After getting a taste of the Barkley Fall Classic (BFC) last year, I couldn’t wait to return. I knew several people who entered the lottery, and the first to receive an invite was my brother-in-law, Micah. After some time on the waitlist, I also got an invite and set my sights on returning to Frozen Head. The BFC is the “little brother” of the Barkley Marathons with a 50k course that’s mostly on park trails, while the Barkley Marathons is mostly off-trail with a 60-hour cutoff for approximately 100 miles of running. However, neither race course has a confirmed distance.
On race morning, at 0700, with Laz’s cigarette being lit, the BFC was officially underway. The course for the 2024 edition was considered “front-loaded,” with the most difficult sections in the first half of the race. First, we started with a tough trail climb, which we’ll call “the warm-up.” Next, we had a rugged, off-trail out-and-back (which included three climbs and three descents); we’ll call this part “the whip.” Part 3 is “the easy part”—simple enough—and thefinal part we’ll call “a second kick to the teeth,” which was a climb allegedly 6 miles in length but likely closer to 9.
Micah and I planned to stick together for as long as we could. I wanted him to set the pace since his top-end climbing speed is faster than mine. After letting a few antsy people by, we slowly worked our way up the field. The first section came and went very smoothly as we maintained a smart pace and took care of nutrition and hydration. The warm-up was over.
Next up was “the whip.” This section had literal and figurative razor-sharp barbs combined with steep terrain, bad footing, and, in places, unrelenting sun exposure that worked to beat race participants into submission. It started with a daunting power line descent encased in saw briars. We encountered a few traffic backups on the steepest pitches but made great time down the nearly 2,000-foot hill. Things began to get a little warmer, and some sunexposure started to work Micah into a low point, so I tried to keep the gap between us manageable as we approached the turnaround aid station. A climb and descent eventually left us at the base of RatJaw, with the early afternoon sun cranking up the heat. Slowly and methodically, we made our way up the steepslope through the head-high briars. We reached the jeep road that splits the climb roughly in half and welcomed alittle rest in the shade. A park ranger offered us a “DNF and a ride in her UTV back to the start/finish.” It wasn’t a serious consideration, but it did sound like an excellent offer.
It was now time for the easy part. The start of this section was a long descent that was rocky enough that you had to pay attention. I didn’t want to continue to be a carrot for Micah to chase, pushing harder than he needed or wanted to, so we parted ways. I stretched out a little quicker on the descent—the downhill miles clicked off quickly, and I was passing people every few minutes through the next aid stop. Another climb was coming up, and I was still passing people every few minutes (which is not typical for me on uphill sections), so I was feeling pretty good about my current condition and the race as a whole. After a couple of miles on top of the ridge, the easy part was nearly over with a descent down to “the decision point.” Well, it was supposed to be nearly over—the course was supposed to take a hard left turn down a jeep road, but that didn’t look right to me in the moment, so I blew by and continued on a low-traffic trail for about a mile before questioning my direction. There were plenty of red flags as I pressed farther off course. Several times, I looked at my map and gaslit myself into thinking I was headed the right way. When I finally decided I needed to turn around, I looked up the hill about 50 yards and saw a rather large “something”—I think it was a black bear, but it could have been a wild hog—and that was the confirmation I needed. Time to turn around. I backed off the pace a little due to lack of fluids and made it to the decision point in one piece.
The decision point is a feature of the BFC, located at a different place on the course each year (the course also changes each year). Your decision is between a marathon finish or continuing on to a 50k finish—only 50k finishers receive a “Croix de Barque” award. Assuming you make it to the decision point before the cutoff time, you are facedwith the choice of “the easy way out” (marathon) or, this year, “a second kick in the teeth” (50k). My recent discoveryhad me thinking hard about the marathon option, but when facing Laz and a couple of race volunteers, the only thing I could verbalize was that I was having way too much fun to end my day without experiencing the full 50k.
That second kick in the teeth started with the same long, trail climb from the warm-up. It was quite a slog going up and was interrupted by a downhill section. I was pleased to find I could still move pretty well downhill and passed all the people who had flew by me on the uphill trudge. At the base of the descent and facing the final half of the last big climb of the race, I linked up with Colin from Georgia. Together we were able to work a little harder, and while thepace could still be called “slow,” we tackled the climb quicker than I would have going solo. Colin and I yo-yo’d a bit near the summit, as he had a bit more climbing energy left than I did. The traverse along the ridge wasn’t totally flat, but the bulk of the climbing was in the bag. I moved ahead of Colin on some downhills but could see he was still in sight, which benefited us both. It took a bit to reach the last water stop, but quick refills meant all that was left were a few miles of mostly downhill terrain.
The finish is always enhanced when there’s doubt about whether or not you want to continue in a race. The finisher rate for the 50k was under 25%, so I’m grateful to have survived the carnage. This time, my “Croix de Barque” included a star to signify I was a two-time finisher. As for Micah, he opted for “a second kick in the teeth” and did a big chunk of the final climb before turning back and officially logging a DNF—he put in a great effort in tough conditions, covering more distance than a majority of the starting field. I have said before that the BFC is a different sport than trail running. At a minimum, it’s a distinct sub-category, and I’m not sure what to call it, but I know I’m growing quite fond of it.