knobs standing up along the skyline. Although you can intellectualize the vertical gain by looking at the map, or try to get an overview by looking at the ridge profile from a distance, there was simply nothing that could be done to prepare for the brutality of this stretch. Next check in was at the top of the Bridger Bowl ski area at approximately mile 10. Fended off a minor bonk with wobbly legs on the last uphill to this aid station. A powergel, a few pieces of bagel, and water and some gatorade were refreshing enough, so on to the next. Left this aid station at about 2:50
The next ~2 miles were to the summit of Saddle Peak (~9200 feet). This is the long, bald ridge that dominates the Bridger skyline. You drop a couple of hundred feet across a long, broad saddle, and then head back up to the summit. Headed down a long descent to another pass and then up Bridger Peak (8600 feet)--had to stop and eat some of my own bagel and fluids--mouth too dry to swallow, had to wash the food down with squirts from the poly bottle. Fended off a bigger bonk on the way to Baldy Mountain (8914 feet, mile 15) this one more serious--not only wobbly legs, but was lightheaded and dizzy at this point. Not a very good state considering we are still running along the cliffs along the ridgeline. The insidious aspect of this event is that there is never a stretch of more than a hundred yards where you can stretch out and run freely. It's either short, powerful, compressive bursts of energy to win the uphills, picking your way along the tops of cliffs or through cracks, or side slipping down scree or pea gravel so that every step has the potential for causing a fall. Along the way I fell probably a dozen times--sometimes just slipping off the edge of the trail, sliding down scree on my side, the rough terrain caused you to trip if you weren't watching your every foot placement thus jarring internal organs and wrenching your back, sometimes causing a head first dive, sometimes causing a full body roll. I ended up with contusions on wrists, forearms and shins, and enough scrapes to bloody hands and legs. My friend, Jerry Coffey, who is an outstanding Master's bike racer pulled me off the course long enough to make sure I was rehydrated, fed and able to continue. Time at the Baldy checkpoint was about 4:30.
Then I truly descended into hell. And I was certain that if I fell I would not rise up on the next, or even the third day. From thence the watchers could judge the quick and the dead (with apologies to the Apostles)… I was neither, but I just wanted/needed to be finished. Temperature was rising, and the last 5 miles are pretty much a continuous downhill--from 8900 feet down to 4900 feet--an average drop of 800 feet/mile, although most of the drop is in the last 3 miles. Most of the trail was pea gravel sized pebbles that wanted to roll under your feet, or loose blocks of scree. I simply did not have the strength to run freely down this stuff for fear of falling. So, every step was braked to control speed, with the strain taken up by quads and calves. Took 3 or 4 dives in the first two miles of the downhill, one of which caused cramping in my right leg from ankle to thigh. The final indignity was a swarm of horse flies buzzing around, biting any exposed part--I suppose I looked and smelt like carrion by that point. Ultimately my quads completely cramped in the final 3 miles, and my legs generally trembled to the point that I wasn't sure if I could continue staying upright. Breaking out of the last stand of trees and looking down from the "M" (a large design plastered on the side of the hill in rocks painted white; check out our dept. homepage at www.montana.edu I think and click on the Dept. of E. Sciences--there's a profile of the skyline, and the M is clearly visible), only about half a mile to go and 800 feet down, I had to stop in full site of the finish line gallery at least 4 times because I could manage to move only a couple of hundred yards at a time before I lost control of my legs and balance. I did finish under my own steam and finished with a time of about 5:50 in about 90th place out of 170 starters. To put this in perspective, Scott Creel ran a course record of 3:13. He’s a teammate on our Nordic ski team and has recently been named to the US National Summer Biathlon team. Needless to say we have a surfeit of superb athletes in this area.
Well, this was the biggest bonk I've had since I ran a PR 2:36 marathon when I was in college >20 years ago. My electrolytes were completely exhausted which caused whole-leg cramps. Remarkably, my feet were in great shape considering the rough terrain, but many a runner lost toe nails or turned their blistered feet to hamburger. Even more amazing, my achilles tendons have been tender for over a year, but after the race they were in great shape and in fact today (a day later) there's really no inflammation at all. But my quads--sitting down and getting up is a painful exercise, and I can forget about walking down stairs or down any other incline. Hobbling is all I can muster for now, and perhaps I can take a gentle bike ride to help break down the lactic acid. The contusions and scrapes will pass in a day or two.
So, what have I learned: Well, lots. There was a time when I could do this stuff simply calling on base level reserves. I clearly outstripped all reserves I had. Finishing this event was more an exercise in mental discipline--forcing myself to keep moving for 4, 5, 6 hours when physical limits had been exceeded. After the Bridger checkpoint (half way) there is no easy way off the ridge, so once you pass that point you simply have to finish. Gwendy asked me what I would do differently. The answer is just one word: train. So, lesson two is that if I'm going to do this extreme stuff, I've got to make a decision. Either get serious about training (with the right balance of strength, distance and speed workouts), or don't put myself in this position. So, I either have to give up things like soccer (and the comeraderie of team play), or reconcile myself to the fact that there are some things I just shouldn't do anymore. Having the brain of an 18 year old in a 45 year old body is a dangerous thing, particularly if it is coupled with ego/self esteem/ fleeting youth complexes. Third, if I'm not going to be a participant, I should get on the volunteer squads and haul water up the mountain for the folks who need it. Maybe it's my time to serve on the support staff for the extreme events, and be content to run a few lower key fun runs once in awhile. Fourth, there's something positive about pushing personal limits, but it's a whole other issue to exercise this level of stupidity. I managed to pull it off this time--but I really could have been seriously hurt (one runner was taken to the hospital for dehydration and loss of electrolytes and ended up having an IV tube inserted to try to stabilize his body functions), and I could have caused some real problems for the support crew. To them I've apologized, and have thanked them profusely for their support. So, Mary--drink often during your half marathon, and be sure to take in some sports drink with electrolytes in addition to drinking water. Finally, the sense of community--of runners, and of friends--is so important around events like this. Whether through the shared experience, or in the form of physical or emotional support, both participants and the wider community enjoy mutual benefits which I'm sure transcend the immediate event.