Three letters that no runner ever wants to see. You would never wish it on another runner, not even your worst rival. I am of course talking about Did Not Finish. Every runner dreads this, but if you run enough races, it is inevitable.
On January 17th, 2015, I experienced my first DNF ever. It was at the Frozen Otter 64 on the Ice Age Trail in Wisconsin. A 64 mile race over hills and through the Kettle Moraine State Forrest. Oh did I mention its in the middle of January. Now most years, the ground may be packed with ice and possibly, several feet of snow. Not this year. This year the snow was a mere few inches and the temperature hung around in the mid to upper 30's during the day. The whole week leading up to the race I was constantly having to swap out gear to adjust for the increasing temperature. I was confident in my ability and in my training. How wrong I was.
The morning of the race I had my pack ready and all my gear on. I was warm, but not too warm. I decided to wear a lightweight pair of boots with micro spikes instead of my Salomon Speed Cross 3's. First Mistake.
My pack, while having all the required gear, food and water, was heavier than I anticipated at around 20 lbs. Second Mistake.
So before the race, everyone gathered in the shelter next to Lake Mauthe and the race director, Todd, went over some safety issues and rules. Afterwards, everyone meandered to the starting line. At this point I put my micro spikes on and I was ready to go. Standing with my friends at the start we joked and talked about strategy and how we were going to run the flats and downhills and then walk the uphills. Great strategy.
The countdown began. The air horn sounded, and we were off. We had positioned ourselves at the front of the pack and ran down the road about a quarter of a mile and turned off onto the trail. BTW, micro spikes are very uncomfortable running on concrete. As soon as we started, Mike, took off at a brisk pace. It was at that exact moment I realized something. My gear was heavy. It's never a good thing when at the very start of a race you are already finding mistakes that you made. The pack felt heavy on my back as it bounced around and I had on more clothes than were needed given the temperature and the level of exertion. We all stayed within about 100 yards of each other for the first mile. It was right about then, on a downhill, that I firmly planted my left foot right into a hole under the snow and rolled my ankle. I pulled up cursing loudly and stumbled to a tree for balance. One though kept going through my mind. One mile in. I was only one mile in and had already hurt myself.
After a minute or two of working my ankle it seemed to get better and I was able to walk on it. I started back off and eased into a trot. there were a lot of hills for the first 8 miles. I had lost track of the group I was with but cared little. I knew we would be separated at some point and had no desire to slow anyone else down. I held a pretty good pace alternating between a run and fast hike the first 8 miles. I came into the first check point and saw Tata Maam and Chad Weberg there waiting for me. They were leapfrogging the check points to be there for us in case we needed anything and for support. When I asked I found out I was about 20 - 30 minutes behind the group I started with. Not bad I thought. I was still making good time coming in at 2:30 for the first 8 miles.
I left the aid station refreshed from the Scratch Endurance fuel that was provided by the race and moved some of my snacks from my pack to my pockets for easy reach. Chowed down on some trail mix to keep my energy up and took off from the check point after about 5 minutes. I was onto the next 8 mile leg and was making good time when going down a few hills, all of a sudden, my micro spikes started to slip off my boots. As soon as the slipped off I lost all traction. I retrieved them and put them back on. This process repeated at least 6 times over the next 2 miles. The final time I was pissed because it was costing me time, and was dangerous considering I was falling all over the place when I suddenly had no traction going down a hill. After the final time, pissed off at my equipment, I took the spikes off and threw them in my bag. This is where everything started to unravel.
Since I took my spikes off, each hill was that much harder to go up because I had little traction. It cost me more energy and because of the lack of traction, every step I took had my foot sliding out, putting strain on my already tender knee. This went on for about 2 or 2 1/2 miles. At that point my knee was aching and the extra strength Tylenal I took wasn't cutting it. It was from about the mile 12 point that I started hiking and was unable to muster a run again. By the time I got to around the 14 mile mark and checked my time, I knew I was not going to be able to finish. I continued hiking and eventually made it to the mile 16 check point. Upon entering I gave my bib number to check in and was asked if there was anything they could get me. My response was "a ride back to the starting area." And thus ended my attempt at the Frozen Otter 64.
This year saw the course record absolutely smashed by almost 3 hours if memory serves. The temperature was warm enough that everyone was joking that it would be know as the Thawed Otter. But this was not my year. Mistakes were made with equipment. I chose to wear boots that while they said they were waterproof, they most certainly were not. What started off as 15 oz boots, became 2 lbs of wet leather and soggy socks. The micro spikes I purchased were cheap. And you know what they say. You get what you pay for. My pack was heavier than was needed. I carried more food than I would eat.
Lessons learned.
I would say that I learned a lot of what not to do for this race. And I will be back next year. With proper equipment and a lighter load. I will finish the Frozen Otter 64 but for at least a year, I will have that DNF hanging over me. No matter what excuses might be made or how much effort was put in, it is stall a DNF. I'll be back. I won't let a course beat me twice.
Ron
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