Broken Arrow Skyrace VK & 23K
The mental impacts of altitude, racing the stacked VK & 23K races and traveling with three pet rats
I’ve never been to a training camp and, wanting to give myself the best shot possible at Broken Arrow Skyrace, I thought that driving out to the Lake Tahoe area early would be helpful. I’ve always struggled at altitude, but running the ascent last year set me up well for the 23K two days later. I hoped to mimic that this year, but a week ahead of time so that I could run a hard workout in training—therefore setting me up well for both the ascent and 23K races this time.
Nick and I packed up the car, dropped off Mohi, our wildest dog, at a boarding facility, and got on the road with Cashew, our smallest dog, and three of our rats—Rumi, Licky and Louie. The rest of the animals (Jack, our third dog, the nine rabbits, two cats and two guinea pigs) would be cared for by our fabulous pet sitter.
We’ve traveled across the West Coast with all of our animals before, including our rats, but it’s not typical for us to bring them for shorter trips. The reason for doing so on this trip was because of Rumi’s advanced age; at nearly three years old, Rumi is nearing the end of his life expectancy and he needs to be on twice daily medication and a consistent feeding schedule. Our pet sitter does a great job looking after everyone, but it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to hand feed Rumi multiple times a day. So, knowing he travels well, we decided it was best to bring him along. Single rats get lonely, however, so bringing Rumi meant also traveling with our additional two rats.
After an overnight in Ashland, Oregon, we arrived in Tahoe-Donner, the northern suburb of Truckee, California on Friday the 13th. That gave us a full week to get in a final workout before beginning to taper.
Predictably, the first few days felt crummy. At 7,000 feet, sleep wasn’t restful and walking up the stairs made me feel winded. The dry air left my skin chapped and raw and I’d wake up parched.
I was worried about Rumi, too. He seemed to be fine with the travel, but his weight had slowly been decreasing. I cooked him an egg each morning, served him a cube of avocado or potato at lunch, offer him some of Cashew’s dog food at dinner—anything that I thought was higher in calories and appealing to a rat. I was overwhelmed thinking about him taking a turn for the worse, even though we were prepared. Nick and I had researched small animal vets in the region if needed and we’d visited our vet before leaving, asking for a supply of antibiotics, anti-inflammatories and even a nebulizer in case his chronic upper respiratory infection acted up. So far all he’d needed were the antibiotics and looked delightfully happy. Still, I worried.
Nick and I bickered, too. Not about anything in particular—which trail to choose, how to schedule the day, how and when to talk about our upcoming races. We were overtired, a little anxious. The effects of altitude were making us feel bad.
With taper already underway and Rumi (along with each and every living creature) slowly sliding toward death (some faster than others), there was nothing to do but sit in the anxiety and wait. Wait to see how Rumi would do over the coming days, wait to see if we’d feel better at altitude, wait for the race to begin.
The Ascent Race
One week later, things were feeling better. Sleep had improved and runs had even started to feel a little easier—just in time for race day. The day before, I received an email notification saying that this year’s Ascent Race would be shortened due to the high winds being forecasted. Gusts of 50-70 mph made the famous Stairway to Heaven ladder, along wit the finish line top, too dangerous. Rather than last year’s 3.5 miles, the course would now measure barely over 2 miles with only 1800 feet of elevation gain.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about this: on one hand, longer races typically suit me more. On the other, the new course meant steeper grades, something I felt confident about moving fast up.
On race morning, I warmed up with a jog and a few strides, then made my way over to the start line. I chatted with Jess Brazeau and we found ourselves at the front of the start line with other race favorites like Allie McLaughlin, Anna Gibson, Joyce Muthoni Njeru, Rachel Tomajczyk, and a dozen more. As a Team USA qualifier for the Vertical race at the World Trail and Mountain Running Championships later this year, the field was stacked. I already had my ticket to World’s—I secured my place on Team Canada at last October’s MSA races—but I wanted to challenge myself here again.
There’s a mixture of joy and deep suffering that takes place during an uphill race and it’s hard to distinguish between the two in the moment. Predictably, the race started off fast. The first quarter mile brings runners up a 40% grass slope. This grass slope isn’t smooth, but comprised of dry dirt covered with golf ball-sized rocks. Atop this is thick arrow leaf balsam root and elderberry shrubs. No matter which line you choose, you’re running through thick plants.
Unlike last year where I went out way too hard and suffered the consequences, I decided to start a bit more conservative. The trade off for starting more controlled, however, is getting stuck behind more runners. As I made my way up the slope, attempting to dodge yellow balsam root and the sharp poles of runners around me, I got crammed in, the risk of having started off a bit slower. I wanted to move faster but couldn’t. Rather than waste energy attempting to get around the line of people, I decided to embrace it. Maybe this was what I needed in order to have legs the rest of the way. I briefly panicked at the thought of having the race leaders go, but knew there was nothing I could do. At least not yet.
Once the dispersed start narrowed onto the fireroad and the grade lessened, I picked up the pace. I guessed I was somewhere around 10th place based on the ponytails ahead of me. In the distance I could make out Joyce Methuni Njeru and, ahead of her, the bright blue and green Brooks kit of Anna Gibson. I concentrated on passing one woman at a time, making my way up through the field.
Within a half mile, I realized no other woman stood between me and Joyce. That meant I was in third. Third! I hadn’t expected that. Rather than allow myself to get excited about a potential podium spot, I decided to see if I could lessen the gap between myself and Joyce. Every time the grade of the climb decreased, Joyce put a few seconds on me but each time the route steepened, I gained on her.
