(8 min read)
August 13, 2016, 5:30 AM. On the road across from the College “M” trail parking lot. Southern end of the Bridger Range, Bozeman, MT.
It was still dark when I hitched a ride from the finish area to the start 20 miles to the north and at the end of a long dirt road deep into the Bridger mountains. The temp was in the mid-40s and first light indicated that we had a clear calm start to the day. Just arriving at the start as a participant was a big accomplishment for me. Just over a year ago I was flattened by back problems that virtually immobilized me for 12 days. I'm 58 and the diagnosis was that I have arthritis of the lumbar spine. My orthopedist told me that I would have to back off my training regimen. I could build up my activities slowly once the pain subsided, but that I could expect more episodes. A race as intense as the Ridge Run seemed permanently out of reach.
But here I was, about to begin a 2000 ft climb to the top of Sacagawea Peak, the highest point in the Bridger Range at 9,665 feet, in the first 2.2 miles. The gun sounds and we’re off, the trail is rough, rocky and steep from the first step onward.
I reach the top in 51 minutes. The course then aims just below Sacagawea's slightly lower south peak and we get the first taste of trails that aren’t on any maps but that were formed by runners making their way across a steep talus slope for many years. Loose rocks have been pushed aside exposing the hard rock and dirt beneath. The Bridger's are thrust faulted limestone. Edges of sharp limestone poke through the ground. Short rises and drops abound. It's rough and then past the south peak the trail begins to drop in earnest making a quick 2700 vertical ft descent. The descent begins as an expert ski slope of loose rock and short drop-offs then morphs into steep runnable switchbacks. The race moves to the foothills trail because the ridge for the next few miles is a series of exposed cliffs, unrunnable even by the standards of this race.
The foothills trail is the best and fastest section of trail on the course, but it is narrow and can be dangerous. Passing is done Top Gun style. You yell to a racer you are catching up to that you want to get by, they have to find a place where they can exit the trail, running up the slope next to the trail while you dart underneath them. While raging down this trail, as me and the racer in front of me were executing a pass, this racer turned to look over his left shoulder, stepped off the trail with his right foot and rolled downhill about 20 feet. He bounced right up and angled his way back up to the trail. I glanced to my right as he was angling up, cuts with blood seeping out were visible on his right knee. I don’t think the pain had registered just yet. I never saw him again, that had to hurt.
The trail descends steadily and I managed to pound out a 10 and then an 11-minute mile before the trail turned upward and climbed 500 ft over the west shoulder of Ross Peak on a grade that allowed running in some sections. Ross Pass loomed in the distance as we crested the shoulder; an aid station sits at the far side of the pass and it marks that roughly 7 miles have been put underfoot. I reached the aid station with my watch showing that I was moving at 16:51 pace. I was thrilled, though just past the aid station marks the start of our climb back to the ridge up “The Wall of Death.” I'd never see anything close to this pace again for the rest of the race.
I live in Rockville, Maryland, just outside of Washington, DC. My wife, Terry, and I lived in Bozeman in the early 1980s and attended Montana State University. The inaugural Ridge Run was held the year after we moved away. I first heard about the race in 2005. I've wanted to run it since then, but the thought of trying to train for this race in the heat and humidity of a mid-Atlantic summer was more than I was willing to contemplate. Our daughter, Hope, moved to Bozeman in fall 2014 and that finally provided the necessary impetus.
The Wall of Death climb to the ridge beyond Ross Pass is the hardest climb on the course even though it’s much easier this year than in years' past. It's 1000 feet up to regain the ridge. There was no trail in previous years. It was rocks and roots while climbing on all fours; this year the forest service cut in steep switchbacks. The switches, as wonderful as they were, never seemed to end. We'd see in the distance what appeared to be the ridge, but once there further climbs, even cliffs were revealed. I clocked in the first mile above the pass at 35 minutes.
Once back on the ridge the new trail ended and dirt smudged limestone ribs formed the route which kept climbing, though now at least there were some flat and downhill sections. The route at this point involved as much rock scrambling up and down limestone outcrops as running.
