2015 Bandera 100k Race Report

"Tough times never last, but tough people do." - Robert Schuller

As I stepped out of my motel room in Kerrville, Texas in the early morning hours of January 10, I was greeted by a blast of cold air and a surprising sight - my car, parked just outside my door, was covered in a thick shell of ice. A winter storm had passed over the area the night before the Bandera trail races in central Texas, bringing with it a sharp biting wind and an abundance of frozen precipitation. I was aware of the weather forecast for the day and had planned accordingly, but I was holding out hope that the worst of the weather would pass by and spare the region from the arctic front. It didn't. After managing to chisel my way into my vehicle, fire up the heater, and load up my gear, I set out to begin my next trail adventure. Fortunately my 30 mile drive to the Bandera State Natural Area was uneventful as the roads were relatively clear and in good shape, giving me some quiet time to prepare for the day.

I arrived an hour before the start of the race to avoid the expected traffic delays along the dirt roads that led to the start line. Rain and sleet continued to fall as I walked to the start line at the Lodge. It seemed as if I had just left this place after finishing the Cactus Rose 100 back in October. The climate was certainly very different, as the oppressive heat had given way to freezing rain and bitter cold - but the layout of the starting and finishing area was exactly the same as I had left it a few months before. I noticed that much of the grounds were quite muddy and slick. Little did I know what this would foreshadow for the rest of my day. 

The buzz around the starting line of an ultra is something special. Everyone knows it's going to be a long day. Everyone knows it's going to hurt. Odds are that only about half of the folks who stood at the starting line of this race would actually finish it. Words of encouragement and good luck were exchanged, some eyes were closed in a last minute attempt to focus and prepare the mind, and perhaps a prayer or two were offered up. The tension was certainly palpable as 7:30 approached. In his typically understated fashion, race director Joe Prusaitis counted down from 10 to 1 and sent us off into the cold morning mist.

Loop 1 - 6 hr :10 min 

Bandera 100k is run for the most part on the same trails that Cactus Rose 100 utilized through the heart of Bandera State Natural Area. There are a few slight changes that are made to accommodate this race; namely, a few of the climbs are arranged differently and there are some longer, flat stretches that are somewhat more runnable. But for the most part I would be scrambling up and down many of the same rocks and hills that I "enjoyed" so much back in October. Most of the runners who have run or who want to run are very familiar with the course profile chart:

The famous Bandera course profile

I was off and running. While I was proud of my planning and preparation for the weather, the several layers that I had employed to fight the morning chill quickly became cumbersome and uncomfortable. I had picked up a poncho to wear over my jackets to keep the rain and sleet at bay, but within a couple of miles, the sotol had sliced it to ribbons. While I did not find the early climbs over Sky Island and Ice Cream Hill to be particularly difficult in terms of footing, I had worked up quite a sweat and was eager to make a wardrobe correction at the first opportunity. I cruised into Nachos, the first aid station, ready to begin removing layers. Despite some lost time in rearranging my gear and ditching the shredded poncho, I was actually glad to feel some of the cooler air hit me. I left the first aid station with my music going, my load lessened, and feeling ready to attack the day.

The only problem was that I was soon going to find myself the one under attack. Leaving Nachos, the course turns to what should be the flatter, less technical stretches of trail that would allow for some easier running. Rocky climbs and descents gave way to fields and valleys that had, unfortunately, become the final resting place for much of the rain and ice that had fallen over the previous day and night. The dirt had become transformed into a muddy morass. 

Every report from this year's race will refer to the mud. It made this race very frustrating for me. There were actually even several different types of mud on the trail - thick, sticky mud that cake your shoes and add weight to each step, wet mud that would slosh underfoot, mud that I would refer to as "axle grease" that coated the rocks later in the race on climbs and descents...it was all in play, all day long. For the first few miles it wasn't a problem, but with each passing mile my frustration would grow as I found myself completely unable to find any running rhythm at all. 

Not fun.

