TROT Virtual Race #1: Brazos Bend 50K

Self-sufficient. I hadn't exactly intended to run this particular race. I hadn't been planning on running it even before COVID-19 and quarantine and social distancing hit us all. I had been signed up to volunteer at an aid station for the race at Brazo's Bend State Park down by Houston, my preferred place to see gators, but when the race directors cancelled every race from late February through May my volunteering was cancelled as well. Then they rolled out the virtual options for the cancelled races, offering the same distances, bibs, shirts, and medals a participant would receive during the in-person race, with the slight adjustment of letting each person run when they can, where they can. I was sold.

Running a virtual race versus an in-person race is pretty much the same thing: you put one foot in front of the other and run the distance you signed up for in what is hopefully a decent amount of time. There are a few significant differences though, as I discovered during my first TROT (Trail Racing Over Texas) Virtual Run. First and foremost, you don't have the social aspect of the race when you're doing it on your own. In this case that's the whole point, but I found myself missing the other runners and race volunteers, all of whom would normally be ready with an encouraging word and a heap of snacks at the aid stations. The aid stations were another thing I sorely missed; instead of having a table full of a variety of foods, electrolytes, and water refills, I was responsible for my own fuel during my run, carried my own water, and otherwise had to take care of myself. Sure, I could have planned my course so that I did loops or laps that took me back to my car every 5-10 miles so that I could refuel there and not carry so much, but I don't yet have the will-power to keep going when I could easily call it quits, get in my car, and go home. During a virtual race, you are also responsible for planning your own route. While there are advantages to that (hello flat trails and no elevation gain!) there are also disadvantages in the form of poor planning or just plain boring routes. Again, I could have planned my route to take me past my car somewhat frequently, but I didn't want to risk giving up. Instead, I planned a route that would take me 13+ miles away from my car, essentially forcing me to complete the distance so long as I didn't turn around before I hit the end of the trail.

While I would have preferred to run the race on the originally intended course at Brazo's Bend, I think I did rather well for myself considering I changed plans about half a dozen times. When I signed up for this race I had hoped to run it at my local state park, so that I could be close to home and because I already know the trails there. That idea was dashed when Texas closed all the state parks in response to the virus, because apparently people here (and everywhere, really) can't follow instructions to social distance. I toyed with the idea of running on the roads around my house, but I get horrible shin splints when I run on concrete and really didn't want to suffer that much. Then I hoped to run the race on a national recreation trail about an hour south of my house, in the heart of one of four national forests here in Texas, but further digging the night before I wanted to run led to the discovery that most of the 20 mile trail is closed for one reason or another. Finally, I decided to run a trail I've hiked a few times in the past, when breaking my own personal distance records in previous years: Turkey Creek Trail at Big Thicket National Preserve.

I had a pretty good idea of what I was getting myself into for this run. I'd hiked Turkey Creek Trail before, knew it was flat, if somewhat boggy in places, and it was roughly 20 miles from end to end. Hurricane Harvey wrecked havoc on the preserve and surrounding area, though, and did enough damage to the south end of the trail that they had to close it until repairs can be made. This left me with just about 14 miles to work with, running out and back, plus adding another four miles somewhere to hit that 50k mark, or 31.1 miles. I could do it. And I was bringing Ghost, too.

Ghost has found his purpose in life ever since I started running with him. He's a giant baby and hates water and heights, but if I take him out for a run he forgets everything except keeping pace with (or leading) me. We arrived at the northern trailhead for Turkey Creek just before 8am on a cloudy, cool April morning, and set out right after loading up with food and water. Ghost has his own backpack, which allows him to carry his own snacks, water, and bowl, and gives me a break from carrying extra weight. I have my own hydration vest - a gift from Torrey - that is more than sufficient to carry water, sweet and salty snacks, a rain jacket, and other little things that I would otherwise find at an aid station table. I'm generally adamant about being self-sufficient (probably a trait from backpacking and my Type A personality) and while I would have liked to ditch the weight of so many bottles of water and instead filled up at aid stations, I had no issue in relying on myself to provide what I needed. Covered in bug spray and satisfied we had everything we needed, we began.

I am not, and never will be, a fast runner. I am much more invested in distance, in pushing myself as far as I can go, in the mental battle that takes place between the logical part of me that screams what the fuck do you think you're doing, you can't go that far, and the tiny but much louder part of me that crosses her arms, raises her eyebrows, and snaps back yes, I can. I am perfectly happy with a 12, 13, or 14 minute mile. Hell, 12 minute miles are fast for me. I am just fine with power hiking when I need a break. And so I am okay with the fact that Ghost and I started out great with 12 minute miles, then eventually slowed to 16 minute miles, with a few 20 minute miles sprinkled in when I slowed down to eat a bag of M&Ms and a handful of pretzles at miles 5, 15, and 25. And those two 10-minute breaks I took at miles 10 and 20 to change my socks, eat half a Kind bar and a pickle spear, and dig out another water bottle from the bottom of my pack? No big deal.

