Follow me!
Once again, I lost some time on the downhill, a theme for the day, prior to entering the next aid station. I had survived the most technical downhills without any ankle rolls, which have plagued me the last several years and is always on my mind that with a single step God could allow my race to be over. My next descent was a non-technical jeep road that I planned to haul on. I opted not to stop at the aid station so I lost my two companions, who were the last of the original conga that I would run with. At another unmarked intersection, two more men were stopped holding their maps as if they were tourists from the 1990s on a road trip. I yelled to them as I flew by, “Follow me,” and they promptly folded their maps with a look of relief on their faces. I was pleased that on this three mile descent no one caught me. I probably would have been faster if I wasn’t distracted with constantly pulling up me shorts. Not only am I still a few pounds under my normal weight from the FKT, but my shorts have lost some elasticity over the years. As convenient as it is to just pack the same gear, it may be time to retire these shorts after using them for BFC year after year!
No man’s land
At this aid station, I took the time to refill both my flasks since this section was the longest between aid stations. The local football team (a fine one with an undefeated record) run the aid stations and were awesome to help me out and get some protein powder dumped in. Now I was onto Chimney Top Trail, my nemesis. I glanced down and saw one guy a switchback behind (and would never see again), and knew this would be a several hour solo push. This was the first time I wasn’t in the lead pack on this climb. I eventually passed Jenny, the race photographer and a friend, along with a few hikers. I finally saw another racer, but as I walked by, it was apparent the rest of the race would be a slow slog for him and I instantly left him behind.
As I climbed, I knew the race didn’t begin until we got to the offtrail sections ahead; however, I still questioned how much faster my pace was than my six day FKT effort. Since GPS of any kind isn’t allowed, I had no way to gauge my pace and focused on the blazes and what I needed to do at the next aid station. I was proud to have made it up Chimney Top Trail within myself, especially after my first BFC needing to muster everything within myself to just keep moving.
Not again!
As I rolled into the aid station, I stowed my soft flasks inside my pack for safekeeping from the sharp thorns and the football team helped me fill my bladder. After punching my bib at the fire tower, I got my pants on and unrolled my sleeves to enter the briar-infested Rat Jaw. I was pleasantly surprised the going seemed much faster than last year where it took me an hour to descend a mile through the thick briars.
For the third year in a row, I caught up to the leaders prior to the halfway point on Rat Jaw and soon found myself in the front trying to find the path of least resistance. The going was faster than last year when we followed the wild boar game trails, which occasionally required us to crawl. Just when I got into a rhythm, we reached an intersection, and I lost the game trail. Luckily another racer soon found it and he took the lead. When we arrived at the prison, I was the last of the eight of us that had bunched up in the lead pack (including the lead woman, Kris Rugloski).
