Barkley 2007 I did not plan to write a report on Barkley, but during a slow run through the woods this morning I composed one in my head and decided to go ahead and put what I remember of it in writing. I could call this anatomy of a failure--why this Barkley run was doomed for failure (even more than usual) before it started. [WARNING--this got longer than intended.] I was initially optimistic of finishing at least one loop within the time limit this year. I ran two course PRs earlier in the year, both of which were long races I had run a number of times before. However, the seeds of my undoing began sprouting early in the form of an upper respiratory infection in early March. Exacerbated by allergies, the symptoms hung on until early April. That cost me the better part of three weeks of training. Ah, at least I would go into Barkley well rested! Just to make things tougher, I also made a few bad pre-race decisions. My planned clothing was better suited for cooler weather, but I chose to stick with it anyway as I had little else suitable with me. My plan was to wear my two bottle fanny pack, but with expected warmer weather I switched to my small backpack to more readily carry an extra water bottle. Unfortunately, the backpack held my vest close to my body whereas the fanny pack would have allowed it to hang open letting the air circulate when it got warm. (I should have taken the vest off later, but I did not. Another bad decision.) I also chose not to use my HR monitor, something that has helped me keep my pace slower in the first half of races and allowed me to finish strong and run very even splits. I also decided against taking my trekking pole. Now, having inadvertently further stacked the odds against me, time to begin the run. I'm fairly familiar with most of the course but am not comfortable on parts of the NBT. Thus, my idea was to try to keep up with folks who know it better than I do. Alas, I picked the wrong people to keep up with. So much for starting slowly. Then, about 2/3 of the way to book 1, crossing a drainage with a bit of a drop off, my feet slipped on wet rock and I came down hard, hitting my right thigh on the edge of the drop off. My trekking pole would not have kept me from falling, but likely would have kept me from going down so hard. It hurt! A lot! Chip Tuthill was right in front of me when I fell, and he stopped to check on me. I was up quickly and moving, but with some pain. I now had to push even harder to keep up with people. That would take its toll soon enough. Finally, after being passed by several people on the NBT, and being alone, I made a brief wrong turn near Bald Knob that allowed even more folks to get by. I soon found myself alone on the one part of the NBT where I was least comfortable. Still, I made my way to the Garden Spot and Book 2 although my route was likely not the best as I don't recall the hill being that steep in the past. At the water drop I encountered Steve Durbin, who was taking his time in the hope that someone would come along who knew the way. We proceeded to the book on Stallion Mountain and then on to Fyke's Peak. Something about the instructions between books 3 and 4 does not click with me. We got there, and at least part of the way it appeared others had also taken the same route, but it obviously was not the best route. As we climbed the road to Fyke's Peak I thought to myself "If this is the wrong mountain we are screwed!" But it was right, though we swung around clockwise via the north side of the peak to get to the book. Just as we were pulling our pages, Paul Melzer appeared. He had made a wrong turn earlier and was playing catch up. He asked if we knew the way down--I was unsure if he was asking for our sake or his, but responded "Yes" and mentioned following the ridge line. He bounded off down the hill and was quickly out of sight. I would like to have bounded down too, but by then my injured leg was stiffening up and any sort of running hurt, even on level ground (of which there is very little in that area). Steve and I worked our way down, then over to the boundary line and on down to the last flat spot (which raises the question of how one knows it is the last flat spot without going farther down to see?). We crossed the river at the same place I crossed last year, and walked up to the road right across from the drainage leading up to the power line. Upon reaching the power line, we ran into Stu Gleman. He joined us to head up Testicle Spectacle. I told Steve to go on with Stu, as my legs were tired and my HR was high for the effort. In retrospect, dehydration was likely a significant factor by then. They gradually pulled ahead. I got to book 5 with no problems, other than being slow. I took the neo butt slide on my butt as my legs were a bit wobbly, and easily made my way to Raw Dog Falls and book 6. My water was gone before reaching the climbing wall. I refilled my filter bottle at the creek before starting the climb. Staying to the right of the wash, as instructed; it was a struggle since my legs were not doing well. The climb took a while. Once again, I regretted not having my trekking pole as it could have been driven into the soft ground somewhat like using an ice axe to climb a glacier. Eventually, I got to the top, went on down the next valley and up the drainage to the road. By the time I made the road, my legs were trashed; I was clearly dehydrated and was down to a half-bottle of water in my filter bottle. There were tough climbs up Pig Head Creek and Rat Jaw to the next water drop. With my injured leg hurting too much to run, even where running was possible, I knew I did not have enough water (or anything else) to pull it off. On top of that I had an adventure race scheduled for the next weekend, so further trashing myself in what had become a hopeless cause did not seem like a wise move. I sat down to give things some thought--like how much would I pay someone to drive me back to camp! I got a ride offer right off, but the guy was heading the other way and would not be back for an hour I had been there maybe 15 minutes when Allan Holtz, Rich Limacher, John Price, and two other folks dragged themselves up to the road. After a brief conversation, all opted to go on except John who decided that he also had enough fun for the day. We started walking, with thumbs extended as vehicles approached, and in a few minutes we were offered a ride by a couple of young guys and a gal in a pickup truck. They were headed for town, but the driver lived right near the turn into Frozen Head. They offered us a beer, which we declined; I was hoping they had not consumed too many themselves. But the drive was uneventful and they dropped us at the turn to the park. We headed up the road, thumb again out as vehicles drove by. Several ignored us. Finally, after maybe a half mile or so, an SUV slowed, then continued on only to pull off the road 50 yards ahead and we got the wave to come on. It turned out to be Jim Nelson's daughter and her roommate. They recognized us as Barkley participants and kindly gave us a ride the rest of the way. (Note: Catching a ride in the vicinity of two prisons is not a guarantee.) We arrived at the campground, dropped our gear at our respective camps, and headed up to give Laz our excuses. Every time I go I learn something about the course and also say never again. But, gosh if I had not been sick ahead of time, had not made some bad decisions before the race even started, had started a bit slower, and had not fallen and injured my leg--who knows? I did finish the adventure race the next weekend, but my leg still hurts and is still discolored. At least I can run now without too much discomfort. Next year? Never again--maybe. That is a long time off. Pete