Frozen Sasquatch 50K, Kanawha State Forest, West Virginia

It wouldn’t make sense for a flatlander like me to try out a new, longer race distance in the mountains instead of at home where it’s nice and flat and safe. It wouldn’t. But that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?

For my first 50K, I chose to run the Frozen Sasquatch 50K in Charleston, West Virginia. Why? No clue. Okay, that’s not completely true, it’s just that my ‘why’ is likely considered on the stronger side of cray-cray.

One, snow is a rarity in the Sunshine State. An opportunity for this native to get into some of the powdery stuff lended to the race’s appeal. I’ve never run a race in snow. Two, it was a two-loop race. I figured that would give me less of an opportunity to bail if it got difficult after the halfway point. Fewer loops means less monotony. Three, there would be mountainous terrain. I love my home state very much, but, truth be told, sometimes running there gets a bit, well, boring. Sometimes you just need to spice up the scenery. Four, I like a good challenge. Who flies out to some random town in another state to run a race distance they’ve never run before that’s going to be really challenging and there’s no way they could have possibly trained for it enough?!? Me, that’s who. Besides, taking the easier path won’t help you grow. Five, there’s a Sasquatch involved. I mean really, who doesn’t like Sasquatch??

I’ll go ahead and break your hearts now, I didn't have my new GoPro for this race like I’d hoped. I had it all charged up and ready, but then turned it on to check something before I packed it. Apparently, it went to ‘sleep’ but was not turned off. On race morning, the battery was dead. Why I didn’t plug it in the night before, just in case…who knows. The only video I have is the little bit from my iPhone and some pictures. Note to self: learn more about your GoPro before trying to use it.

I arrived on Friday midday at Yeager Airport. It’s the same airport I’m in right now, experiencing an over 7-hour delay. Ahem.

After my ON-TIME arrival Friday, I got my rental car, mapped myself to Panera for some lunch, and then swung by the running shop to pick up my bib, squatchy sticker, and a buff. I would have to finish the race to earn my wool socks. From there, I took a leisurely drive to the starting area in Kanawha State Forest. I had time before I could check in to my hotel so I figured it would be a good idea to scout the start in the daylight. Later, after checking in to the hotel, Cracker Barrel supported my racing efforts by feeding me chicken and dumplins for dinner (and some corn bread for the next day’s breakfast) while the nearby Kroger supplied the bacon and Diet Coke I would need for race morning.

It had been raining for a few days in Charleston and was still raining come race morning. It was a light rain and the temps were in the upper forties. I arrived with plenty of time, as usual. I like to be early at races. It’s a thing. The small crowd gathered in the parking lot for a few brief words and instructions before we were off.

We were no further than about a quarter mile when the running became hiking. After such a short distance, my heart rate was barely above my at-rest rate. That would soon evaporate as my legs started an aggressive campaign for more oxygen. We peeled off the road onto a trail and proceeded to begin the first ascent. This first climb ascended 685 feet over a mile of trail. I use the word ‘trail’ loosely here. To be clear, this was not running and did not look like trail. My legs were very confused.

Left Leg: I thought we were running today?

Right Leg: Yeah, me too. Are we doing box jumps?

Left Leg: No, I don’t think so. Squats?

Right Leg: No… maybe lunges? deadlifts? leg press? mountain climbers?? What’s going ON!?!

Left Leg: I dunno man, but if she thinks we can put out this kind of power for the next 5 hours then she’s outta her mind.

Trail, what trail?

I ignored my legs and their whining and continued on to the first ridge. From here, the trails alternated between rolling dirt/gravel roads and single-track trails, descending back down in between the ridges. The terrain was varied throughout. At times, it was nothing but rocks. Other times, wet leaves. Lots of times - okay, most times - it was wet, slippery mud. The longer it rained, the worse it got. I’m not much of a mountain goat so navigating the soggy single-track was more time-consuming for me than I expected. The first aid station appeared about 5 miles in. At this point I was hot and took off my jacket, hat, and gloves.

From the aid station, we began ascent number two. This one was a bit smaller, 400 feet over 3/4 a mile, but no less steep or technical. I won’t be able to stress enough that the pictures do not do the trails any justice. The harsh angles and slippery rocks challenged me, for sure. I made a conscious effort to take my time and avoid a fall, even if it meant moving slower than I wanted to or was able to. Each of the two, fairly boring videos were on upward sections of the trails. It appears that the trails are fairly flat, but the angle of my phone is matching the angle of the trail so it ‘looks’ more level than it really was.

