The Ni-Bthaska-Ke 12K Trail Race is billed as “The Toughest Trail in the Midwest,” and while I know that there are races with more grueling terrain or more challenging distances, I know that this race tests the limits of my physical abilities well enough.
How tough is it? They say that running the 7.5ish-mile course is “a half marathon effort,” but after a dozen halfs, I know I can crank out a half with less pain and anguish pretty much anytime. How tough is it? My race pace for road running is generally between a 10:00-11:00 min/mile. My race pace for a trail race is 12:00-14:00 min/mile, depending on the difficulty of the course. My race pace for this race? A 16:00-18:00 min/mile.
I also lose the ability to go up or down stairs for a couple of days.
Leading up to the race, my training had been sporadic and half-assed, and I wasn’t remotely close to the mileage I should’ve had by this time of year. Last year, I had a tremendous PR, beating my previous times by around 20 minutes. This year, I knew I wasn’t going to chase a PR; I just wanted to survive.
For the uninitiated, there are a few acronyms that most athletes avoid:
- DNS: Did Not Start. A racer has registered for the race but has had to scratch him/herself from competition due to injury or extenuating circumstances.
- DNF: Did Not Finish. A racer begins a race but has to pull out of competition due to injury or illness.
- DFL: Dead F***ing Last. Self-explanatory.
The field wasn’t even a quarter of a mile in when I realized I had already established myself as DFL. I knew I couldn’t dwell on it too much, but I was concerned as I watched the runners before me draw farther away. Just after the first mile, I started to have company again as the 4-mile race leaders came through. It was a bit terrifying to watch them fly down the trail, barely in control. I don’t care how fast you can run on the road; you might want to reel that shit in while hurtling downhill unless you want to end up swallowing your own broken teeth.
We came to a creek crossing where runners have to climb across a fallen tree and shimmy their way up a steep (and muddy) embankment. I caught up to a few 4-milers as they were helping each other cross. One runner kindly offered a hand to help me up the bank; I reached up with my left hand, realizing too late that I was not balanced correctly. When I tried to switch my grip, I slipped and slid down the muddy side.
“OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY!” she exclaimed.
“I’m good,” I responded. “I’m fine. It was my own damn fault.”
As I was pulling myself up after getting a good handhold, she was running to catch up with her friends, calling out “I’m sorry…..I’m sorry…” as she fled.
It wasn’t until after the 4-milers peeled away that I ended up with a couple of other runners; we fell into pace for a little bit and chatted. It was their first Ni-Bthaska-Ke, so I gave them a few pointers on what was ahead. They were cheerful and having fun, but told me, “we figured this would be a challenge, but we REALLY had no idea.” I assured them that I had made the same mistake the first time I ran this course. They decided that they would invite some of their friends to run it with them next year, but let their friends discover the “fun” on their own. I liked these ladies, but after reaching mile four-ish and one of the easier stretches of the course, I ended up picking up my pace and leaving them in the dust (they ended up finishing about twenty minutes after I did.)
In a lot of longer distance races, I tend to spend my final few miles reeling in those who went out too fast and have blown themselves up. Just before mile five, I saw my rabbit: a woman in a red sweatshirt. I spent the next mile trying to catch up with her.
The hardest sections of the Ni-Bthaska-Ke are the first and last two miles, which are on the same trails. As I left the easiest stretch to head into the final two hellish miles, I was surprised to come across another runner: he apparently had been somewhere between me and Red Sweatshirt but I hadn’t seen him in the winding trails. I overtook him on one of the more painful climbs and steadily pulled away as I got incrementally closer to Red Sweatshirt. Finally, she was in my sights: as I crept closer, she glanced more and more over her shoulder at me. When I was only a few yards away, she turned back at me and held up her phone.
“I think we’re off course. I haven’t a seen an orange flag for a while.” I looked back down the trail from where we’d come. She was right; I had been so intent on catching her that I hadn’t been following the trail markers–I’d only zoned into the red sweatshirt in front of me. Luckily, she had the GPS on her phone recording her run; we could see that if we stayed on the current trail, we’d meet back up with the race course. “Well, I broke course,” I said. “There goes my age-group medal.” She laughed. “I was worried about that, too,” she responded.
We celebrated when we found the marked course again, and I could see the final climb ahead. “Once we’re out of the trees up there,” I told her, “it’s pretty much just a downhill cruise to the finish.”
“Thank God,” she said. “I’m just about out of gas.”
As soon as I left the tree line, I left her behind. The final quarter mile is all downhill; even though I was exhausted, I decided to run to the bitter end. I crossed the finish line as they were breaking it down–always a confidence booster.
But the medal doubles as a bottle opener, so there’s that.
They asked me if I knew how many runners were behind me–I guess there’s a positive to starting DFL: you know EXACTLY how many runners you might have passed. I walked it out to where my husband was patiently waiting. Being considerably faster and fitter, he had finished an hour earlier.
Show off.
He, too, had missed a turn and gone off course (in a similar area but not the same trail); he too had fallen on the course.
WE ARE SUPER GOOD AT TRAIL RACES
With my off-course adventure, I had added approximately an extra quarter mile to my race. Though my finishing time didn’t come close to my PR set last year, I had my second best time overall, which was good enough for me.
And my race ended in a burger and a beer, which is even better.
Salubriousness and Shower Beers 
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