Wy'east 28K
Another Golden Trail series race, a photo essay, and the mental tricks I used to come out on top
This race recap is equal parts photo essay thanks to the fantastic photography at Daybreak Racing. All photos (unless otherwise noted) are by the talented James Holk.
In trail and ultra running, the assumption is that you start with shorter races and, as you complete more races and accumulate more experience, you go up in distance—something like a trail half marathon to a marathon, then a 50K to a 50-mile, and finally a 100K to a 100-mile race. This distance progression usually takes place over years, and that’s with the assumption that you probably dabbled in high school or college running, then maybe tried your hand at 5Ks and 10Ks and road half and full marathons for a few years before you even stepped foot onto trail.
As I tend to do, I went the other direction of most everyone else and almost as soon as I started running I was signed up for a 50K. By the time I was 24 and just two years into my running journey, I had finished a couple 100-mile races. I never thought about doing shorter distance races, called sub-ultra races in the trail running world, mostly because the people around me weren’t doing them. Plus, I had never won a race nor been a standout athlete (or an athlete at all) growing up, so going for speed didn’t feel natural. The longer distances just made more sense.
After Broken Arrow 23K last month, I’m starting to challenge that notion. This summer I’ve decided to try the Golden Trail National Series to see what happens when I show up for shorter races. Wy’east 28K, the next in the Golden Trail National Series, was a natural choice, especially when I learned that self-serve kombucha would be awaiting me at the finish.
Nick and I made the drive from our home to San Luis Obispo to the base of Mt Hood over two days, enjoying Bend along the way. The Pacific Northwest always feels like home to me, and we enjoyed waking up early on Saturday morning to bird at Trillium Lake and enjoy a few blissful miles along Salmon River later in the day.
Throughout the day, I felt little more than excitement for the race, which might seem odd because the Golden Trail Series is quite competitive. Oddly, as I’ve jumped into much more competitive races this year than in the last ten years of running combined, I feel less and less tied to the outcome of the race. This meant that on race morning, my goal was to push to my potential that day, and I didn’t think about how I’d stack up to the other competitors or where that would place me.
Since my nutrition and hydration plan at Broken Arrow 23K had gone well, I decided to use the same strategy, and on race morning I took in a 90g Precision Fuel & Hydration gel about 30 minutes before the start of the race. I stuffed another 90g gel in one pocket and two 30g gels in the other pocket with the intention of taking in the 360-calorie gel over the course of the first 10.5 miles (to the high point of the race), and then the two smaller, 100-calorie gels on the descent. I also carried a 20 oz. handheld for hydration.
The race:
At 8 a.m., the race started and, predictably, went out fast. I found myself in the lead pack of women almost immediately and vied my way toward the front, knowing once we hit singletrack it would be harder to pass if needed. These early miles climbed up through meadows and into forests, the course changing from smooth and runnable to technical and twisting just as quickly as we ran. I make it a rule to avoid looking at the entrants list before races and that sometimes translates to avoiding much of the race info, too, but I’d read enough to remember that the course followed a mostly up, then mostly down profile. We’d climb for about a mile and half before dropping to the lowest point of the course at 4,500 feet. From there it would be a 6 mile and 3,500 foot climb to the 8,000 summit and the turn around point of the race. The final 7 miles back down to the finish would be fast, and I knew that’s where I wanted to really push.
At mile 2, I knew there were a few women right behind me, and up ahead I could make out another female who I seemed to be slowly gaining on, especially on the climbs. I wasn’t in a rush to catch her, though—I figured that would happen naturally if I kept up the pace I was moving on the uphills. I settled in to what felt like a hard but sustainable effort.
By mile 7, I was within 10 seconds of the first-place female, putting me in second-place, and we both blazed through the first aid station. The live-streaming of this race was impressive, and a camera crew put himself between us for a few minutes before letting me pass him, putting me right behind first place again. As the grade got steeper, I bided my time, knowing that there was a lot of climb left. I wasn’t in a hurry to pass.
When the trail made a steep turn across a small stream, the first place female accidentally went straight up the hillside off course. She only moved a few feet, and both myself, the camera crew and another man running with us yelled to her that she’d made the wrong turn, but because of that, I was now leading. Determined to put more distance between us, I started pushing the climb harder.
I blew past the second aid station at mile 10, not knowing how close the other women might be. The course had transitioned from singletrack to steep fireroad, and from there back onto singletrack that crossed small snow fields and very steep, rocky ridges. At some points I had to use my hands, and I transitioned from running to hiking throughout, constantly trying to assess whether it was more efficient to deal with the plyometric-induced heart rate spikes from leaping over rocks or conserve my energy and step over them carefully. At mile 10.5 or so, I started seeing men coming back down the trail and knew that the summit wasn’t too far away—they’d already gotten their bibs hole punched and were on their way back down. I pushed harder, wanting to give myself as much of a buffer as possible on the climb, and the steeper it was, the more time I thought I could bank.
The views at the summit were beautiful (honestly, the whole ridge up was beautiful) but there wasn’t time to stop, and as as soon as a volunteer had punched my bib to signify that I’d made it to the top, I was carefully making my way back down.
Within a minute or two, I saw the next female coming up, and right behind her, third place. There wasn’t time to think about that, though—I had to move as efficiently as possible without catching a toe and risking a bad fall on the technical terrain.
