Antelope Island Buffalo Run 100 miles, Utah

My second hundred miler, the Antelope Island Buffalo Run at Antelope Island State Park in the middle of the Great Salt Lake just outside Salt Lake City. I wasn’t so nervous this time but at the same time I remembered the duress of my previous effort very well. I hoped my slightly different training campaign of doing my heavier training some way out from the race would not prove to be a mistake. I knew it would be a long day, or more than a day. I expected bad weather. I planned my drop bags carefully, I reviewed the route map carefully but I did not plan a timing strategy. For me I think this just adds pressure with little other benefit. 

We had two loops of a fifty mile course. Not sure if I’ve done a race on Friday before. It was a curiously late start, 10 am and a small field that seemed to be entirely locals who were acquainted with the course. Afterwards when I checked the race results I saw all their ultra resumes and realised I was very much the novice in the field.

At the very last minute I made the decision to run in just shorts rather than with cropped leggings as well, mainly because I noticed that many of the other runners were only wearing shorts and I know that I overheat more than average, so if shorts were warm enough for some they would be warm enough for me. I put a pair of short leggings in two of my drop bags in case I needed them later on.

From the start we had an immediate climb. Our first job was to visit an aid station, Elephant Head, then run out and back to the rocky outcrop called Elephant Head, where we were supposed to collect a sticker to prove we had been there. But there were no stickers. Luckily I was with another runner who was totally sure this was the correct location so we returned to the aid station stickerless. She was telling everyone heading for the rock as we returned to the aid station that there were no stickers, which I thought was a bit unwise - I recalled the runners in the Kolkata marathon who had noticed how the timing mat at one of the turnarounds was not working so did not bother to visit it on their second lap. I tried to have a conversation with her as we ran but I don’t think she could understand me. 

It was raining lightly off and on. After a lovely long downhill we went through Split Rock, had another climb on a series of switchbacks, and then returned to the same Elephant Head aid station for the third time. Most of the island seemed to be grassy hills, scrub/grassland mix and a few clumps of rock. There was snow on the highest points. It was pretty without being dramatic. The trail was a bit muddy but nothing serious, yet.

I had my first bison encounter shortly after leaving this part of the island. In the early days apparently people thought the huge animals in the island were buffalo but they are actually bison. They are big and fat with curly horns, but I heard they are not dangerous. I rounded a bend and saw two of them, on the trail. One of them ambled off the trail and the other stayed put. They didn’t look like they were about to attack so I took photos.

We then embarked on the part of the route that had seemed the most complicated to me on paper. It proved to be more straightforward than I anticipated. We had to follow a fence where the bison are corralled then do a short out and back. Then we started on a 22 mile out and back to the southern tip of the island. We were paralleling a range of low mountains but their tops were in cloud. In the distance we could feintly make out the ski resort mountain range on the mainland. In good weather this would be a fabulous view.

This part of the course to Lower Frary and then the Ranch was along a narrow and increasingly muddy trail through grassland with low scrub. I fell into step with another runner and discovered that he was Walter whom I had heard on a podcast a while back. He is trying to get the record for the most hundred milers run in a year. He said that two other runners are trying for this record at the same time! We ran together for several hours chatting about races and American ultra runners. We had to run single file and I was ok when he was ahead because his pace was gentle, but I didn’t like it when I ran in front because I felt pressure to make a decent pace. I was very pleased when he said I was going too fast for him. After a while I wanted to be alone and he went on ahead.

I wasn’t at all sure if I was eating enough. There wasn’t much available apart from sweet stuff. I had many pb&j sandwiches and nutella sandwiches, and M&Ms and some nice lemon flavoured cookies. I only drank electrolyte drinks. Then I had some bacon. Wonderful.

As night fell I became concerned about going the right way in the dark for the last section of my initial fifty miles after Bridger Bay so I asked Jeff, who had been cat and mousing with Walter and me and had done the course before, if I could run with him and we ran together. He and his family hold the world record for the largest number of family members (eleven) participating in the same ultramarathon, this race a few years ago. We parted company at the end of the fifty and I went out alone. I started listening to This American Life podcasts. Ira Glass is my new best friend.

There were stickers in a box at the sticker rock on the second lap. Otherwise I would have had no idea where to turn back.  On the switchbacks section I passed another female who was walking and seemed upset. She said she had fallen and banged her head, and I asked if I could help in any way but she said not. As I ran on I heard her moaning.

I thought I knew the route well enough but I was still confounded several times. I caught up with Walter at the Elephant Head aid station on our third visit there for this lap and when we left there he was only a little ahead so I could use his light to reassure me I was on track. But my need to urinate frequently had kicked in after dark and after a few episodes I fell too far behind him and I was all alone again. 

Things had become much more muddy. One time it looked as though the path was completely flooded (it was like a lake) and I went off through the scrub, off trail completely. I don’t know if this was an illusion or not but I was glad to rejoin the trail. 

The night seemed to pass relatively quickly. I don't know what time it got dark and at first my headlamp wasn’t working properly, then suddenly it turned itself on brightly and it was great for the rest of the night. I had no problems with seeing the mud at all. I remember noticing the time on my iPod at 11.15 pm and at 2.11 am. I did see a few odd things. One time I thought some approaching runners were towing an inflatable tent. Another time I thought a group of runners were standing looking at something on the trail and I said to them What’s going on here? These weren’t hallucinations, just shadow plays. 

