2021 Barkley Fall Classic - Putting it all together and coming up just short

2021 Barkley Fall Classic 50k
September 18, 2021 at Frozen Head State Park in Wartburg, TN
Putting it all together and coming up just short
Result: Marathon DNF after missing the decision point cut-off by 6 minutes
Chip times: 11:50:14
Position: 13 out of 72 marathoners, 176 50k finishers, 166 DNF

It has been 4 days since me and over 400 other brave souls attempted to push ourselves beyond anything a rational person would consider hard. My entire body still aches from the effort, my arms and legs look like I crawled into a cage and spent hours taunting an angry cat. My brain is still foggy, trying to recollect the thoughts of what exactly we did out there on Saturday. 

This is the Barkley Fall Classic, one of the most difficult "50K" in the country, and this year was by far the hardest iteration of a course that changes every year. The bearded wizard, Lazarus Lake, doesn't like it very much when a high percentage of runners finish his race. He takes joy in the fact that only 15 people have ever completed the Barkley Marathons, a finish rate of about 1%. BFC gives us only a small taste of that race, with slightly better results - typically about 40% finish the 50K.

Laz knows every square inch of that park, and just the slightest tweak in how we navigate the same trails as previous years seems to make it exponentially more difficult. There are only a few sections that go outside of the park trails. The infamous power line sections, cut straight up the sides of mountains, with names like Rat Jaw, Testicle Spectacle, and Meth Lab. Devastating climbs meant to punch you in the face when you are already at your lowest point, in hopes that you will quit before finding that sweet taste of victory. The Bus of Disgrace is waiting to give you a ride back to comfort and safety.

But victory can be found in the suffering. We signed up to do this. You have to laugh at how ridiculous it is. A finish is probably beyond the abilities of more than half who line up, but pushing yourself to YOUR limit is a victory in itself. With each attempt, I continue to find new limits, reset what I think is possible for me to achieve, and continue to get closer to finishing what I started back in 2017.

This was my fourth attempt at this race. Twice I haven't properly prepared, and was forced to accept the marathon finish option - I was two hours too slow both times. It's really a DNF, because we are there to do a 50K. Two years ago I thought I was ready to beat the course, only to show up overconfident. Barkley has a way of humbling you, and a simple mistake can unravel an entire year of preparation.

Would 2021 be my year? Honestly I wasn't even planning to do the race this year. A lot of life happened in 2020 and 2021, and Barkley Fall Classic was one of the last things on my mind. Some things started settling down a bit in August. I had some good training while supporting friends in their efforts to reach some new goals, and suddenly I heard the beck and call from Tennessee. I couldn't say no. I had learned quite a bit in races and adventure runs since my disaster two years ago, and would have to put that all into practice as this would require my best performance ever. I knew I'd have to do some things differently this time. No watch on my wrist to know what time it was. No phone to waste time taking photos or possibly even sending a text looking for sympathy. I was out there, and help was not coming. There would be no rest, no stopping, no quitting this year, regardless of outcome. I was only going to stop when I finished or I missed a cut off.

Downpour at Brushy

So what happened this time? We went up, we went down, over and over and over. For safety reasons, our warm up loop was rerouted and we got to run a few bonus miles, along with a creek crossing through water that was waist deep. I spent time with some awesome people I knew from past years, and made friends with new people who I hope to see in future years. Familiarity was a good friend today, but something unfamiliar threw everything into chaos. We tracked the weather forecast throughout the week, and it seemed to change every few hours. One thing that was certain was that we would get some bit of rain, remnants from a tropical storm that tend to strike the southeastern US this time of year. It has never rained during this race in its eight year history, so Mother Nature decided to make up for that with a ferocity nobody could have predicted. 

About three hours into the race, I was mostly alone climbing up Chimney Top Trail. We could hear thunder in the distance, and soon it was raining. I always tell people "it might rain on race day" when they decide to skip a run due to the weather. This is where I fell apart two years ago, and the trails of Frozen Head were beginning to wreak havoc on so many of the unsuspecting virgins. Not me, not this time. I knew what to expect on this trail, with it's multiple steep climbs, false summits, and the tough third section where the trail cutters forgot how to make switchbacks. I maintained a positive attitude and tried joking with some of the other runners, but most of them didn't want to hear it. I encouraged anyone who was sitting to not stay for too long, just keep climbing no matter how slowly it may seem.