The time goals that I had hoped to achieve on this day quickly evaporated. It did not take long before I had to reassess what I hoped to accomplish out there. As the weight of the mud would build on my shoes and my foot strikes became more and more awkward with each step, I could feel the added stresses being placed on my hips, my hamstrings, and most importantly, my back. My focus soon changed to injury avoidance as I tried to hold onto a hope that I could make it out of here in one piece.

On a positive note, the chilly air was a very pleasant break from the usual heat that had been a part of every other ultra that I have run. During most of the day, temperatures were hovering around the freezing mark with some occasional mist, light rain and sleet. I wasn't that worried about dehydration and was able to easily stay on top of my nutrition through a blend of Tailwind powder, Stinger waffles, and the occasional light snack at an aid station. I stayed away from heavy foods and benefited  from this strategy. I cruised through the next 2 aid stations, Chapas and Cross Roads 1, feeling good but knowing that the tightness and fatigue that had begun to creep into my legs and back were not a good sign.

Trying to stay positive!

Not long after the "Three "Sisters" hills I heard a familiar voice behind me call out my name as my friend Josh came bounding down the trail. He appeared to be having a great day and was absolutely buoyant. (If he wasn't, he certainly had me fooled.) It was an emotional lift for me to see him out there, and while we ran together for only a few miles - into and out of Cross Roads 2 - I was glad to have the company. Most of my first loop was run in solitude so I was grateful for the conversation and his positive outlook. (He went on to have a great race, finishing in just over 13 hours.) The good feelings would carry me for a few more miles until I hit what would be the most difficult stretch of trail I had yet experienced - about a 3/4 mile stretch of dense, sticky, soul-sucking mud that would lead into the Last Chance aid station at mile 26. 

By the time I reached Last Chance, I was mentally and physically spent again. I needed another boost. Luckily for me, this aid station is known for being one of the best at providing such a lift. They had some great music playing, great people who jumped into action, and best of all, whiskey! So after a water bottle refill, a hug from the volunteers, a pat on the back, and a shot of whiskey, I was jubilant again - and ready to tackle the last 2 big hills on this loop, Cairn's Climb and Boyles Bump.

The last 5 miles of my first loop were technical, muddy, and slow, but I felt like I was making decent progress over many a rock and root. Much of the mud here was of the slick variety so the concern became staying upright as my feet could easily slide out from under me at any moment. A recurring thought throughout my day was my amazement at the runners who could negotiate this terrain successfully, and my ongoing frustration at my own complete inability to do so. I plugged along however, and emerged from the trail and back into the Lodge in a little over 6 hours. I had no intention of dropping out. Yet I knew I still had a long way to go. Little did I know how much longer it would be.

Loop 2 - 9 hr


I tried not to spend too much time at Lodge, but I did allow myself a few minutes for a snack, a quick chat with friends, and even a few sips of an Amber IPA. I almost ran back out without my headlamp, but caught myself before I made it too far down the trail and came back to grab my light. I knew I had no chance of finishing before nightfall, and without a headlamp, I would be in a tough spot when darkness came. Now that I was properly geared up and refueled, it was time to go.

The climbs back up and over Sky Island and Ice Cream Hill were a bit more challenging the second time around. The trail showed the obvious wear and tear of a few hundred runners who had charged up and over it for the past several hours. The accumulated fatigue was still an issue for me, as I struggled particularly in my descents on the back sides of these hills. Company was sparse, but when I did meet up with other runners for short periods of time, I would enjoy a few minutes of conversation until ultimately our paths would separate for one reason or another. I spent some time with another local friend of mine, Reece, who passed me at around mile 36. He was making short work of the more technical stretches of trail. Before long, I could not maintain his pace on the hills and he pushed on ahead, looking strong.

Reece presses on...

"People are always good company when they are doing what they really enjoy."   -Samuel Butler

Not much farther up the trail, I came upon a couple of guys who seemed to be in lock-step with each other. I assumed that they were a runner/pacer tandem given the ease with which they conversed and the similarity in their gait and pace, but this was far from the truth; in fact, Wes and Luis had only met at the halfway mark and had been running together since that point. 

