Frozen Snot – A Frigid Adventure Race Recap

by Erica LuBera

I want to start this tale with a brief description of the race, then maybe flashback to 2018 when I ran my very first Frozen Snot race – for those who don’t know much about me or the event. You can skip ahead if you know both.

What’s this race all about….?

The Frozen Snot is located in McElhattan, PA in Zindel Park. While Zindel Park offers many trail options for a milder, gentler hike (or run), the Frozen Snot Mountain Epic does not take you strolling down those trail. Instead, you run about 1 mile of road until you reach the first mountain which promptly guides you 1,100 ft up a mountain in just about a ½ mile. If you aren’t familiar with typical trail grade elevations, this is an incredibly gnarly first climb. It will be one of the  longest ½ miles you’ll ever experience…that is until you get to climb #2 and #3, #4, #5….you get the idea. Throughout this race, there are very few sections that most runners would consider “runnable”. Hence the name…Mountain Epic 😊

For context, here are the race stats for the half marathon and the “short” course.

Long Course:

• Length: 13.5 +/- miles
• Total Elevation Gain: 5,800 + feet
• Elevation Gain Per Mile: 423 feet   
• Toughest Single Climb: 1,300 feet (The Beast)         

Short Course:

• Length: 8.3 +/- miles
• Total Elevation Gain: 3,775 + feet
• Elevation Gain Per Mile: 454 feet
• Toughest Single Climb: 1,100 feet (Barb’s KMA Trail)

How did this adventure start…?

I first learned of this race in 2017. I had discovered trail running recently and found it really helped with my general mood. I thought I could use a race to help motivate me through the winters, which usually brought our good friend “depression” along with the colder, darker, more indoor-oriented days. When I heard of this event, which is said to be held during historically the coldest time of the year, I figured “why not?”. To help me prepare, I ran a 10k as my first ever trail race about 3 months prior. Should be good, right? I was signed up for the Frozen Snot short course of 8.5 miles and thought 6 miles (the 10k) would be a good stepping stone, right??

Hah – well, I wasn’t necessarily wrong. But, I was not prepared for what that course had in store for me. By the end, my legs were jelly, I walked backwards down steps for a week, and I. was. HOOKED. I’ve since signed up for the race every year, only missing two years due to injuries. Don’t worry, I still showed up to claim my swag on race day and cheer on all my crazy friends out there running. And of course, I made sure to go back and run the course after I was healed.

2024 Race Recap!

Going into any race, I’m always so nervous that I’ll wake up several time throughput the night thinking “oh no! I’m late! I’m missing the event!” , and this race was no different. I had also spent the past 1-2 months striving to recover from a knee niggle (i.e. a chronic annoying lil pain that isn’t quite an injury) which was proving to be rather stubborn. However, it was steadily improving up to race day. All this is to say, there was a certain degree of anxiety on race day morning. Will my knee hold up? Will it explode? How will my reduced recovery training affect my overall ability to achieve my goals? I placed second in 2023 and had vastly improved my previous PR (personal record), so I had some big goals this year:

• Goal #1, beat old me! Shooting to PR with an average 15 min/mile pace.
• Goal #2, hopefully that puts me towards the front of the pack, and winning would be pretty cool.

Pre-race…

My husband (also running today) and I arrived at our usual “almost late” time of 7:06 am for the 7:30 start. I had just enough time to squeeze in a quick warm-up, put on my race bib, and make it to the start line. My thoughtful husband picked up our race bibs and swag while I took off for my warm-up.  

On the warm-up, I’m getting into the zone with some tunes and along comes this long legged girl in royal blue leggings, who I’ve never seen before. She is also running a warm-up. Okay, cool. During one of my sprints, she passes me with ease. I think…”who the s**t is this?” But then, loads of runners are faster than me on the road. “Okay, wait and see how Long-blue-legs handles climbs and descents.” I think.

Bib on, running vest packed with snacks, water, salt tabs, and a respectable amount of TP in a Ziploc (ya never know), I am at the start line with adrenaline pumping through my veins. I am on fire and ready to take off!

Race…

From the start I put myself out ahead so I can see who is up front with me. As I look around, I’m not surprised to see Long-blue-legs right there with the front runner group…ahead of me…on the road. I keep to my pace and look around at the rest of the crowd. I note that I don’t see Lisa Fisher, who I’m pretty sure holds the course record for women. Think – “Okay, cool, more eggs in the maybe-I-can-win-this-thing basket”. The first climb is Barbs KMA, 1,100 ft over about half a mile. I love this climb, it’s my go to mental projection when I’m in the middle of a really grueling workout. I picture I’m on this hill and somehow whatever is going on in my current workout feels less grueling. As we climb, I eventually find myself passing a few other male runners, and end up behind Long-blue-legs. I think about introducing myself, but still enjoying the silence of the climb, I choose to stay in my head. We climb silently for a while until it feels organic to pass, and on I go to the top of the mountain with cow bells ringing and volunteers hooting/hollering. You can always count on the trail community to make you feel special along the way!

