I signed up for the 2023 Wilson Creek Frozen Trail Runs on a whim. It was November, well within the discounted entry fee window, and January 21 was a long time away. I mean, sure, it would be cold on race day, but who doesn’t like a bit of challenge?
To be clear, I signed up for the shortest race. Wilson Creek Frozen offers a 10 miler, a 20 miler, and a 50K that combines the two loops. Not being an experienced winter trail runner, I reckoned the 10 was good for starters.
The course is in the Owyhees near Melba, Idaho. It traverses a mix of rocky gullies and high-desert hills, with the long loop climbing to spectacular views at around 5,000 feet of elevation.
The weather could be anything. Wind is common. It might come with a side of rain, ice, sun, snow, mud, or any combination thereof. I’m told that, one year, the race began in temps around -4 degrees Fahrenheit.
What wasn’t to love?
Pre-Race
I was already awake when my alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. Not nervous, exactly.
Maybe a little nervous.
Which is weird, because I don’t normally get nervous before running races. Endurance horse races, yes. Running races, no.
But like I said, this was my first winter race. There were so many things to get wrong: clothing layers, shoes, Yaktrax or none, trekking poles or none, hydration pack or none. And how long might I be out there if the footing was slick?
On the bright side, the mud from rain earlier in the week was guaranteed to be frozen solid by 19-degree F temps. Somewhat less attractive were the fresh four-ish inches of snow. Videos posted by race management showed volunteers trudging through knee-deep drifts with bags of trail-marking ribbons, heads bowed against the stinging wind.
But race morning was still and starry. I ate a piece of PBJ toast, pulled a down skirt over my running tights, and drove off into the dark. As my car defroster whirred, strange popping sounds emanated from my windshield. Later, by the light of sunrise, I discovered a new crack running all along the bottom of the glass.
Well. If that’s the worst thing that happens…
I arrived at the Wilson Creek Recreation Area an hour before start time. A volunteer directed me to parking ¼ mile from race headquarters. I snagged my drop bag, pulled on gloves and hooded puffy coat, hit the pit toilet, and hustled up to wait in the registration tent where one of these giant outdoor space heaters took off a bit of chill.
The trail running crowd is a lot like the endurance riding crowd: Small community, lots of friends bumping into each other, high spirits spiked with high nerves, generous volunteers, a few competitors, lots of finishers, and welcoming attitudes all around.
The small talk of the morning was about what to wear and carry. I chose to go with just my trail running shoes but carry Yaktrax in my hydration vest, from which I’d removed the water bladder in anticipation of this possibility.
I wore thin, merino running socks that I hoped would keep me blister-free once my feet got wet. As always when running trails, I added compression sleeves to my lower legs to combat my tendency toward compartment syndrome. Over those, I wore old but comfy running tights. Finally, I strapped Salomon trail gaiters over my shoes to keep snow from coming over their tops as I ran through the drifts.
On top, I layered a midweight, full-zip, hooded fleece over a thin merino blend baselayer. Then I donned my hydration vest containing my phone, a UCAN gel, and my Yaktrax. Over that, I pulled on a lightweight soft-shell vest. I also wore a thin earband and gloves.
Pro tip: Make a “Remember Me” Bag. The idea is to put critical items in one place and make sure you use all of them before you leave.
Inside my duffel that contained a variety of clothing options, I had a “Remember Me” Bag containing everything I needed to be sure to put on or use before the start. That way, in the bustle and nerves, I wouldn’t forget to eat my pre-race UCAN bar or don sunglasses and earbuds.
The “Remember This” Bag works great at endurance rides, too, when it’s crucial to remember things like your electrolytes and body glide.
The race director shuffled us all outside just before 9:00. The tent hadn’t been exactly warm, but the great outdoors was much colder, especially now that we’d all stripped down to our running layers. I pulled up my hood and danced in place with the others during a quick pre-race briefing.
The start itself was just a bit late, due to the race director’s kindness in ensuring that everyone who needed to got through the long potty line. As I waited, my fingers ached with cold.
Finally, someone fired a shotgun (welcome to Idaho) and we were off!
On Course
The race started with a gradual climb. An inch of packed snow covered the two-track dirt road. It wasn’t too slick, and there was plenty of room for us runners to shake out by pace before hitting the single-track. I settled in at the back of the front 1/3 of the pack and pretty much stayed there all day.
If any of you endurance riders are considering taking up running, let me tell you: The start of a running race is laughably easy compared to an endurance ride. Nobody bucks or bolts. Nobody takes a fall (usually). Nobody has to go in tight circles or tuck behind another racer’s tail to maintain control. It’s marvelous.
Anyway, as we filed onto the single-track and headed up the side of a gully, I was glad to be on foot instead of mounted. What looked like a fun riding trail for dry conditions was rather treacherous with ice packed on a narrow strip hugging a steep drop to the creek below.
Everywhere that the trail was protected from scouring wind, snow had settled among the rocks and ruts. We runners were faced with a choice: make time and improve placing but risk turning an ankle or supermanning into the dirt, or go slower and reduce the chance of injury.
Those in the “to finish is to win” camp, including me, chose to slow down. Some places were dicey enough to merit walking short stretches. It reminded me of many an endurance ride, when I’ve simultaneously felt frustrated by the slow pace and puzzled over how the front runners traversed the same terrain so dang fast. Risks and benefits.
