Helvetia 10K Mountain Run Race Report

Last weekend I had the pleasure of heading down to the Swiss-German community of Helvetia, WV for the 25th edition of the Helvetia 10K Mountain Run. It's clear that race director, Dan Lehmann, is devoted to bringing runners to this top-notch, unique event. He goes above and beyond, generously opening his home and encouraging camping the night prior at his farm just 2 miles from the start line.

We had perfect early fall weather for camping and racing - clear blue skies, low humidity and cool temps. My body was not so perfect, however. Earlier in the week my prey-driven dogs decided during a run that my lumbar spine health was less important than chasing DEER! Fortunately, my wife was kind enough to help me dry needle each day and assisted with a couple joint techniques so I might at least have a chance to race. Alas, that’s life. 

Once on course, the first mile was easy-peasy flat pavement, mostly on Helvetia-Adolph Road that paralleled the barely trickling Buckhannon River. I soon found myself in fourth position and hoped patience might sneak me into the top three. This faster road pace was thrilling but short-lived. At the mile mark we swung left to cross a wooden bridge onto a gravel road and then a grassy path akin to your favorite cross country course. I thought, "I love cross country!" and about five seconds later, "well, that didn't last long" as the course became Old Helvetia Road, a chunk of rutty, rocky, narrow, rolling dirt adorned with fall's earliest leaf litter, just to make it a tiny bit sketchy. I couldn't worry long about the footing as it soon reverted to a narrow, paved country road guiding us back into Helvetia to complete the prologue. 

Once we were back in town, with two miles down, the *mountain* part of the course began. First, it's the more subtle grade of the two-lane, paved Pickens Road for about a half-mile. I had started to reel in second and third place but noted that Andrew Rhodes had already surged off in first. As we went along the rolling and twisting, yet always ascending gravel of Karlow Road, I was happy to slide up into third place, though three of us stayed close together for a couple minutes. We ticked off a country mile before hitting a more severely steepened section of gravel road near Dan's house for another one-third mile where I'm sure a few people questioned their definition of a having a good time on a Sunday morning. 

Image courtesy Allyson O’Conner

Now at mile four, we entered the bear's den, Clay Hill, where weakened legs begged me to walk a few steps but I knew it would only prolong the pain of the bear's bite. While it's only two-thirds of a mile more to the top, the remaining climb seems to progressively steepen and degrade, gaining another ~330 feet. None of it is your grandpappy's idyllic smooth singletrack. This is a butt kicker, taking you up a rocky ditch of a trail because water always erodes surfaces at this pitch. You won't drive most vehicles up such a "road" but maybe an ATV or your screaming legs, if you dare challenge the bear. I caught and passed second place Joel Wolpert near the top and hoped to put a little gap between us because I wasn't confident in descending with a tweaked back.  

Once we reached the high point, the wide, flat, gravel surface of Zumbach Road greeted my struggling mind. Surely Zumbach means "Zoom Back" in Swiss. The 1.7 mile descent down to Helvetia is a real humdinger, dropping over 660 feet to the finish. I held off Joel's first attempt to pass, but being an experienced racer, he was patient and surged hard further down the mountain. As competitive as I wanted to be, my frontal lobe thought it seemed silly to risk more back stress flailing down such a descent. I was thrilled to finish out feeling good in third place, earning a nice custom handmade pottery piece and the rare red race t-shirt. Not bad considering I couldn’t even put on my shoes and socks two days ago!

This year there were 73 folks who managed to escape the bear’s grasp. The community makes it special - you won’t find anything else like it. Check it out if you like a challenge!

Fire on the Mountain 50K Race Report

How many times have you driven Interstate 68 through Western Maryland and seen the signs for Green Ridge State Forest in Allegheny County but never actually stopped there? I know I’ve moseyed past a number of times and thought “I should go for a run in there - one of these days.” But I never did. 