Yes you go up that

I felt really strong as I rolled aid station 3, a location we would hit 3 times, just under five and a half hours. I had built over a 90 minute cushion on the cut offs, which was great, but there was still a lot of work to be done. To this point, I had executed my race plan perfectly - don't go out too hard early, make steady progress without stopping, and stay on top of nutrition/hydration. It was time to face down the biggest baddest hill in the BFC, and I was ready to give it everything I had. One little problem though -  at this point the little bit of rain had morphed into a full on monsoon. I approached Rat Jaw with several first timers and they couldn't believe what they were seeing, and the fact that we had to CLIMB THAT. The site of it alone is enough to make some quit, and on top of that it was becoming a muddy mess. Thank God for the cable laying over the trail, which was our only assistance besides those sharp briars that surrounded us. We became more like mountaineers than anything else, holding onto the cable and heaving ourselves up a few feet at a time. Some tried to crawl up and would constantly slide back down, and I would scramble around them as often as I could without being pushy. This section was definitely a full body workout, and all of the weight training I had done in the past few months was paying off big time.

Once I finally summited, one of my friends was taking pictures and I was super excited to FINALLY get my Rat Jaw photo. We couldn't climb the fire tower for obvious reasons so we hurried back down to the aid station for another bib punch. Quick time check and it was 1:38pm - I had kept my 90 minute cushion through Rat Jaw! We ran back down the jeep road, except this time we continued on to what would be the worst section of the race. The out and back on Testicle Spectacle was a complete mud pit and several runners were sliding uncontrollably on their butts and hoped they would stop before running into some serious trouble. There were only a few spots that I couldn't just walk down. Instead of butt sliding, I basically planked and slid my feet down first, like descending a ladder, and if I started sliding too quickly, I could dig my hands into the mud like claws. This feels much safer and more comfortable to me, and worked great all except for the time the runner behind me decided to butt slide and kicked mud directly into my eye when he tried to stop from sliding into me. All I could do was laugh, even when he suggested I just wipe it out with my mud covered gloves.

The nice thing about having a turnaround is seeing runners and getting/giving encouragement. I saw a handful of friends which was great, and seeing that I was only a few minutes behind some multi-time finishers gave me a huge boost. We came out to the turnaround aid station on a road, and to get there I stupidly decided to slide down the very last slope into a ditch, and immediately my left calf seized up. I ran out of my electrolyte drink about 30 minutes before, but thankfully I was right at the aid station to get a refill. I rolled out of the way of the other runners coming down, pulled myself up and walked over to stretch things out. This was the only time all day that I had any real problems. After chugging some water and roctane, I felt better, and got right back to work.

In 2019, after blowing up, I made it from the TS turnaround to the prison in about 45 minutes. This year it was a bit further down the trail, which wasn't a big deal, but the mud made everything extremely slow. I kept moving one step at a time, but by the time I made it to the prison, I had given back about 30 minutes of my cutoff cushion. When looking at the map on Friday, I figured if I could get to the base of Rat Jaw by 4:00pm, I would be in great shape to make the decision point cut off. I expected to need about 1.5 hours to climb RJ and 1 hour to run 3.5ish miles back down. I started that climb at 4:22 with all urgency. The last time I did this climb in the heat took me 2.5 hours. I powered up without stopping, not even when the park rangers warned us at the halfway point that another big storm was coming in 10 minutes and they were offering rides if anyone wanted to skip the last section. I reached the top in 1 hr 25 mins, my fastest time ever up Rat Jaw.

I got my last punch and found it was now 5:47pm, and I only had 43 minutes. I'm not sure I could do that trail on a dry day with fresh legs that quickly, but I took off running - I had to try. This was finally my chance at making the decision cutoff, and having that shot at earning my Croix. I ran as much as I could, but my legs were on fire and I had to take walk breaks quite a bit. I power hiked as fast as I possibly could, which was probably not much slower than my run pace at that point. The trail was a muddy mess and had a lot of wet rocks in places, and I wasn't ready to be completely reckless and risk a serious injury should I fall. I checked the time when it felt like we were getting close and it was 6:27pm. I couldn't see or hear anyone cheering in the people racing in the last minutes, and I knew it was too far and I would just miss it. Once we hit the bottom of the trail we had a long straight section and I ran that as hard as I could, frustrated at being so close but also wanting to finish my day as strong as possible. 

I popped out to the parking lot 6 minutes too late, and didn't even have it in me to talk to Laz this time. I had given everything I had, and despite the extra miles and mud, there was still no excuse to be made for not making the cutoff in time, no sympathy to be garnered. I ran the last mile to the finish line and begrudgingly accepted my third set of dog tags, a sign that you did something that day, but not enough to earn the coveted medal. In the past, I considered these an embarrassment, but this time I was proud to have earned them, on the hardest course in the worst conditions. I stayed around and saw several friends finish and was excited for them, and look forward to that celebration when I finally cross that line from the right direction.... hopefully in 2022!