Stickers saying “Leadville Rocks” pepper cars around town. The commercialized saying has a nasty double meaning. First, Leadville hosts one of the best ultra races in the world in its 100 mile race while its 100 mile bike ride draws the best cyclists in the world. So it pretty much kicks ass in that respect. However, what they don’t tell you is this normally sleepy mining town also hosts a trail marathon, that is in fact, loaded with rocks, and it makes for one nasty trip around the mountains.
By the time the pavement ended, I was feeling largely optimistic about my chances in this race. I had several things going for me. First, this race is difficult and won in slow times, which has favored me in every similar effort. Second, I was in 10th at the 1.5 mile mark and with my slow start and smart walking on the mountains, I knew I would move up. And move up I did, from the town of Leadville at 10,200ft up to a nice loop of Bald Mountain. I left the loop (at about 9 miles) in 6th place. As I started down a long dirt road I looked up and saw a twisting path to the top of a mountain in the distance. I thought that it must be Mosquito Pass, and it was. Why we had to lose elevation only to start up the side of a mountain to its summit was beyond me, but such was the way of the trail.
The top half-marathoners were coming back at me as I started up the climb. It was a steep climb and I battled with a brisk walk versus a slow jog for most of the lower slopes, finally resolving to walk to conserve energy. A runner went by me, completely in oxygen debt, running the whole way. I just shook my head, keeping him in sight, determined to make him pace for the stupid strategy in the second half of the race. Unfortunately for me, I popped like a Tour de France sprinter on an Alp near the summit and by the time I reached the summit at 13,100ft, I was toast.
With a 40mph wind blowing temperatures down about 25 degrees cooler than the lower slopes of the mountain, I felt for the volunteers at the top of the pass. But then again, Leadville does have the best and most dedicated volunteers of any race. Meanwhile, I had my own problems to deal with. In an effort to better prepare for the upcoming race in Canada, I had stepped up my running. In the week of the Leadville race (on a Saturday), I had done a 10 mile tempo on the Friday before, a tempo on Tuesday, then hiked the Manitou Incline on Wednesday (in a 3 hour round-trip effort with my father at such a pace that I used muscles that I never have and could barely walk the next day), and a Tempo on Friday. By the time I woke up at 430am on Saturday and drove the 2.5 hours to Leadville, I was toast. Had it been a flat road marathon, I would have been fine, perhaps even fast. But this was Leadville, and it was unrelenting.
The top 3 guys blew past me down the mountain, and I was facing a deficit of more than 10 min at half way. But I thought place 4-6 looked close and vulnerable. However, the path down was less than a foot wide, and with more than 100 half-marathoners and slower marathoners coming up the pass, I frequently shot off the path to avoid people. The rocks were loose, and I rolled ankles, kicked rocks, and lunged hands-first about 20 times on the descent, getting no closer to the group ahead. I felt fairly confident that my left food had a stress fracture and that I would spend the night getting x-rays in the hospital. I did know my right ankle was sprained. Those three miles were hell, and as I faced the 2 mile climb out of the valley I lulled into a pedestrian pace with a long way to 6th and 8th place on either side of me. The reverse loop of Bald Mountain did nothing to boost my motivation and I hit 22 miles with a wish to quit right there at the aid station. What should have been a welcomed descent was met with more trips and tumbles down the path on trashed legs. It wasn’t until I hit the pavement did I feel like I could be done. Too bad for me there was a long rolling downhill left to deal with before crossing the tape. Ryan Burch wasted me by over a half hour, and I finished far lower than I should have. My time was 4:22, and good for 7th even though it was the slowest marathon I have ever run, by far. My effort and body just weren’t there for what was, undoubtedly, the hardest marathon I have run. This one isn’t for the spring chickens. Stickers saying Pb for Lead also are on cars, and now have been permanently tattooed to my legs.
By the time the pavement ended, I was feeling largely optimistic about my chances in this race. I had several things going for me. First, this race is difficult and won in slow times, which has favored me in every similar effort. Second, I was in 10th at the 1.5 mile mark and with my slow start and smart walking on the mountains, I knew I would move up. And move up I did, from the town of Leadville at 10,200ft up to a nice loop of Bald Mountain. I left the loop (at about 9 miles) in 6th place. As I started down a long dirt road I looked up and saw a twisting path to the top of a mountain in the distance. I thought that it must be Mosquito Pass, and it was. Why we had to lose elevation only to start up the side of a mountain to its summit was beyond me, but such was the way of the trail.
The top half-marathoners were coming back at me as I started up the climb. It was a steep climb and I battled with a brisk walk versus a slow jog for most of the lower slopes, finally resolving to walk to conserve energy. A runner went by me, completely in oxygen debt, running the whole way. I just shook my head, keeping him in sight, determined to make him pace for the stupid strategy in the second half of the race. Unfortunately for me, I popped like a Tour de France sprinter on an Alp near the summit and by the time I reached the summit at 13,100ft, I was toast.
With a 40mph wind blowing temperatures down about 25 degrees cooler than the lower slopes of the mountain, I felt for the volunteers at the top of the pass. But then again, Leadville does have the best and most dedicated volunteers of any race. Meanwhile, I had my own problems to deal with. In an effort to better prepare for the upcoming race in Canada, I had stepped up my running. In the week of the Leadville race (on a Saturday), I had done a 10 mile tempo on the Friday before, a tempo on Tuesday, then hiked the Manitou Incline on Wednesday (in a 3 hour round-trip effort with my father at such a pace that I used muscles that I never have and could barely walk the next day), and a Tempo on Friday. By the time I woke up at 430am on Saturday and drove the 2.5 hours to Leadville, I was toast. Had it been a flat road marathon, I would have been fine, perhaps even fast. But this was Leadville, and it was unrelenting.
The top 3 guys blew past me down the mountain, and I was facing a deficit of more than 10 min at half way. But I thought place 4-6 looked close and vulnerable. However, the path down was less than a foot wide, and with more than 100 half-marathoners and slower marathoners coming up the pass, I frequently shot off the path to avoid people. The rocks were loose, and I rolled ankles, kicked rocks, and lunged hands-first about 20 times on the descent, getting no closer to the group ahead. I felt fairly confident that my left food had a stress fracture and that I would spend the night getting x-rays in the hospital. I did know my right ankle was sprained. Those three miles were hell, and as I faced the 2 mile climb out of the valley I lulled into a pedestrian pace with a long way to 6th and 8th place on either side of me. The reverse loop of Bald Mountain did nothing to boost my motivation and I hit 22 miles with a wish to quit right there at the aid station. What should have been a welcomed descent was met with more trips and tumbles down the path on trashed legs. It wasn’t until I hit the pavement did I feel like I could be done. Too bad for me there was a long rolling downhill left to deal with before crossing the tape. Ryan Burch wasted me by over a half hour, and I finished far lower than I should have. My time was 4:22, and good for 7th even though it was the slowest marathon I have ever run, by far. My effort and body just weren’t there for what was, undoubtedly, the hardest marathon I have run. This one isn’t for the spring chickens. Stickers saying Pb for Lead also are on cars, and now have been permanently tattooed to my legs.
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