I took the social distancing orders to heart on this race, and only saw three other human beings during the entire 31 miles, and all of them were at the trailhead as I was finishing up. On the trail itself, other than a plethora of bugs, I saw two other living creatures: a young coyote who we surprised as we rounded a bend in the trail, whom I locked eyes with before it turned tail and fled up the path before disappearing in the brush, and a copperhead snake (yes, one of the venomous ones here in Texas) whom Ghost stepped right over before I even saw it stretched across the trail, whom didn't even move as I gave a dramatic gasp and jump away from it, yanking Ghost by the leash. Neither the coyote nor the snake bothered us, and we went on our way though I was decidedly more vigilant after seeing the copperhead. I had been in a headspace that's almost a trance, the meditation state that I fall into during long runs where I'm just aware enough to keep to the trail but also removed enough to not notice how my muscles ache, how my toes are sore, how my heartbeat throbs in my fingers. After the little reminder that there are things in the woods that could send my day into a downward spiral of awfulness I was a little more aware of my surroundings, and definitely kept my eyes on the trail both in front of myself and in front of Ghost.

We reached the beginning of the trail and my car at mile 27, right around seven hours after setting out. After a quick refill of water bottles and a purging of empty ones, reapplying bug spray because the mosquitoes were swarming after the repellent wore off after twenty miles and Ghost and I were being eaten alive, plus ditching Ghost's pack, we ran back to the trail. I needed to hit 31.1 miles to reach a 50k distance, and so needed to run out and back just a couple of miles. I was in no danger of quitting, despite being near my car; I was only four miles from finishing this, I felt great, and Ghost was happy to be without his pack. We were good! It's almost stupid to admit, but the only concern I had was my phone battery dying. I used my phone to track my distance and time, and if it died on me before I finished I wasn't sure if it would record my run or if it would be lost. I ran my fastest four miles at the very end of the race, desperate for my phone battery to last. I had 10% charge, and watched that number drop at an alarming rate during the last mile. I all but sprinted it, huffing and puffing through a stitch in my side and burning calf muscles, Ghost loping alongside me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic as I ran circles around the tiny trailhead parking lot, trying to hit the last two tenths of a mile that would push me firmly over to my 50k distance. When I saw my distance numbers roll over I practically sobbed with relief, sprinting over to my car to plug my phone in while also hitting "finish" and "save workout" on the running app.

Only once I was sure that my phone was charging and my run was saved did I allow myself a little happy dance for completing my second 50K ever, my fourth race total. I showered Ghost with love and treats, so incredibly proud of him for not only finishing his first 50K distance but leading me for the entire way. He never once dragged behind, never once showed any sort of wish to slow down or stop. There were even times when he would pull insistently on the leash, clearly wanting to go faster, and it is probably because of him that I managed to shave 12 minutes off my time for that distance, finishing this 50K race in 7 hours 46 minutes. We will definitely be running a 50K together again, and it just so happens that I'm signed up for two more virtual races of that distance, with plans to sign up for four more once registration opens next month. While I might not have originally intended to run the Brazos Bend 50, and although I missed some of the things that come with a supported in-person race, virtual racing has definitely grown on me, and I'm absolutely sure Ghost enjoys it too.

Breaking Records

Jubilant. As far as goals go, it wasn't unobtainable: all I wanted to do was break my hiking distance record, preferably within a year of the last time I broke it. I set out to do that in the middle of December, headed once again to the Turkey Creek Unit of Big Thicket National Preserve, determined to hike the trail until I reached my goal of 20 consecutive miles in one day. December is an amazing time to hike in east Texas due to the facts that it is relatively cool, the mosquitoes are quieter (if not totally gone) and there is less humidity than during the summer months. Of course, winter also brings the rainy season but as long as you're prepared to get a little wet it usually isn't a problem. Oh, did I mention I wasn't going to do it alone? My favorite little white adventure buddy was coming with me!

Callie and I set out from our home before dawn and headed south, watching the sun rise on a perfect day. The miles seemed to fly by, and before I knew it we were pulling into the trailhead parking lot. Callie seemed just as ready to hit the trail as I was, and all but dragged me across the pavement toward the short boardwalk that signaled the beginning of the trail. The Thicket hadn't yet received the memo that it was winter, and still held on to its mantle of orange and yellow leaves, with some trees still proudly bearing green. We mostly walked on the litter of last year's winter, the crunchy leaves beneath our feet and the twitter of birds above our heads the only sounds in the stillness of the forest.