After climb number two, there was more rolling gravel road. In theory, these roads should have been a welcome break from the climbing. Unfortunately, the gravel was more like small rock. The surface was uneven and I could feel the lumps and bumps through my shoes. I attempted to run the edges where there was more leaf pile-up and dirt, but it was tough to find a clear path that was any better than the road. Some parts of the road were covered in puddles or thick mud with no way of getting around.

After the second climb, we descended back down from the ridge on some single-track switchbacks. Again, with the wet conditions, I was hesitant to move too quickly for fear of busting it and slamming myself on a rock. Or of misstepping, falling off the switchback, and sliding down the ridge. I had my little heart set on finishing this run with all of my teeth. #goals

The descents, just as varied in steepness, were just as much work as the ascents. My quads continued to protest the working conditions. They demanded better wages and quality healthcare and… I did my best to ignore their pitiful cries for help. #legboss

The trails between the second and third ascents were quite beautiful. Moss was abundant. There were stream crossings and bright-leafed trees. Fallen trees you had to navigate both over and under criss-crossed the path. The rain continued to fall, but since this part of the race was down between the ridges the wind was minimal or absent. I thought about how I wouldn’t have seen it this way had there been snow. Sometimes what you get might turn out to be just as wonderful as what you’d hoped for.

There were a number of places in this section where you had to traverse shallow streams. At times, it was difficult to see where the trail picked up again on the other side. It was also peaceful and quiet here. The only noises were your footsteps, flowing water, the pitter-patter of raindrops, and the wind in the treetops above.

We exited the trails out to an open area that led to paved road. It was here (on the second loop) that a woman with two dogs passed me by. I was impressed with the four-legged competitors, covered from paws to belly with mud. The pavement, while you would again think a welcome relief from the other conditions, proved to be another challenge. With my neutral, unsupportive trail shoes, pavement was not my friend. I again tried to find soft places on the shoulder to run and save myself from further pounding. We ran the road for a mile or so until arriving at aid station two.

After aid station two, the last climb loomed ahead. This one went on for 1.2 miles, rising 650 feet, so slightly less difficult than the first one. Slightly. We’re splitting hairs here.

Following this climb, there was more gravel road and several single-track sections. In all, it was about 3.5 miles between aid station two and aid station three. After scooting through the third aid station, it was time for the final descent. This one would be a doozy. Downhill for a mile, dropping 620 feet, and including a number of sharp switchbacks. As the day wore on, it became more and more slippery from rain and mud.

Those skidding tracks down the steep trail were mine.

From about three-fourths of a mile away, you could see the parking lot during the last few switchbacks of the trail. After completing the first loop, we stopped at a pavilion at the end of the lot for drop bags and refueling before heading out to the second loop. For me, I packed in another two packs of Clif Bloks, traded fluid bottles and was gone. I had brought extra shoes in case I wanted to change. My feet were already soaked but they weren’t cold, so I decided just to deal with the sloshing and keep the shoes I had. At this point, I felt optimistic. I knew it was unlikely that I would make it in 7 hours for a finish. My watch and phone were both accidentally stopped early in the race so I had no idea of mileages until I got to the third aid station on the first loop. My legs were already tired but I felt like I could finish it. I also had some confidence in knowing exactly what was coming. I knew how many climbs and descents, how steep, and where to run and where to walk. And I only had to do it one more time. I praised myself for the good call on choosing a two-loop course.

Surprisingly, my fueling went well and I didn’t hit a wall. My legs were definitely getting more and more toasted with every step, exerting so much effort in climbing. They aren’t used to that sort of thing in their mostly sea-level home. Despite that, I didn’t find it difficult to continue moving forward. Clearly I wasn't moving at any notable rate of speed. Like, ever. But, I WAS moving. Continuously.

After the second aid station, second loop.

At the second aid station on the second loop, I asked how much further to the finish. I had no idea of distances during the first loop since all my technology went rogue. I just keep plotting along, following the little blue ribbons like breadcrumbs. “A bit over 7 miles to the finish,” the man told me as I popped open a Pringles can for a few chips. '“F—- Yeah!!!” I said. I was excited. Sore, but excited. I knew what was left, and 7 miles sounded like nothing when I thought about the full distance and all those long training miles I’d put in before then.

