Bernheim Forest Trail Half Marathon Race Report


Goal: No time goal, because it is a trail race. Just run it as fast as I can.


I jumped into this race in the last minute. I certainly didn't haven any cross country training, in fact I slacked out after the Derby, so (unusual of me), I didn't expect to run a great race. The main reason I still wanted to run it was that I always wanted to run the Millennium Trail in Bernheim Forest as training, and now I would have a cleared trail, lots of signs, aid stations, etc. I knew it was hard but that just made it more attractive.

About 150 runners got together for the race on this cool, gorgeous June morning. A little over 100 would run the half marathon, which was, as I implied, essentially the Millennium Trail. The rest did the full. I talked to Jim, the race director after registration, and he said, if you can run a 1:30 road HM, you will be good for a 2:30 here. He said that I should get a good position in the first mile before the single tracks, then go conservatively till about mile 7; then my road experience will drive me home. I actually took his advice word by word.

Bernheim Forest is a beautiful nature preserve close to Clermont, KY, which is about 30 miles from Louisville. I always have to mention that it is right across the road from the Jim Beam distillery. The terrain consists mostly of steep limestone hills, and it is completely forested. There are no high mountains here, but the terrain is unforgiving. I don't want to jump ahead, but I can say that this was the hardest race I have ever done, and in fact probably the hardest athletic achievement of my life.

This was also National Trails Day, so there were lots of events in the forest. The scene was busy around the visitors' center. I started my warmup at around 7:35, because I wanted to be ready to run fast in the first mile. I needed to use the bathroom, but there were only 2 port-a-potties for all these people (the visitors' center building hadn't opened yet), so I chose the bushes. I finished the warmup, and went to the start line.

The start was on an asphalt road by the visitors' center. I wasn't really sure how to line up, so I tried to stay close to the front. Last year's winner gave a little speech at the beginning, which was sort of like a prayer, but the John Muir way. Our church is the forest, and our religion is nature. I really liked it. Probably because that is what I believe in. When I die, I want my ashes to be scattered in the forest. Preferably at a place where no building, no city, no civilization will ever ruin the holiness of nature.

(Here I took a long break of writing this report to read about John Muir again. He is my prophet. I am so touched by his writings. If you haven't heard about this man, you must look him up.)

At exactly 8:00 the race started. It was a much more relaxed start than most road races. People honestly tried to find their place before the single track. I decided to let a few people pass. I was doing a 6:50-7:00 pace, anticipating major difficulties later. (I was right.)

At around mile 1.5, we hit the single tracks. And up we went! My run slowed to a jog first, and then to a walk. I didn't feel too bad, because most people were walking around me. I mean, it was hard enough to walk fast there, and whoever tried to run were not actually faster. I'm talking about really steep climbs. In about 1/2 mile we gained close to 400 feet of elevation. Now I understood why Jim said 2:30. I tried to keep up with the people around me, but I was worried that I would kill myself at the very beginning, so I let a few more people pass. One guy, in particular, in a gray UA tee shirt, was hesitant first, but he decided to go for it and pulled away. The rest of the runners who passed me stayed in my general vicinity. There was one more very young guy, who ran shirtless (actually banditing, as I learned later): he was in front of me, but I lost sight of him eventually.

Four of us stayed mostly together. A latino looking guy, a girl, who was the leading female runner, an orange tee shirt and I. At around mile 2 or 3, the orange tee let us pass, and I never saw him again. The sun was coming out, the forest was beautiful, and I felt the spirits of the forest around me. The exertion made this feeling even stronger. I was hurting, but the pain was pleasurable .

The three of us followed the following formula: the latino guy was in the front, I was in the middle and the girl at the back. The latino guy pulled away on the climbs, and we both caught up on the downhills. There was virtually no flat surface. In fact the downhills were also so steep, that it took more effort to run on them than on flat road. We had to constantly brake, slow down, otherwise a fall would be inevitable. In fact the latino guy had a few close calls, and once he sprained his ankle. I was watching him from behind, and it looked bad, but he kept running.

