Rob Krar had just won his 3rd
top tier 100 of the year that morning, and several hundred miles north, I may
have been having a Krar hallucination.
20-some miles into The Rut 50k, it looked like Rob Krar was now chasing me, and not only had he made excellent
time on the drive, but he’d shaven too, and gotten a haircut. Maybe aged a few years, as well. He was gaining ground on a flat section, and
I said, “Hey, man, what’s your name?” as he caught up to me. I had to find out who this guy was.
“Jeff.”
“That’s
my name, too. I’m Jeff Rome.”
“I’m
Jeff Krar, Rob’s older brother.”
And
that was precisely when the running started to hurt.
This was
going to be a hard finish. This was The
Rut weekend, and I was getting what I came for (namely, unresponsive legs,
heated competition, a bruised shin, GI distress and sleep deprivation). It’s worth noting that “rut,” besides
referring to mammalian reproduction, can also mean getting stuck, and being
unable to change one’s ways to something more productive. Both seem appropriate. After the race, I certainly felt near bed
ridden for a day, unable to do much more than watch 90s B-movies and eat ice
cream.
Apt recovery
The VK (aka the Hunchback 5k)
Friday—Europeans dress (and race) well—Almost Staying with a (recovering) pro—the Lone Peak VK:
On Friday
morning, I carpooled down to Big Sky with a couple other folks (Alex Nichols,
notably), and found the scene to be much more calm than expected. Things only began to have a serious
impression when I noticed some guys running fast hill repeats on the first
section of the Vertical K course. I
really didn’t want to run yet, but I decided to check out the first part of the
course anyhow—time to kill, and maybe a chance to see some of my heroes. In retrospect, despite not spotting Kilian
and proclaiming my complete admiration for everything he does, it was good to
see the beginning of the course. It was
totally runnable, and much flatter than expected, perfect for a crazy fast
start for all the guys wanting to be in Kilian’s sphere of greatness, if only
for a little while. I would not be one
of them.
When
the race started, then, I let a few guys run their legs out on the first part,
knowing that I could make up ground when the course got steep. I felt relaxed, and settled into a
comfortable pace behind Brendan Halpin for a while. Partway up, one guy passed us both, cutting a
switchback, and I was glad to see no one else follow suit. In fact, Brendan yelled, “That’s too Euro!” I’m not sure if the runner was a Euro or not
(he wasn’t color coordinated, so was likely an American).
I’m not
sure when I started passing folks, but I think it was around when I saw a
contingent of Missoula spectators cheering me on. There were so many amazing people out on the
course! Kevin Twidwell, Kristina and
Drew Pattison, John Hart, Allison Onstad, Seth Swanson (not to mention other
elite runners Geoff Roes, Anna Frost, Greg Vollet)—I know there are others I’m
missing, but it felt like Missoula’s trail runners were out en masse, and it
pushed me on. I left Brendan behind,
passed Mr. Switchback cutter, and charged ahead with Craig Hertz, who would go
on to win Saturday’s 12k, following. He
had a very bright orange shirt, helpful for keeping track of his distance in my
peripherals.
Then I
heard breathing getting closer, and while on a divergent path scrambling up the
rocks, I noticed that I wasn’t being hunted by Craig, but by someone I’d only
seen on the interweb. Philipp Reiter, of
Salomon, was making a move. I tried to
stick with him, but lost ground definitively in the last couple hundred feet,
and had to relent. Kilian and Emelie
were cheering Philipp on, and he seemed to carry their spirit with him, not
only putting a gap on me but nearly catching Utah’s John Tribbia, the current
leader in the US VK Skyrunning series.
Pursuing him, however, allowed me to put a comfortable gap on Craig and
have a no pressure finish for 9
th place.
Chasing Philipp, more like watching him slowly catch the next guy
(Credit:
Myke Hermsmeyer)
Tim
Brooker greeted me at the finish line, and confirmed that yes, I was the top
Montanan. I was out of breath, and a
little cold, but glad that I was able to represent Montana well in the VK,
finishing ninth, and less than a minute behind the current Skyrunning VK World
Series leader, Nadir Maguet. On the way
down from the mountain, I was lucky enough to share a tram with Kilian Jornet,
Emelie Forsberg, Rickey Gates, Philipp Reiter, and top Missoulian masters
runner John Fiore, among others. This
was a dream!
