Barkley Fall Classic – Race Report 2020

Out There.

Race day started like any other.  I woke up and hoped I’d have a good poop.  (In case you were wondering – I did, although it was way too much of a last minute affair for comfort).  When I woke up at 4:15am (I always wake up at least two hours before game time), I still had not seen the map.  None of us had.  We knew that the weather was forecasted to be on our side… but we knew nothing else about what the day would bring.

Given that we’d all mostly prepared ourselves the night before, the morning of consisted of coffee, our own individually tailored breakfasts (a shake consisting of 2 scoops of Hammerrecoverite + 1 scoop of perpetuem + 4 tsps of instant coffee for me), getting suited up, and joking about how much fun the day would bring.  At 6:00, we set off for packet pickup, hoping to grab our maps and congregate before the start separated us…. Due to COVID, faster finishers from prior years started later… meaning that I started first (with Steve) and Michael and Nick started 45 minutes after us.  Unfortunately, only Steve and I could pick-up our maps – Michael and Nick had to wait – leading to a scramble to drop off the two of us while the other two quickly drove back to packet pickup.  It was exactly the kind of last minute change of plans you hope will come along and send your anxiety levels to eleven immediately before the horn blows (or, in this case, before the cigarette is lit).  Oh.  And there was the map.  Two trips up Rat Jaw.  That reality started to come into focus right before….

The clock hit 7am; Steve and I took off together.  I don’t really know that either of us planned to spend the day with the other, but we had both vaguely agreed to stick together early on.  With no “conga line” to beat to Bird Mountain, we maintained a quick yet measured pace on the first two miles of paved road.  By the time we hit Bird Mountain, we had passed almost everyone in our starting wave and were collectively somewhere between 5^th and 7^th in line. 

Fourteen switchbacks up Bird Mountain passed relatively quickly, in no small part due to our habit – established during the irresponsibly long hike on Friday – of yelling “Uno, America One,” “Dos, America Two,” and so on, as a method of counting the switchbacks/lightening the mood.   Throughout the hike up, Steve and I both seemed to realize that we felt rock solid, but both repeatedly noted the need to contain ourselves so as to avoid the burnout we experienced in 2019.  

And the hours dragged on… Steve reminding me to drink… me reminding him to eat… alternating places to set the pace… moving slowly but confidently.  My nutrition plan – described more in my “gear and nutrition post” turned out to be rock solid – each hour brought a certain kcal requirement, which was satisfied by tailwind every other hour and solid food in between.  Run flats.  Hike hills.  Eat.  Drink.  Run flats.  Hike hills.  Eat.  Drink.  What might have become monotonous was broken up by moments – the moment a rattle snake scared the shit out of us; the moment Steve was stung by a bee; the moment I rolled an ankle (not badly); the moment we weren’t sure which way to turn and spent five minutes hoping we were going the right way (we were); the moment my shoe came untied and I reluctantly had to stop and relace.  Each moment came and went, keeping us on our toes and moving.   To say that the several thousand feet of gain in the early miles did not take a toll would be a lie, but we were purposeful in our movements, and left the first 1/3 of the race feeling solid.

Nick had caught us.  He was the first person – from any wave – to catch us since Mile 2.  From three waves and 45 minutes behind, he had passed 70 or so other runners to catch us on Testicle Spectacle.  That son of a bitch.  Damn can he run.  Unfortunately, he’s also an apparent expert at finding lose rocks.  As soon as he caught up with us – as we were wasting time trying to find the correct route to our bib punch at the bottom of testicle – we realized that Nick’s ankle had sustained serious damage.   He had no intention of giving up, but upon reaching us, he decided to slow up.  

We stuck together, briefly losing one another for rest breaks, as we turned around and climbed back up Testicle.  The descent down Meth Lab, a notorious labyrinth of loose stone, pits, washouts, and briars, turned into a group exercise in dodging the worst and pushing each other through the best.  A second ankle roll on Meth Lab slowed Nick down more, but we could all tell he was far from the point of giving up.

And then came Rat Jaw.  When we started to ascend Rat Jaw, we could see the roughly four folks ahead of us struggling on the false summits above.  With the weight of the experience of prior years – where the heat decimates you each step of the way – we began our ascent step by step, expecting multiple breaks.  Instead, we found our tempo in a slow but steady pace and followed it, quickly ascending 2/3 of the monster that is rat jaw.  Then the briars came.  Of course, Rat Jaw is infamous for its briars.  They tear flesh, they rip clothing, they make for great stories – but rarely are they more than a nuisance compared to the sheer difficulty of the climb and the unrelenting beating of the sun.  This year, on the first ascent of Rat Jaw, the briars were king.

Starting toward certain doom.  Note the shoes – My Merrell Agility Pro Flex 3’s were champions on the run!

As we began to reach the first runners in line, it quickly became clear that something was wrong.  While Nick, Steve, and I were not moving slowly, we were more a merry band of misfits than marauders destined to catch those in the lead.  Quickly, we realized that the briars were winning the battle of Rat Jaw.  Ahead of us, those in the lead were bloodied, swollen, and covered in briars.  As they beat back bushes with sticks, the briars reached around, grabbed them from behind, and pulled them – as though possessed by the spirits of those who have succumbed to rat jaw.  Nearing them, we dropped to all fours to push through a low tunnel – within seconds, we had briars wrapped around our hats, our packs, our arms, our stomachs.  Pulling forward led the briars to pull us back.  Pulling back led them to pull us forward.  With nowhere to go but up, we shoved each other through the brush, finally arriving at the front pack.  That is, as they say, when things got interesting.