At around mile 3.5, I started to feel really thirsty. There hadn't been any aid stations yet. I asked the latino guy if we passed any. He said no, and he also said we will have one in every 3-4 miles. At mile 4, I started to  worry. At mile 4.5  I was really thirsty and I started to really worry. I knew if I won't have water in about a mile, my race is blown. The latino guy was so nice that he offered to share his dwindling resources, but of course I couldn't accept it. Fortunately we hit a gravel road at mile 4.7 (the first one), and there was the aid station! Now on trail race, it is different than on the road. At least that's how I see it: on the road, you pick up a cup (or two), and take it with you. Drink the water and throw away the cup. It's fine, especially if you do it in a few hundred meters of the aid station: the volunteers pick up the cups. On the trail, throwing away a cup in the woods sounds sacrilegious to me. So I stopped, drank a cup of water, threw the cup into the trash, then went on. I probably should have drank two cups, but I didn't want my company to leave me behind.

The next mile was flat or downhill. The girl told me she wanted to pass me, and I said OK, but I stayed on her heel. Actually I felt that they were blocking me a bit, but I didn't mind. I remembered what Jim said to take the first 7 miles conservatively. We were still quite fast. In fact at one point we descended so fast that my ear popped. I have never experienced that on a narrow, rocky, technical trail. In fact a guy after the race told me that he saw me run downhill in the beginning, and he doesn't understand how can I be so fast. I told him that I'm simply crazy. When I race, nothing else matters. I run fast or I die. It must be the ancient fleeing reflex working in me.

At close to mile 7, the marathon course diverted, and we almost took the turn. Right after that, a brutal, one mile long climb started. The latino guy first pulled away, as usual. The girl jogged a bit, and I just walked. I basically did the same pace walking as she jogging. Soon she stopped and let me pass. I told her that she might pass me back soon, cause I'm just as tired, but she seemed really exhausted, so I passed here anyway. In 50 meters, the latino guy exclaimed "shit!", and he stopped. So I passed him walking. I gained 50 meters on them by the end of the climb (walking!), and then when the flat(ter) stage started, I thought it was my time, so I decided to open up a gap. I went hard. The course was somewhat flat here (meaning rolling hills), and I did leave them behind. So much so, that when I reached the aid station at mile 8, I drank two cups of water, and they didn't catch up. After that, it was a downhill mile, and I really went berserk, I couldn't believe myself how much risk I was willing to take. I glanced back, but but my two former companions were nowhere in sight.

I reached mile 9, the valley, all by myself. I hit a fire road, and the course followed this road for a few hundred meters. The signage was somewhat confusing, and I stopped, and ran back a little, but then I figured out the way to go. I immediately realized the dangers of running alone... Anyway, I only lost about 30 seconds. I heard after the race that some people kept following the fire road for over a mile before they realized they went off the course. Well, I guess this is part of the difficulty of trail races.

After the turn off the fire road, I started to count back the miles. Only four miles left... I started to hurt real bad... on the top of this, all of the mile from 9 to 10 was uphill. I tried to run here and there but it was really hard. I started to talk to myself. "It's a fucking race, you asshole. Run, like you mean it!" When this stopped working, I started to imagine the latino and the girl as a lion chasing me (don't laugh now). I seriously induced fear in myself to produce some adrenaline. "You run, or you'll fucking die here." I was gasping for air. When a blackberry bush scratched me at one point, I felt a kind of a relief. Because it was a different kind of a pain, not nearly as bad as the one I felt running.

I looked at my GPS watch at one point, and I could believe I only advanced a half of a mile... but at the end I somehow made it to the top. Mile 10, and another aid station. Almost too soon. But they had Coke! I drank a cup of Coke, thanked them and I was off.

You probably noticed that I haven't written about my splits and pace. It is because in this race it was essentially meaningless. After I left latino guy and the girl behind, I suspected I was in the top 10, and all I cared about was my position. I wanted to finish in the top 10. In particular, because those are the runners, who are listed on the main page of the results. My overall pace at the mile 10 aid station was 9:41/mile, which slowed to 9:43 by the time I finished my Coke. It sounds pathetic, but I swear it was a lot harder than the 6:40 pace of the Derby Half.