It seems like every fall I arrive at the crossroads of having summertime fitness and an indecisiveness for where to use it. I feel a sense of obligation to get in one more race before winter, whether it’s actually a good idea or not. Fire on the Mountain (FOTM) piques my interest every year, partly because it’s a drivable distance from home on the day of the event. Albeit, I had to roll out of bed at 3:45 to make the 7:00 start, but with the time change, that’s really like an 8:00 start, right?

Judging from the results and folks I’ve chatted with, FOTM is usually a low-key affair. A consistent theme in stories about the race is the numerous creek crossings. It is one thing to talk about and imagine beautiful, serene creek crossings as if they are part of a calm, fall scene in a Bob Ross painting come to life before your very eyes. It is another to actually experience these creek crossings when the air temp is in the 20s with 40 degree water, and now suddenly you haven’t been able to feel your feet, hands, or lips for 30 minutes, you are completely hypothermic, wander just 200 yards off the trail in a brain fog and die before you could get a fire lit directing the sun’s rays through the bottom of a found 1982 glass Pepsi bottle. FOTM 50K: the ultimate test of survival. Since I’m a cold weather wimp and a fair-weather racer, I hemmed and hawed for a few days, waiting around for the most accurate forecast. Wouldn’t you know, the temps would be warmish, so there goes that excuse.

For a few minutes before registering, I debated the 25K course because it involves over 9 miles of gravel road running, which certainly sounds like a safer option and I do love dirt road. But it still has technical trail sections to contend with where I’d be running comparatively faster, so I wisely(?) opted for the slower 50K slog. I hadn’t done an ultra all year, so why not... but then again the time to do a 25K is shorter, so statistically that is less exposure risk time, isn’t it? Oh, the indecisiveness. 

The course profile

Despite its original point-to-point design, the 50K course is currently in an out-and-back format, which usually would be less appealing because I like my loops, but when you don’t frequent an area, it all seems new and interesting enough. You’ll just spend it all staring at the ground anyway. The 25K and 50K start together with a roughly 1-mile jaunt on gravel/dirt/paved road, mostly downhill. The 50Kers embark onto the forest’s Red Trail for the next 7.8 miles, then the Green Trail for another 7.4 miles. At that point, you arrive at a beautiful overlook aid station called the Oasis with some lovely fried potatoes, and then reverse course back to almost the same spot where the race started 5 or 10 hours earlier, depending on how good or bad your day is going. For you math wizzes, yes, it ends up longer than the 31 miles of a true 50K, clocking in at 32.5 on my personal GPS device. 

There’s over 4800 feet of vertical gain, with some reports surpassing 5000 feet. Aside from the 1 mile start/finish section on Oldtown Orleans Road, a nearly 1 mile gravel stretch on Dug Hill Road, and a 0.3 mile gravel section on Kirk Road at the turnaround, the course confines you to the woods and on varying types of singletrack. So that’s not much more than 4.5 miles to zone out and just run. Otherwise, you must be vigilant. Being November, there’s no shortage of downed leaves and the associated ever-looming threat of tripping, spraining, falling, hollering, cursing, crying, and regretting your life’s decisions. 

Honestly, I try to avoid trail races in mid-October to November because of that fluffy leaf litter. Really, I avoid most trail running overall in that time and lean toward rail trails and dirt roads. Why? Because I’ve had multiple nasty ankle sprains thanks to the leaves hiding little rock, root, and debris landmines. 

You all think there will be any bears? Photo credit: John Duffy

After milling about at the Point Overlook while listening to race director Adam Lowe’s clear and concise instructions, we were off, accompanied by the unsettling sounds of a seemingly very upset or simply excited dog. By the time we 50Kers entered the woods, road running speedster Jonathan Fogell was already determined to push the pace. I was content to hang back around 4th place for a while because old men require time to warm up their muscles and tendons. At the bottom of the first gnarly descent, roughly mile 4, I got a little excited and drifted up a spot, but three of us remained close together at the first aid station at mile 5.5. 

I did enjoy the next section of quicker gravel road though it didn’t take long to reach the technical goat trails this portion is known for. If you don’t like to use your hands when you “run” up and down things, this might not be the race for you. I love scrambling and used this evergreen-laden, cliffed-out section of course to gap the guys I was running with. 

