Math.
That’s right. Math.
I don’t know why and I certainly couldn’t tell you when it started, but any time I am doing something hard, I end up doing math in my head.
I’m about 12 minutes in. My watch tells me that I have just finished my first mile. My brain tells me that I am now 1/30th of the way finished. Woohoo! Next thought, ok, that’s within where I want to be. Let’s see what mile 2 does. That will put me at 1/15th of the way done. Let’s get there.
It’s a short moment of lucid thought amidst the swirling incessant mélange of self-doubt, stoke and random thoughts bordering upon insanity that accompany my forward progress. I think it’s about celebrating small achievements kind of like creating a to-do list of things you know you can get done just so you can click them off and get that moment of joy that you “did” something.
My watch buzzes. Mile 2! Man, that’s like 1/15th of the way done. That feels like half as far as the last mile. Headed to mile 3, that’ll be 1/10th of the way done. Cruisin’….
I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.
The idea of traversing the entire mountain in one go was first proposed to me when I was about 15. The person who really stoked the flame and made me understand what backpacking could offer, did it. His goal was simply to finish in one day, under 24 hours, which he did carrying a minimal backpack just in case things got crazy. I never heard how long it took him. There was a breakup, he was dating my older sister and he kind of just faded out of my life.
Then Mama Bear started running. And then Shelby started running. They both pitched it pretty hard, but what got me was this idea of traversing mountains quickly. Being able to see 10-15 miles of trail in a couple of hours instead of two days. I liked this idea and somehow ended up with a pair of running shoes. My first run was about 2 miles and almost entirely flat. Then I ran almost 4 the next day and it was close to killing me. My legs revolted, but it was too late. I was already hooked.
It didn’t take long before this idea of running the Summit Trail began to fester. I pitched it to several people. Everyone who was capable of running that distance immediately told me about how they always get lost up there turning big runs into death marches. The only people interested would have to do a bunch of training and so it continued. Stuck in the back of my head of something I have always wanted to do.
Enter the German.
As is his way of communicating. One night, I started to get texts. They usually come in 3 or 4s and this was the case. He more or less asked me if I wanted to run 50. He didn’t specify if that was 50 ks or 50 miles. You can probably guess what my first question was. Apparently, he had signed up for the Bryce 50 and due to COVID had his entry deferred to this year.
I’m not really a show up to a start line with a bunch of other people and have someone hand me water bottles and gels from under a canopy type of person. I don’t think that there is anything wrong with doing those kinds of events, but for a run to inspire me, it has to provide a fairly large amount of solitude.
I agreed to do the 50, but only if we did it when no one else was there. Take the course, provide all of our own support and run it when the event wasn’t actually happening. Kevin agreed and I started training.
Fast forward several months, I’ve been doing long runs and a fairly solid bit of training. The German, on the other hand, had been building a brewery. And I mean literally building it. He is doing all of the construction while also getting the business ready to open. Between those two things, well, let’s just say his texts to me about running started to get few and far between. As our agreed-upon date for our Bryce 50 approached, it was pretty obvious that we weren’t doing it. The day came and left and we moved on.
But I had done a bunch of training. I was in the best shape of my life and felt like I should probably take advantage of that. So the idea finally came to fruition and I ran (read moved as quickly as possible through the mountains) the Summit Trail Traverse.
What the hell am I doing?
My eyes tick back and forth within their sockets searching for the others. I’ve just realized I’m not alone in here. My concept of self has splintered. I mean, I’m still here, but there’s also the other me and then my body somehow is replying to things that that other one is saying and I have to jump in and shut it down. There’s at least three voices echoing, bouncing and responding around in my head.
“There’s no way we can do this.”
“You’re totally right, that last mile took us 20 minutes. That would put us at 10 hours. If we can’t beat 10 hours, what’s the point?”
“Nah, Nah! Shut it. It just has to average out. We knew there would be slow miles. I mean did you even look at the fucking elevation profile?”
“Hey, y’all. I need water.”
“Yes, I did look at the profile. That last mile had a decent amount of down and it still took us 20 minutes.”
“Well, shit. Let’s see if we can make up some time on this downhill. It looks clear and if I remember right, it goes for a while or at least it feels like forever coming the other way.”
“Still waiting for that water.”
“Oh, sorry. Here you go.”
The Browse Overlook, pictured above, is somewhere between Whipple and Mill Flat. After Leaving the former headed for the latter, the trail had a little climb and then it was beautiful singletrack headed down. I stopped for a quick photo stoked that I was going to be able to make some good time on this section.
