broken arrow

It’s been a minute! Since the last update I moved back to Alaska (yay), have been scrambling to finish my masters degree, and have been happily climbing back up the fitness ladder back to racing. Here’s a little update on the lead up and how things went down on a great day at Broken Arrow at Palisades Tahoe, California. :) thanks for being here!

My first time at the iconic Broken Arrow Skyrace was characterized by two laps of big, never ending technical climbs, fast descents, and unrelenting heat and altitude. Oof. My last 50k-ish race was in November of 2023 at Puerto Vallarta. Long enough that I was second guessing my ability to run hard for 5+ hours. 

This whole spring I felt like it was one thing after another with injury—truly right as my posterior tibialis injury was getting better I quite literally got hit by a car while on a run which took me out from a week of training right when I was starting to build momentum. Thankfully that fiasco turned out just about as decently as it could have. After I felt recovered physically and mentally from that trauma and learned to run with a broken hand and excruciating road rash, I started to get whispers of pain in my other post tib, had to scale back for a week or so again, and called off racing the Silver State 50k in Reno. 

Miraculously, the week I moved back to Anchorage my body started to feel so much better and I had the best 2+ weeks of training of the whole year. Maybe it’s coincidence, maybe it’s the sea level, or maybe it’s my body just knowing it’s where it belongs. Things just felt like they started to click and I had confidence that I could actually make it to Broken Arrow the way I wanted to. 

Big front range long run!

A big snow year granted the opportunity to race one of my favorite Alaska Mountain Runners Grand Prix races, Knoya Ridge Run, on a Thursday night in Anchorage. This is an uphill only, 5.5 mile race with over 4k of vert. My only goal here was to run strong and PR my 2021 winning time of 1:11. I was so happy to get that PR by 5 min and felt really strong and relatively relaxed the entire time. I had big ambitions to double down with another uphill race at Bird Ridge Hill Climb on the Sunday before Broken Arrow, but I came down with a (rare for me) cold the week before and was heavily advised by people much smarter than me to not push through any lingering congestion and risk not showing up to Broken Arrow at my best. This was definitely the right call as I felt about 95% in the days before the race. One of my life lessons this year that I’m continually trying to learn is how to adapt to the punches of life. I often have a hard time letting go of the roadmap I’ve lined out in my head, but the reality is there are so many paths to success — whatever that means.

Kal’s Knoya Ridge Run. Photo by Joseph Dickerson

Peeking at start lists or listening to pre-race previews really brings out the devil and angel on my shoulders. I know that it is better for me mentally to avoid all that stuff and just focus on my own race. Weeks before the race, though, I did look at the start list and felt overwhelmed by the depth of competition. Don’t get me wrong, I want my races to be competitive! It brings out the best in everyone and makes results mean that much more. But knowing too much can make me spiral and doubt myself, playing out every worst case scenario in my head. In the days before the race though, I felt surprisingly calm. Something switched and I decided that I wanted to put myself right in the mix of the race and that if I had a good day, there was no reason I couldn’t podium or even win. 

Arctic Valley loop

My least favorite part of any race is the immediate lead up. The day before, morning of, and even the warmup and 10 last minute trips to the porta potty I find to be quite dreadful. Once the race gets going, I actually find some relief. I’m told that this race started out hard, but to be honest I didn’t feel that way. I felt fairly controlled but of course, like we were running strong. I quickly found myself running with Emkay and Toni. The three of us traded positions naturally a few times and went back and forth between being closely bunched to more spread out. Nearing the top of the major climb of the first lap, Toni started to pull away while Emkay and I hiked together. Sarah caught up to us and made a move, passing on a steep, loose rock section before catching up to Toni. The grade mellowed out a bit and I pulled away from Emkay and eventually caught up to Sarah and Toni. At this point I knew we were still early in the race, so I tried not to overthink any one moment as the positions were shifting a lot. I also tried to appreciate the dynamic in the moment, as having this close of racing can sometimes be rare in women’s trail races. It was really fun to all be pushing each other the way we were.

Photo by Ryan Thrower

As Toni, Sarah and I crested the high point of the course, we ran together into the aid station. Toni started to pull away on the flat and then steep downhill into Shirley Canyon while Sarah and I stayed together for a few minutes. Soon after I started to pull away from Sarah, which I was nervous to do knowing that would mean pounding my legs on the steep ski road before having to climb out of Shirley Canyon again and head out for another lap. I guess I subconsciously decided to go for it, running quickly down but losing sight of Toni. I felt like I was developing a sizable gap, but knew I couldn’t let up. Despite my mixed feelings about the two lap nature of this race, it was really fun and energizing to come through the village at the halfway point and have so many people cheering. That gave me a boost going into the first part of the second lap, but that was soon clouded by my stomach taking a turn and me puking out a bright green slew of electrolytes and gels onto the single track. Thankfully that was short lived, probably due to pounding the rest of my bottle and gels so I could swap them out for fresh ones at the village. After the little pukey episode I kept it moving, trying to match the places where I knew I ran versus hiked on the previous lap.

Photo by Ryan Thrower — all smiles before the puke fest

At one point I could see Emkay through the trees and figured she was a few minutes back, but I could still see her and knew I needed to keep moving strong. Little did I know, she soon turned back and dropped out of the race. Still, the thought of anyone closing in on me kept me moving as best as I could. After the top of the high point, I was surprised how relatively quickly the rest of the final lap went. I felt pretty confident about holding on to my position, but still wanted to run the best time I could. I tried to run as strong as realistically possible for me in that stage of the race and took in energy from passing racers finishing their first lap. 

Photo by Ryan Thrower

It’s easy for me to pick apart the details of a race, but generally I’m proud of this one. I said in the post race press conference that I feel like I have two selves (maybe it’s the gemini in me) — part of me (we’ll call her shiny Klaire) is confident in my abilities and knows I belong at the front of these races. But the other half of me (we’ll call her rusty Klaire), and the half that can often be much louder and far more annoying, struggles with confidence in all the ways. Whether it be that my training doesn’t look like my competition, my body, my racing splits, or whatever it is — I have those moments and it’s something I am continuously battling. When the former shines through, I usually surprise myself. This race wasn’t perfect by the definition of rusty Klaire but it was an experience I really needed to give shiny Klaire the confidence but also the fire to keep building into the rest of my year. Next up, it’s time to shine on the best day of the year! See ya in Seward on July 4 ;)

<3 Klaire