So, we hiked. I'm not sure how far away the roads parallelling the trail actually are, but for all we knew there wasn't anybody around for miles, nor did we see a single person on the entire trail. We had the forest completely to ourselves, and that alone made me giddy. Only once, lost in my own head, did I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone went off unexpectedly with a text from Jared. I normally don't hike with my sound on so I don't disturb the peacefulness of the trail for myself and others, but that morning I had obviously forgotten to turn it down and almost had a heart attack when it went off. I quickly pulled it out, shot off a response to Jared, turned it down, and marveled at the fact that I even had cell service at all.

It felt like I had just started walking when Callie and I reached the ten mile mark, and our turn-around point. I was good about making sure we stopped often, about every four miles or so, to rest our feet and legs, snack a little, and drink some water because I knew I wouldn't start to get tired until mile fifteen and needed to make sure both Callie's and my energy stash would last us until we hit 20 miles (and then the car). Callie and I passed through some amazing scenery, and it certainly helped keep me motivated to see more. We walked through tunnels of trees so thick it seemed like evening, open savannahs of giant long-leaf pines, and across boardwalks set above soggy marshes and bayous where cypress knees stuck up like gnome hats. The cypress bogs were my favorite, mostly because we were greeted every time we passed through them by a chorus of frogs calling even in mid-December.

At about mile eighteen, though, it started to rain. A light mist at first, which morphed into a slightly heavier drizzle, then eventually became heavy enough for me to stop in the shelter of one of the tree tunnels and dig for my rain jacket. Until that point I had been feeling fine, but the wet and the chill that came with it started making me wish our hike was over. I noticed myself slowing down, though I gave myself a mental kick in the ass every time I became aware that I was dragging. Callie never showed that she was tired, and spent the majority of the hike leading me by several feet. The energy of that little terrier amazes me. Every time I wanted a boost I just had to watch her spring along the forest trail tell myself to be more like her. Finally, seven hours, eight minutes and 20.42 miles after we started, we made it back to the trailhead and I could finally claim my new record. As I hobbled to my car and all but fell into my seat I knew that I'd be trying to break my record yet again in 2017. Who knows, maybe I'll break it more than once.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Trail Blazes? Not So Much

I've written about them before, but mushrooms amaze me. There is such a diversity of this fungus that I just have to stop and take a picture of almost every one I see. Plus, certain mushrooms taste amazing, so that helps! These mushrooms were growing on the trunk of a tree near the trail while I was hiking in Big Thicket National Preserve a few weeks ago, and the bright white caught my eye simply because I thought they were trail blazes. Closer inspection showed me they weren't, but the contrast with the mossy green trunk compelled me to take a few shots. Also, mushrooms in December! You gotta love Texas weather. I know some people don't like mushrooms, but you have to admit that they can be pretty!

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you like mushrooms! Why or why not?

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Everything is Bigger in Texas...Including the Spiders

Let me set the scene: I was walking along a trail in Big Thicket National Preserve on a bright December day that had started out around freezing with frost covering everything but had warmed up through the morning to the point that I was shedding layers as I hiked. I just so happened to be looking straight ahead at the trail in front of me when I very nearly walked straight into this gigantic spider sitting in a web that stretched the entire width of my path. I was so happy I was looking in front of me; usually I look all around me, my eyes flicking from the trail at my feet to either side and even behind me. I'm not afraid of spiders, but I have to admit that walking into a web with a spider bigger than my palm at the same level as my face would have freaked me out! I carefully found a way around the web, careful not to disturb the giant spider sitting in its center, and continued on my way. When I came back through on the way to my car, the web and spider were no longer blocking my path; I can only assume one of the other hikers had removed the web as they passed, probably a little more apprehensive of the spider than I was.

Leave me a comment below and tell me what you would have done if you'd come across a giant spider like this golden orb-weaver!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Little Hands

I love raccoons! I know they're grabby, thieving little bastards who have a tendency to be aggressive, but they're ridiculously smart and completely adorable. Imagine my delight when I came across a whole bunch of their little pawprints on a low bridge over still water while on my hike in Big Thicket. My brain instantly conjured up a little scene of this woodland cutie clinging to the bridge as it dipped whatever it had scavenged in the water below, washing it's food before transfering the tasty morsel into its mouth and setting its wet paws on the bridge, leaving little pawprints in the thin layer of dirt covering the wood. I had fun with that mental image for a while as I hiked, quickly morphing it into a fairytale fantasy of woodland creatures swarming to me a la Snow White or Cinderella. *Sigh* I can be a total romantic some times...

Leave me a comment below and let me know if I'm alone in the world regarding my fairytale fantasies... Help me out here, people!