When you reach the top of Barb’s KMA, you get about 10 seconds of chill time at the top before the trail drops you down the other side of the mountain on Piper’s Pitch trail. It’s an incredibly steep pitch (hence the name) covered in boulders and loose rocks. Certain hills along this course are deemed dangerous enough to have ropes attached to trees, which you can use to guide your balance as you descend. Piper’s Pitch is one of those hills. I let loose with my stride and catch my friend, Adam Kolb (aka Tank). He’s still recovering from a recent injury, I believe, but it is still so awesome to catch him. I haven’t been able to keep pace with that maniac since 2018.

The trail then takes you around a lil gully only to start climbing once again, now on a trail called the Goat Path. As Adam catches me, he easily passes me back, and I turn to ask “Interested in a game of leap frog?”. This is a game I’ve become very accustomed to. In trail running, there are many different skill sets. Uphill climbing, downhill bombing, flat road running, and more. Some people have all the skills, but most are better at one or another. This leads to a ton of back and forth throughout the course of a race, as those on the downhill catch those who might be better on the ups, and so on and so on. Adam chuckles and says something along the lines of “I usually am” as he continues to pull away up the mountain. The trail turns left to continue climbing to the peak of the mountain along the “Goat Patch Extension”, while a trail to the right would continue up in a more gradual fashion to a lower section of the mountain along a spur trail, Lightning Bolt. We take the steep path.

Once again, when you reach the top of Goat Path Extension, you’re greeted with the smell of friendly camp fire, cheering, and cow bells. Do I hear music up there? Now 3 miles into the race with 2,000 ft of gain climbed, my brain is not 100% functioning on all cylinders. I’m told there was music up there. I wave and turn right to promptly begin running back down the mountain towards the trail I previously mentioned called “Lightning Bolt”. Are you sensing a pattern? What goes up, must come down, right? Anyway, Lightning Bolt is aptly named. I’m not sure of the true story behind the name, but I like to think it’s because you can really open your stride and run down this mountain at the speed of light. I start flying and again catch/pass Adam continuing our friendly game of Leap Frog.

All the while, I know Long-blue-legs is still behind me. As I begin up the next climb (named Gut Check), I begin to feel light cramping in my calf muscles. Not full cramps, just the little teasers, like “Hi there, hi, I’m a cramp, I’m about to wreck your day, maybe…now? Nope. Now? Nope…now?”. I take my first salt tab, drink my electrolyte water (Skratch), eat a fig bar, and continue. Hopefully one of those strategies works. Down the other side of Gut Check and it’s time for the nice rolling “flat” section of Laurel Run (beautiful trail, easy to reach without climbing 2.5 mountains, check it out!). But first, you must cross the bridge over Laurel Run. This is a wonderful sturdy bridge built by folks in our own trail community, but it’s important to note, it does not have railings.

By the time I’m crossing the bridge over Laurel Run, my calf decides NOW, NOWS THE TIME to fully cramp. I’m running over this 2 ft wide bridge with no railing and for a few milliseconds, while mid-air, my leg becomes a useless wooden peg of fiery-pain. I managed to catch myself, shake it off, and keep pushing. Now hobbling a little, but not laying in the creek below, so, win. I continue drinking more Skratch and looking forward to knowing the famous Bacon Station is coming up soon.

Side Note: The Bacon Station is an Aid Station (aka AS, a table/tent with food and/or drink hosted by volunteers) that is known for their epic bacon snacks and other libations. The volunteers who run these stations are true angels – and ones that know how to have a good time, at that. If you are looking to be introduced to the trail community, volunteer for an aid station! The Bacon Station is my favorite – I LOVE bacon!

With all the twists and turns, I know Long-blue-legs was there even if I can’t see her. I grab one bacon (sad face, should have grabbed more) and call out my thanks as I tear away from the funtastic volunteers. There’s a “runnable” section here where I can take in a bit more food before we begin climbing again, this time on a trail called ‘The Avenue’. My calves are now tease-cramping every few steps. More Skratch, a fig bar, and another salt tab gone. Erica is officially out of salt tabs, so hopefully that does the trick.

