The Rock That Ruined My Rattler
Spoiler alert, I didn't finish the race (DNF). Hi, I'm Brian, co-founder of Fooster. This November, I competed in the Austin Rattler, or the Rattler as it is known here in Texas.
I've never been more prepared for a race than I was for the Rattler. A rigorous 16-week training block that took me from a casual runner to an ultra athlete. Dark mornings, long runs (most days), and lots of experimenting with my nutrition. I was ready. Fit and ready. So much so that running a half-marathon became a regular occurrence several times a week during my last weeks of training. I'll link my training plan for you to follow.
Loop 1 (Mile 10)
The day of the race, I felt great. It was a crisp November morning, and I was ready. The first 10 miles (or my first loop) was incredible. Lots of running and minimal walking. My nutrition was on point, but my hydration... well, I forgot to hydrate the morning of the race (but I did have my normal cup of coffee!) during my first loop. I was drinking as much as I felt I needed, but I wasn't peeing as much as I drank. And —oh boy— that was concerning.
Loop 2 (Miles 11 - 20)
I came in under my expected time. I was feeling great. Feeling fast. I topped off my bottle and grabbed a few more gels. 90g of carbs per hour, baby, that was the plan, and I was sticking to it. By this time, the temperature went from 65°F and chilly to 90°F and very, very hot. No breeze, just the sparse shade of the desert bushes and pecan trees along the trail. It was so hot that I ran out of water at mile 15. Lots of walking and minimal running. My legs started to cramp, and white patches of salty sweat covered my T-shirt and running vest. It was an unintentional salty camouflage pattern all over my body. I made it back in pieces. I was half the person who started the race. My crew (wife and kids) knew I was hurting and kept on checking on me through the last section of the second loop. Once I made it back to base camp, they (my crew) helped me get some fluids in me as quick as possible. Water, Hyperlyte, electrolyte mixes, Precision Fuel salt pills, ice, cold towels, and a fresh, ice-cold hat got me back to feeling normal in no time. I was me again. I doubled down on water, probably adding a few extra pounds to my already heavy running vest. But it was OK, I was still on course to finish before the cutoff time.
Loop 3 (Miles 21 - 30)
I was running again! It felt great. This was my runner's high, my personal experience in which the mind and body became one, and all that mattered was to keep going, one step at a time. I was making friends on the trail once more. Long conversations, lots of kudos, and the satisfaction of passing the occasional runner along the way. Eat my dust, little fella, eat my dust. Everything was back on track. Mile 24 came in, and despite the rocky and loose terrain of the Texas soil, I was making up for the time lost on my second loop. My inner Killian is more alive than ever.
Uphill, downhill, it didn't matter. I was living in the moment. Then, mile 25 appeared around the bend. A short switchback that quickly goes up. My left foot hit a small boulder, and my knee suddenly locked. The pain! It was a shooting sensation that brought me to a halt. My knee wasn't moving. It was as if I had a wooden leg with no joints. Every step was a lighting of pain that started in my knee and ended in my dreams of completing the race. I went from contestant to contended. The seconds became minutes, and life slowed down to a fast 20 minutes per hour while limping on a single leg. After a mile or so and a "light" stretching, I was able to move a little better. "Pain is in the mind," or so I told myself. I managed to jog along for a mile, and then something popped under my feet.
My toes were in a pool of something I didn't dare to look at. It was bad. Each step is more excruciating than the one before. The new half-limping, half-swinging over my very stiff knee had created a massive blister that kept ballooning until the only way out was to pop like a soap-bubble. It was mile 26.5, and there was one mile of climbing and two and a half miles of very technical terrain between me and the cutoff time. I managed to limp my way up the hill until I called it a day. I DNF at mile 27, not because of my nutrition or my hydration or the lack thereof, but because of a stupid rock that messed up my knee, and a stiff knee made every step unbearable.
It's been several weeks since the Rattler. My knee is still hurting. According to the doctor, it is my ACL. Everything seems to be fine, but I'll have to go back soon because the pain is not going away. The biggest lesson I got was that I felt great despite the DNF. I wasn't more tired than going for a short 5k, even at mile 27. I felt great after; my spirit and body felt great (not my knee and toes). I was, in every aspect, finally a runner, and I loved it.
For those who don't know, I only started running less than two years ago. I was a swimmer, and I honestly hated running. It wasn't fun. But now it is a different story, and the 27 miles in my Strava can attest to it. The finish line would have been great, but for an every-day athlete like me, come on! 27 miles are 27 miles, and I enjoyed every bit of them, even the freaking rocks.
Other things that happened during the race:
- I was chased by a cow
- I had to drink questionable water halfway through my second lap. The Rattler needs more aid stations, period.
- I hated the shooting range next to the course. Nothing like a group of SWAT guys doing rapid-fire drills while you're hot and hurting at mile 15.
- Friction Prescription is the bomb. No chaffing. Only gliding.
- I made new friends along the way.
- Seeing my wife and kids after 20 miles brought me back to life.
See you out there,
Brian (co-founder)
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