To that point, we had moved at a slow – yet very respectable (in Rat Jaw terms) pace.  Upon hitting the front group, the world came to halt.  Each step forward required multiple swings of a branch, multiple stomps of a foot, multiple efforts to create some semblance of a passageway through the briars.  The front group, by that time worn out from their efforts, gave no efforts to stop us when we took over as the bushwhackers…. And for a sweet, terrible, bloody, painful moment… I was the first person ascending rat jaw in the 2020 Barkley Fall Classic.  This comedy of errors continued for 45 minutes as one trio after another took the lead and the burden of pushing back the briars.  One in the front/middle pushing forward and one on each side pushing briars down and to the left or right.  Push.  Step.  Push.  Step.  My verbal outbursts (at no-one in particular) ranged from “this is f#cking insane” to “this is moronic,” to “this is seriously some next level shit,” to “I want to burn this whole damn hill to the ground” . . . and, well, you get the idea.

During those 45 minutes, between moments spent muttering to myself, I kept looking back… realizing that the lead we had worked so hard for… the minutes we had saved… all had been shredded in the briars, much like our skin and clothing.  By the time we finally ascended, well over 30 people were in line behind us, waiting to travel the trail of blood and thorns we had cleared for them.  But wait, as they say, there’s more.  With perhaps 20 or 30 yards to go, some grew restless – pushing ahead and forging the path using nothing but their bodies.  One slab of man finally said “fuck it,” and plowed – like a steamroller – through the briars.  While the damage he to his body seemed to impact the rest of his day, the photos (and video below) were 100% worth it.  This dude is all that is man.   

He is all that is man.

LOL. Seriously though.

I intend to burn this hill.

Just joking. But those briars are hell.

Those briars are hell.

Fast forward.  Steve, Nick, and I get separated between the first and Rat Jaw second ascent – Nick is finally feeling better and forges ahead (and we’re glad to see him do it).  Steve is starting to feel winded.  I’m feeling good, but not “superhuman good,” so I know I can move fast … but not keep up with Nick.  Immediately after arriving back at Big Rat, I find two sticks (lovingly named Lucille and Robbie).  Laz said “no dam poles” were allowed, but sticks ain’t poles.  With the sun finally beating down on me – but the heat still tolerable – I began the second ascent.  Lucille and Robbie made the trek manageable, with one foot in front of the other at a never-ending crawl, and I felt confident that this ascent would take half as long as the first given the clear path ahead. Just as my confidence soared, I remembered the other things that soared on Rat Jaw… yellow jackets.  The relatively calm hive that we’d encountered during our first ascent had experienced a disturbance – the flying creatures of hell were everywhere from the halfway point on.  (Sidebar:  I’m allergic and run with 6 epi-pens, which I have been advised is the maximum I can use before my heart explodes).   Nearly 2/3 of the way up Rat Jaw, I decided to leave Lucille and Robbie behind, they repeatedly struck branches, causing further disturbance and making me nervous that a yellow jacket would take offense.  Alone until this point, I heard voices behind me and was excited for the company.  As I joined their ranks, I realized – a second too late – that our group had begun creating a significant disturbance in an area full of dive bombers. 

Cue burning sensation in my right lower calf. 

Step 1: Grab epi-pen and prepare it.

Step 2: Pull down calf sleeve and create a loose tourniquet between the sting and the calf/upper leg

Step 3: Let everyone around me know that if I hit the ground, epi-pen 1 is in my hand and the rest are in my bag

Step 4: Move like hell to get the remaining 20 yards up Rat Jaw before hitting myself with an epi-pen and raising my heart rate to a level that might not be conducive to such a climb.

Although I started to feel weak right before making the final push onto level ground, several moments passed without major reaction – something for which I am both excited an thankful.  That being said, I had a race to finish and it wasn’t worth taking a chance, so that damn epi-pen went into my thigh as soon as my feet level ground.   (un)Fortunately, medics were readily available less than .25 mi away, and they had been advised by another volunteer of my situation.  While I would have preferred to continue moving – and riding that wave of sweet sweet adrenaline – I very much appreciate the efforts of the first responders who were present and made sure that I was both able to crack jokes and continue on without dying.  Though I do wish they could’ve done it faster… no time to waste at BFC!

Summiting Rat Jaw for the Second Time.  Don’t Forget Your Epi Pen! 

While I was under observation, Steve passed by.  I pushed forward as soon as possible and caught him; happy to see him moving fairly well.  Apparently, he had run out of gas about 2/3 of the way up Rat Jaw and, right as he started to despair, found two walking sticks that someone else had discarded…  Only at BFC do Lucille and Robbie resurrect themselves like a lazarus.  The two of us continued along together for several miles, winding up the fairly technical backside of Chimney Top at a slow but respectable pace.  With roughly five miles – most of it downhill – left, I realized that I had far too much gas left in the tank to continue along at the current pace.  More importantly, I realized that my “impossible stretch goal” of taking two hours off of my 2019 finish time was no longer impossible… it was nearly reality.  After thanking Steve and letting him know that I’d see him in a few short minutes, I finally pulled out my $10 MP3 player for the first time, started my running playlist, and flew like the wind.  Honestly, it’s impossible to gauge my pace for those last few miles – most of which were slightly technical downhills with a few minor ups… but whether it was 7min/mi or 9min/mi, I felt like the wind… and that was all that mattered. 

Coming into the field that marked the finish of an incredible day, I saw the time… 10:50:15… and I knew… my “impossible goal” was far too easily achievable.  I’ll aim higher next time.

Read More About Gear and Nutrition at Barkley Fall Classic 2020

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Great group of Barkley Friends