If you look closely at the reflection, I bet you can make out Kilian's giant calves
(picture taken in tram)
I didn’t
stick around for long, however, and drove back to Bozeman to spend less time at
altitude, and grab a bunch of cinnamon rolls (5, of which three were eaten that
day, each fist sized). I stayed at
fellow mountain runner Minde Erickson’s place (Thank you Minde! And thanks for being out at the race!), which
allowed me to get away from the race scene for a bit, relax, catch up with
Minde (who was signed up for The Rut but didn’t race due to an upcoming muscle
biopsy), and follow Run Rabbit Run 100 as Nikki Kimball slowly moved up the
field, overcoming a 20+ minute deficit to put over an hour on the rest of the women’s
field.
Recovery food
Saturday—On Being Conservative vs. Slow—Chased
by a Krar—The Rut 50k:
3 AM never feels not-ungodly
early. I tried to get up early so that
my body would be awake by the 6 AM start, and had a full breakfast of bacon,
eggs, pancakes, a banana and a croissant, which may well be the most I’ve eaten
before any race. This was it, this was
the big day, and I was yawning every few minutes, listening to Beck on the way
down. I never really felt awake before
the race, despite having a cup of coffee, but figured I didn’t need to be awake
until the racing actually started a few hours later, when I got to the talus
field.
The start was a rush. Runners were amped, and just like yesterday I
let a lot of folks go out ahead of me, starting somewhere between 30
th
and 60
th place (I have no idea, but it wasn’t near the front). I started passing people, trying to find a
rhythm that felt good, and pretty soon heard Frosty’s New Zealand accent, saying
she couldn’t feel her nose (it was 26 degrees), and recognized Emelie’s voice
in the mix as well. I figured that, even
if these women were slower than me, it wasn’t by much, and they were far more
experienced racers, so I should go with experience over speed for the first
part of the race (and who wouldn’t want to run with Emelie and Anna?).
Sunrise with Emelie. Pretty damn great.
This patience served me well for
the next few hours. I tried not to think
of racing, but rather just enjoyed the morning, even chatting with other
runners a bit before I passed them. I
was making decent time, but kept my pace at a level I could enjoy, and still I
was passing folks every few minutes. As
I moved up the field, runners became a little harder to pass, and became a
little more spread out, but I told myself to hold my energy and not to worry
about making any passes definitive, but rather to slowly and firmly go from one
runner to the next, never pushing or surging.
About an hour after I had last
heard Emelie chit chatting behind me, I came upon a group of four at the
beginning of the first talus field and started to wake up a bit and feel really
good. We hiked up to Headwaters Ridge at
an easy pace, and I just focused on not wasting energy. Some of the runners ahead of me were placing
their feet poorly, and sliding down a bit, or stepping on loose rocks, so I used
this climb as a recovery. There would be
plenty of racing later on, I figured.
In the fun stuff!
(credit
Myke Hermsmeyer)
The group slowly spread out, and on
the service road below Challenger I found myself unable to pass someone for the
first time, but we were gaining ground on other runners. I found out later that I was running with
Adam Campbell, who had a great surge in the second half, moving up to 12
th
place. Pursuing Adam soon had me
catching up to Oscar Casal Mir, who seemed to be having a rough patch. Shortly after, on the out and back up to the
Tram Dock, other runners with rough patches came into view, just as some of the
top contenders were flying down. It
seems I had already missed the top 5 go through but saw Matty Shryock in 6
th,
pursued by Jason Delaney, Dan Kraft, Nick Elson, Catlow Shipek, Fulvio Dapit,
Rickey Gates and Jeremy Wolfe.
Approaching the bottom of Bonecrusher!