I round the switchback and the singletrack is choked with trees. I climb over several and then can’t find the trail. I know where I am and where I need to go, basically just down the drainage, but moving without a trail is slow. I check my watch seeing where the trail should be and head that direction. No trail. Check again. Move in the direction of where the trail that my GPS says I’m on should be going. Check the watch again. Move downhill to see if there is anything. Nope. No trail. Just endless quakies interrupted by washed-out banks and downed trees.
I repeat this process for about 30 minutes and only make about a half-mile of forward progress. I finally just give up and follow the stream that will take me to the flat as it descends the drainage. I climb over trees, fall down the stream bank and more or less crawl my way through.
The section I was so excited to make some time on quickly becomes the slowest of the whole ordeal. When I pop out of the trees onto the meadow and suddenly there is a trail again, I am ecstatic. Not only was Mill Flat the location of my first backpacking trip bringing nostalgia, but just to be able to move without having to navigate god’s pick-up-sticks feels amazing.
I quicken my pace and begin to run again jogging through the moist meadow. The section from Mill Flat over to Anderson Valley is the only part of the route that I do not know. I’ve never been there. After the ordeal I just came through, my biggest concern is getting stuck in another death hole with no trail. I contemplate running down Mill Canyon, but that thought is quickly tossed out unanimously by the voices in my head. I’m close. It’s hot, but I’m close. I just have to keep going.
About halfway between Mill Flat and Anderson Valley, I stop to switch out water bottles.
I see a bar and realize I haven’t eaten anything since Whipple when I filtered water and refilled my bottles. The thought of choking something down sounds worse than bonking. I leave the bar in its pocket, finish swapping out the bottles and get moving again. I’m down to 5 miles. I’ve got a few ups and downs and then I drop down into the Comanche Trailhead. The last section of the trail is where I almost stepped on 2 rattlesnakes in an hour’s time just a couple of weeks prior.
Nope Ropes are definitely on my mind.
I crest and begin the downhill struggle through the scrub oak hell that I knew was coming. Think of running, or at least attempting to run, through scrub oak that is head high and so overgrown you can kind of see a break in the trees where the trail cuts through but there is no seeing the actual trail. The branches catch on my legs and clothing and whip my legs as they break free. The trail is steep and loose. I’m making good time, but my joints and muscles are starting to protest the continuous impact.
And it’s hot, well over 100 degrees.
My water is warm. It’s been bouncing around on my back for a couple of hours in this heat. I drink but it gives me no satisfaction and no relief from the sun. I still haven’t eaten anything, but I also haven’t bonked, so I’ve got that going for me.
The heat slows my pace just as the grade of the trail finally mellows and then flattens. I realize I’ve only got a couple of miles to go and I’m just over 8 hours. I do the math. I could, in theory, still finish in under 8:30, but I’d have to run the last two miles at a pretty good pace. My brain is all in. I start running with enthusiasm only to be completely destroyed by the smallest uphill. I end up walking trying to bring both my body temperature and heart rate down. I start running again, same result.
I start to feel cold.
I’ve been to this point of exhaustion and heat before. I know what feeling cold means. I try to drink. I try to chug what I have left. It just tastes gross and makes me burp incessantly. I know I’m close enough that I will finish. I walk. Run when it’s flat and do what I can to just keep moving. The thought of cold beverages and sitting down and having air-conditioned air blow on my face swirl around dancing with the thoughts of math. I’m barely moving, but I keep checking my watch, checking the time, my pace, the course. I miss the 8:30 mark and then put my hopes on sub 9.
What’s 28 divided by 29? Urghrhaj…
Then I see the trailhead. The awning, the kiosk. I stumble across the threshold and make sure I run to where the track ends.
There is no one in the parking lot. No cheering. No water. No cold beverages and sure as shit, there ain’t no air-conditioned air blowing on my face.
I wobble over to the awning and wait for my ride to show up while trying to hydrate and fend of cramps, but I’m done. It’s done. The thing that has been in my head for so many years is finished. It feels unreal and incredibly in-my-face a reality. My shirt is stiff from sweat. I cramp and then force myself to choke down hot pickle juice.
About an hour later, my ride shows up. I go home. Everything is pretty much the same. The only difference is I smile each time I think about doing this stupid thing.
And then start planning the next attempt. Gotta get sub 8.
Embrace Chaos. Seek Discomfort.
Congratulations. Always enjoy reading about your adventures, as they are so well written. Can’t wait to read about you getting that sub 8. ✌
Thanks Patrick!