Escarpment Trail Run Race Report July 31, 2016
Amby Burfoot called it the “Boston Marathon of trail runs.” Another runner said, “Escarpment must be experienced to be understood.”
Escarpment trail run is an 18.6 mile point-to-point race which covers the entire Escarpment trail in the Catskill Mountains. This includes total elevation changes of 10,000 feet and climbs the three high peaks: Windham (3,523 ft), Blackhead (3,940 ft), and Stopple Point (3,420 ft). All runners must qualify under one or more of the following criteria:
Anyone who completed the previous year's Escarpment Trail Run in 6 hours or less.
Anyone who completed a half-iron man triathlon competition in 6 hours or less.
Anyone who completed a full iron man triathlon in 13 hours or less.
Anyone who completed a 50 miler in under 10 hours, a 50K under 5 hours, or a marathon under 4:15. Add 1 1/2 hours for a trail race.
This race has been on my Bucket List since I first learned about it through a friend’s husband, who completed the race in 2014 with the impressive time of 4:55:05. My previous Half Ironman times (Newfound Lake, NH and Syracuse, NY) were both well out of date and also fell short of qualifying so I was definitely out of the running for 2015. I figured someday I would qualify. Who knew that “someday” was going to be May 15, 2016. I completed the Dirty German 50 miler in 10:03:35 (which included a 1 mile wrong turn). This was well under the 11:30:00 qualifying time but it was also neither a technical nor a hilly course and included several miles of pavement where I could make up time. Not knowing if I would ever qualify again, I decided to fill out the form and mail it in with a SASE, the old fashion way, which Race Director Dick Vincent requires, and then wait to hear back if I was accepted. It felt a bit like waiting to hear if I got into college as I rushed directly to the mailbox when I got home from work wondering if the envelope would be there. Once my SASE arrived with the registration code (which expires within 2 weeks of receiving), before I could come to my senses, I registered. $65 + $10 bus fee and I had secured my ticket to hell.
The weather leading up to ETR was less than optimal: long stretches of temps well into the 90’s with heat indexes in the 100’s along with unrelenting humidity. Since I live by the saying “you can’t predict the weather on race day” I trained when I could and as hard as I could when most other sane people probably opted for an indoor treadmill or just a cold beer instead. I didn’t really know what I was in for nor could I replicate the conditions of the ETR anywhere close to home. I relied on my experience at the mid June NJTrail Series race “Running with the Devil” (I opted for the 6 hour timed race where you run up and down Mountain Creek ski slope as many times as you can. I completed 19.5 miles with total elevation of 7,700 ft – close enough –or so I was hoping!) As well as relying on pure time-on-my-feet running.
Thanks to the generosity of an amazing friend, my overnight accommodations were secured and located less than a half hour from the starting line. This offered so much in terms of mental focus. I was relaxed, well fed (yes, I cooked) and well rested.
When I woke at 6:00am on race day, the weather could not have been further from what I had been training in. It was raining and in the 70’s. In fact, it had been that way 2 days leading up to the race assuring that the trails would be muddy and slippery adding to the danger of the already expected treacherous trail conditions. Somehow I had hoped for a miracle and that it would be sunny despite what ALL the weather reports were saying. After forcing myself to eat my two packets of instant oatmeal, I packed up my gear and drove to the finish line to catch the bus. When I got to the parking lot, runners were mulling around, getting gear bags together, chatting with other runners they knew. I introduced myself to a few runners I recognized from “friended” through FB running group pages. They all looked like pretty serious athletes not only based on the race swag they were wearing, race Euros on their cars, and other gear from their running sponsors but their bodies were machines. What the hell was I doing?
Too late.
The bus ride to the start took 40 minutes which provided 40 minutes to reflect upon who I was, how I got there and why I was running it. With only one of those questions answered (how I got there….I paid the registration fee and drove there) it was time to get off the bus and get my number.
All 242 runners were crammed under 3 tents to keep dry in between trips to the bathroom. Yes, it was still pouring. I must have peed 4 times, maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the 3 cups of coffee and Kombucha I had while waiting for my wave to be called. Start time was 9:00am. Elite men went off exactly and 9:00, elite women at 9:05. Then it was the rest of us in groups of 15 every five minutes. As I was waiting I was talking to a guy who had completed ETR several times. I asked him what advice he would give to this virgin ETR runner. “Everything Dick says about this race is true. Nothing in exaggerated. Save your legs. Just take it as it comes.” There. I had my mantra for the day, “Just take it as it comes." Wave 15 and 16 wer called and I made my way to the starting line. I chatted with a woman behind me, Jill, and found out it was her first time too. After exchanging Ultrasignup percentages learning we were within 2 percentage points of each other we declared ourselves perfectly matched running buddies and decided to stick together for as long as we could. At 10:05am at the sound of the bullhorn, I was off. One way in, one way out.
Still pouring.
The trail was technical right from the start, wet grass giving way to rocks and mud giving way to more rocks, mud and roots. But not just normal rocks and roots. They were protruding lava like rocks and exposed roots that I would have expected to see from the California redwoods. It felt like I was running one of those tire drills you see professional football players doing where you have to step in the hole in the middle of the tire. Except if you fell, instead of falling on bouncy rubber, you would fall on hard rocks and mud (if you were quick enough, you could aim for the moss). This terrain continued on for 3.5ish hellish miles all the way to the top of Windham. I remember passing a sign that said “3500 ft. Elevation.” I turned to Jill and said, “I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean.” Her response, “That we just finished the easy part.”
Still pouring.
