Hagg Lake Mud Run: Race Report

This weekend we finished the Hagg Lake Mud Run. There are two races over the weekend: a 50K on Saturday and a 25K on Sunday. We chose the sane option and ran the 25K, which is one loop around Hagg Lake in Gaston, Ore. (starting with a fun little out-and-back up and down a steep gravel road). Melissa did the race last year, but this was my first time.

We'd been closely watching the weather reports prior to the race, as just about any amount of rain would mean lots of mud, but things stayed dry enough through Saturday that the 50K runners set some new course records. Sunday morning at the start line, they announced it had rained overnight which drew a cheer from the hardcore folks.

The morning was absolutely beautiful with lots of blue sky reflected in the calm lake waters. The temperature was about 38F, which meant shorts and gloves for me. We checked in on the iPads, picked up our race bibs and shirts and headed back to the car to strip down to racing clothes. After a quick jog warm-up and a trip to the porta-potties, we joined the growing pack at the race start

The Race

The first mile and a half of Hagg Mud run is not muddy at all. Instead, it's all paved path or gravel road. Just to warm you up, the course takes you up then back down a nice hill on Sain Creek Road. From there, it's back through the picnic area and onto the trail along the west side of Hagg Lake.

Things then get interesting quickly; the west side of the lake is damp and dark, with a lot of short ups-and-downs.  Trail running in itself is more challenging than road running, not only because you have to watch out for roots, rocks, and holes, but also because your legs are constantly trying to adjust to uneven footing.  When you add slippery mud to the mix, it turns into a full-body (and mind) workout.  I actually like this, because the level of concentration required to stay upright lets you free your mind from many other thoughts.  At one point about three miles in, I was passed by a woman who called out, “I think I feel a wipeout coming on!” Thankfully she didn't fall, but the next few miles could easily have taken someone down.

At the south end of the lake, around mile five, the trail climbs out onto the paved road to cross the Scoggins Creek dam. The aid station just past the dam had quite a spread (in addition to the always awesome ORRC volunteers). There was not only water and Gatorade, but pretzels, candy, and even peanut butter sandwiches. I'm a peanut butter sandwich junky, but I wasn't feeling hungry at all and wasn't sure my stomach could handle the food. Water it was, then back to the trail.

The east side of the lake is lighter and brighter than the west side. It gets a lot more sun due to its orientation (I actually studied that very thing at that very place in college!), so the mud isn't quite as wet.  The east side is also much more hilly.  I may have just been tired, but it seemed like I was climbing, then climbing some more, and then, lo and behold, there was another hill! I still haven't figured out why I didn't see any yeti or get buzzed by a plane.

Looking fresh as a spring rain...

Just as all good things must come to an end, so too all ascents have a descent (just ask that Grand Old Duke). These particular descents were often abrupt, and there were a few where I literally lost control and just quick-stepped down the hill. On an ordinary trail run, these might be fun, if technical, and you'd just have to be careful. For the Mud Run, these became, “Oh-sh*t-I-have-no-traction-I-hope-I-don't-die!” After the first couple, I just learned to commit and hope for the best. If only I had video of the look on my face…

Once (most of) the steep hills were out of the way, the course descended to near the water level (which meant real mud). The contours here seemed to indicate that the 50K racers were using motorcycles the day before.  Much of the trail had one muddy rut down the middle with a slippery ridge on the left side.  A woman in front of me tried to avoid the mud by running on the ridge, but I think she lost her footing more often than I did.

Some of the long stretches of open grassy meadows had me imagining a romanticized English countryside, and I half expected to see some sheep or perhaps fairies. Was I tired enough yet to hallucinate?  Somewhere in here I came upon a very friendly runner helping a woman who was sprawled out on her back across the trail.  She had fallen going up a short but ridiculously slick hill. I almost fell twice just climbing up to where she was.

At the second aid station, it was time for a Gel, with which I slowly drank some water to give my legs a brief rest. From there, it was short stretch on the paved road and on to the muddiest part of the run. (Yes, I said it. The rest of the race can't compare.)

I don't remember too much between the aid station and the end except being extremely tired and thinking, “how the hell can someone run through this?!” There was a section of muddy trail where I actually thought I might fall and just stay down. The mud was the consistency of cake batter, and probably five inches deep. There was no solid ground anywhere and my shoes were nearly sucked off my feet. If someone had seen me weaving my way drunkenly through that area, having given up on ever finding secure footing, I imagine they might have called for a doctor.

