2019 Bandera 100K, 50K

I am just getting back from TX where I ran Bandera ultramarathon. What an adventure!

Bandera is considered “one of the toughest trail runs in Texas,” as well as the oldest 100km.  It is an Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB), and Western state qualifier, and also offers a golden ticket to Western State. As such, this race attracts some elite level runners from all over the US.

My friend, Pete, ran this race on three different occasions. He spoke highly of the race, the race director, and assured me that if I were to run this race it would be the “experience of a lifetime.” Who can say no to such an offer? The race took place over the first weekend of January 2019, a great way to start the year on the right foot. Aside from Pete, Luc also joined the team for support and pacing purposes. And so the three of us took on this adventure and made the trip to Texas Hill Country on race weekend.

The race is hosted by Tejas Trails, a running company in TX that holds 15 total trail running races, several of which are USA National Championship events for multiple distances.

Usually, the race is held at Hill Country State Natural Area, two hours outside of San Antonio. However, less than a week before the race, a message was sent announcing that the race venue was changed from Hill Country State Natural Area to Camp Eagle. Neither Pete nor I fully digested this information. We had already finalized all travel and lodging plans some weeks earlier. The night before my flight, I realized our hotel is located two hours away from the new venue instead of 30 minutes. Needless to say, this was a major change. The closest town was almost an hour and forty-five minutes away and the few hotels in town were sold out. The Airbnb options in the small adjacent town (40 minutes away) were also sold out.

The night before the race, the three of us drove from Austin airport to Camp Eagle for packet pickup. The three-hour drive went by relatively fast despite the lack of internet or cell reception, this race was in the middle of nowhere! We were trying to learn as much as we could about the new course, the weather, and how to best prepare. Our little rental car almost fell apart during the final 8 miles of the trip on the dirt road leading up to the camp.

At the entrance, friendly volunteers were there to greet us. We explained that we just came from Florida, and have no place to stay tonight asking for some input and assistance. We were offered a cabin for 12 people, with “heat” but were told there was no linen. The representative was kind enough to assure us that the camp could assist us with providing linen later this evening after he saw the initial shock on my face. Just to be clear, I don’t camp! I glamp!

As I walked into the cabin, reality set in. Twelve prison style bunk beds, with bare mattresses welcomed us. There were two stalls and shared showers…but no towels or real soap. The heat was on but the temperature in the room was cold. Coming from Florida, in my world, anything below 75 degrees requires mittens, a coat, and a beanie. However, I tried to smile as Pete and Luc assured me that the anticipated linen would be here by the time we returned from packet pickup. We went to collect our bibs, ate some unidentified veggie burger from the local food truck (which later turned out to be a big mistake), and returned back to the room. Guess what, no linen!

Pete and I silently prepared our race bags for the next day, and proceeded to wear all the available article of clothing we had in order to keep warm. Across the room, I heard Luc saying, “Rue, I am proud of you.” From all the accomplishments in my life, this was my least “feeling proud of myself” moment. As I lay on the firm bare mattress, I couldn’t feel more outside my comfort zone. That night, I slept like a baby, waking up every 45 minutes wanting to cry for my mom to come pick me up. As the morning came and the undigested food combined with the pre-race jitters kicked in, I felt sick. However, I managed to pull myself together just in time to wish Pete farewell, his race started an hour before mine. Before long it was go time for me.

The trail was everything a trail runner dreamed of and more; mountains with inclines as far as the eye could see, singletrack trails, dirt roads, oak groves, grassland, and lush desert style greenery. The terrain ranged from flat, broad creek bottoms to steep, rocky canyons, and numerous switchbacks along the steep hillsides. The trail was unforgiving and raw, with loose rocks, and sharp edges. The scenery from the top of the mountain was stunning, reminding me that Mother Nature has the best set of crayons that no amount of filter could match. The miles were hard and long. When my watch showed 4 miles, I recall feeling as if I already spent half a day climbing, pushing and moving. I couldn’t fathom the idea of 27 more miles.

The race course was comprised of four major loops that formed a 31-mile lap. It was beautifully orchestrated in a manner that no one was left alone on the trail for too long, and there was always movement of runners crossing paths. I ran into Luc twice at the Windmill Aid Station, where he became a local celebrity, chatting with the crew and offering runners support, DTR and Sand Spur style. I also saw Pete twice throughout the race. Our first meetup was cheerful, but by our second encounter we both looked like the miles and the terrain were leaving a mark on our spirits. Pete, who fell just before crossing my path, dislocated his pinky but popped it back in un-phased by the pain. He kept moving despite my dismay. Badass! I, on the other hand, was tripping gracelessly every several steps, which greatly impacted my confidence and willingness to run.

From mile 14 to mile 20 I was in a funk! During those 6 miles my negative self-talk included topics such as: how small and insignificant I felt, my dislike for camping, why do I continue putting myself through such challenges, how much I hate camping, why this f#n rock had to be so sharp, and why did I listen to Pete. I got very philosophical! My thoughts, like the terrain were relentless. Just before mile 20, I came across one of the elite runners who told me “good job!” before he hopped around me and glided ahead disappearing into the singletrack. I started laughing. I knew I was far from doing “a good job,” I was having a pity party that lasted six miles, resulted in me losing my focus and my grit.

I put on some music and to the beat of Sia swinging from the chandelier, I found the courage to keep going. Over the next 11 miles I came across other elite runners including the all mighty, yet petite Kaci Lickteig. It was humbling to see the struggle and determination on everyone’s face. This collective challenge united all of us in some way no matter how fast or slow one was going. I kept moving but snapped a quick picture of this inspiring celebrity.

I watched the sunset over Camp Eagle from the top of the mountain. The beauty was like no other. In that moment, I was exactly were I needed to be, enjoying the last rays of sunshine over this scenic untamed area. I ran the last three miles in the dark with just enough light from my headlamp to keep me on the right track. I kept moving forward and knew that with every step I was getting closer to the finish. Occasional lights were seen on the mountainside, running the long switchbacks, other runners making their way through the course.

I am terrified of running in the dark, and if it weren’t for the late start (or my relatively slow pace), I wouldn’t have been facing this issue. But I put my big girl pants on, and just focused on the steps ahead, silencing the negative chatter in my head that can turn as dark as the night. I heard the cowbells and the calls of cheers from the finish line, I kept moving, I was getting closer. I was looking forward to the end of a long day. I cannot put into words the sense of relief and delight as I crossed the finish line.

Before the victory of the day set in, the cold night reminded me that I must change out of my sweaty clothes. I soon realized that my drop bag with my change of clothes, as well as the car key were with Luc, who was pacing Pete. I was cold. I managed to find a “throw away” jacket from the start line and made my way to the medic area where I was graciously provided with warm blankets to fight the uncontrollable shivers. I sat by the finish line for hours, crowded around a small heater, talking to other runners, sharing stories, learning about their struggles and just processing the aftermath of this demanding race.

Pete came in with time to spare to meet his Western State qualifying goal. He was tired, somewhat delirious, and giddy. The struggle of this day was reflected on his face, as well as his bruised legs and arms. I was proud beyond words. In the end, Pete was right. It was an unforgettable event, the “experience of a lifetime.” I found courage in the face of fear and met amazing individuals along the way. Yes, it was tough but outside my comfort zone is the only place worth living.