This kept up until the aid station at the top of the Bridger Bowl Ski Area rope tow. 10 miles were now underfoot. Half the course was behind me. I had been promised that the 2nd half of the course was easier, but the terrain did not relent; we continued to face rock scrambles and steep short climbs and drops. As we moved beyond Bridger Bowl, 9169 ft Saddle Peak loomed ahead. It looked as daunting now as it did when I stood atop the ridge in my skis back in February and first contemplated running it. This would be the last big climb and would push us over 6000 feet of accumulated vertical.
My back was in uncertain shape during that February ski trip. I nervously skittered down intermediate slopes my first day out, but slowly shifted to expert terrain and made a few ski runs from the Bridger Ridge as my back held together. I'd had an episode of back pain from overly exuberant trail running on the rugged hills of St John in the US Virgin Islands over Christmas, and the pain though not incapacitating, did not relent throughout the entire month of January. I thought my running days were over. If a few hard runs put me at risk of weeks of chronic pain it just wasn’t worth doing anymore.
Near the end of January, a friend pointed me to a Sports Medicine doctor, and he directed me to a Physical Therapist who specializes in back issues. The therapy was working, but both the doc and the therapist thought it was too soon for the ski trip. By mid-March, however, good reports on my progress from the therapist and my success at skiing prompted the doc to give me the all-clear. I was doing PT 3 times per week, and he assured me that my back was likely stronger than it had been in years. If I was up to it psychologically, I could run the trail half marathon that I had mentioned to him even though it was only 3 weeks away, and more importantly, I could begin training for the Ridge Run. It took a few days for this turn of events to sink in and for me to set aside my fear of back pain, then I started running.
I was still moving well as I worked my way up Saddle's north peak. The race organizers had placed me in the 5th and final wave. I'd been passing people ever since and continued to do so as I climbed Saddle. At the top, the promise of easier terrain was finally in sight. It was just a small dip before a climb to Saddle's south peak. The final 2 peaks, Bridger and Baldy, were visible from the south peak, and the terrain looked downright gentle by comparison to what we’d been running. Looks though can be deceiving. The descent from Saddle was steep with blades of limestone that protruded from the trail seemingly lying-in wait for the unlucky runner. Surmounting Bridger Peak involved one hard climb and Baldy proved to be much further away than it first appeared. The aid station atop Baldy made the peak easy to spot. I helped crew it last year when I didn't get picked in the lottery for the race and I expect that's the sole reason they let me in the race this year. Heck, I wouldn't have let me in; I expect my entry—old guy from the flatlands in the east—just screamed that I was getting in over my head. I had hoped to reach Baldy station in 4 hours 40 minutes or less. I got there in 4:45 and was on my way after 2 minutes.
The all too short somewhat gentle part of the race was behind me with Baldy. A 4000 vertical foot descent over 4.1 miles now stood between me and the finish line. To me, this was the hardest part of the course. Stretches were incredibly, even dangerously, steep and exhaustion was setting in. The sun, which had thankfully hidden behind puffy clouds all morning, was now at full strength. The bottoms of my feet burned as I plunged down steep faces of loose sunbaked rock. Nothing I had trained on in Maryland had prepared me for this descent. I made good use of my trekking poles stabbing the slope in front of me to help keep me upright and to absorb some of the shock of each stride.
I got lost at the top of the final face near where the Montana State University "M" decorates the slope. At some point I had taken the wrong goat trail and now I was plunging into a ravine following a faint and fading trail. This couldn’t be right. I had to climb out, but do I go right or left? I chose right and about 30 seconds later I saw Tracy and Lisa, 2 women that I had run with earlier in the race, heading down the trail. I tucked in behind them and we headed for the finish line.
I crossed the finish in 5:54:40 or 18:03/mi for 19.65 miles. About 10 mins slower than I had hoped, but I had survived unbloodied. This placed me 11th out of 19 in the 50-59 age group. I felt excitement, I felt relief. The apprehension I had felt for months as to whether my back could withstand this race was finally behind me.
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