I  hear about hard trail races. The Wahsatch Steeplechase is one them. But all those other trail races lack one element which makes the “Steeplechase”stand out from the rest – rock climbing. This race is definitely not for trepidatious, safety conscious, acrophobics. If heights make you queezy, you need not apply.
   This race is literally up one side of a mountain and back down the other. The hills are relentless, and therein lays the challenge. It’s a seemingly never ending onslaught of climb after climb, with brief sections of gentle climbing which is the best opportunity you're going to get to catch your breath. And if you think you’re hanging in there ok, it has the last word on that by saving the most brutal climb for last. This was my second year running it, and it helped immensely knowing what lay ahead. As I watched everyone dash off at the start line, I thought to myself, “fools, I’ll see them before long.”
   A friend of mine was running it, and was one of those “fools” pulling away from me at the start. He knows he’s a much slower runner than me. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I let him go. A mile later, I find him walking up a hill. As I go by him, I thought I’d play with his head a little bit, and said, “if you’re walking now, what are you going to do when you get to the real hills?” That should give him something to think about for the next hour and a half of climbing.
   After spending the last year running these trails around this mountain, and adapting to the elevation, I’m running much stronger than last year. I find myself running more of these hills and only having to walk the most severe inclines, passing a lot of people along the way. I notice this, but it doesn’t mean a lot to me. It’s still me against those damn hills, and they’re getting harder and harder, so I just have to keep my head down and continue pushing. Concentrating most of the way on my form, making sure I stay as efficient as possible. Last thing I need up those hills is to waste precious energy.
    I’m on the last climb, but as I mentioned before, it’s a doozy. The kind where you put your hands on your knees to help push your legs to straighten them. The foliage is getting sparse at this point, otherwise it would be a great place to be grabbing trees and bushes to help pull yourself up. Scratch that, what you really need at this point is a ladder. If the steepness wasn't bad enough, it's all loose rock, so fotting is critical. Everytime your foot slips, it takes so  much out of you to catch yourself. I pass a girl who asks aloud, “please tell me this is the last climb.” I reply to her honestly, “the good news is, yes! It’s the last climb. The bad news is, it goes on for a while.”  After you’ve climbed about 5,000 feet in the first 6.5 miles, your nearly depleted carcass finally reaches the summit of Black Mountain. You now get to spend the next mile and a half scrambling another 500 feet up the mountains' narrow, spiny ridge which is rated 5.4 climbing in the Yosemite Decimal System. Not only is there a good bit of climbing, but there’s lots of exposure. One slip and it’ll be a while before you hit the ground. Sheer drop-offs on both sides keep you “on edge” the whole way. Since you’re running along the top of a geological plate that’s been pushed up to near vertical, you’re running/climbing atop sharp ridged rock slab which poke up through the bottom of your shoes. It pays to have a really bomber pair of trail shoes. The notion of a dirt trail becomes pleasant nostalgia while you’re navigating the cracks and crevasses along the peak. Route finding here can be key, since there’s no longer a trail to follow. Last year I was lucky and had some others to follow. This year, I was alone. Lucky for me, I’ve done this a few times since I last raced it, so I sorta know the route. A wrong turn can leave you looking at a 30’-60’ drop-off, forcing you to do some backtracking to find out where you went off course. Either that, or take a risk in climbing your way out sans protection, which I’ve heard of instance of people doing that, albeit very rare. I only make one small mistake navigating the crags along the ridge, but get back on track quickly. I’m so focused, I don’t even notice the potential danger. My eyes only see where I need to go and block out all steep drops to my flanks.
    After finally clearing the ridge and beginning the descent via an alpine forest, you’re still not out of the proverbial “woods” as the trail is steep, loose, and full of off camber switchbacks which will do everything possible to shake even the most cautiously tenacious of runners. Overgrown ferns cover the trail,  hiding roots and holes. Add to that fallen pinecones everywhere, and every step is like running through a minefield filling you with nervous anticipation of being violently uprooted at any moment. But it is a race after all, so you run hard and hope for the best. For the second year in a row, a rock or root hidden under the cover of foliage catches my foot and begins the imbalance that would have sent me hurtling head first off the trail and down the steep
embankemnt, where I most likely would have augured into the hillside like a javelin. Boing! But once again, with the abundance of dense foliage, I was able to make a desperate grab of a sturdy fern to not only save me from bodily harm, but right my balance and momentum keeping me moving at high speed down the trail. Phew!
   Last year I came into one of the switchbacks so fast I couldn’t negotiate the turn and slid right off the backside. It was a mad scramble back up the scree-covered embankment to the trail. This year I watched carefully for that turn! Ha – it didn't get me.  Finally you hear the roar of the winters’ runoff, a drainage creek at the bottom of the canyon. A pleasant sound signalling that he technical running is over.  Now it’s just 7 miles of blood and guts hard running down the canyon floor to the finish. This is the same trail I was lucky enough to come upon a Bobcat a few weeks ago, but with all the runners about today, I don’t expect to see anything but buzzards circling overhead.
   The beauty of this race is there's so much to it. Hard climbing, technical descents, mad scrambling, fast downhills. It seems that just when you can't take anymore (or perhaps you've just gone beyong you're limit), you're on to the next challenge. The dynamics of this race make it one of the most interesting and fun races I have ever done.
    They say that this ~17 mile race takes about your marathon time less 10 minutes to finish. That’s about right as I ran a 3:02 last year and did a marathon in 3:10. I knew just from my new strength on the uphills that I was going to PR this race, but when I came in at 2:53, it was quite a pleasant surprise. However, they did move the finish line up a bit b/c of some construction in the park where the race usually ends, so my time was probably more like 2:56.
 I’ll take it. And I’ll be back next year. After all, this is my favorite race!
                                                The Mud Puppy
RACE RESULTS:     Wasatch Steeplechase 2002