I came upon Luke Nelson and Jimmy
Grant them just before Tram Dock, a little surprised to see them so early in
the race. They ended up running the end
of the course together, and I’m sure they were putting much less pressure on
each other than the push I got from the next runner I passed, Jeff Krar. Halfway up Bonecrusher, I passed Jeff and
felt that I could probably put a good gap on him since I do well on steep. Right as I left the Lone Peak aid station, he
was already there. “Okay,” I thought, “he
can’t be that great on talus, I’ll put a gap on him on the descent.” And when I got to the bottom of the hill and
started traversing the first boulder field, I still heard him not far behind,
skirting down the rocks. And at the next
service road, with a short and steep climb at the beginning, I hustled to get
atop the first hill before he popped out of the trees, maybe tricking him into
thinking I had made a large gap. And
right before the crest, there he was down below, still just a minute behind.
Summit of Lone Peak
(credit
Myke Hermsmeyer)
This guy would not let go. At the time, I had no idea who he was. When he caught up to me on a flat section, we
chatted a bit, and I learned that he was Rob Krar’s brother. I was running with one of the closest
genetically related people to the best ultrarunner in the states. The weather was getting warm, the technical
sections were done, and I had a Krar on my heels. These last eight miles were going to be a
little less fun, with a little more hurt.
If he had had a beard, I’m sure I’d have given up right there.
When was Jeff Krar going to start
running 5 minute pace and drop me? For a
while on downhill sections I would try to run at a slightly slower pace,
waiting for him to make a move and ready to kick it into a higher gear, but he
just stayed steady with me. I let myself
run a little easier, afraid that I’d need an extra reserve of energy for the
last few miles, just waiting for Krar to give a kick.
Climbing up Andesite, Jeff Krar behind
Rounding the last turn to the
Andesite Aid Station, I spotted Jeremy Wolfe just as he darted away, less than
3 minutes ahead. Yet, with less than 5
miles to go, it seemed a hard gap to close.
And arriving at Andesite, I saw no one but the relentless Krar behind me—this
was just a two man race for us. I tried
surging a bit, hoping that he wouldn’t follow suit, but each surge was met step
for step or built only a marginable gap that Krar then closed within minutes. Sure enough, Krar kept the pursuit going well
past the last aid, no more than 5 seconds behind after I pushed hard up the
last hill of the course.
We had been within a minute of each
other for over two hours, and with less than a mile to go, we decided to just
finish together, stride for stride. I
was relieved to not have to try and outkick Krar, and happy to have had him as
motivation for the last 12 miles or so, but mentally exhausted from being
pursued for so long. His brother, Rob,
had been doing the same thing for the first several hours of RRR100 just the
day before—pursuing, waiting, just wearing down his opponents for a chance to
make a dominant move. I was sure for the
longest time that the same would happen to me, until the last mile when we
decided to finish together.
Tuesday: Mile time trial—Overanalyzing the
race
Eric Hoberg was several
strides ahead of me, building a gap, and I was pushing hard for a mile PR
(which was an unashamedly poor 5:19 for me).
If I could get a PR, I figured, then I could have run Saturday’s race faster. Courtney was calling out the time as I
crossed the line. “5:12”. Even adding on two seconds for the extra
distance of a real mile, this still left me 5 seconds below my PR. Shit.
I had never been so unhappy about a personal best. Had I left too much on the race course?
Going
out slow was smart, but it may have been too safe of a race for me to reach my
absolute best on the Rut 50k course.
This means I’m coming back next year, intent on finding that perfect
line between pushing my limits and staying in control. I’ll be ready to push harder, not afraid to
have solid runners behind me, shooting for 5:xx. This year’s race was really fun, but it was
almost too controlled and safe, and I definitely spent too much time chit
chatting in the first half for it to feel like a solid effort. I’m happy with my time, since it seems like
the course was a bit over 30 minutes slower, yet I only slowed down 18 minutes
from last year. And I’m already looking
forward to next year, where I’ll hopefully be able to fine tune this race some
more and cut off another good chunk of time.
And next year, this will happen. Post race GI issues prevented it this year.
Not a great suit for GI distress.
