Barkley Fall Classic, 2019: The Race

It's September 21, 2019. The start of the Barkley Fall Classic was subtle. Laz lit a cigarette. There was a race clock overhead but no countdown or shout of go and not really much in the way of whoops and hollers but more as a small surge of bodies pressing forward in the dark. I saw Luke off to my side and gave him a high five. I’ve been away from him for only 10 minutes but I’m already so happy to see him. We take off down the park road towards the trail, the wave stretching out. Right away it’s is hard to know if we are running the mile to the single track fast enough and I’m trying not to worry about it. Melinda says she could really use a bathroom stop and we decide to take advantage of the facilities right before the yellow gate. 

Laz's Cigarette Start

We all be crazy 

The back of the pack is usually chatty but not as much today. Laz has taken all the normal race components and compressed them into a tighter form by means of difficulty, distance and time. I feel the need to go, go, go but we are nose to cheek going up the first mountain and moving needlessly slow. There is no good way to pass so many people without being jerk unless there is an obvious gap. I see one man start to work his way through and I tell Melinda we need to stay with him. I don’t know it at the time but his name is Leonard and he’s been out here, oh, a time or two. All I know is I want to move and he’s moving and I urge her to go with him. 

At packet pick-up, Larry said we would need to exercise aggressive patience but suddenly there is no aggression as the congo-line has come to a complete stop. Looking up the mountain, I can see everyone has stopped. No one has successfully played telephone back to us but someone guesses a tree is down and they are right. It’s huge and runners are slow to get over it. While inching towards it, I take time to pull out some food and eat. Someone asked if anyone knew any good duets and the only song I could think of at the time was "A Whole New World" from Aladdin, which I couldn’t recall if it was a duet or not and dared not start singing it because it would be stuck in people’s ears for the rest of the day. The only bright side to stopping was that after the downed tree everyone has spread out and we can begin hiking or running in earnest.

Now Melinda and I were moving. We would be free for a while and then come up to other runers. I hate nipping at other’s heels so after assessing if we were faster or the same pace, I would encourage Melinda to find a way to pass, as I was a few steps behind and could see a little better. Getting around the next person or people felt really good but we also worked really hard to make it happen. We were finding a rhythm getting up the mountain and soon found ourselves going down, down, down. It was fast and flowed and I loved it. Then were climbing again and I discovered I was bottoming out. My energy was gone, my spirit was sinking and I was struggling. I thought I had eaten enough up to that point but so much had already happened and time passed quicker than I realized. We headed up the next mountain and a few of the people we had recently passed passed us back. It was a terrible feeling. We were eight miles in and I was bonking.

The first aid station popped out of nowhere. Instead of being excited to have made it that far, I was quiet and tearful. The volunteers were wonderful, cheering for us, offering us water and Sword electrolyte drink and simply being there. I didn’t say anything only wiped my eyes in my buff and grabbed some Slim Jim’s, a few Oreos, and stuffed my mouth with a handful of potato chips. (I never know what I will gravitate to during a race. I follow what looks good to me. It’s so weird.) We left the first aid station on a roughly Jeep road that was all downhill. All downhill may sound delightful but it takes a subtle beating to one’s quads over and over. At one point I declared to Melinda that I would prefer to ride this section on my motorcycle.

No smile but no quit

We were met at the next aid station by the local high school football team. They offered to fill our hydration pack and bottles with water and Sword. They were super great boys and as mom of teenage boys, I’m proud of them for being there. We grabbed more food and headed out to the next section of trail. I had told Melinda that we should not make a habit of asking how the other was doing but to always assume we were going forward and that we would both be working hard and therefore suffering at some level. (I had listened to Gary Robbins explain this on a Trail Runner Nation podcast years ago.) We could tell each other things like ‘I’m almost out of water’ or ‘I need to go to the bathroom’ but we would keep our complaints to ourselves. As soon as were back on the trail, I told her I was going to work to get to the next aid station only. I couldn’t think beyond there. It was too much. I told her I was in a low spot, which I’m guessing she already knew. She heard me and said that sounded good. She was having a great day, running in a lot of joy. I, however, was being buried by the magnitude of it all and knowing all the hard parts were left to come. 

Somewhere along the climb, the calories kicked in and I heard myself being chatty again. If a person can overthink during an ultra-run, I was that person. I knew I was feeling better but then I was concerned I was expending my energy by being all talkative. This section felt relentlessly uphill with fewer switchbacks than the other trail and much steeper in parts but I liked it. I still don’t even know where the top is. I do know we got to a flat section and I looked over to see only blue through the trees. I struggled to place where in the world was a large body of water in Tennessee and so close to Frozen Head State Park only to realize we were high enough up that it was the sky we were looking at. We were looking down at the sky! 

In all the years, okay, in the few short years I’ve heard about the Barkley Marathons and the documentaries I’ve watched, podcasts I’ve listened to and one very informative but slightly dull book I’ve read, I’ve never gotten a good view of the trails, the park or the area itself. I’ve only viewed it through the eyes of suffering and dreams met or dashed. Now as I saw it for myself I couldn’t get  over how beautiful it was! I was delighted to find the trails were like trails I ran on here and everywhere. There were birds singing, insects buzzing, flowers, trees, views. I kept remarking of how one section was very similar to this trail or another section to another trail I've run on. Much is lost in the close-up perspective of a runner in those films. 

