Haulin’ Aspen: Bend, Oregon, Aug 12, 2023 – Marathon #25
I honestly don’t even know where to start with this race. I knew going into the Haulin’ Aspen Marathon that it would present challenges I hadn’t encountered before. But, I could never have predicted the series of setbacks I’d face. A few months before the race, I almost backed out entirely. I’m a road runner, NOT a trail runner, and for those of you who didn’t know, there’s a huge difference between the two. From the shoes you wear to your form and mindset, trail running is a whole different beast. And of course, I chose one of the toughest courses out there.
Race day started early—I couldn’t sleep. I arrived at the race site by 5:15 am, and it was a cool 51°F. I knew it would warm up once the race started, but my hands took about 90 minutes to thaw out. I was already nervous because I was so out of my element, and nothing could have truly prepared me for how difficult it would be. The altitude, rough terrain, and dust all had my mind questioning my sanity. But then, as I mingled with the other runners, it became clear: I wasn’t like the others. I could feel the difference, and some were quick to point it out. “Oh, you’re a road runner!” one person said, chuckling and adding, “Good luck.” He didn’t think I’d finish. When I told them it was my first trail race, another runner remarked, “You probably should’ve picked an easier one.” Well, as most of you know, easy isn’t in my nature.
At the starting line, my nerves were running high, but my desire to finish strong—and that little smirk from the guy who doubted me—kept me going. We took off, and barely a mile into the race, I heard the loudest thud right behind me. Someone had fallen. I didn’t dare look back, but people were asking if the runner was okay, and I said a silent prayer: “Please, Lord, don’t let me fall.”
Then came the downhill section between miles 8 and 9. I thought I was getting into a groove. There were a few people ahead of me, and a guy in a red shirt behind me. And then, just like that, I went soaring through the air. I landed hard on my knee and hand. The guy behind me asked if I was okay, and I bounced up only to fall again, hitting my ribs and shoulder on a rock but somehow avoiding my head and face. He asked again if I was okay, but before I could answer, I fell for a third time—this time landing on my knees and hand. I just laid there in the bushes, holding my breath, hoping he would pass me by. I was embarrassed, disoriented, and honestly, I felt like I wanted to die—18 more miles to go. But then, all of a sudden, something clicked, and I popped up, cursing and running down that hill as fast as I could. It felt like my ass was on fire, but I was running again.
I eventually let the guy in the red shirt pass me so I could cry in peace, but I kept thinking about the guy at the starting line who didn’t think I’d finish. By the time I reached the 11-mile aid station, I was getting some care for my bloody hand. A few other runners were there, and when they heard me say it was my first trail race, one of them looked at me and said, “Oh, road running is mindless. You don’t have to think about anything!” In that moment, I wanted to punch him in the face, but instead, I channeled that frustration into fuel to keep going.
In the end, I finished the race in 6:14—not the time I wanted, but I did it. My watch, like most others, clocked the course about 1.2 miles longer, so technically, I would’ve hit my target time. I ended up in 2nd place in my division, and now I can say I’ve completed one of the toughest trail marathons in Oregon. Not many women my age sign up for this race because of how hard it is, and I didn’t even know that when I registered. But I’m proud I took on the challenge.
Fast forward to Sunday morning. I couldn’t sleep, and my body was sore from all the falls. I got up at 2:00 am, showered, and decided to drive to the coast since my flight didn’t leave until 10:00 am. Well, that plan was quickly derailed. I had a blowout and was stranded on the side of the road by 4:15 am, waiting for roadside assistance. It was crazy.
After 3.5 hours, still no roadside help, but then a local guy named Rob stopped on his way to work. He changed my tire in about 10 minutes—shoutout to Rob! I didn’t get the chance to take my planned drive along the Oregon coast, but I believe everything happens for a reason. I grabbed breakfast and then headed to the airport.
This race left me bruised and battered, but I’m glad I accepted the challenge.