Ron Moore's 2021 Barkley Marathons Report

 Ron Moore
My Barkley 2021 Race Report

Prologue

I first applied for the 2016 Barkley after a top-10 finish at the 2015 Barkley Fall Classic - a 50K race in
Frozen Head State Park that I consider the fetal, not baby, version of the big Barkley. I was fortunate enough to get on the wait list on that first application. I faithfully applied each year as I bubbled up higher on the weight list. Finally, I got drawn into the main field for the 2020 race that was, of course, eventually cancelled due to COVID. (The state park system revoked all permits for planned group events, and the Barkley was a casualty.)
 

At last, I was able to toe the line at the 2021 Barkley - albeit it was different than previous years due to travel restrictions that kept many international entrants at home, as well as some COVID protocols that precluded some fun things like the pot-luck grazing the night before the race and the hanging of the license plates from allthe previous virgins.

The lead-up

 
My training over the winter did not go as intended. I had some nagging injuries off and on, as well as a
strained calf/achilles that kept me from running for a 3 week period in late January-mid February. I could still power hike hills and mountains, and I would work out on machines twice a day in the garage and at the Y, but my overall fitness was down without being able to do quick road runs. So be it.
 

As the race COVID protocols developed, it was deemed that all crew would need to have been already
vaccinated or had COVID and demonstrate antibody presence. That eliminated my wife Patty from being my crew. Other runners also needed eligible crew. I thought of a fellow Penn State track & XC alum who is a podiatrist and a big fan of the Barkley. Well, he and his podiatrist & Penn State alum wife both thought it was agreat idea...Laz also thought having a COVID protocol czar in camp was a good idea. So, Dave and Barb joined the fray to take temperatures and address other medical issues (like broken bones)!
 

As a bonus, one week before the race, my eyeglasses broke. Since I am, uh, a mature fellow, I need to
wear progessive lenses to fulfill my distance and reading vision needs. It turned out my older spare glasses weren’t good enough any longer for me to read a map or compass very well. Fortunately, I was able to get a quick turnaround on new glasses - I picked them up on my way to Frozen Head for the race. (Whew.)

The race

 
It had been obvious for days that the weather was going to be an issue for the race. Forecasts suggested
up to 2 inches of rain starting before midnight of race day through the early morning with > 30 mph winds above 3000 feet elevation. The course was going to be awfully slippery and the creeks would be running fast during the race. Since I live only an hour from the park, I drove up the day before to set up my tent while it was still dry, and then slept at home before returning the next day. As folks were arriving at the park the day before the race, it was already raining off and on. After unloading most of my gear into the tent, I checked in with Laz and Sandra (the race director and his wife) at the usual campsite 12 to pick up my race packet. I wore a special shirt that my daughter Elizabeth made for me after I learned I had made it into the 2020 race; the shirt had been sitting in my closet unworn for over a year.

(Photos by Dave Baskwill and Hiram Rogers)
 

The next task was to mark up my park map from the master map showing the checkpoint book locations and the prescribed route for a loop. Nothing terribly surprising there since I have seen race maps for a few years while I was crewing for my friend Hiram. I then drove to Wartburg to pick up a Subway sandwich for dinner and a couple other items at Darnell’s Market. After eating the sandwich and socializing a bit, it started to rain - not too hard, but enough to chase people inside - especially the runners who needed to rest.

The big question, as usual, was when would Laz blow the conch that signified one hour until the race
start? Would we be running in the worst of the storm? The race can begin between midnight and noon on race day, and we would find out only when we heard the conch. (Just a small mind game to add to the physical challenge.) Before I turned out my light at 9 pm, I reviewed the race map and directions, and wrote some notes in a small waterproof notebook. The rain and wind grew in intensity as I tried to fall asleep.

 I woke immediately when the sound of the conch resonated through the campground at 2:04 AM...
OK, not bad - I did get some sleep. Lights turn on inside tents around the campground. I hear Dave and
Barb stirring in the tent beside mine. Water is still hitting the tent, but apparently it’s mostly just dripping off the trees - the rain was rather light. I learned that the hour before the race begins goes by quickly. After lubricating that which I must (shout out to Greg Feild for those who know him and his quote from his first marathon) and then putting on my running attire, I walked up to site 12 to gather my official race timepiece - no other watch may be used (a rule in place for just a couple years). No smart watch, no GPS, no altimeter, nothing electronic can be carried by a runner - the only navigational items allowed are your map and a compass.