It wasn’t too long and I spotted the neon yellow jacket of J. Fogell again higher up the climb. This, of course, provided a little motivation and I pushed the intensity more than an intelligent runner would have. It didn’t take too long and I found myself hitting the second aid station at mile 8.8 in unison with Mr. Fogell. 

Alone we are slow. together we can run much faster than we should. PHoto Credit: Mitch HawBAker

At this point we began the Green Trail portion of the course, which I can’t say I like as much because it’s where I eventually became hypothermic and died a mere 200 yards off trail despite the rescuers search attempts spanning four days and five nights. This is where the bajillion stream crossings of Deep Run happen. All 800 of them. Perhaps one day my children can run this event in my honor to see them all.

Anyway, my feet were numb, my hands were no better, and the sun hadn’t come over the ridge into the valley yet. I knew I really needed to get in more calories, but opening packages took a bit of effort from my incisors. There isn’t much terrain fluctuation for well over 4 miles here as the trail trends upward, constantly criss-crossing the same cold-ass creek over and over again. Fogell and I chatted through labored breathing (mostly mine) with both of us tripping and stumbling with unfortunate regularity. 

Eventually, as the terrain steepened, Fogell surged to put a good 30 second gap on me by around mile 14. Then, just as I started drifting back up to him, my right leg stepped into a concealed, two foot wide, leaf-filled hole, which led to my right ankle rolling enough to get my attention but not enough to do any damage. Good thing I can’t feel pain as a dead person. We ended up ascending to the turnaround aid station at mile 16.2 together. I tried to take in the overlook view while shoveling in a handful of potato chips and some tasty fried potatoes. It wasn’t long and another runner came into the aid station, and then another, which I found super surprising considering the speed with which we worked through much of the Green Trail. I also took that as my cue to get the heck out of Dodge as a couple more strolled on up. 

Exiting back down the dirt road, I began running and chatting with the highly experienced ultrarunner Michael Hoffman. But he, too, was running strong, and put a small gap on me within a couple miles as we climbed upward to mile 18. He easily had a 20-30 second gap as we began the gradual descent with the creek back toward the Red Trail.

The nice thing about cooler temps is that my sometimes fragile tummy tends to be more cooperative. Even though my hands are numb and it’s harder to open packages to actually eat anything, once it’s in there, it’s usually better tolerated. But in this case, it felt like all of the food from the prior aid station was just sitting on top of my diaphragm and I struggled with breathing normally. It was definitely a lot of food to begin a longer climb and try to chase. It would have been best to back off the intensity for a couple minutes and get the breathing under control, but I am a wonderful mix of stubborn and stupid. 

As boring as I find this section, it was nice to regularly encounter the cheers of the other 50K runners on their way to the turnaround. I try to muster a thankful grunt or wave, depending on the breathing. The lower half of the Green Trail certainly has more creek crossings, and I was definitely taking them slower now that my reaction time was becoming sluggish along with every other physiologic process. At one point, I stepped on a silt covered rock only to do a full 360 degree pirouette in the middle of the creek before righting myself. And you wonder why the mile split times are so slow? 

One of my favorite mental strategies is to get thrilled about counting down miles once the halfway mark passes. By the time I’d come to the next aid station at mile 23.6, I was glad to be in the home stretch of single digits but knew we had some tough singletrack and really hard climbs lying ahead. Another variant of fried potato was still somehow appealing, though I couldn’t tolerate much volume… of the Dug Hill Road Men’s Choir volunteers serenading me at the aid station with their rendition of Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.”

Now that that damn song is stuck in my head, the goat trails from this point back to Dug Hill Road are a lot of fun, unless of course your calves are cramping, which mine definitely were. I had adopted a new climbing style of full-on Daffy Duck flat footed on the left side and tippy toe forefoot on the right side. Some bad thoughts of being caught crept into my brain, but the key was to always come back to what I could control: myself and my bowel movements. Awesome, my spinal cord was still intact. The reality is that everyone is slowing down at this point, some might be pooping themselves, and everyone is hurting. But only I am floating up this trail at this very moment, waiting on Mother Nature to teach me a valuable life lesson that I could eventually share with three people in a moderately silly blog post. My goal was to always feel like I was averaging a consistent pace as this time ticked away. It helped to appreciate the surroundings as this is the most aesthetically interesting part of the course with more spruce trees and interesting rock formations, though not the goatback ride that I was promised.  