What followed was what was easily my favorite stretch of running for the day. Not only was Luis an excellent runner, smooth and steady, but his positivity was infectious. Wes and I talked about our up and down day, but Luis kept pulling the best out of us. We ran when we didn't think we could, fought through the mud with a smile, and high-fived after every tough stretch of trail we overcame. [Luis was a film maker from San Francisco, whose love letter to the Marin Headlands entitled "For The Love" brings back wonderful memories of my race there last May.] We talked about forests, trails, Yellowstone, San Francisco, and so many other wonderful subjects that the time seemed to pass by effortlessly. One of our conversations centered around food (it usually comes back around to that at some point during a race like this) and we shared our desire for a hot quesadilla at the next aid station, Cross Roads 1, in a mile or so. I hadn't had any cooked food outside of some broth all day, so something warm and substantial sounded like a nice break from my cold bottle of Tailwind and frozen Stinger waffles.

We cruised into Cross Roads 1 (mile 47) elated, having run much of the preceding 2-3 miles into the aid station together. We checked in, grabbed some of the warm food we had been dreaming about earlier, and took stock of our current situation. Luis was thrilled to see his brother working at Cross Roads. He committed to run the final 10 miles with Luis when he came back around through here later, which served to put an extra spring in his step. Darkness had begun to fall as we jogged out into the night.

It did not take long for me to realize that my snack at the aid station was a very bad decision. My stomach turned on me within a mile or 2 of leaving Cross Roads, and despite Luis and Wes's accommodating attitudes, I was finding it hard to keep up. I would fall back, catch up, then fall back again. As we approached Cross Roads 2 I realized I hadn't taken in ANY calories since my previous stop at this aid station. I had to stop here and get myself settled. Luis was jubilant as he and his brother prepared to head out. I really regret not being able to run it in with them. I had a great time with those guys and was looking forward to continuing on with them, but I needed to collect myself for a few minutes and try to eat something. Luis gave me an encouraging word and they set off. After some ginger ale and papaya enzymes (thanks again Aaron) I finally managed to get up and get moving. I was shivering as I headed off into the night alone. I had 10 miles to go.

Trail Runner at Night.

My last leg of the race seemed to take an eternity to complete. The rains had come again during my delay at Cross Roads 2, so now every inch of the trail was drenched. There were several stretches that actually had streams of water running down them, and those that didn't were nonetheless caked and chewed up by the passing of dozens of runners throughout the day. It was tough sledding. I wished again that I had foregone that accursed quesadilla so I could have kept pace with Luis, his brother, and Wes, whose company I would have very much appreciated during this last long march to the finish. My stomach had settled somewhat but I was still having difficulty taking in enough calories to keep me energized. 

When I finally reached the last aid station at mile 57, I thought I had seen the worst that the course had to offer. I had fought mud, cold, hunger, solitude, wardrobe malfunctions, rain, loneliness, sleet, and more mud. I had a couple of rocky climbs left to go and could sense the finish line nearby. I knew that I was going to make it, thinking that there wasn't anything else that I could see that I hadn't seen yet. Sadly, this was not the case.

The fog rolled in as I climbed Cairn's, the first of the 2 big hills on the final section of the course. It was so dense that my visibility was reduced to maybe 10-15 feet. Beyond that, all I could make out was a solid wall of white mist. I could not see the trail or trail markers until I was right in front of them. I navigated the trail by looking straight down into the mud to follow the footprints left by runners who had already passed that way. I tried to pick up the pace to a slow run on more than one occasion, only to run nearly headlong into a low-hung tree branch that was hidden in the haze or lose my balance on a slick rock buried in front of me.

"Relentless Forward Progress." This was my mantra as I pressed on, and finally found my way back to the home stretch. I ran the last mile or so with a fellow from Virginia. We lamented our day and our current physical state but eagerly anticipated the approaching finish line. We were euphoric as we entered the staging area near Lodge, and late into the night, we finally crossed the finish line. I was elated to receive my finisher's buckle from Joe Prusaitis himself. My day was done and now it was time to find my friends and savor the moment.

Reece, Josh, and the author.

Bandera 100k Buckle.