The previous race watches were cheap, Timex knock-offs that at least had a stopwatch and an alarm (to wake you up if you needed a nap somewhere on course). This edition of the Barkley watch was especially low tech:

Well, at least this pocket watch had a battery - no winding necessary. Folks chuckled about whether the
younger participants could even read an analog watch face. I found it to be particularly useless, but I stuffed it into my jacket pocket anyway in case I really needed to know the time - not the time of day though. Laz sets the race watches in advance to read midnight when the race begins, so that you can know the time since the start - important if you’ll be close to the cutoff for a loop.

As I continued to prepare back at my campsite, Hiram came up to me to say that Dave fell in the culvert
by the bath house, and he likely broke his right wrist. What the hell? Now, while I’m trying to get ready for the start? Anyway, Barb was with him, so I pressed on with preparation. Backpack - check. 3 liters of grape Gu Roctane in the bladder - check. Map - check. Compass & spare compass - check. Headlamps and extra batteries - check. Candy, sourdough pretzel nuggets, Chik-Fil-A sandwiches - check, check, check. Baggie for the book pages - check. Notes - check. A quick potty stop - check.
It was 53 degF and still raining lightly, so I was wearing a GoreTex jacket over a short sleeve Smartwool shirt. On the bottom, I was wearing my usual compression shorts and running shorts over top, plus compression calf sleeves, Smartwool socks, and my favorite trail shoes - Hoka One One Speedgoat 4. You know what, I will go back to grab the GoreTex pants just in case the weather turns bad again at elevation. (I stuffed them in the backpack, but I never needed them.) I went up to the famed yellow gate as Laz was reading the names of Barkers who had passed away. Soon afterward, he lit a cigarette - the signal that the race was on… 

As usual, the race begins with an easy 2 mile climb up a candy-ass trail (what Laz calls the public park
trails). Everyone’s shoes got wet early thanks to all the run-off from the rain. I took off my jacket just a few switchbacks up and tied it around my waist. Near the top of the climb, there was someone coming back down the trail. WTF? Apparently this person forgot their race bib, and he couldn’t remember his number! (You need to know your number so you can rip out that page from the books at the checkpoints.) Oof.

The fog was a problem, too, up high. Just like driving on a foggy night with your headlights on, there
was a lot of backscatter of the headlamp light from the fog. Having moisture on your glasses doesn’t help either, so that slowed me down somewhat on the way to the first book. There was a bigger group than I expected at Book 1 - at least a dozen people - I probably waited 1 ½ minutes to rip out my page and start a rather slippery, muddy descent. I lost track of how many times I went down on my butt. I hurt my left shoulder a bit on one of the falls. At a narrow slot we would pass through, there were a couple of people waiting as I  approached. I slipped and fell then butt-slid toward the notch, and knocked one of them over. (I don’t know
who you were, but I apologize. Gravity and a lack of friction are a bitch combination.)

After a knee-deep creek crossing, the next climb commenced. About halfway up, I came across a wild
boar piglet scurrying alone among the rocks. Such a cute little thing - white with brown markings.
Immediately, I wondered if the momma hog was nearby. The wee one wasn’t crying, and I didn’t hear any grunting from a sow, but I sped up a little anyway to put some distance between myself and the piglet.

At some point while running on another candy-ass trail alone in the fog with the wind howling through
the trees, I heard an odd sound just behind me. Did I just drop something? Sure enough, I turned around and saw my compass lying on the trail. It had just slipped off the lanyard - the design could be better since it has happened before under less important circumstances. (Remember that I carried a spare compass just in case…)

I nailed the first half of the next descent, so I was feeling pretty good about navigating alone so far.
However, that feeling didn’t last long. I have no idea what happened as that descent continued. I did
deliberately move a little left to avoid some large rocks, and I thought I got myself back on track afterward. At least I was going the direction I wanted, and I was seeing things I should be seeing - or so I thought in that foggy night. I kept descending, but then I started thinking I had gone too far - where is that next landmark? I looked at my compass and saw I was going due west. Huh? Did I really go so far that I started following the XXX? Can’t be. Shit. Time to reset, so I decided to climb back up to a candy-ass trail that I knew. I think I
burned close to an hour. (Maybe I should have looked at that infernal pocket watch.) Fortunately, I saw a group of headlamps coming toward me, so I waited. Well, well - it was my training partner Hiram and several others! I’m saved! I joined the group to descend the intended way, and then I left them to start the next climb quickly to try and make up the lost time. (Even a few days later, I cannot figure out what the hell I did on that fouled up descent.)