Back up on Dug Hill Road, a random couple cheered as they rolled past on a motorcycle. Striding into the final aid station, the volunteers tell me I’m in first place. It turns out that Michael had taken the Blue Trail just past the last aid station or he had also died of hypothermia. (This race has a remarkably low finisher rate of 12% and those were all rumored to have cut the course to avoid the frigid creek). I methodically plucked a couple gnats out of a cup of pickle juice, drank a little Coke and hoped to hang on to the placing despite the ever-looming threat of calf cramps. The next climb would be formidable on any day, thanks to its rooty scrambling and 400 feet of gain in just 0.4 miles. It was actually the very reasonable descent off the other side of the mountain that needed a few choice words as it cramped my calves enough to force the legs into an awkward speed walk.

Once I regained a semi-normal run stride on the flat, the goal became to move patiently and consistently. Two miles is still a very long way if you lock up into rigor mortis prematurely. It wasn’t bad to be going slightly up again but I was forced to avoid all of my normally explosive Parkour-like flips and basically every acrobatic move I ever used in my brief career as a stunt double on Walker, Texas Ranger. But I sure did power hike the hell out of that final 0.25 miles of Red Trail. Yeah, sure. Strava says a blazing 26:38 minutes per mile, but it’s probably off by two or three seconds. 

Hitting the road, there’s only one option and it’s more uphill gradient, which becomes annoyingly steep for a few hundred yards. The good thing about such climbing is that it would be very difficult for anyone to catch up because running and walking paces just wouldn’t vary that much when you are basically ascending the face of El Capitan. Nevermind the fact that I’d probably hear and smell them coming. 

So far this season, CJ Donaldson has rushed for 755 yards. Photo credit: John Duffy

Approaching the finish line, it probably became evident to onlookers that I was just too good at staring at the ground and zoning out. I almost failed to grab the Official Fire on the Mountain Finisher Log™ and then nearly missed the “finish chute” made of small saplings despite yells of “between the trees you friggin’ idiot!” I briefly debated on how to carry such an unwieldy object and wasn’t sad to still have my gloves on to protect my delicate hands. Should I shove this into the fire with a coyote’s yelp? Maybe lift it overhead and spike it forcefully downward with a core muscle-engaging wood chopper and a hyper-masculine grunt because the log obviously represents all of life’s collected frustrations that you’d love to ignite in a massive blaze? Each racer must make this decision when the time is right for them. Ultimately, I settled for a gentle toss and just fell on top of said fire, making the cremation process super convenient. 

It was an honor to have a sizable group of onlookers toast my finish with shots of Fireball. Certainly the first time I’ve experienced that. Thank you, Adam and Katie Lowe, volunteers, and especially the Dug Hill Road Men’s Choir.

Frog Pond Reflections: The Boston Marathon Race Report Story

While Boston may not have initially topped my bucket list of endurance events, I have to admit that it was a really fun run. It’s apparent that the city loves the runners, and runners love the event. There’s a lot of hype from the fanboys/fangirls/fandogs/fancats, but it’s mostly well deserved. Even with the tremendous pain in the gigantic butt that is COVID-19, the Boston Athletic Association put on a memorable and safe event.

A challenge for all the city folk

Getting into the city for packet pickup on Saturday was a little on the stressful side because I don’t love city traffic. City slickers are pretty terrible at driving, which is an understatement. I 100% fully stand behind that statement and will challenge 100% of city slickers to any type of driving contest at any time because I am competitive, and you will 100% definitely lose. I see the dents on your cars and your hunched posture over the steering wheel. I have spoken.

Is this an Ironman triathlon?