“This moment matters.”

a mantra

I’m pushing the downhills as hard as I can because I can tell that’s where I’m building any gaps with Long-legs. She seems to catch me on the climbs and I already witnessed how fast she is on the road/flat. My mantra for the day is “this moment matters”. This way, when I hit a flat stretch or more runnable trail, I won’t start thinking I can let off. I’ve never used this mantra before today but it came to me during the run, and felt fitting. It helped me dig deeper in moments when I ordinarily may have let myself relax a little.

More climbs, descents, ups, downs, on and on. As I begin climbing the long, frustratingly steeper-as-you-go-climb call “Why Not?”, I hear a familiar voice from behind. Eric (Idiot Runner), John Johnson, and Adam K (Tank) caught up to me again. I hear “You better be running scared because she is right behind you” from Eric. While I already know this, his statement got my blood flowing just a bit hotter and I rUn more of the climb with his words for fuel. All the while she gains on me.

Finally, about 75% up Why Not? trail climb, Long-legs and John are right behind me. After a few minutes of them right on my heels, I finally decide to introduce myself. Now I have a name…Aimee. She is running Frozen Snot for the first time, and she thinks that it’s a gnarly grueling hellscape of a race. I agree…but it’s the best kind of gnarly hellscape. I have the impression she might agree with me on this. John and Aimee start chatting and I’m back in my head again, we’ve reached the top of the climb, and I’m taking off for the next downhill.

As I follow Eric down Mt. Logan Direct, Adam behind me now, I’m moving flippin’ fast (I think) when my right calf fully seizes in a cramp and does NOT let up this time. Suddenly I’m on the ground yelling whatever curse words come to me while trying to shove my foot against a tree. I begin hulking-out trying to force my foot flat against the tree to stretch out the cramped, seizing, acid filled calf-muscle. Poor Adam is behind me and must think I’m like popping a broken bone back in or something (which is completely understandable, my reaction was quite dramatic, and this trail is gnarly), and I hear his genuinely concerned voice holler “Hold on! I’m coming! Hold on!”. I’m feeling so terrible for freaking him out and I holler back “Just a cramp! Just trying to stretch it out!”. We concur, salt is needed at the next Aid Station (AS), only 1-2 miles away. Only 1 very long, steep, rope covered descent between me and that salt. Before I reach the AS, the other calf decides to join the pain party and seizes up as well. More choice words are thrown around as I slam my foot into the ground and try to push my heel flat to stretch it back out. About 15-30 seconds later, I finally have a partially functioning leg again. I eat a blueberry smoothie baby food pouch (they’re delicious, don’t judge) and continue on my way to the AS.

Finally! I’ve arrived! I run into the Zindel Park AS, also the turning point where you can either run ~1 mile down the road to finish the “short” course or choose to continue another ~5 miles and run the half marathon distance. My parents are there cheering and I know I look like hell. I try to smile and wave but I think my first words are “salt, I need salt”. I hope I said hello, thank you, I love you all, but I don’t remember (please know I meant those things).  I down 2 cups of Gatorade and swallow a chewable salt tab before I can realize what it is. Oh well, salt is in me. I’m sure you don’t have to chew it.

At this stage in the race, I know I need to find some extra jet power. Aimee is strong and not getting weaker. I need to find a new fire in me somewhere and knock this final loop out fast. As the course begins loop two, the first section you will complete is called The Beast. It’s the longest climb of the entire race. You’ve already climbed 3,700 ft over just 7 miles…what’s another 1,300 ft of climbing? Hah. I try to take advantage of the boulders by dropping my heels before pushing off in an attempt to stretch my calf. I do this any chance I get with my natural stride hoping to stretch out those cramping muscles.

In any mountain epic, you should always expect to run into a few blunders or setbacks. It can’t all be smooth sailing. Enter stage left – Erica runs out of water while climbing The Beast. I pull on the water hose, nothing. I reach back to feel the water bladder in my running vest and… nothing. I think to myself “F*** it, who cares, I’m not going to die on 4 miles with no water”, and continue my climb. At the top there is a rolling section of rocks/laurels/snow and I’m beginning to feel a wobble in my stride. My muscles are fatiguing fast and tripping becomes a constant obstacle. My mental state quickly follows suite and soon I’m getting turned-around several times… cursing and running back to find a turn I must have missed…and I make a mental note to “Get with it, Erica”.