Me and my soggy self left the aid station with a new sense of purpose. I had completed 24 miles. After just two more miles, I would be at a distance that was longer than I’ve ever run before in a single event or training run. Just two miles and I would be in new territory, and on THIS terrain. Florida girl might be out of her element but she was getting it done.

So far, I’d done fairly well at picking up my street feet and had only barely tipped a few roots and rocks with my toes in those first 24 miles. With my newly uplifted spirit after the second aid station on the second loop, my mind was clearly more focused on finishing rather than picking up my feet anymore. In the half mile before the third and final aid station, I must have tagged my toes at least 3 times before I delivered myself a furious fourth kick. With my right foot, I slammed my big toe into a rock that left my whole foot zinging. Yeah, I was gonna need to walk that one off. Fortunately, it happened about 20-30 yards before the aid station as I exited a trail onto the gravel road. The few minutes of walking to and refueling at the station was enough to get the sting to subside. I did remain upright when I hit the rock, though, which I considered a monumental feat considering the leg fatigue.

The time it took to cover the three or so miles after that final aid station felt like no time at all. It was still quite slow, and still a bit laborious on any section with the slightest inkling of an incline, or decline for that matter. But it was going to happen. Finishing was imminent. This thing was in the bag.

As I left the trail for the last time and entered the parking lot, I noticed there were very few cars left. At this point I wondered if there was anyone still behind me or if I was indeed last. I slowly shuffled through the parking lot to the finish line where the race director came out of the cozy building to greet me. Another wonderful semi-surprise was at the finish to greet me as well: my Mom. She lives in North Carolina, and after chatting with her on the Thursday before I left, she and her husband decided to drive the 6 hours up to Charleston to be my finish-line cheering section. I had hugs from all (even the race director!) and made my way into the cozy building to get some food and warm up. 

Turns out I was not last, but close. I finished 54 of 61 with a time of 7:56:58, and the last of 6 runners in the 40-99 females age group. To finish in my usual place in the middle of the pack would have taken quite a bit more training on this kind of course. All things considered, I was quite satisfied with my efforts. One of the things I enjoy most about going to new places to run is that you never know what you’re getting into. It’s part of the excitement to be surprised and often challenged by some part of the experience. I knew it would be rocky and technical, but I couldn’t really know “how” rocky and technical. I knew it would be raining, but I didn’t know “how” the constant rain would affect my ability to traverse those rocky and technical trails.

It took me 3.5 half hours to finish the first loop, which actually put me on target with my “hopeful” target finish time of 7 hours. If I had run the 25K, I would have placed somewhere around 60 of 110 25K finishers.

As I’m finishing up my thoughts about the run (finally on a plane bound for home), I’m reflecting on what I can do to improve my training for the next time I get to run trails like those in the Kanawha State Forest. I feel like the linear distance was manageable. My training miles and schedule were solid.

The thing that was missing was the preparation for climbing, not for rolling hills. Hills? I’ve Run the Bluegrass, I know a few hills. I’m thinking more along the lines of cross-training types of activities to build a more well-rounded base in my legs. I pretty much just run. Kind of a one-trick pony, so-to-speak. While the running base I do have has allowed me to complete this event, the addition of some varied training would have allowed me to complete it more efficiently. I guess I need to practice going up and down a set of stairs for a dozen miles or so in one session.

More trail time is also needed in order to improve my confidence on uneven ground. It’s one thing to tip-toe and quickstep over roots and rocks on relatively flat ground. In Florida. It’s quite another to do it on a slope in slippery conditions. In the West Virginia Mountains. In winter. I’ve never been known to be a coordinated individual, regardless of what I believe about my dancing skills after a few glasses of wine, so more training miles on trails will definitely pay off in the future.

And there we have it. The not-so-frozen Frozen Sasquatch 50K. I didn’t make my 7-hour target, and it didn’t snow, and my immediate family couldn’t come, and my GoPro didn’t work, and my watch quit, and my Runkeeper stopped, and my flights were delayed… But I REALLY enjoyed this event. For non-runners, it’s hard to wrap your head around how it could at all be “fun”. But runners? Y’all get it, I know. It was a beautiful place and I am grateful to have had the opportunity to be there and experience it. I never did get the chance for that selfie with Sasquatch. He must have disappeared for a nap after such a long day.

But you never know. There’s always next year…