Why Are We Out Here?

Finding motivation on the Bridger Ridge. 

The slowest runners are already off. The 40th running of the Big Sky Wind Drinkers’ Bridger Ridge Run has begun. Lightning flashes, thunder booms. A cold rain begins to fall. Not sheeting, but steady. The rest of us bunch together under trees. Will the next wave’s start be delayed? The announcer calls out “One minute!” There will be no delay. At the starter’s command, a sea of runners set out, everyone wearing the jackets they had planned to put in their drop bags. The rain continues. It’s getting stormy. The ridge might be windy. But the race goes on—everyone channeling their own motivation, their raison d’être, to be out here trail racing on a weekend morning. Is it for the challenge? Is it to build strength by facing adversity? Or are there other reasons entirely that these people converged on the Bridger Ridge? Over the next 20 miles, I hope to find out.

I talk with several young moms in the first mile. Two of them have three young children apiece. That they do this amazes me. To spend months training, to block out time for cross-training and cooking healthy meals and recovering. It’s impressive, to say the least. I expect that it takes a village—certainly a supportive family. To show the little ones what’s possible, maybe that’s the reason to be out here.

We ski the Bridger peaks in the winter, and we run and hike them in the summer—solo or with family, friends, visitors, and pets. They are part of us.

The weather quickly improves. A few gusts of wind and a whiff of wildfire smoke as we climb Sacajawea, but that is all. It’s a gorgeous morning. We are all pushing hard. Maybe this is why we do it. The rush of an early morning of intense effort shared among kindred spirits.

The view from the top of Sac is our payoff for completing the first big challenge of the race. A line of colorfully clad runners racing along a sinuous trail that follows the wave of the ridge. The southern Bridgers fully in view in the grey light of this cloudy morning. Maybe we do it for the views.

We drop off Naya Nuki. The descent is steep, with loose rocks and dangerous drop-offs. We accelerate down, down, down until we reach the Foothills Trail and then down some more, losing more elevation than we gained climbing Sac. This is the fastest part of the course. The trail is narrow and we fly down it. Maybe the need for speed is why we are out here.

We climb to Ross Pass, to the first full-service aid station. Orange slices and banana halves are laid out along with salty snacks, water, and electrolyte mixes. Volunteers jump up to help us. What do you need? It’s a community effort. Maybe being part of it is reason enough to be out here.

The view from the top of Sac is our payoff for completing the first big challenge of the race. A line of colorfully clad runners racing along a sinuous trail that follows the wave of the ridge.

Then, the hardest part of the course begins. We climb the Wall of Death, we roller coaster up and down the highs and lows of the Ridge, we stop at the Bridger aid station for more support, then we make our way to Saddle Peak. It’s 2,300 feet of climbing in less than five miles. By the time we top out on Saddle, we are feeling the strain. Maybe this is why we’re out here. The pain-cave, the sufferfest, the desire in us humans to test our limits. How much can we endure?

I asked a few first-timers, who I ran with for short periods, why they were running. Their answers varied in how they were expressed, but “because it was there,” captured the sentiment. After a few years of living here, they just had to give the Ridge a try. Maybe that’s part of why we are all out here. We ski the Bridger peaks in the winter, and we run and hike them in the summer—solo or with family, friends, visitors, and pets. They are part of us.

We climb Bridger Peak. We can begin to hear the Baldy crew calling to us, marking the last full aid station and the beginning of the 4,000-foot descent. If we aren’t in the pain-cave yet, we soon will be. We’re greeted with food, drink, helpful volunteers, music, pink flamingos, and the opportunity to do a keg stand. Some zip through, still focused on their times. Others take five, dance, maybe test whether they can keep down a swig of beer. Maybe this is why we do it. Just to have some fun.

Maybe this is why we’re out here. The pain-cave, the sufferfest, the desire in us humans to test our limits. How much can we endure?

Halfway is our last chance to take a break before the final, steepest 2,000-foot descent begins. Racers are tired, their feet ache. The trail is marbles on talcum. There’s not too much farther to go. We tough it out. Maybe this is why we do it, to prove to ourselves that we can.

We all have our reasons; oftentimes, more than one. Several times along the route, I sang out to nobody in particular, “Not dead yet!” And that’s all the reason I need.