In the early night the sky was clear and there was a show of stars. The rain was supposed to finish in the night so I hoped it was over. Later it clouded over, the stars were gone, and the rain came back. At one aid station I could hear the rain dripping on the tarp so I said Is it raining? They looked at me oddly and someone said It’s been raining all night. I had become immune to it I guess.

In the darkness there were some strange light effects on the waters around the island. Lots of orange lights and I never worked out what these were.

Late on in the night I fell. It was a complete surprise and I think I got my foot caught in the twiggy part of a small bush. I fell flat on my face and my headlamp took the brunt of the fall, but I banged my head and especially my nose. I worried I had broken my nose but I was able to twitch it. I got a cut between my eyes.

After this I turned to Emmylou for company, and listened to her on high volume.

I was at about 80 miles when daylight came. Saturday started off a very peaceful still day. I caught up with Walter who was standing by the track and asked him what was the matter. He said he was falling asleep on his feet and wanted to run behind me. Almost immediately I felt sleepy too. I had not felt sleepy all night and I made an effort to shake this off. But he stopped at the next aid station for a nap.

The rain came back more heavily. For a brief while there had been great views of the snow capped mountain range behind Salt Lake City but these were disappearing. Although the temperature had not got any lower during the night than it was in the daytime, it suddenly plummeted. I had no tights available where I was so I had to grin and bear it. Luckily I had put on an extra shirt during the night and kept it on even when I felt too warm so my top half was comfortable. But the trail was extra extra muddy and it was impossible to avoid going through standing water so I had cold legs and feet.

My left ankle was giving me some severe grief. Not a muscle pain but a very sharp external pain. It was most odd and I think it was that my compression calf sleeve was too tight over my swollen ankle. I tried shifting the sleeve around and it would help for a while. There was no way I could take it off. I had also developed a blister on my little toe which I had been aware of for hours but was suddenly painful. Somehow I managed to forget about it.

At the 88 mile aid station the volunteer asked what I wanted to eat and offered to make me a quesadilla. I sat down for the first time in the race while he heated it. It was absolutely delicious with real cheese. He only gave me a small piece and I was embarrassed to ask for more, which in hindsight I should have done.

For my last hours the weather almost brightened up. This may have been an illusion but it looked as thought the sun may appear. As 24 hours ticked over I came to the closing sections and again I was confused about the way to go. I was always afraid I had missed a turning but I kept going. I was hardly running, but when I did run I felt ok. It was just that I didn’t feel like doing it. At some point Walter came past me saying You are the hardest person to catch and I saw him race off over the horizon. I was so flattered.

At Bridger Bay I had a gel, a handful of water (literally and much to the amusement of the volunteer, since I had already put away my cup) and turned off the music. I had just rearranged my clothing so my race number would be visible at the finish as they didn’t have chip timing. 

The very last four miles was a loop around a hill which was close to the start/finish; when we went behind the hill we couldn’t see the finish area. I saw a bison here, grazing. I had done this part in the dark the previous time, and with someone who knew the course, so I had not paid much attention to the route. This time I was alone and I became convinced I had missed a turn. There were quite a few day trippers around, unconnected with the race. I asked one of these families if they had seen any racers go by and they said No. Then I asked a man riding a horse if he knew where the runners were running and he said in a rather American way You know, I don’t actually know where the runners are going. I didn’t know whether to turn back, wait for another runner (but we were very spread out by this time so it would be a long wait) or continue. 

I kept agonising that I had come too far to stuff it up now. To make things worse my watch battery had just died, at 97 miles, so I couldn’t check with the GPS to see if I was retracing my previous 50 miles (which I had done once in the night to confirm I was going the right way). I’ve read in accounts of endurance events how people suddenly feel they can’t go a step further when they seem to be extremely close to completing the task, and I've had trouble understanding this; now, in a blinding flash, I understood what happens. Fortunately I continued and, shortly after recognising a junction that my companion the previous time around had commented on, I heard a woman say to a child Here comes another runner and I knew I was ok.

It was a long and tortuous straight road to the finish but I made it. When I finished they told me I had run 26 hours exactly - this was from their hand timing. Had I known, ie had my watch still been going, I might have tried to save a second somewhere! But in wonderful news the official results from the electronic timing show 25:59:55. The reason must be that the race started a little late.

At the finish they had vegetable soup. I took a cup but it was the last thing I wanted and I had to throw it away, opting for a can of root beer instead. Strangely, I had not been having any food fantasies in the closing moments. They had massages going and one masseur walked over to me as I was by the car taking off my calf sleeves and said I want to give you a massage, I really insist. I thought this would be painful but she was so keen. It was fine. Then I saw Jeff had finished. He saw me and said You’re a beast! I think this was a compliment. I picked up my first place age group award and drove to my hotel while I still felt sufficiently awake. 

Although my finish time was a slight disappointment I knew the conditions had not been ideal and my navigational worries had cost time. I was overall very pleased with myself.

So here are some random thoughts on the hundred mile distance. Firstly you are supposed to go to some deep places within yourself that you normally don’t visit. I don’t; for the second time I felt that this was like any other run but longer. Secondly you are supposed to have all these mental battles about wanting to give up the fight, and all this Beware the chair stuff. For me, so far, stopping has not been an option. It’s just not on the table. Thirdly you are supposed to enter a venue commonly called the Pain Cave. Either I go there on every run beyond about 30 kilometres (quite possible) and I just don’t name it, or I haven’t been there. My real fear is the idea of the distance: it is so frigging far! And I’m in no rush to go back there.