Wandering around the finish line area before the race reminded me of how people become obsessed with Ironman triathlon events and get Ironman tattoos and can hardly let themselves be seen in public without Ironman apparel and no conversation can pass by without mention of Ironman. (Not saying I haven’t done this, hence the reason I have earned the authority to poke fun.) In this case, there’s a ridiculous number of Boston Marathon jackets EVERYWHERE.

At the time this seems a bit premature, to assume that you will complete the event. Just about anything can happen on race day, and then won’t you feel silly having celebrated a finish that never came? It’s purely a statistical probability that out of my conservative estimate of 8,000 finisher jackets wandering the streets in those 48 hours prior, at least two of those jackets came down with a crippling case of the shits on race morning and didn’t even make it to the start line.

But maybe I misinterpret the purpose of such jackets.

By the numbers

The evening prior to starting, I realized I hadn’t done a true road race since a turkey trot 5K in 2016, so yeah, I don’t make road racing a priority. I had done 36 other events since then, 35 of which were trail races and 17 of those were ultramarathons from 50K to 100 miles. I’m well aware that I’ve given up exactly 23 seconds per mile of marathon speed to run stupidly long distances in the woods and that’s just fine, hater. I own like three or four pairs of road shoes and have over 20 pairs of trail shoes in rotation at any time. The wonderful race I used to qualify for Boston was a largely flat, crushed limestone rail trail at the Greenbrier River Trail Marathon in 2018, so still not a “road race.” And then there was some sort of pandemic recently that kinda killed off road races so an opportunity to include those in the lead up has unfortunately been lacking.

Why?

Plenty of runners do this Boston race as a celebration of their sport without any intention to kill themselves, which I totally understand because it felt like 26.2 miles of partying. Some runners want the bragging rights of a particular time or PRs. I was somewhere in the middle, where running semi-quickly would be a nice bonus, but I wanted to appreciate the day and take in the surroundings because I don’t have much intention to run Boston again in the near future. Besides, the grey hairs signal that maybe it’s time to savor the process.

Some whining and complaining

I hadn’t had a satisfying running performance all year, which left me putting all my eggs into one road marathon basket. Training for Boston was already off to a rough start thanks to a terrible ankle sprain on July 3 during the Finger Lakes 50K. For over a week I couldn’t run, then I couldn’t run very fast for a couple more weeks, and not very far for about a month, and downhills, especially at speed, were a problem for multiple months. Good thing I enjoy riding the mountain bike.

The ankle would ache, swell, and remind me every time I’d finish a run that was pushing the limits of what it could safely tolerate. And I definitely couldn’t safely do any amount of trail running for about a month and a half so I had to frequently remind myself that it was best to put the time into road-style training anyway. It was surprisingly enjoyable to head back to the rail trail and track for speedwork that I hadn’t tried in years and see the specific adaptations that consistent, fast, anaerobic training brings. Even mixing in those less frequented locations was a fun change. But as the event approached and more work was invested, every passing week became a little more stressful with frequent illnesses amongst my children and near misses with the ever-present cloud of COVID-19.

Then suddenly, it’s race day, baby!

Since we stayed outside of Boston and I had no interest in riding a bus with that whole pandemic thing, Anne dropped me off a little more than a mile from the start line and I walked in on a lovely rural road that was closed to traffic. Instead of the mass start that April’s marathon would have, this super delayed, special fall version of the Boston Marathon was altered to have 20+ minute rolling start windows for groups of runners based on their expected finish time. This was a nice, low stress way to begin whenever the courage came about.

Walking to the start in Hopkinton

This Definitely won’t give anyone nightmares tonight

I won’t reveal much about the course that hasn’t already been said by many other participants over the years. While the whole course averages a downhill gradient from Hopkinton to Boston, the earliest miles are definitely the ones that will trick you, even more so than most races, because there’s such an abrupt drop of elevation in the initial five miles. It’s just too easy to go fast with that combination of excitement, crowds, number of runners, terrain, and highly competitive ostriches. I’m not sure why other race reports hadn’t mentioned the ostrich category but maybe that’s new this year? I was perfectly content with letting myself hold back on these miles by 10-20 seconds per mile and drafting those long, sexy legs though I don’t like the feathery exhaust much.

