Hurt So Good - Speed Goat 50K

For several years in a row my wife Kathy and I have headed out to Utah for the Outdoor Retailers convention and have become fans of the trails around Park City. Two years ago my daughter Anna Joined us and was also became enamored with big mountains … This is background info to let you know how Anna stumbled across the Speed Goat 50K and suggested we take it on. How could a mom and dad say no to such an offer. Anna’s boyfriend Andy joined our flatlander Michigan team to round out the inexperienced mountain running crew of 4.

I am pretty fit this year with a couple marathons in, some great long trail runs and an Olympic triathlon … I have even made it a point to add long tough hill repeats when I get the chance. I figured the Speed Goat would kick my butt, but with a 12 hour time limit and a 9 hour cut off at 23.6 miles, even if it was a tough hike, I’d get it done.

The race takes place between 7,600 ft. and 11,200 ft. with over 14,000 ft. of elevation change. I thought about the hardest course I was intimate with, the 50 mile at DWD Gnaw Bone with 8,000 ft. of change and figured, yes, it would be twice the climb but doable, the reality was, I was clueless on what this meant.

The start to the first aidstation was 8.3 miles, gained 3,300 ft. and took 3 frickin’ hours! It was a strange collection of rocks, dirt, creek crossings and some actual runnable trail.  (Runnable by my standards, I had considered myself a pretty good rock dancer … But no longer). At one hour I’d gone just under 3 miles and the reality of just how long the day would be hit. I knew nutrition would play an instrumental role in success given 12 hours of running so I planned to take in something every 45 minutes, GU, salty and sweet granola type bars or the standard ultra aid station fare. It’s funny how frustrating and time consuming it seems to pull out a bar, chew it up, swallow it, take water and move on, especially early in the race and knowing the clock never stops. I stuck to the schedule and give my fueling a passing grade.

The next 2.2 miles were a screaming downhill with some actual trail through a blur of wildflower colors followed by a very friendly aid station, I was all smiles and digin’ it.  It was a strange and very long 5 mile to the next aid, starting with a mile of wicked climb then 3.5 miles of painfully slow decent. Much of it was either too steep to get moving without biting it, I’m talking side stepping butt slide stuff, or treacherous footing. About 2 of the miles down were nothing but 5” to 10” diameter busted up rock, I was sure I was off course and this could not possible be right as I picked my way along without a marker or runner in sight. I finally came across a course marking ribbon and spotted another runner ahead and thought, Trail Dog Ken Jeffery, a friend who is instrumental in designing the painful nonsense in Dances With Dirt Hell, would be proud of this sadistic Karl Metzler dude who designed the course. (Karl is a self-proclaimed running bum and the most winning 100 mile trail runner in the world with 35 wins. The course is advertised as a Metzler designed nightmare.) Half way down the heat or the day kicked in, we were in for an unusual 80 plus degrees at high altitude. My two 20 oz. handheld Nathan bottles would not quite make it the distance between aid today. Note: A plus for handhelds, every time I took a tumble the bottle got smashed into the rock instead of my hands. A minus, I never trained holding bottles for over 3 hours, 5 hours in, my shoulders were on fire, a training lesson learned.

At the bottom of the mountain it was a furnace but brought us to a God send of an aid station with an ice water splash. Note: The crew at every station were experts on getting us fueled, motivated and moving, a first class act. Next came 4 miles straight up, perhaps the best footing of the race but too steep to do anything but baby step … for 2 hours. I tried to keep a pace at just about at my anaerobic threshold, always working hard and trying for relentless forward movement but it was basically a snail’s pace. It mentally helped to be surrounded by other very fit looking runners creeping along in much the same fashion. There was no conversation, only the occasional groan or swear word. Again my water did not make the distance but an ice cold spring appeared like a mirage. I watched a runner in front of me fill his bottles and risked the same. I would finish both bottles again before the top, no ill effects as I write this 2 days later, amen. The final mile to the peak was a painfully steep, richly scented paradise of towering pines, wildflower meadows and views to die for, way worth the hurt.  My downhill muscles were fried and untrustworthy on my reckless and risky mile decent into the aid station at 22 miles, (listed as 21 but NOT) just 7 minutes ahead of the 7 ½ hour cut off. For a minute I was demorilized to think I barely made this cut but the reality of how trashed my body was brought me around quickly to a new realization of how wrong that thought was and that even if I missed the cut, the effort put out to get to 22 miles on this mountain was more than enough for any distance-running, wilderness junky to ask for. I had gotten what I came for, all I could hope for, anymore would be a gift.

Smiling and grimacing, I left the aid station in a serious world of hurt as I dug around for any muscle that had anything left to inch me up on what would be the steepest climb of the day to the top of Mt. Baldy at 11,200 ft. No trail, just an open rocky mossy crawl. The final mile to the peak would take me 52 minutes and sealed my fate. My certainty that it could not take me over 9 hours to get to the last check point was shattered by reality. My watch showed 26.4 miles, 9 hours 14 minutes. (Note: The point I was pulled was 3,600 ft. higher than the starting line … just sayin)

I could not be more proud of wife Kathy, my daughter Anna and her Andy knowing the hell they went through to get to mile 22. We licked our wounds as we soaked our broken bodies in an ice cold mountain stream with beers in hand. Note: The next night, Andy would propose to my Anna on a 10,000 ft. mountain pass, where they kissed and vowed to return and concur the Speed Goat 50K as a married couple. Life gets no better.

Randy Step, Head Goat … of the Midwest