The next few miles were rolling hills with short steep climbs and short steep descents. Again the gnarly terrain continued. Sure, there were some nice “clear” spots where I could manage a descent pace, long enough to stretch my legs out a bit but I knew that would not last. I did fall at some point with most of my left hand taking the brunt of my fall. My thumb and pinky were now partially numb and painful and the pad on my hand swollen and already bruised. My dominant hand being limited to the use of the middle three fingers was not going to serve me well considering what was coming up. I had heard about a climbing part around mile 9/10ish that could take as long as 40 minutes to get up. Ugh.
Still pouring.
Yup. As promised, it happened. Near vertical and sometimes vertical climbing, hand over fist, looking for a safe spot to put my hand to pull my body up and over the rocks. A safe and secure place to put my feet to give me the leverage I needed to check and see if the exposed root above my head was attached enough to grab and support my body weight. I never looked behind me or down. Never thought about doing that and I’m glad I never did. “Take it as is comes” is all I thought. In addition, the brim of my hat provided a welcomed obstruction to my view of what lay ahead assuring I continued to “take it as it comes.”
Still pouring.
What goes up must come down. And it the same fashion. This involved continued strategic planning. Looking down at the rock formation to map out the safest way down: jump when I could or sit down and use my arms as leverage to lower my body to a flat spot between rocks. Did you know that Hokas can all be used like ice skates? I felt like a toddler on ice skates for the first time flying into and using the wall to get around the rink. Only that instead of ice it was mud and instead of a wall it was a tree.
Let me pause right here to talk about the race volunteers. There were 7 aid stations along the route with no road access. This meant that all the volunteers had to hike in with gear on their backs (for some locations it heard it was a 2 hour hike): gallons of water, boxes of gels and Fig Newtons, cans of Gatorade Mix, bags of pretzels and potato chips, timing pads, etc. And after hiking it all in, cheering each runner as they came in and treating us like royalty: serving food and drinks, refilling hydration packs and offering words of encouragement. My favorites: “You look fresh!” and "Yeah!! Race skirts!" These race volunteers stood for hours in the pouring rain and then had to pack everything back up and hike it back out! Seriously badass!
“10k to go!” yelled one volunteer as I left one of the aid stations. I looked down at my watch. Almost 4 hours and I’ve only gone 12 miles?! After some quick math I determined I could still get in under the 6 hour time limit but it would be close. But after a dose of reality from surviving several near miss body-breaking falls and a painful twinge in my (good) knee, I pulled out the “Don’t be a hero” mantra and decided that completing this race in one piece was my ultimate goal. After all, it would be worth a few extra seconds to take it slow and smart than going all out animal and having to limp (or drag) my way through the remaining miles. At this point dialed it back and fell behind Jill as I watched her Nathan hydration pack fade away.
Still pouring.
The rest of the course was a combination of all the evils this trail could conjure up and then some. The continuous rain made the smooth rocks slippery going up and going down. The mud made it hard to find traction even with the best of shoes. Given the rainy conditions, the clouds did obscure the beautiful vistas but that’s probably a good thing as looking down 3,900 feet from the narrow ledges probably would have messed with my head. Better I not know.
Still pouring.
I did pass people and was passed as well. After brief labored-breathing words of encouragement were uttered it was time to move on. “Good job!” “You look strong!” “To think we paid for this!” “Think of the cold beer at the end!” were some of the more common motivational phrases. Either way, the company was welcomed on this course so I was rarely ever totally alone.
As I watched the tenths (and even hundredths) of a mile go by painfully slow, I kept my focus on that sub 6 finish. “It’s mine to lose” I kept saying. I wanted so badly to open it up, go full throttle. But it wasn’t happening. The terrain (and my brain) just would not let me.
Still pouring.
I looked down at my watch, the face blurred by raindrops, and saw my elapsed time was now at 5 hours 40 minutes and change. I had twenty minutes to complete the remaining .8 miles (according to my Garmin). Considering my fastest miles hovered around 14 minutes and some miles were over 20 minutes and I didn’t know what was ahead, it was either totally doable or I was doomed. Then I came upon another group of volunteers. They yelled “Good job! Photographer just around the corner!” Wait, what? Photographer? “How much is left?” I asked. “Oh less than a quarter mile.” Could this be right? But my Garmin said .8! Did I cut of the course? Oh shit! I was going to get DQ’d! How the hell did I let this happen??? Screw it, too late now. I prayed my Garmin was off and with the renewed energy of an approaching finish line, I turn the corner…….to reveal another vertical rock formation that I had to scale down. Yup, the photographer was at the bottom guaranteeing to either document your greatest descent or epic fall.
Still pouring.
With a brief smile and nod, I thanked the photographer and was on my way. Within a few more steps could hear music and the yelling and chatter of a finish line. Could it be true? This was over? Hell yeah it was!!! I sprinted like hell toward those bright red numbers and heard my name announced as I crossed the final timing pad. I was done!!! I had conquered the Escarpment trail and in under 6 hours! 5:43:26 was my final time!
You can read race reports and watch GoPro footage, but it’s true that the only way to really understand what it’s like is to experience it yourself. I loved every muddy, rooty, rocky inch of that run. I surprised myself mentally and physically. A cool head and a plan to “take it as it comes” was the best strategy for me.
My friend and badass running partner-in-crime gave me a book to read called “Deep Survival” by Laurence Gonzales which is about why some people make it out alive and others die and what separates the two. The part of the book that I took with me to this race was about how young children (under 8) have a better survival rate than adults. Why? Because they are focused on basic survival needs. They listen to their bodies and react accordingly. And that’s what I did. I focused on the here and now and it worked. With a sub 6 finish, I guaranteed that I could be back next year. And I will!