I’d made a mistake of not refilling my handheld at the mile 10 aid station and I was paying for it, but, I told myself, I could refill it at mile 13. I just had to get off this exposed section first.
As I made my way back through that first snowfield, I could hear the clang of bells and my name being shouted. Finally, I could get water! I ran up to a volunteer with the lid of my handheld bottle already off, and within ten seconds it had been filled and I was back running, my thirst finally quenched.
With four miles to go, it was time to start really pushing the descent. I took in another 30g gel and starting moving, another camera crew behind me. I’m used to spending long periods of time alone during ultra races, so having camera crew around me and having so little time alone is a new experience. I will say, nothing makes you want to run faster and with better form than knowing you’re being filmed on a livestream. At this point, I really had to stop to pee but decided that I couldn’t risk losing time and I didn’t want to have to ask the camera crew to please stop filming me while I walked off trail to pee behind some bushes.
With a mile to go, I still hadn’t turned around to see if any women were behind me. In these races, I think you can go one of two ways: turn around constantly to check for anyone coming or vow to not look back. I tend to take the latter approach and assume someone is right behind me, as beyond the competition, I want to get the best result out of myself.
Suddenly the forested singletrack gave way to an open meadow and I could see the finish line, just a few hundred yards away. I sprinted to the finish!
I didn’t have expectations of winning, but I had a great day and won the race in 2 hours, 41 minutes with second place about three and a half minutes back. While Broken Arrow had technical sections, this race had substantially more technical parts and it also ran a few miles longer, so I’m happy with my finishing time. Honestly, there’s not anything I would change from this race, and I know that’s not always the case, so I’m enjoying how this one played out.
Post-race, all finishers got to enjoy unlimited self-serve kombucha which is a first at any race. I love kombucha so much that Nick and I had it on tap at our wedding (I argued that’s all we should offer guests in terms of libations, but my mom suggested that not everyone enjoys kombucha. Go figure!).
A deeper dive:
That was my play-by-play of the race, but for those looking for something deeper, I wanted to share some of the tools I used before and during the race to set myself up for as positive of a experience that I could. I plan on using these tricks going forward, too.
Create a positive narrative
For as long as I can remember, I’ve created stories for myself to turn a negative experience into a positive experience. For example, on road trips as a child and now as an adult, I’ve made up realities where I’ve been dropped into a town that we’re driving by and told that I have to live there. These towns aren’t usually nice—I purposefully choose places that look more than a little rough around the edges—and in no way do I want to live there. But I start building myself a life there anyway, thinking about the running routes I might take around town, the little garden plot I might put in next to chain link fence and tumbleweeds, and the closest town I’d drive to in order to get groceries. That there’s a negative way to look at this experience, and the fact that I’m choosing the positive, is what makes this game so satisfying for me.
I’ve started playing the same game in races, too. During Wy’east 28K, for instance, I turned every position volleying narrative into a positive for myself. When I thought I was in second place at the race, I told myself that not leading the race was easier, and I could use the first place woman as a way to pull myself through without having to do as much work. When I took the lead, I changed this narrative. Now, I was telling myself that being in the lead meant that I had confidence and was running faster than the other women in the race.
Separate your passion(s) from your identity
In some ways, the best lessons I’ve learned about running have come from my writing experience. Writing workshops were a common component while pursuing my MFA in fiction and while they were hard and intense (and I have conflicting feelings about their use as a tool for improving one’s work), they also taught me to separate my writing from myself and my identity. I’ve applied this to my running, too, which allows me to not feel quite so down if I have a poor performance, or honestly quite so high if I have an exceptional one. I’m a runner because I run, and I’m no more or less valid as such because of any one day—good or bad.
Develop meaning in multiple facets
One of my favorite aspects of traveling to races is getting the chance to make a full trip out of the event. Running Wy’east 28K was reason enough to travel to Mt Hood but it was made all the better because we had the opportunity to see new species of birds and wildflowers, take Cashew, our dog, to a new location, enjoy salmonberries and huckleberries and blueberries plucked straight from the bush, see several friends from Oregon and Washington and BC, and stop in Bend for a delicious lunch. There was meaning beyond the race, which helped to diffuse the pressure of the event.
What’s next:
After a whirlwind trip back (I don’t recommend doing the drive home in one day, then immediately deep cleaning the house, bathing all of your animals, and addressing a flea infestation that has developed in your absence), I’m back to some light speed to get my legs ready for the next race, Squamish 50K. From there I’ll be sticking to the sub-ultra distance going into September.
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First of all, congratulations on a superb race. I thoroughly enjoyed reading about every facet of the race from the climb, the downhill and your nutrition. Clearly these shorter races are in your scope too.
Good for you for your positive thinking strategies. Sounds like you have good coping skills.
Writing from Galliano island. Here for a week with a girlfriend. We have done some hiking, beachcombing and lots of reading. Good luck in Squamish!!!! Love Auntie Mar
Congratulations on a fantastic race!! And thank you for sharing this thoughtful recap. I use the same kind of mental tricks when I'm writing, too. I convince myself each stage is the easy part. Like, outlining is easy, no stakes, no worries. Then, drafting is easy when there's already an outline. Then, revising is easy cuz the draft is already written. And on and on until the work is done :)