At the next aid station, we were greeted by a second football team. I opened my hydration bladder to be filled with water and realized a few seconds later that I had filled it with Sword instead of water so I dumped it out and started again. We got our bibs punched by Laz and he exhorted us to run. “Go get it!” Melinda and I are both ready to go but a few minutes later I realize I urgently need to stop. However we were flanked by a steep drop off on one side and the mountain’s broadside on the other. There’s no use trying to find any kind of proper cover so I looked for a spot on the far side of a tree, hopeful for enough cover from oncoming runners and free of anything poisonous- poison ivy, sumac, oak, etc. Not that I could tell you what these looked like to begin with so I guess I looked for a spot mostly bare. Melinda stood guard, engaging passing runners in conversation, trying to distract them enough to keep them from looking around. 

Because the course is not marked with assurance ribbons and slightly marked at significant spots, you are forced to pay attention to the course map along with a general understanding of the park. I thought I did have that understanding until we came to an intersection and would have to pause to look at the map. Thankfully, there would always be someone coming up from behind who pointed the way. It was always such a relief when that happened but other than a couple spots up Rat Jaw, I couldn’t tell you today if we went straight or turned. That’s the downside of not leading; I wasn’t forced to learn because I was following. 

Eventually the course opened up to a clearing and to my right was a tremendous view and drop-off. Quickly we were re-directed and told first we had to do this section and to our left was a similar drop-off littered with runners going both down and up and right in front of us were runners who had made it to the top but were sprawled over the ground. After stopping to put on gloves and arm sleeves (me), we soon found we weren’t running downhill so much as skidding or sliding. We kicked dirt into the faces of runners coming up and tried not to slide into them as they were crawling on their hands and toes up. We couldn’t see the bottom so for all we knew we would do this for eternity only to have to turn around and somehow scratch our way out of the armpit of the mountain. Laz had stationed a volunteer, a brave, hearty soul at the bottom to punch our bib. How he and his canopy got there and got out, I’ll never know. 

Once at the top, we assessed ourselves and plunged over the other side to ski-slide our way down again. Dust flew up into our faces and nostrils from ourselves and those around us.

The next point on the course was the prison. Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary. The last prisoners were moved out in {2009} and the prison now offers tours, a moonshine distillery and a cafe. Paul and all the boys met us there in a flurry of hugs, dogs, stories and scooters. I was so surprised and happy to see them and especially Luke. He’s a top notch crew and encourager. We quickly moved through the aid station and up the prison drive, through a side gate into the backyard where climbed a ladder over the wall. “Have you ever climbed over a prison wall?” I have now, Laz, I have now. I can also say I have run through the water drainage tunnel next to the prison. We slipped our way through the chain-linked fence and faced the monster before us.

Have you ever run up to a prison, defunct or otherwise?- check

Have you ever walked through a prison gate?- check

Have you ever climbed a prison wall?

Check

Have you ever run through a prison drainage tunnel? Check

Rat Jaw. We knew it loomed before us- an unknown beast known to kill the spirit of many a man and scar anyone who dared pass. Less than a mile long, more than {1,600}feet of gain, full of sawbriars, numerous stinging and biting insects, rattling snakes, and any amount of tortures if the mind allowed, exposed to the sun like an animal on it’s back, it’s body warming intensely in the mid-day sun all to scorch the flesh and soul. 

Have you ever climbed Rat Jaw?- check

We mounted the beast hand over hand, clawing for dirt, rock and root and thus began our conquest. This section is really an exposed power line section that had been cut and cleared of trees. What grew in the clearing is what grows in any area that has been cleared- weeds, namely nasty briars. And it was part of the course and we wanted to do it! The front runners forged the path, knocking down the tall briars while enduring cut after cut. The briars caught anything they could get a hold of. I crouched low against the ground, partially because of the steepness and partially because I could stay in the tunnel (the rat tunnel- shudder) and not get caught or cut as much. It wasn’t always possible and I came away with a good number of cuts on my arms, shoulders and legs.

The further we climbed, the more bodies we saw strewn along the edges of the trail. Runners cramping, catching their breath, throwing up and everyone with a death stare. It was a wild experience to be bear crawling, barely looking up, only to then look to the side and see someone sitting off to the side. We would check on them but kept climbing. Sometimes there was a knocked down patch where someone had been but now only the ghost of them remained. Yet onward we climbed. 

It was along here that Melinda and I separated. I was ahead of her, climbing faster than she was, but every once in a while I caught a glimpse of her. We were moving at our own paces but because of the windiness of the trail, she said she never knew quite where I was but always thought I could be around the next bend and I never expected her to not be close by. I found myself climbing with a handful of men and one who knew Rat Jaw. He threaded us between two giant boulders to stay on course and mentioned we were getting close to the cut off. I had not been paying attention to my watch during this climb and even as he said so, I didn’t look down to see what time it was. Several others said they hoped they would miss the cut-off by a minute or so and the more they repeated it, the more I realized I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to miss the cut-off. I had trained and worked so hard to get here, I wasn't going to throw it away now.I knew we were near the top because I had stood slightly up to look up and could see the fire tower only to have the briars immediately catch my hat and tank top. I angrily wrestled them back and furiously scrambled my way out of the tunnel.

