Old dogs, new tricks: The trail running challenge
Josie and Lee Stubblefield
January 27, 2021
Lee Stubblefield
It has been a mostly barren year for distance running. With race after race cancelled, my workout schedule became more and more monotonous. Spring became summer, summer became fall, and there seemed to be no end to the dull, tedious, and repetitious sessions with no competitions available.
But I harkened back to my coaching days, when I griped often about too many races and not enough practice days for my fledgling runners. Not only did I embrace the new normal for my running, but I also agreed to be a virtual coach for Travis Sickles, an area high schooler, and Faith Lind, a University of Wyoming runner preparing for her first marathon.
A few races appeared sporadically on the calendar, but with my high-risk classification for the Chinese virus, I shied away from entering. Then I saw it. The flyer for the annual Frozen Toes 15K Trail Run at Mt. Kessler in Fayetteville. The race would fall on my birthday, my 65th birthday in fact.
That would make me the youngest runner in the 65-69 age group, a distinct advantage in the world of masters distance running.
One problem remained. I had never run a trail race. NEVER. In a lifetime of running, I had limited myself to track, road, and cross country events. I hate to say this, but cross country is really no harder than most track or road distance events. Too many courses are mowed, manicured, and landscaped to the point of losing the difficulty factor previously assigned to the sport.
Trail races are different animals. Have you ever gone deer hunting and passed on a sure kill because you feared having to drag Bambi out of a deep ravine? That’s the kind of terrain you encounter in trail racing. Single track, muddy, rocky, root-infested lanes, with challenging vertical stretches and few opportunities to break into a real running pace for an extended period.
My wife, bless her heart, did her best to talk me out of it. I was just then recovering from a bad cycling accident, and she didn’t want to have to deal with more road rash, or worse. But I was intrigued by the challenge and I ponied up the entry fee. She entered also, thinking someone should be on hand to scout the hollers and ravines for me, since the week before the race, we did a practice run on the course and we both got lost. Maps?
January 23, race day. Freezing temps and a chilling south wind that covered the sky with dark clouds greeted us at the race site. Tights, long sleeves, and trail-specific running shoes were the order of the day. I wore my battery-heated gloves to protect my hands from the scourge of Raynaud's Syndrome.
Starting at 9 AM, waves of fifteen runners started every five minutes to relieve congestion on the single track course. The first three mile section wormed mercilessly up the mountainside. Then the course turned north and followed the ridgeline for over a mile before deteriorating into a difficult mountain bike trail. People actually ride bikes up here?
Even with the five minute interval between groups, congestion became a problem in the first four miles. Those groups were assigned alphabetically, not by previous performances. So the slower runners found themselves swallowed by the speed demons rather quickly. But after the five mile point, runners had spaced themselves out by ability. “Social distancing by natural selection.”
The sixth mile, a section named “The Eggbeater”, challenged runners with big rocks, roots, and mud. I skidded off a wet flatstone, and crashed, rolling downhill into an evergreen bush. There was nothing to do but crawl back up and refocus. Experienced trail runners insist that unless you fall at least once, you are not attacking the course with the necessary abandon.
I passed mile seven, then eight, as indicated on my Garmin. There were no mile markers on the course, only flagging and arrows to point the way. A 15K race is 9.3 miles. I sailed past nine miles with no end in sight. A confusing labyrinth of switchbacks slowed my pace, before I finally burst out of the timber and sprinted to the finish line.
I finished 41st overall of the 90 runners who completed the course, and placed first in my age group in 1:54:51.6.
My Garmin showed I had run 10.02 miles.
Josie was not far behind, taking 47th overall and winning her age group in 2:02:47.2.
Her Garmin showed she had run 10.04 miles.
Every runner I talked to reported similar mileage discrepancies from the advertised 15K distance. But hey, we all ran the same course.
Congrats to Michael Harris of Clarksville, Arkansas, the overall winner in 1:21:33.6.
Jane Ziegler, of Tulsa, Oklahoma was the women’s champion, - and finished 4th overall - in 1:25:23.
Kudos to the Fayetteville Parks and Recreation department for hosting this event, an area bucket list event since its inaugural run in 2016.
Will we do this race, or one like it, again? Why not? I can’t wait until my 70th birthday and a new age group challenge. Old dogs relish new tricks.
