Blitzing Mount Baldy: Skills required

Sacajawea from Baldy on a training run a few days prior to race day

M trailhead, 9:00 am, May 16, 2026. Mark, the race organizer, hands his son the mic. The little guy says "Ready, set, go!" Runners surge forward. The Baldy Blitz, put on by the Big Sky Wind Drinkers, has begun.

As we start climbing, my first thought is that a little rain would have been nice. Not during the race, but the day before. Just enough to get the trail wet with enough sun afterward to harden the soil but not dry it out. Hardpacked soil—if that’s the proper characterization for the thin layer of dusty rubble on the face above the M trailhead—would have reduced the friction we all experienced on our climbs and descents.

It’s mostly toes on the way up. Good foot placements reduce friction, but few likely made it up without slipping. The initial face, with its 31-degree average slope, is one hell of a start. This slope extends for more than a mile with but one short break. Lots of heavy breathing but few voices are heard. Mostly we’re just concentrating, trying to find the fastest sustainable pace that doesn't have our hearts exploding.

Climbing this face, the question crossed my mind: is there any skill in this? Was any of my ability to grind out each step the result of skills I had acquired or was it only the muscles I had developed and a willingness to suffer that made each step possible.

I’m not the only one who has raised this question. The internet contains numerous answers. It doesn’t require skill to lace up a pair of shoes and head out your door. In that sense, it’s similar to photography: anyone can take a picture, but one has to have an eye and some skill with a phone or a camera to capture an image that makes others say ‘Wow!’

We’ve all heard stories of the 18-year-old who didn’t train, partied all night then survived his first marathon in the morning—it’s always a he in the tales I’ve heard. He didn’t exhibit skill, just the brazenness of youth.

As we age, however, more systematic planning is required to run or race long distances. Maybe the skill is in the planning and discipline required to get out the door and build up the miles and pace. Skill in that sense is earned capacity. At my age, some of the skill is knowing when it’s time to head to the orthopedist and physical therapist to keep body parts from getting too far out of sync.

I asked OpenAI’s ChatGPT whether running is a skill or just effort; it parroted every relevant article it could summarize in a millisecond and assured me it is a skill. It’s subtle, but stretching, foot strike and body mechanics more generally help reduce injury risk. Sensible training plans also help reduce injuries and build speed. So, most of the skill, it seems, is to know how to train so you don’t get hurt.

By the third big climb, up to the top of Baldy, all body position and foot strike skill have gone out the window. It’s all leaning on my poles and forcing my legs forward however they get there. I scanned the ground a bit as I leaned. At first all I saw was lifeless earth, but as I hung over my poles and peered a bit longer, I started to see shoots of green beginning their springtime battle against the elements: small white and yellow flower buds also made themselves evident. Life was giving it another go.

The view north from Baldy a few days prior to the Blitz

It’s a 4000-foot ascent in barely four miles. The fastest among us did the climb in a little over an hour, the slowest took more than twice that long.

Once up top the fun begins. We earned this. We turn around and fly down steep loose limestone: Yahoo! Then it’s miles of rocky trail. I’m always amazed that I don’t find bodies piled up on the most difficult sections of the course—mine included. In conversations at the end, racers, me included, mentioned falls they took, especially on the last part of the descent. Friction aided by gravity is a dangerous combination; it’s easy to get slammed into the ground. And there are so many places that would be disastrous if one fell. But looking around at the finishers, there was no blood, just tired smiling faces, chatting, beers in hand.

That has to be part of the skill, something we each develop over thousands of backcountry miles: being able to gauge what’s possible.

On some sections you can race balls out all out and survive. [Okay, who came up with that expression. I mean ‘balls out,’ is not a vision any of us want.]  Sometimes you have to know when to back off. In that sense, trail running requires more skill than road running. On roads one has to not trip over potholes, manhole covers, sewer grates or one’s own feet; in trail running the opportunity for serious injury is ever present, yet thankfully rare.

With no snow on the course this year, the pace of the lead racers was accelerated. I couldn’t believe it when the leader and eventual winner and new course record holder, Zachary Sayre, passed me in the meadow on his way down—I was only a little more than halfway to the top. Others came flying by shortly after. It was impressive to watch, thankfully all balls were in. 😁

We woke up the morning after the Blitz to fresh snow covering the mountains—six inches up at Bridger Bowl. I think maybe we were better off without rain. Too risky. A little bit of ground solidifying moisture would have been great; six inches of slush would have increased the friction.

Forest, my trail running bestie, atop Baldy