It was encouraging when I could switch off the headlamp as night turned into day early on the next
climb. For a while, it was (relatively) easy going, passing through areas of the park I know well. After pausing at a cairn to pay my respects to the fallen Barkers, I made a quick and rather muddy stop at the first water drop where I caught up with a runner from a group of 3 who had been together just a little earlier. We stuck together as we navigated through unfamiliar territory, but we were successful at locating the next book without any issues. In fact, we caught up with the other two runners from the previous group of 3 who could not find that book - we called out to them when we saw them struggling to lend them a hand. I took off again to climb, climb, climb. (I will say that I found the famed Leonard’s Butt Slide more difficult to climb rather than descend. How do folks do that 5 times?) I crossed paths with the group led by Hiram near the top of the Butt Slide.
 

The climb kept going up to just below a peak, but I ended up going to the top without seeing what I
expected to see. I was a little confused by the written directions describing the area as compared to what I saw.I backtracked and found that original group of 3 runners together, and this time they pointed me in the right direction. Thanks, I appreciated it!

What goes up must come down. I was alone again as I began a descent on a narrow ridge. Shortly, I
approached a rock wall that came to a point. I saw a notch in the wall that could be used to shimmy down to the next level; indeed, there were footprints showing that other runners had used that notch. I thought to myself “Be careful, it looks like there’s some mud at the edge…” - and suddenly I slid off the wall and was falling through the air. Immediately I was scared because I knew it was not going to be a soft landing. I saw the rock that was becoming my ultimate destination, but I wasn’t sure which part of my body was going to make contact first. Thankfully, it wasn’t my head. The sharp pain on my left side was the first clue, the increased pain when breathing was the other - I was certain I had broken a rib or two. Ouch. After collecting my wits and 4 determining there didn’t seem to be any more serious damage, I realized how fortunate I was on that landing. (Ididn’t see the gash on my left knee until later. A nice bruise developed on my left hip, too.)

So, now what? I was nearly as far away from camp as one can be on the course. There was no shortcut,
and I could still walk. Therefore, keep moving forward. I finished the descent, and navigated to the next book.The next climb was a good test - nice and steep. Yeah, the rib hurt, but it was tolerable. Easy navigation - right to the book. I tried running down the next descent, but that was a no-go. Each jarring step caused searing pain in the rib. So, I walked most of that easy descent. Damn. The next major climb was a little ratty, if you know what I mean. The first 25% or so was rather steep and slippery. That was very difficult for me being able to use only one arm to hold on to a hiking pole, cable, or shrub to help pull myself up. Whatever thoughts I had about finishing the first loop evaporated there. There was no way I wanted to descend that section and risk another (likely) fall. So, I finished the rest of that climb strong to reach the water stop at the fire tower. It was great to see some friends up there. (Thanks!) Surprisingly to me, I had finished all of the electrolyte in my 3 L backpack bladder, so I filled up with water. I only needed it for the 3.5 mile hike back to camp, because I
decided to drop out at the fire tower. 

Again - damn. It was an honor to have Dave the Bugler play Taps for me
when I arrived back to the yellow gate.

(Me about to crest Rat Jaw. Photo by a photographer named Kajsa whom I did not meet, but I wish I did. The photo was forwarded to me by a friend)

It was fantastic to finally toe the line at the Barkley. I had been waiting a while to get off the wait list
and make it into the field. The weather was crappy, but that’s always the wild card. My legs were feeling just fine, so I’m disappointed about the broken rib (yes, confirmed later by x-ray). My first Barkley was not a real test of my physical and mental endurance. I estimate I (only) went over 18 miles with 11,000 feet of elevation gain (7.5 miles after the rib-breaking fall) including the extra from my navigation mistake early on and the hike back to camp. Hopefully, with a persuasive application essay, Laz will let me back in the race sooner rather than later.

 Epilogue

 
Four days later, I was able to pull a shirt over my head, and put on socks and shoes without assistance.
The rib bothers me a fair amount, and I can feel it every step I walk. (No running for 5 more weeks.) It lookslike I may have a bitchin’ scar on my knee...the gash was a little wider than I thought.

Acknowledgments

 
First and foremost - thank you to my wife Patty for putting up with this stupid stuff I like to do. When
Barkley training season rolls around, I disappear for long training runs more than usual. Love you!
Thanks to my training partner Hiram and his wife Jean. If I’m out running hill and mountain repeats,
it’s usually with Hiram. I also appreciate Hiram trying to pass along his wisdom about the Barkley Marathons.

We also have good discussions about geology and physics while we’re out in the wild.

Thanks to Dave and Barb for joining the Barkley family in an unexpected way this year. It was fun
having you visit, and I know you had a good time in camp. (At least when you weren’t breaking bones of your own, Dave.)