2012 mckenzie river 50k race report

I have started to write this race report four times now. It's hard to put in to words what I'm feeling, I guess.

Elation. That is the first feeling I can name. A fantastic race - stunning trail, fast course, great race organization, fun swag, hot showers and lunch at the finish. As the oldest continuously running ultra in Oregon, the race is steeped in history and tradition. If I were to suggest one race to run in Oregon, McKenzie River might be it.

I wore a grin for all but the last 1.5 mile of the race.

Disappointment is there too.

Not about how I ran.  This was actually the fastest I've run a 50k to date. Rather about the things I said I would do that I did not...slowing down to take photos, running more with my friend Julie, truly enjoying the full day. Instead I found myself calculating times and racing a bit, which would be fine if that was what I truly loved about these races. But it isn't. 

Part of the course runs through an old lava bed, paved thankfully.

At one point during the race, I remember asking myself if I would rather have a new Garmin or a new compact camera to carry on the trail. The camera won. And in the days since the race, I've revisited that question, and the answer remains the same. More than racing fast, I want to soak in the trail and race. That's my first love.

Beautiful Clear Lake. At one point on the trail, you can see ancient submerged trees under the water.

Confusion dwells in me too. Why do I have this conflict between enjoying the race and running it fast? Why isn't running fast more enjoyable? Or why can't I just relax and not worry about my finish times at all? I find this battle in my head rages during the race...I will hurry through aid stations just to stop and take a moment on the trail for no other reason than I want to.

The incredibly clear water.

They say that ultrarunning is 90% mental and the other 10% is all in your head. The more I toe the line, the clearer this saying becomes to me. My mental battle is in the effort needed to race versus my desire to be comfortable and happy. I still have much to learn about the "beast" too, that fatigue that whispers all those sweet nothings about stopping and slowing down. Based on my recovery, I had a lot more to give on Saturday, just as I had a lot more to give on Mt Hood. If I want to give more, I need to learn to deal with those mental demons more effectively. And if I don't want to give more, I need to get that voice telling me I'm lame for running this way to quiet down.

One of the numerous log bridges we crossed during the race. 

As the race fades into memory, there are a few moments I want to remember:

• The thrill of seeing running friends Tonya & Jeff at Clear Lake; what a wonderful surprise.
• The mist of Koosah Falls rising above the rocks as we came down the hill, and then stopping to peer over the edge at the beautiful rush of water.
• The woman who screamed "bees!" behind me; I about fell into the bush. Luckily no one was stung.
• The guy who was struggling behind me for a time, then blew past me when he decided to keep up with the rafters on the river. Never did see him again.
• The way the sun lit up the trees.
• Sitting around the finish line, swapping stories with my friends. This is why we do this, isn't it?

Koosah Falls.  We actually ran down the ridge to the left of the falls in this photo.

Blue Pool: the one photo I snapped during the race.

"Chingoncitos" everywhere.
Rereading Born to Run right now, and Caballo Blanco calls the little rocks & roots
just waiting to trip you up "chingoncitos" -
not a very nice name, but I didn't think much of them either.

Perhaps this struggle to accept whatever happens on the trail is the most important part of the journey. Ultrarunning has not come as easy for me as running short races did. It has been downright discouraging at times, as I struggle to get stronger, mentally and physically. I run with amazing runners who can blast out 50s at speeds I only dream of, and it is so easy to get caught in the comparison trap, to look at what they are doing and feel less than. But this feeling is coming from within me, because I have yet to meet one ultrarunner who gives a hoot about whether you were first or last during the race. The fact that you show up, that you love the trails and running as much as they do is the only thing that matters.