The Sluice! It’s the final long, technical descent in the race. Covered in loose boulders, it’s barely a trail if it weren’t for the little pink and black flags hanging from a branch or so in the distance.  Just before I begin to descend, I see Aimee not far behind. I’m sure she began catching me on the Beast and closed the gap as I stumbled around the top of the Beast/Sluice.

So… I generally love running downhill with “reckless abandon”, it’s one of the first things I learned to love about trail running other than losing my mind on a climb. Nothing else exists in those moments, just you and the mountain. But even I would consider the style in which I tore down the Sluice to be dangerously reckless. Please do not follow my example. I am just baffled that I didn’t hurt myself as I tripped every 5 steps grabbing onto branches and literally throwing myself at the trail below. In my mind, this was my final chance to build a gap that I’d need to then hold onto for dear life once achieved. I reach the bottom of the Sluice, somehow still all in one piece, and know from here it’s all rolling runnable trail to the end.  I peek over my shoulder and see no one. “Keep pushing”. 

“Keep your hand in the fire…run on the edge of discomfort, but with the room to maintain“

Sayard Tanis Coaching

As I run blurry eyed and wondering where I am going to find more speed, my mood begins to turn. I begin to doubt that I could possibly hold her off. Every downhill I bombed, I would pull away only to have her catch me again shortly after. With the rest of the course “runnable”, I realize I might have to make good with losing the 1^st place position that I had held onto for ~11 miles up to this point. I’m going to find it in me to be okay with it and run my own race like I had planned from the start. I had gotten caught up in the placing, and lost my reason for running this race…which isn’t to win it. The goals I set always stem from a primary goal…to reach for my own limits and discover if I can grapple with them when I get there. Striving for time, or placing, are just a couple ways to achieve that. While I am struggling to make this mental switch, enter Eric “Idiot Runner” Kosek.

A bit about Eric. He is a successful running coach and has won many races outright. We’ve been friends since I almost beat his wife at a 25k trail race in 2018. The name “Idiot Runner” comes from his swag company/brand/club that sells running gear and provides motivation to runners. Their tagline is “We’re smart enough to know how dumb this is”. Idiot Runner encourages pushing your limits, setting personal records, and reaching for goals that might scare you.

I don’t know where he came from but his voice is suddenly behind me saying (and, I can’t remember exactly what was said…but it was something like) “She is right on you, you better be running your hardest. You better not let her catch you. You need to build the gap now.” These words may seem harsh, but I know they came from a place of genuine care and passion for the competition, and it’s exactly what I needed in that moment. In my tired, worn down state, all I could do is mumble “Yep”, “I know” “You’re right” and dig deeper. I may have added some other choice words. He ran ahead but with his words I was able to recover my mind to finish with nothing left out on the course. My coach, Sayard Tannis, has a saying – “Keep your hand in the fire…run on the edge of discomfort, but with the room to maintain”. With my hand in the proverbial fire all day, I figured why not just jump in feet first? I started to run wondering how I was going to be able to keep it up, then dug deeper and kept pushing.

I’m finally pulling into the last AS with only the 1 mile flat road stretch remaining. My parents and many volunteers are there cheering. I see my dad, lock eyes, and as I approach, in my calmest tone of voice I can muster ask “Is she right behind me?”. At first I think he doesn’t hear me, and I sure as heck am not going to look over my shoulder or stop to repeat myself… there is just no time. But then, as he looks stoically over my shoulder, he says without looking back, “I see that, yes.”. In that moment I knew I’d lost it. No, I didn’t give up, but more so I understood the moment. I wasn’t going to be able to hold my place and I would instead run my heart out just to know I did everything I could while I watched her pull away. That 1 mile road stretch was an eternity but I was going to give it everything.

I finished 5 minutes faster than my fasted time ever and PR’d the course, goal #1 achieved. Adam K (Tank) finished 4 minutes ahead of me, so I think he won the game of leap frog. I am proud of my time, my effort, my grind and never giving up. At the same time, a part of me is mourning the place I thought might be mine for nearly 13 miles. I know I ran my best, but her best was better this day. I chatted with Aimee after, and as with most folks in this amazing community of trail runners, she was lovely and kind and truly a great competitor. Just an all-around bad ass chick. She has a running club near Nazareth, PA called “The Running Kind”, so check it out if that’s in your area! I know I will be.

HUGE thank you to everyone who make this race happen every year. Luke Ebeling the Race Director, Jane Kone, Mike Haffley and his entire crew. Every person who puts any time into caring for these trails, placing ropes on dangerous descents, traveling to remote areas of the forest to cheer on and/or make sure we all make it out okay, handling registration, planning cool swag….everything. I appreciate you!