Pushing Limits

Self-assured. As the sun rose, tree limbs above my head began to thaw and the frost encircling them rained down on me like glitter. The morning was brisk, hovering right around freezing, and my breath puffed out as smoke in front of me as I picked my way over a carpet of fallen leaves and scattered pine cones, with occasional downed branches and tree trunks strewn across the trail. I heard woodpeckers knocking on the trees, waking up the forests of Big Thicket National Preserve on one of autumn's final days. I had left my home early in the morning and drove a few hours south, intending to day-hike in the Turkey Creek Unit of the preserve, an area in Texas I had yet to explore.

The trail through the thicket was well maintained, if a little bit muddy in places. A couple of times I was forced to bushwhack on the edge of the trail around pools standing water that looked a little too deep for dry feet. I moved quickly along the relatively flat trail that wound through cypress wetlands and dry long-leaf pine groves, paralleling Turkey Creek itself. Even though it was mid-December, green leaves still flourished around me and I constantly stopped to take pictures of the trail. I'm a sucker for trail photos; nothing says "I was actually here" than taking a picture of the trail you're hiking to show people back home. Every turn and twist in the trail brought a new scene, even if was mostly of trees and water. Sometimes the trail opened up into park-like vistas, sometimes the trees closed in tightly on the trail, reminding me of walking down a long hallway or through a tunnel.

Somewhere along the trail, after I'd been hiking for several hours, I turned down a short side-trail that took me to a grassy savannah and a promise of Pitcher Plants. One of several carnivorous plants in Texas, these intriguing plants were everywhere along the boardwalk, and I spent a long time examining them before I finally moved on and continued my hike, though I'd like to go back in the summer and see even more.

For someone who adamantly enjoys solitude, hiking Turkey Creek in December, even on the weekend, delivered. I saw a grand total of five people (and five dogs) on my entire hike, which shattered my previous distance record for the 3rd time in a year, though it didn't take me nearly the amount of time some of the other hikes have. I'm going to have to say I like living and hiking near sea-level. Not only did I hike farther, faster, but it was also incredibly nice weather for someone who is used to snow and below-freezing temperatures in Demcember. Although the frost on the ground and lack of leaves on most trees reminded me that it was wintertime, the day I hiked felt more like autumn and I was shedding layers before long.

I hit my halfway point before noon and turned back, slowing down a little bit and enjoying myself. I had been concerned about having enough daylight to hike the almost 20 mile trail, but hitting my turnaround point less than halfway through the day allowed me to take my time on my way back. As I got closer to my car I definitely started feeling the miles in my knees, and internally kicked myself for letting it be so long between then and the last time I'd hiked (which had been the last time I'd broken my distance record back in September). I hobbled along the last half-mile or so, limping a little bit and slowing to a crawl. I didn't quite hit the 20 mile mark, although if I had circled back up the trail and walked back to my car I would have. That hike wasn't the one though, and I collapsed into my car after fumbling with my pack to find my keys. I was exhausted and out of practice, but still pleased that I had pushed myself and broken my own record again. Next time, I'm hitting that 20 mile mark.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: There are Carnivorous Plants in Texas!

On my recent hiking adventure in Big Thicket National Preserve, somewhere on my 19.65 mile route I took a short stroll along a boardwalk set above a marshy savannah, among which grew the most intriguing plants I've ever seen: Pitcher Plants! These plants are carnivorous, trapping insects in digestive enzymes that allow the plant to obtain nutrients from its prey. They don't move like a Venus Fly Trap, but they stand tall among the grasses of the marsh and draw the eye. They were everywhere, and even in the middle of December only a few were wilted from the morning frosts. Now I want to go back during the summer and see how they thrive!

Leave me a comment below and tell me if you've ever seen pitcher plants, venus fly traps, sundews, or any other carnivorous plants!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Tracking Predators

It's not very often that I get to see evidence of predators while I'm hiking. Sure, there are occasional occurrences like the time I found massive piles of bear shit on my trail in the Smoky Mountains, and I'll sometimes stumble upon coyote scat, but I don't get lucky enough to see the pawprints of predators. That is, until I went hiking at the Turkey Creek Unit of Big Thicket National Preserve, where I saw an entire unbroken trail of bobcat prints in the thawing frost covering a boardwalk. How do I know they were bobcat? First of all, no claw marks were evident, which is the main way you can tell the difference between canine and feline prints. Next, they were much bigger than your average house cat prints, but smaller than a mountain lion's. Finally, I see bobcat prints all the time at work; I know what they look like. It was neat to see the prints on my trail, especially because I know the bobcat can't eat me; mess me up, maybe, but it can't kill me. Maybe my luck is changing and I'll see more awesome stuff like this on my upcoming adventures!

Leave me a comment below and tell me about a time you saw the prints of animal, or any other evidence of them!