We hit a steep climb around mile 3.5, then leveled off before the first aid station at mile 5. I drank a small cup of water and began the climb to mile 7.
This section was slow. Everyone I could see walked it, more due to the steepness than the footing. My heart rate was definitely higher on those two miles than on the remainder of the course, even though my pace was much slower.
Slowing down has its uses, though. I remembered to grab a couple photos and my UCAN gel on the way up. I also pulled off my vest and stuffed it in my pack. The sun was up and although the temperature was probably only mid-twenties, the brightness and effort were plenty to keep me warm. I even unzipped my fleece.
At mile 7, we hit the second aid station, where a volunteer was frying bacon in an electric skillet. It smelled delicious, but I stuck with water again. Grateful to be enjoying a windless day, even at the highest elevation on the course (total gain was about 1,500 feet), I set off down the long descent toward the finish.
By now, I was in a bubble between other runners. I occasionally glimpsed someone ahead of me, but nobody was in sight behind. It was just me and sun and rocks and snow as I followed the green ribbons that wound down a rocky creek bed.
The strain of constantly adjusting to uneven ~ and often unseen ~ terrain accumulated in the stabilizer muscles of my lower legs. As they tired, I focused on keeping my core tight so I could land lightly and recover from bad steps without mishap. This is where I really felt the satisfaction of being fit and strong. I felt challenged, but up to the challenge.
I also got to thinking: I’m no equine physiologist, but it seems to me that horses, too, would need core strength to safely navigate rough terrain. I have occasionally wondered if I do too much canter and vertical collection work during conditioning rides on the flat. Feeling how useful my own, strong core was on that sketchy trail really emphasized its value.
My watch beeped for mile 10 with no finish line in sight. I knew I was on trail, though, by the green ribbons and deep footprints through a 3-foot deep snowdrift. I kept running, satisfied to observe that I had plenty left in the tank.
Then, I crested a little ridge and there it was: the arch and tent and speakers blaring. Between me and them was a familiar figure with a camera: our very own Merri Melde, The Equestrain Vagabond. I think the race photo she took is the only one she has of me sans horse.
Post-Race
I crossed the finish line feeling great, 8th in my gender-age group and 48th (out of 134) overall. My finishing time was 2:10:46 for what Garmin tells me was 10.83 miles; not fast, but respectable for the conditions.
My finishing “medal” ~ a shotgun shell on a string ~ made me laugh. Who says completion awards have to be expensive? It was perfect.
Back in the tent, I snagged some hot soup and an oatmeal cookie. As I cooled, I pulled my down layers back on and stood in the sunshine for half an hour or so to cheer more runners across the line.
Then, I headed back to my car and flailed around in the back seat changing into dry clothes. Halfway done, I discovered my fingers were too stiff to fasten my bra. Very funny. I drove home without it.
My post-race recovery could have been better. Specifically, I should have eaten more, and sooner.
I ate a bowl of tomato soup and some pretzels shortly after getting home. Then I rested for an hour or so before going outside to work with Ledger. In the middle of his groundwork lesson, I felt myself getting that pre-blackout feeling that comes from crashing blood sugar. Oopsie!
A quick dose of Mamma Chia and a Nutri-Grain bar, followed by a beef stick and some crackers, revived me enough to finish with Ledger and do the chores.
There was no reason for that to happen. I hadn’t eaten as much on race day as I do on a normal day. Rookie mistake!
Familiar, though, right? I see endurance riders do this All. The. Time.
Something I did right, though, was skin preparation for the cold, sunny day. In the morning, I applied my favorite hyaluronic acid moisturizer under my daily mineral sunscreen, and was pleased to finish the race without any redness or chapping.
Pro tip: Anytime you’ll be adventuring on a reflective surface (water, snow, salt flats), be sure your sunscreen covers the bottom of your nose and underside of your jaw.
Training-wise, I felt like my aerobic preparation was more than adequate. Most of my structures were up to the task as well. I have almost no delayed onset muscle soreness, with the notable exception of stiff ankles.
I was expecting that, since I trained mostly on a treadmill. I have the fancy kind that does incline and decline, but its smooth surface does nothing to prepare my stabilizer muscles for varied terrain.
I like the treadmill because the extra flex keeps my grouchy feet happy; however, I’ll need to mix in more actual trail workouts before the Owhyee River Challenge trail half-marathon in March.
Overall, my first winter trail race was a fantastic experience. Wilson Creek Frozen comes highly recommended with all the stars!
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BACON!!!!! Good thing I was not near that aid station.
the week before, I had hiked the 10-mi loop backwards. i had no spikes with me, and there were sheets of ice in places along that creek that I had to crawl over on all fours! Also the herd of wild horses on the hills above 🙂
I forgot my sunscreen and sunglasses. Duh!
there are a couple more photos of you in the gallery.
and great comparisons to an Endurance ride/horses.
You looked awesome!
I know, right!? They were offering frozen pickles at the mile 5 aid station. Not that they *started* frozen… I was keeping my eyes peeled for the wild horses, though I reckoned they’d probably cleared out for the day. LOL Love the photos, thank you!!!