At some point you go up one more hill and back onto the road. I suddenly felt relatively normal, though still very tired with suddenly cramping quads. I actually passed a woman on the hill, which I wasn't sure I could do.  At the top, the course turns back to trail with a short, steep and muddy switchback down into the woods. I believe my exact words (out loud) were, “Oh for God’s sake, are you kidding me?”

But I did it, and I kept running. Sure, I walked a few more hills, and stumbled once or twice. One time I thought I'd missed a turn in my reverie and started to go back to make sure. Breathing a sigh of relief, I saw a pack of people coming around the bend. Indeed, the woman I'd just passed on the road gave me a big smile as I joined them, which was pretty uplifting.

At that point, we were close to the end. I pushed up the last little hill, where an encouraging photographer said, "only about a half mile to go!"  A short but very focused jaunt (heh) through a parking lot and some trees and there was the finish line.  I wandered off for a minute or two to by myself, bent over at the waist, feeling my heart racing, and trying to take in the beauty of the lake.  Mostly I was just glad to be done.  15.5 miles: my longest run ever.

It is just the road home

Yogi Berra said, "ninety percent of this game is half-mental."  I think he was talking about the game of baseball, but I can't think of a better statement regarding running or endurance sports, in general.

In the land of endurance sports, there is a concept that is tossed around a great deal. Some people refer to it as "mental toughness." What is mental toughness? To me: it's about not letting your mind stand in the the way of what your body is capable.

During the a difficult workout, a steep hill, or even long run, the mind might be saying "You can't do this. You need to stop." But, success in pushing through that is in being able to turn all of the negative chatter in your head off. People who are truly successful athletes not only have the physical talent, but all of the mental ability to turn the brain onto "silent mode."

I never really understood the mental side of running when I was younger. Back in those early days, I ran to think and relax, to get away from the stress of being a teen. I didn't have any talent as runner, and I didn't run to push the physical limits and therefore, I didn't need any mental toughness. I often told myself not to run too hard, or I might not finish or worse, I might have to WALK. Fear of failure held me back.

For the last month or so, I've been running with my 9-year-old son, Jude. I have this desire to try an impart the "wisdom" of mental toughness to him. But, I really didn't know how to make him get it. Our first lesson came just the other day.

He's been following the Couch to 5K program, rather faithfully, I might add. This program progressively adds more running to a run/walk program. A few days ago, we were approaching our street on our way to finishing up a few miles of run/walk. He said, "Oh, no! We are going to have to run on our street to home. I don't want to run up the hill. I don't think I can make it!" He desperately wanted to walk the last 200 yards home.

He was tired. He was really feeling the run on his legs that day.

I said, "Don't think if it as a hill. It's just the road home." I've used these words in my own head, so many times. I've told them to Scott, too.

How can you "NOT" think about it? How can not listen to the burning legs, screaming lungs, and the feeling gravity pulling your body down instead of up the hill---begging and imploring you to stop, or at least slow down?

It's easy to say. Sure. It's much harder to actually do. It's not just easy for me to ignore reason. Yes, it's a hill, but I doesn't have to be hard.

Convince your mind that the hill is easy. Float, breath, relax.

It is hard to do this. SO HARD. Since we live around a ton of hills, I get regular practice, especially with hills. But, it doesn't always come easily.

Changing your mindset about anything isn't easy.

It reminds me of this:

Gotta love Barney Stinson. Anyway, ok, here's my version. "When I feel like slowing down on a hill, I cruise up it like it was flat nothing instead. True story." --Me

Your brain can be tricked, trained to simply ignore what is in front of it. Focus on keeping a steady pace, a mantra, counting your footfalls, or maybe just turn up a revved tune on your music player. Focus on something else. Anything else.

That day, when Jude was facing his dreaded uphill road to home, I said, "focus on moving your arms smoothly, count your steps and set your eyes on our mailbox and run straight to it."  He ran home faster and harder than he had during the rest of the 25 minutes we had been out there.

I want to teach him to embrace the route, the path, the journey that he is on---no matter how difficult it seems at the time. We have to decide that there truly is no route that is too hard. Only an unwilling mind can stand between you and that mountain in the distance.