Bridger Ridge Run (DNF) Recap

A week ago I was making my way across a beautifully intense mountain ridge with 249 other runners in Bozeman, MT. The total distance of the race was ~20 miles, and I made it just over halfway before deciding the pain and strain in my foot that had bothered me through summer training was too unsafe and unhelpful on the steep downhill segments covered in sharp, jagged, loose rocks. My foot was aching and seizing up to wrap around rocks, instead of steadily pushing off of them, like a light-footed deer. I have been really emotional about that DNF (Did Not Finish) decision. I’ve been gazing at the photos I did brave (on flat sections) because it was a breathtakingly (sometimes literally) beautiful top-of-the-world experience. I want to always remember a few things about it, and I hope to return some summer and finish that last almost-half.

Top: My mom and I were so thankful our friends, Debbie and her son Shane, drove us over the mountain road to the start at Fairy Lake. They made it more fun. Such an early and beautiful morning together. 
Bottom: my mom and I with Fairy Lake (and I'm pretty sure Sacagawea (the first peak in the race) behind us.)

1. All of my summer training in the heat and humidity of Tennessee, plus a week+ of adjusting to the altitude in Bozeman before the race, did prepare me physically. I did not feel upset by my uphill performance. I felt good about that. I passed really fit people. I felt relieved when we went uphill because it meant steady, calculated **control**. Lol. The uphills were by no means easy, and a lot of them required all fours to climb up. We ran on sections we could, but a lot of them were so steep it was more “super-hiking” than running. 

 2. The downhills were my kryptonite. Ugh. I hate not being in control. I’d boss my way up to 9,000+-feet of elevation on Sacagawea, feeling triumphant. And then I’d get passed by so many people on the *downhills*, the DOWNhills, around Maya Nuki. I got so frustrated and angry at myself. On a teeny-tiny sliver of a trail, for someone like me who feels acutely aware of when I am inconveniencing people behind me who want to pass NOW, that meant I had to carefully maneuver out of their way on those jagged, loose rocks to not be the annoying slow-poke (on the freaking DOWNhills) holding people back. I got so irritated. Irritation and fear were hard for me to calm down. And my foot wasn’t helping. It would seize up heavily and hurt when I needed it to respond quickly in a jaunt from one tiny, loose knife to another. Literally, steep downhills scare me. Metaphorically, the spiritual ones, where I just have to keep stepping on uneven and uncertain places that I’ve never navigated before and hope I don’t fatally trip, make me a pretty cautious/wise/prayerful person who is having to grow in ways I never wanted to … BUT now I need to figure out how to mimic the steep, loose, jagged trails to *literally* buck up my fear response and foot response on trails like that — bc I am going back to finish that ridge (humbly… Lord-willing, please, LORD 😬🙏🏻). 

3. The aid station at Bridger Bowl was the halfway point. I did not go in deciding to quit. I knew I needed water and to rest my feet. I sought out people to ask about the rest of the race and ask about how my feet were unsteady, inflexible, and painful on the downhill sections. Everyone there was SO supportive and kind. Oh.my.goodness. They offered to take my pack and fill it with water while I sat down and cried over my pickle, while the medical team checked my feet. An older man whose name I did not catch was really helpful. And then Katie, and her 10yo daughter Bay, became my angels. They were each so gentle and kind. They hugged me. They counseled me. The little girl told me she liked my toenail polish when they peeled off my socks and shoes. They followed my lead about the decision to keep going or not. I started bawling when I decided it would be dumb to continue. They hugged me. They told me the hard 10 miles I just did was amazing. Other runners at the station stopped to hug me and tell me they’d had to drop out in races before, so they understood how I felt — but that I’d get better and able to try again. Like, everyone was SO NICE. It was *so relieving* when I didn’t know anyone up there in a scary place where I felt like a failure. I was so lonely at the top of the mountain where I didn’t meet my long-trained-for expectations with my limited feet in the place I want to belong more than anywhere — and they made me feel so loved. I just bawled and bawled. And then Katie and Bay hiked down the two-mile ski mountain with me to their vehicle. They were going to the finish to watch their husband/father finish, and I needed the ride. They just continued being the sweetest and most supportive new friends. Katie told me how long it took her to build up her mindset against those scary downhill portions bc she runs the ridge for recreation frequently. It helped. But how do I mimic that terrain here in west Tennessee to buck up my feet and my fear?!!!? I guess I’ll just have to visit a lot. 😁 

4. The feeling of failure was awful. I knew it was the right decision for that day. But I honestly didn’t eat anything at the finish line because I felt like I didn’t earn it. I felt like I’d forfeited it. I would NEVER treat a friend or my kids or my cross country runners that way, after putting in the effort I did on that 10 miles. But I just hated everything about my weak feet (my DNA? My geography? My timid personality?) that didn’t get me to that finish line. Ugh. I have to work on that. I know my worth is in the value of being made in God’s image, redeemed by Christ—but I also wanna have that earthly experience. I struggle with the balance of taking good risks for growth and not letting them pass into greed. 

 5. SO! I have just been gazing at the photos I took up there, soooo very thankful I got that part of the ridge. So thankful and amazed! The timing of getting into the race was undoubtedly guided by my Good Father’s hand. Registration is open for one week the May before, which happened to be the week I checked to see IF it would be near my 20th high school reunion. Only 250 runners are allowed, so it’s based on a lottery (plus a compelling reason why you should get to do it; and growing up in those mountains surely helped my chances). And our school year in Tennessee for some reason started a week later than usual — which allowed me the time to do it and return just.in.time for teaching (and momming!). 

 6. My mom came with me for the trip, so she was at the start and finish. She and local friends were such gifts to me before and after the race. So many loved ones sent me encouragement and offered hugs and let me share my emotions as they burbled out of my exhausted and disappointed self afterward. 

 7. The most helpful text I got after, and I got A LOT of helpful texts, was from my friend Emily. She said, “You chose to spare yourself those last 10 miles so you can continue to run for many thousands more. Sounds like you made a wise (but hard) decision.” That’s been a balm to me when I feel disappointment from that day but hope for all the runs to come. 

 As soon as summer began, my Achilles on that foot gave me trouble. I thought I'd ironed it out, but then it moved into my heel. It was classic plantar fasciitis indicators, but I held them at bay allllll summer. The smooth roads for most of my runs warmed it up fast and didn’t irritate it. The trails I used for all my long runs (8, 10, 13, 15, 17, and 18) did irritate it, as they were uneven and covered in exposed tree roots… but those weren’t as scary or painful as the loose, jagged rocks thousands of feet at the top of Montana mountains. Since returning from the trip, we hit the ground running with returning to school and cross country. I’m on my feel all day (even at home), so I have thankfully discovered that slow runs help the pain much better than no runs. Whew. The physical therapist is helping me with massages, stretches, dry needles, and tape. My body is so worn out. My HRV (heart rate variation) measurement on my Garmin has been declining into the red zone every day since I returned home (one day shy of a week ago). That means my body is incredibly fatigued. Oh, well! It’s the mom, teacher, runner life for me! But today will be spent babying my body (which will include an easy run 🤪). Thanks so much to all of you who encourage me on a regular basis! I know I’m not the best runner. But I am an ordinary woman who wants to live a full life as a brave, active, thankful child of God and sister to Christ. My hope with my sharing of my JOY in running is that if a timid dork like myself can practice abundant life, you can too. Peace and grace to us all!