Burning River Race Report

Now that I’ve given myself a week and a half to digest a race that took me 23:36:26 to complete and have put most of the bumps, bruises, stiffness, swelling, etc. in the rearview, I feel I finally have the capacity to put into words my Burning River experience. This will be a race report only insomuch as it will discuss my feelings/observations about Burning River and, in so doing, the 100-mile discipline of the ultramarathon—it would be impossible for me to remember many (let alone all) of the aid stations, segments of the course in between each, etc.

The course/weather: A-. Beautiful, well maintained, and diverse enough to keep my mind from wandering (which could make for a very long race, if I’m constantly reminded that I’m indeed running). Well marked (with a single exception: just after Shadow Lake, approximately 19 miles in) and well shaded. The weather was perfect (primarily in the 70s and a bit overcast), allowing for solid trails and very little overheating. I don’t think I could have picked a better inaugural ultra, and believe most ultramarathons would be hard-pressed to match the course/weather combo.

Race organization/volunteers: A+. From the very thorough runner’s packet (complete with directions to each aid station, elevation changes, aid station-to-aid station segment descriptions, etc.) to the course guide with YouTube videos (provided by Chaney Events) of nearly every segment , I had a very clear picture of the race in its entirety prior to toeing the starting line. As for the volunteers, I can’t say enough for/about them. With 400+ of them, each aid station had multiple volunteers clamoring to assist you—I’m pretty sure I never filled my own water bottle, and very rarely did I have to gather my own foodstuffs. They wanted me to have home-made soup, boiled potatoes and pizza. Every volunteer had a smile affixed to their face, words of encouragement to provide, and info regarding the next course segment readily on-hand. One guy (58.6 miles in) took it upon himself to repeatedly douse me with water from giant, ice-cold sponges…I thought it laughingly excessive at the time, but was happy he’d done it shortly thereafter. But volunteer numero uno was, without a doubt, my pacer Dave. Not only was he stuck with me--a guy he’d only ever spoken with via email--for the last 46.6 miles, he was stuck with me the last 20 or so miles, when my legs were no longer cooperating and my mind was overtaken by surliness and negativity. We discussed 7:00 AM leadership classes, weird foot nodules, and too-stupid-to-not-be-funny jokes. He made me eat bananas and potatoes, and shared the last of his water with me when he too was thirsty. He didn’t laugh at me when, 95-miles in, I thought a rock and some tree branches were a cow statue, nor did he mind being laughed at (when I asked him if he wore either glasses or contacts and he answered with a “hmmm,” as if to say he wasn’t quite sure. I would later find out that he hadn’t fully heard the question). He made every mile I ran/walked/limped with him more enjoyable/bearable that they would have otherwise been. Thanks, Dave (and to your lovely wife Tamara, for tagging along and helping to keep our spirits up, too).

How I felt mentally/physically, and what that means for my ultramarathon career going forward: C+ (if not for the final 20--give or take a few--miles, this rating would have been much higher). As the race progressed, I found my running/walking ratio slowly slipping—I was still running more than I walked, but I was walking downhills I previously would have run, etc. I believed this a normal occurrence for all but the most seasoned ultramarathoners, and taken in conjunction with the fact that I knew I’d under-trained for the race, assumed it par for the course. I’d already fallen twice within the first 40 miles (once after tripping over a root and once after slipping on a slick rock during an attempted babbling brook crossing), and though a little sore from each, was no worse off for having done so. My right knee started protesting about 60 miles in, but wasn’t hampering me very much, if at all. Shortly thereafter, a tendon behind my left knee started to tighten up on me, and I had to stop from time to time to try and stretch it out. By Covered Bridge 1 (80.8 miles in), my right knee had moved from an occasional dull ache to more of a constant throb (exacerbated by running), and the tendon behind my left knee felt like it had shortened to about half its normal length. I primarily spent the final 20 miles of the race walking (especially the last 10), with a minute or two of running sparingly interjected. I was so stiff (and tired) after the race that, though I knew better, I went to bed without stretching or ice bathing. When I awoke 3-4 hours later, my left calf/ankle were nearly double the size of my right, and I likened the way I stood and/or walked to a dinosaur. Crude rendering below--click to enlarge.



A week and half later, I am still feeling some stiffness/discomfort in both legs, but these are simply “overuse injuries” that come with the territory and require nothing further than anti-inflammatories and two bouts of stretching each day.

Will I run another ultramarathon? Yes, and hopefully sooner rather than later. But only after I train harder/smarter, so that my body is better able to handle the mileage requirements I place upon it.

Below are some pictures provided by bystanders along the course—I’ll get some personal pictures uploaded in short order, upon the culmination of my current house/dog/grandpa-sitting venture.