A long time ago I made a pact with myself that I wouldn’t ever look back in a race and I’ve kept true to it. That meant I had no idea where fourth place was but I didn’t want my attention focused on who was catching me—I wanted to be the one catching someone else.
This time around I didn’t catch Joyce, but I also wasn’t caught by anyone. I finished in third place in 29:23, 17 seconds behind Joyce. As a Team USA race, I technically qualified for another US Team but can’t take it considering I’m already running for Team Canada.
That night Nick and I read while Cashew and the rats explored our small Airbnb. The following day, Nick raced the 46K and improved upon his last year’s time by 20 minutes!
The 23K Race
By Sunday, two days after the Ascent race and a day after Nick finished the 46K, I was more than ready to be home. Some of it was nerves, but some was also a readiness to be with the rest of our animals and check in on our garden. I had one very big race between me and home, though.
This year’s 23K race was part of the Golden Trail World Series (GTWS), a global sub-ultra running series that has athletes tackle trail races around the world, culminating in a grand finale race held in the fall. This year’s series is being broadcast by Warner Bros. Discovery, which has only increased its budget and therefore draw for many elite athletes. Broken Arrow is always competitive, but the 23K was once again on another level.
Unlike the Ascent Race, the 23K had different start times for the elite men and the elite women. Those given elite female bibs were asked to line up at 8:30am. I decided to start at the front, simply because I had nothing to lose and felt content just having the chance to compete in a race like this. I wasn’t feeling confident—my warm-up jog and strides felt horrendous again—but pre-race thoughts aren’t usually ones to lead with. I decided to embrace joy again and give it my best shot anyway.
As soon as the race started, I found myself several women back from the lead. These women were fast—within the first quarter mile we were running 5:40 min/mile pace and I was fading. As the route turned from the pavement and onto the trail, winding up a short hill, I fell back again. I wasn’t concerned though. I knew it would take several minutes for the field to settle and for the women to find their individual paces.
Right now it was pure chaos and the filming of this race only added to this! Men and women on e-bikes filmed us, briefly called out “on your right!” as they whizzed past us on single track. It was a harbinger of what it would feel like later in the race to be passed by the elite men, who would start 20 minutes behind us.
The climbs immediately felt tough but I knew not to judge. That’s just what pushing at this altitude feels like. Looking ahead, I figured I was somewhere in 12th-15th. I wasn’t concerned though. I knew at least some of the women were running harder than they could probably handle based on the sounds of their breathing. I focused on moving as efficiently as I could, speeding up on the descents and taking the climbs at a strong but sustainable pace. I knew what lay ahead.
Over the next few miles, I began passing women. At the first aid station I was around 10th; by the second aid station I had moved into 9th. This race wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped, but I chose to smile as much as I could. If I didn’t have a good race, then I was going to be the happiest runner out there.
At the top of the climb, Washeshu Peak at 9,000 feet, I realized I still had legs. I’d also climbed this whole ascent nearly three minutes faster than last year, on a day that I felt pretty stellar.
I spent the next mile attempting to reel in Allie McLaughlin and Alice Gaggi who I could make out in the distance. This two-mile section, entirely on fireroad, is mostly downhill and I knew I could push the pace here. Just like last year, I caught up to Allie on the exact same section, running the exact same pace: 5:33min/mile. We exchanged a few words of encouragement and continued on, both of us hoping to reel in Alice ahead. Allie briefly mentioned we were running 7th and 8th but I didn’t care. I liked staying focused on doing what I could now, rather than anticipating where I might place.
At the top of Shirley Canyon, I passed Allie and the two of us took off in the hopes of catching Alice who had shifted into a whole other gear. From the final aid station to the finish, the trails are quite technical and the route jarring. The top five elite men had caught up to us and needed to pass. Most of the time this isn’t a problem, but I do think it’s unfortunate that GTWS didn’t separate the elite men’s and women’s races more to ensure this didn’t happen. That said, all of the men were kind and it didn’t cost too much time to simply stop and move out of the way. It was jarring, more than anything.
With the men ahead, Allie and I resumed racing. I began to pull ahead a bit but, per my promise, refused to look back to see how big my gap had or hadn’t gotten. I also wasn’t sure where the other women were and quite Franky still didn’t want to know. I had catching to do.
I pushed these final miles fast—faster than I was comfortable with at times. I saved myself from falling on one steeper rock section but otherwise ran smoothly.
As the single track trail popped out onto fireroad, I caught sight of two women ahead. They were running fast, so I was doubtful I could catch them but it was always worth trying. I ran my final mile in 5:15 pace, ultimately finishing 7th! I was thrilled.
Last year’s race, where I placed second, was probably my best performance of the year, and I ran this nearly four minutes faster. I’m proud of that progress, but I’m also blown away by the speed of these women. I’ll be continuing to work on my climbing speed over the next few months in preparation for World’s.
It’s good to be home now. I can breathe again, I feel better mentally, and it’s lovely to spend the next few weeks around our animals and picking fresh produce from the garden.
Thank you to Altra for the Mont Blanc Carbons. I wore these light shoes for both races and they’re the perfect choice for moving fast on technical trails. Thank you to Brendan and Ethan, the Race Directors of Broken Arrow Skyrace, for putting another great event this year! I keep saying I’m done with racing at altitude, but each year I get pulled back. No promises.
And BTW, congrats on another pair of strong showings. You truly belong now, among the best.
"This race wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped, but I chose to smile as much as I could. If I didn’t have a good race, then I was going to be the happiest runner out there". Jade, I just love your positive spirit in everything, and I am sure it takes a conscious effort to be that way. Very inspiring and makes me want to continue getting better at it.