Lee Stubblefield
It has been a mostly barren year for distance running. With race after race cancelled, my workout schedule became more and more monotonous. Spring became summer, summer became fall, and there seemed to be no end to the dull, tedious, and repetitious sessions with no competitions available.
But I harkened back to my coaching days, when I griped often about too many races and not enough practice days for my fledgling runners. Not only did I embrace the new normal for my running, but I also agreed to be a virtual coach for Travis Sickles, an area high schooler, and Faith Lind, a University of Wyoming runner preparing for her first marathon.
A few races appeared sporadically on the calendar, but with my high-risk classification for the Chinese virus, I shied away from entering. Then I saw it. The flyer for the annual Frozen Toes 15K Trail Run at Mt. Kessler in Fayetteville. The race would fall on my birthday, my 65th birthday in fact.
That would make me the youngest runner in the 65-69 age group, a distinct advantage in the world of masters distance running.
One problem remained. I had never run a trail race. NEVER. In a lifetime of running, I had limited myself to track, road, and cross country events. I hate to say this, but cross country is really no harder than most track or road distance events. Too many courses are mowed, manicured, and landscaped to the point of losing the difficulty factor previously assigned to the sport.
Trail races are different animals. Have you ever gone deer hunting and passed on a sure kill because you feared having to drag Bambi out of a deep ravine? That’s the kind of terrain you encounter in trail racing. Single track, muddy, rocky, root-infested lanes, with challenging vertical stretches and few opportunities to break into a real running pace for an extended period.
My wife, bless her heart, did her best to talk me out of it. I was just then recovering from a bad cycling accident, and she didn’t want to have to deal with more road rash, or worse. But I was intrigued by the challenge and I ponied up the entry fee. She entered also, thinking someone should be on hand to scout the hollers and ravines for me, since the week before the race, we did a practice run on the course and we both got lost. Maps?
January 23, race day. Freezing temps and a chilling south wind that covered the sky with dark clouds greeted us at the race site. Tights, long sleeves, and trail-specific running shoes were the order of the day. I wore my battery-heated gloves to protect my hands from the scourge of Raynaud's Syndrome.
Starting at 9 AM, waves of fifteen runners started every five minutes to relieve congestion on the single track course. The first three mile section wormed mercilessly up the mountainside. Then the course turned north and followed the ridgeline for over a mile before deteriorating into a difficult mountain bike trail. People actually ride bikes up here?
Even with the five minute interval between groups, congestion became a problem in the first four miles. Those groups were assigned alphabetically, not by previous performances. So the slower runners found themselves swallowed by the speed demons rather quickly. But after the five mile point, runners had spaced themselves out by ability. “Social distancing by natural selection.”
The sixth mile, a section named “The Eggbeater”, challenged runners with big rocks, roots, and mud. I skidded off a wet flatstone, and crashed, rolling downhill into an evergreen bush. There was nothing to do but crawl back up and refocus. Experienced trail runners insist that unless you fall at least once, you are not attacking the course with the necessary abandon.
I passed mile seven, then eight, as indicated on my Garmin. There were no mile markers on the course, only flagging and arrows to point the way. A 15K race is 9.3 miles. I sailed past nine miles with no end in sight. A confusing labyrinth of switchbacks slowed my pace, before I finally burst out of the timber and sprinted to the finish line.
I finished 41st overall of the 90 runners who completed the course, and placed first in my age group in 1:54:51.6.
My Garmin showed I had run 10.02 miles.
Josie was not far behind, taking 47th overall and winning her age group in 2:02:47.2.
Her Garmin showed she had run 10.04 miles.
Every runner I talked to reported similar mileage discrepancies from the advertised 15K distance. But hey, we all ran the same course.
Congrats to Michael Harris of Clarksville, Arkansas, the overall winner in 1:21:33.6.
Jane Ziegler, of Tulsa, Oklahoma was the women’s champion, - and finished 4th overall - in 1:25:23.
Kudos to the Fayetteville Parks and Recreation department for hosting this event, an area bucket list event since its inaugural run in 2016.
Will we do this race, or one like it, again? Why not? I can’t wait until my 70th birthday and a new age group challenge. Old dogs relish new tricks.
