Zero Degree Hill Climb
Having a blast in the freezing cold at 7AM. Winter Wild # 1 race report
Despite the variety of mountain, ultra, trail and road races that I competed in last year, I never ended up running up and down a mountain, on alpine ski trails in extremely cold weather, at the crack of dawn. How could I have missed out on so much fun?
Races like this actually exist—they make up the Winter Wild series—and as miserable as they may sound, my first race turned out to be a blast!
The race was the opener of the 2014 series and held at Wachusett Mountain in Massachusetts. What pushed me over the edge into signing up this year was a combination of things: I finally got the right gear—micro-spikes for my running shoes. The race was cheap at only $15 (with discount code from the Facebook page). And, over the late summer and fall, I had been hearing the experiences of my friends in my trail running group about how fun it was last year to race in the series. My friend Mike, in particular, was passionate in his description of the starting line. The way he described it sounded almost magical—I had to find out for myself what it was all about.
Race morning
The forecast for the morning of the race predicted the temperature to be -7°F, but we lucked out with a balmy 0°F at the bottom of the mountain. Even though it was really cold, everyone was in a good mood. There was an infectious energy in the air at the start. It was ridiculous for us to be doing this, but the cold and challenge of it was what brought everyone together.
This energy, and sense of camaraderie, was what Mike had described to me months before, as we were on a summer trail run and the cold of winter was a distant memory for us both. As I stood at the starting line in the cold morning light, I knew he meant. I looked around and saw people I knew from the running club, young kids, older runners in their 60s and 70s, racers with snowboards strapped to their backs—all 200 of them sporting various defenses against the bitter cold.
One gal was wearing tights that only went down to mid-calf. One guy looked like he had a hundred layers on and I wondered how he could possibly run like that. Nancy Dunbar, from my running club, was wearing snowboarding boots. There was an old-school guy with a long white beard wearing jeans. I was wearing tech-layers topped with a windbreaker, warm winter hat, ski goggles, winter gloves, two pairs of Darn Tough socks, winter running tights, and micro-spikes over my favorite Inov-8 trail-running shoes.
There a few categories in the Winter Wild races. In the Open category, you can run up in just shoes/boots, wearing micro-spikes, or wearing snowshoes. There is the Heavy Metal category, where racers carry up a snowboard or alpine skis and boots, and ride them down. There are track ski and telemark categories as well. Whatever you take up, you take back down.
We all looked pretty ridiculous, and we were all about to run a course that most people would think insane—at 7AM, in zero degree weather. Everyone was smiling, even under their scarfs and balaclavas. We were embracing the winter and the cold. We were welcoming it. Our collective presence said: “Bring it on winter, we’re here to have fun!”
Let the climbing begin
Race director Chad Denning counted us down from ten, and with that, we were off, a motley looking crew, charging up the mountain. He guaranteed that we wouldn’t be cold after about two and half minutes. For the most part, he was correct, but I had started with the toes on my right foot feeling pretty cold and they did not seem to want to warm up, even as everything else on my body that was covered with clothing started sweating.
The balaclava I was wearing covered my mouth at first, but I quickly pulled it down because I could not take in enough air. I was glad it was covering my neck and helping keep my bald head warm too. I also had goggle, but started with them up on my forehead. I figured the wind, or at least, the fast decent down would warrant their use. Everyone seemed to be moving pretty fast, still running over the first five minutes or so, and I could still see the front of the pack, so I was happy with my place thus far.
The 2.6 mile course starts with an initial climb on Ralph’s Run that is 20% grade at first and then drops down to 10% or so near the top of the trail. I was happy that I actually ran this whole section, but I could feel the leaders pulling away from me. At one point, I heard the crunch-crunch-crunch of someone coming up behind me, and then felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see my buddy Brandon Baker there, smiling as usual. He complimented me on my look, (which makes sense now that I know what I looked like!), and promptly left me in the dust, (or, snow I should say).
I did notice that as Brando was leaving me behind, that he pulled off to the side and ran where there were no tracks from the other’s spikes or skis yet. This was a good tip. The trail was freshly groomed and very cold, so the spikes grabbed well. Where others had run before, the footing was looser and you had to work harder. I took Brando’s tip and found a line that was untrodden and stuck to it.
Chad said that we’d go up this first climb, take a left onto the “Mass Pike”, and then we’d hit a wall. I was pleased to discover, after pounding out Ralph’s Run, that most of the Mass Pike was flat, or downhill. This was a great moral boost in the middle of the race. Up until that point, it was digging toes in and climbing, and my right foot was not getting any warmer. The Mass Pike offered me a chance to open up my stride, and feel like I was running fast. It felt great, and was just the right medicine for what was come—the wall.
The wall
I knew it was coming, so it was not that big of a deal, but “the wall” that Chad had mentioned was steep. 35%-40% grade steep. This was the only part of the course that I did not run. I just shifted down into low gear, pumped my arms like mad, and power-hiked my way up. Slow and steady. I don’t think my heels touched the ground at all over this section. I noticed a lot of people switching in and out of trying to run, walk or power hike. I ended up passing some of these experimentalists by just keeping a slow, but consistent, power-hike up the wall.
The “top” of the wall leveled off a bit for the last 1/10 of a mile, down to a more reasonable 15% grade. I started running in fits and spurts over this section, feeling anxious to reach the top. When I rounded the corner to the top of the chair lift, I noticed how beautiful the sky was, bright with pinks and blue. It was a gorgeous day, and now I had a breathtaking view!
I felt a huge rush—I felt, alive. I don’t know how else to explain it. I was on top of a mountain at sunrise, running hard, with hundreds of other people despite the cold and snow. I thought about my friends Amos and Emily, Brandon and Chad, and the other volunteers who were here hours earlier, setting up the race—because they love it. I thought about Deb and Shannon, who I carpooled to the race with. Lori, Nancy, Fab and Paul—all of them I met through running. We were all here because we love it. We were racing alone, but I knew we were all sharing this.
What goes up, must come down
I ran a crazy race in the summer at Bretton Woods ski resort, and learned an important lesson: running down an alpine ski trail is fast and dangerous. It’s a whole lot better with a good layer of groomed snow and spikes on your shoes, but still insanely fast.
The last mile of the 2.6 mile course is all downhill—mostly between 20-30% grade. As I passed the top of the ski-lift and gazed down the mountain, I thought about Mike Tegart’s email to our running club the day before:
“These races, at least for me, are really two different events. Up and Down are totally different beasts.” —Mike Tegart
I’m a decent downhill runner, but I had to really concentrate running down this beast. I found if I went straight down, gravity really started to scare me. The footing was excellent, because of the groomed trails and the spikes, but the speed and angle made me nervous. I found myself tightly switchbacking, two or three feet on either side, to maintain control. There were two runners with me at the top of the decent, but they pulled away as we went farther down. I was not brave enough to keep that kind of speed up at that angle.
I kept it fast, smart and safe the whole way down. I ran to the finish line to the sounds of cheers and the feel of ice in my beard, crossing at 29:39, making my goal of a sub-thirty minute finish. I was 24th overall. I ran into Brandon, who took 3rd place, and we congratulated one another. Then, I ran back to the base of the final trail and cheered the other racers on until I got too cold to stay outside.
When I went inside, I had to splash hot water on my beard to clear out all of the ice. If that’s not an indicator of a good race, I don’t know what is.