Rolling hills followed the aid station, and lots of vegetation. It was hard to see the ground, or anything for that matter. I did a steady pace, until suddenly, I saw the bandit guy walking 50 meters ahead of me. When he saw me, he started running, but it was hopeless. I made a point of running him down fast, so he would be demoralized. Later he told me he didn't feel ethical to drink anything at aid stations, so he was very dehydrated by that time. No wonder! He asked me how far from the finish we were, and wished me good luck.

I continued to press on. I didn't know this guy was banditing, so now I wanted to defend my new position. A downhill section started, and then who did I see? The gray tee shirt guy, who passed me before mile 2. When he saw me I told him: "Well, I see you again." He responded: "Hi! Go ahead, I'll stick with you." I didn't respond, but I thought: "You wish!" I passed him and then I ran really hard. I opened up a big gap immediately. In a half of a mile, he was not in sight.

There was one last really hard climb. Starting at mile 11.5, it went all the way to almost mile 13. I was struggling more than ever, but pressing harder than ever. The gray tee passed me on an uphill back at mile 2, so I thought he may come back any time. But only a mile and a half left. I tried every trick in the book. Lions, out-of-body, he-is-right-behind-me, etc. I was hurting real bad. Probably the hardest mile and a half in my life. I felt nausea, and I *wanted* to puke, but my stomach was empty... I didn't stop, of course. I hallucinated a weird guy in white clothes by the trail. I thought it was a spectator, but when I looked at him directly, he disappeared.

I hit mile 13, and an asphalt road. A black arrow pointed to the right, so I took the right turn. I expected the finish line any time, but it didn't come. Neither I saw any ribbons or blazes that were used to mark the course. I glanced at my GPS: it showed 13.25. I started to panic. I slowed down a bit... I'm lost. I can't believe I get lost a quarter mile from the finish line. Where is the finish?! I must have hallucinated the arrow! What now? Should I run back?

Then I spotted a ribbon finally! I ran hard, and I saw some cars ahead, but it was only a parking lot. Then some people... that must be it... but its was only some spectators. At least I knew I was almost there. Then I saw a finish clock, and Jim. The chute was marked with cones, but my brain was gone, and I didn't quite understand where the finish line was supposed to be. Nevertheless, Jim signaled me where to run and I finished the race in 2:10:02. Garmin 13.64 miles. Of course, a trail half marathon is never exactly 13.1 miles, and these trail runners are tough as nail: I'm sure they would only complain if the course is ever shorter.

It turns out that I made 6th place! Not bad, out of 99. Especially, because the runners are more serious here than at road races. The organizers were also impressed, because they knew I wasn't in the trail runner circle, it was my first trail race, I ran in road shoes, and Jim also said that I was the first finisher who didn't fall. :) I was also the fastest guy over 30 (I'm 36), but there were no age group awards.

If you had patience to read this whole thing, you see why I said it was the hardest race I've ever done. It was a lot harder than the KY Derby half. It was a lot harder than the Kiawah Island Marathon. It was a lot harder than any of my two completion of the Gazlo mountain bike endurance event back in Hungary (close to a 100 miles in the Bakony mountains, virtually all off road and rough elevation profile).

Trail runners are the nicest people. I hung around, chatting with people until noon, when they had the award ceremony. The winner's time was 1:45. Unreal. The latino guy finished with 2:18, the girl (who indeed won the female division) finished with 2:15. Trail runners are super modest. I think they are a lot tougher than an average road runner, but there is a lot less bragging here. The hyperbole in "Born to Run" has some truth to it after all.

They had the best food, because they grilled burgers and hot dogs! I had two burgers, plenty of Coke. After the ceremony, I left for home. Only a handful of the marathon runners had arrived by that time. The winning time was (I think) around 3:36. Wow.

After this great event, I still think that trail racing is not for me. It is too hard. It is very hard to prepare for. Hard to measure your progress, because times are meaningless. But is was a lot of fun!

PS: Funny that I just found this on Bernheim's website:

"Half Millennium Trail Hike
Take a hike – a long hike! Tony Cecil and other Bernheim Volunteer Naturalists will be your guides on half of the 13.75 mile Millennium Trail. This is a rigorous hike; experienced hikers only please. Bring a bag lunch, snacks and plenty of water."

So if *hiking* *half* of the trail is rigorous, and for experienced hikers only, how about *running* the *whole* trail *as fast as possible*. Well, I can barely move now...