As I emerged from Rat Jaw the photographer asked if I was going for it and I told her I was. She said it was tight but to go for it. I still had to climb the fire tower for a checkpoint punch on my bib, fly back down, and run a gravel road to the decision point. I noticed very quickly that while my body had felt all sorts of weird and wearied throughout the race, the familiar sharp twinge of pain pinched my right knee as I hobbled my way down the road. I came into the aid station as the volunteers rushed to find my drop bag while shouting instructions. It was a flurry of activity and very quickly I realized I couldn’t stop to get anything from my drop bag if I were to make the cut-of time to get to the rest of the 50k course. I yanked my poles from my bag and sprinted, grunting in pain and effort, around the corner to where Laz stood. I rushed the line and he called out “Time”. I had missed the cut-off by seconds. I immediately turned to the side and burst into tears. 

Over and over, I chose to believe I belonged here. I chose to believe that I could complete the race even while doubting and struggling. The sting of missing it seared my soul but I recognized immediately I felt that way because I was fully committed to it.

The tears heaved out. Laz gave me a hug in the most understanding way, getting slightly choked up himself and I’ll never forget it. It’s a game with a clock like any other and when the time runs out you don’t get another shot just because you’re holding the ball. All I could choke out through my tears was thank you over and over.

The volunteers offered me a chair where I sat to collect myself and drink the ginger ale I had stashed in my drop bag, which then I dropped and spilled most of it. I picked it up and drank it anyway. The ground food streak continues. I received my final punch on my bib from Laz, who made sure I was okay because I was still crying, and headed down Quitter’s Road to the finish line for a marathon finish. 

“Failure happens whether we deserve failure or not” Laz, Big Dog’s Backyard Ultra, I Run 4 Ultra, YouTube. Almost a year ago I chalked that phrase on the blackboard in our basement. I’ve looked at it and pondered it in the months since. It isn’t to instill a mindset of failure but a reality that failure will happen when we try things. We don’t like to talk about failure and we quickly rush on to the positive side of failure, all the lessons we’ve learned and how strong we’ve become for the trying, when we should hold space for the heartache and loss, too. It belongs there as much as the victory.

Of course, I didn’t think about this as I hiked down the trail to the finish. I really thought about the pain of the last seconds, Laz’s comforting, and about a couple of long-gone family members who had come alive to me again at the start of this whole journey that July day. I wanted to let the tears keep flowing but it is difficult to be sobbing and running at the same time and I only had breath to do one of those things. Before the race, I had penned in my journal the prayer of strength to endure the pain nobly. Now the noble choice was to finish strong.

Ahead of me was a woman who had gotten out of the aid station before me and I soon closed the gap between us. My running wasn’t great so even though she encouraged me to pass her, I didn’t feel I could actually pull ahead of her at the moment, so I stayed behind. She would pull ahead with some running as I fell back with hiking then the distance would tighten again as we switched modes. We were close enough to confer the map a couple of times at intersections on the trail but without either of us saying a word, we read each other’s intentions- we were still competitors. I used her to pull me out onto the park road and she worked to further her lead. I wanted to keep moving, keep closing in on her so I continued to use my poles. A volunteer offered us water and she moved over to have some but I declined and kept running. I ran and the knees and dust and scratches and memories faded away. I ran and didn’t look back because my grandpa had told me never to look back in a race. I came to the Finish area and people were cheering for me. I could only look at the finish line until I crossed it. 

Only then did I look around and there was Paul to greet me and by chance, Luke was there with a big hug. I was exhausted and devastated and in shock. I hobbled over to get my dog tag medal. People told me congratulations but I didn’t believe them. My competitor crossed the finish line and I congratulated her. She thanked me for making it a race to the end. While Paul went to get a chair for me, I made my way to the food tent and tried to ask for a plain piece of bread but couldn’t even do that without breaking down. The men were so gracious with me. When I came back later, they said they were quite concerned about me and were glad to see I was doing a little better and filled me up with a rib-eye steak sandwich. 

One of the best crew and cheerleaders I know

My competitor

Melinda crossed the finish line not too much later. I was so happy to see her. She was full of smiles and loved her adventure. We sat along the finish line, comparing our scars and scrapes which were still covered in dirt and cheered runners in until the very end. It was one of my favorite parts. 

Mindy Extraordinaire!

We're so dirty!

We're so tired we can't even take off our packs

Tis but a scratch

That's gonna leave a scar

I finished the Barkley Fall Classic marathon. There was heartbreak in missing the 50k cutoff but there was also reward in daring to go for something beyond what I thought I was capable of doing or anything I had dreamed. 
I dared anyway.

I'M A WEINER!

photo credits: Paul Nye, Misty Wong, Curtis Baker, guy sitting on the prison wall, me