Bigger and Longer Isn't Always Better
Bigger and Longer Isn't Always Better
The appeal of small hometown races such as the Telluride Mountain Run
Midway through the Telluride Mountain Run, which took place last Saturday, the relentless zigzag of switchbacks above tree line to Ajax Peak appeared to merge with the sky, where ant-sized runners marched along a ridge at 13,000 feet elevation.
In past years, when I hiked this part (hiking because running on this slope in such thin air is virtually impossible), my energy sagged while hitting both a metaphorical wall and the box canyon’s actual massive wall. This year, however, my spirit and energy soared once I embarked on the set of switchbacks, which come at about 12 miles into the race.
I surged and passed numerous others, some of whom had a half-hour head start because they started earlier in the 40-mile division. I was racing “only” the 24-mile division this year. The three prior times I competed in this event, I chose the 40-miler, which follows a giant loop circumnavigating the town of Telluride while traversing four mountain passes above 12,000 feet.
My happiness, confidence, and desire to push the pace stemmed in part from my decision, just a few weeks ago, to downgrade to the 24-mile race.
It’s OK—in fact, even smart—to give yourself permission to race a shorter distance, if that’s what you feel like. This is a hard concept for us ultrarunners to accept. Longer isn’t always better, if your heart isn’t in it. A sub-marathon distance sometimes can be more fun and rewarding.
At the top of the switchbacks, we embarked on a 1.5-mile stretch of ridge line connecting Ajax and Telluride peaks that at times requires hands to grasp and crawl up chunks of rocks. The ridge narrows to a thin ribbon of talus with drop-offs on both sides.
The first year I traversed this stretch, 2018, when the race director made the course harder by adding this section, my legs tensed with fear and pulsed like a sewing machine needle. I almost froze up there. This year, I moved with fluidity and agility. Again, my confidence surged, realizing that what used to scare me now feels exciting.
At the end of the ridge, the route plunges down from Imogene Pass to the Tomboy mines, then goes up the giant bowl-shaped Marshall Basin to another mountain pass, this one part of the Hardrock 100 course. Downhills are my weakness—my faster friend, whom I’d nearly catch on the uphills, kept dropping and gapping me as soon as the route dropped elevation—but I tried and mostly succeeded to find a feeling of flow on the downhills, even though my knees winced from the impact.
I’ve been doing this all season, and for many years prior—training and racing high-country routes in the San Juan Mountains—and instead of fatigue or burnout, I felt the opposite: the sensation that hard work pays off. I’ve developed not an expertise per se, but a level of skill that feels close to second nature.
This never gets old, I thought. I am getting old—I was the oldest woman registered in the race, and the woman who won with a blazing course record was half my age—but I feel younger out here.
Experience nurtures familiarity and a sense of belonging. I know every bend in these hometown trails. Ultras and other adventures are supposed to take you out of your “comfort zone,” but I felt comfort along the way, in spite of fatigue.
Halfway across the globe, numerous ultrarunning friends were taking part at an event that’s the polar opposite of a race like the Telluride Mountain Run, even though the events’ mountainous elevation profiles share similarities. They were among the thousands of runners and spectators who crowded the trails and towns that hosted the Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB) festival of races (the signature 106-mile race had 2,795 runners).
Would I rather be in Chamonix? No, definitely not. While I get and respect the desire to participate in the biggest and most competitive trail-running event on the globe—an international gathering that celebrates the sport on a scale equivalent to the Boston Marathon for road running—at this stage in life, I’m averse to crowds and hype.
The sport of mountain/ultra/trail running has grown and changed remarkably since I transitioned from road to trail running in the mid-2000s, and will continue to, with increasing professionalism and popularity. UTMB-sponsored races will take over more towns like Chamonix the way Ironman transformed Kona.
It is what it is. I’m just grateful that small homegrown races like the Telluride Mountain Run keep cropping up, providing trail runners with an experience that feels more like a neighborhood block party than a concert in a stadium.
With that in mind, I’d like to recommend a handful of small races coming up in this region. All still have spots open to run if you’d like to jump into one as a season-closer.
Do you have a favorite homegrown regional race in your neck of the woods? Feel free to share it in the comments below.
Ouray Mountain Trail Run half marathon, September 24. This is a lovely loop around Ouray, with a lot of challenge and vert packed into 13 miles.
Hanging Flume 50K, October 1: Now in its second year, this race provides a tour of trails on the “West End” near the Colorado-Utah border, so named because it’s on the west ends of San Miguel and Montrose counties. The stunning high-desert red-rock landscape is shaped by the confluence of the San Miguel and Dolores rivers and is rich in history (for context, I wrote this story about the region’s history and economy).
Deep Creek Trail Half Marathon, October 8: This race starts at the Telluride Airport, transitions to singletrack on the hill above my house, and runs all the way to town. If we get early snow, the juxtaposition of golden aspen leaves on the snowy ground is one of the most beautiful things you’ll see all year.
Kessel Run, November 12 (distances ranging from 10 - 50 miles): I discovered this new race by Mad Moose Events last year (report here) and ran the 20-mile route. If you’ve never run around the flowy mountain bike trails near Fruita, this is a great and cool time of year to experience them (instead of in the heat of summer).
For a gorgeous look at the San Juan Mountains, along with a compelling story, I recommend this new short documentary by Aravaipa Running’s Run Steep Get High channel. Called True Hardrocker, it features the brothers Jamil and Nick Coury running last July’s Hardrock 100. Fittingly, Jamil calls it “anti the UTMB scene.”
Finally, a shout-out to sea-level California friends who visited last week and braved the high altitude for the Telluride Mountain Run. I enjoyed hosting them and seeing these trails through their eyes.
My favorite homegrown, local race here in Massachusetts is the "Don't Run Boston" 50K. It's the original event put on by the Trail Animals Running Club and was first held in 1997. It's free (a donation to the reservation's Trailside Museum is requested), around 25 people take part each year, and the course is unmarked so you have to either carry a map, memorize the course in advance, or stick with a veteran who knows the course. I've run it four times and each has been memorable in its own way. My wife and I ran a few "bonus miles" the first year because we got lost so many times. The second year, we ran almost every step with Hardrocker Jeff List who knew the course by heart - and spending the time getting to know and learn from him was a tremendous gift.
I really liked the paragraph with "I am getting older, but this thing makes me feel younger". That was good.
And yes, plenty of smaller grass-roots trail runs still around to participate in. I can't even imagine racing Leadville 100 nowadays, it was bad in 2005 with 400 runners! But, some are drawn to the masses. As long as there are choices for all:)