It wasn’t long into the race that a human runner came close, and I noticed her hard footstrikes (because that’s a normal part of my job and brain function). Maybe a half mile or so down the road she began grunting and hitting the ground even harder on a steeper downhill, to which I was thinking, “isn’t it a little early to be suffering that much?” Her nearby friend asked her multiple times if she was okay and finally she said, “my stress fracture...I have to drop out.” I passed and never saw her again. Rough day. Bone stress injuries are not easy to get around, and hard downhill running is a surefire provocator. I did feel bad for her.

It’s not flat

Moments later, I heard my name yelled from the side of the road and looked up to see a fellow Morgantown-area friend spectating, waiting for his wife to come through. That was an awesome surprise to actually recognize someone. Then I saw a runner spit on his hands and wipe them on his shorts. I assume he wanted to get something off of his hands, VERY BADLY. Gross. I personally would have waited until the next aid station and just used water, because they are literally every mile apart.

And then there was the guy that looked like he had been shot in the back because the chafing of his heart rate monitor strap must have really eaten through some skin and left an 8-inch long fresh blood streak down his shirt. I’d like to imagine he also had super bloody nipples like that 5K fun run scene from The Office.

Can you tell I’m just people watching this whole time?

I’m trying to make sure I get at least two cups in at every aid station because it’s plenty humid and warm already, and I constantly want to inadvertently suck water up my nostrils. The other thing I’m absolutely making sure to do is achieve the most awkward facial expressions possible for the professional marathon photographers so my wife won’t be tempted to buy any photos of me looking terrible once this thing is over. It’s also more entertaining for the other runners who might happen to find one of my awkward race photos in the process of looking for theirs. It’s no wonder they take so many photos. Most of them just make you look like a complete buffoon. They are also a Physical Therapist’s paradise: Look! I can tell from the amount of frontal plane collapse of your pelvis and excessive femur adduction that your gluteus medius and gluteus minimus muscle are less functional than those of my 85-year-old grandmother! And she’s even had a hip replacement that nicked her sciatic nerve!

Even though the post-race coverage indicated that the spectator crowds were smaller than typical years, I didn’t notice. As best as I can recollect, the route had cheering faces and smiling babies nearly the entire distance with only a couple short sections lacking a crowd. The run goes through multiple smaller towns where more people gather to cheer, but the connector roadways in the middle were still busy with onlookers. I’m sure many were asking “Is there some kind of race today?” It was still such an enormous number of people compared to any other “normal” race that I would never complain about a lack of spectators.

Down the line I began wishing/hoping for a way to acquire some real food on the course that wouldn’t be the standard palate-offending Gatorade Endurance or the oddly textured Maurten energy gels. Magically, a lady appeared alongside the road with a banana, which I promptly ate because I couldn’t just ignore that kind of holy gift. Since I was obviously vying for the overall win, I hope no one disqualifies me for outside assistance. Rat me out and I will find you on Strava and make your life a living hell. I noticed this crowdsourced support at several points along the route, especially later on. Amateur road racing on this scale is clearly not about self-sufficiency. It’s about wasting $200+ on carbon plate shoes, $90 finisher jackets, $200+ entry fees, chafed nipples, and trying not to crap yourself in public.

A roar in the distance told me I was nearing the halfway point. The loud ladies of Wellesley College are known for giving random kisses to the runners, but all I’m giving them is a photo because, seriously, COVID-19. It was about this time that Danica Patrick, famed professional NASCAR driver and ostrich racing enthusiast pulled up beside me on her smelly, squawking bird, Olivier. I could tell after about three minutes that I could get this foul French-named beast to redline and started to take the corners extra wide, throwing my elbows out (an old XC trick) to drift them up closer and closer to the crowd control barriers. Racin’ is rubbin’, Danica! Besides, ostriches aren’t known for having the highest VO2 max. You could say I ruffled a few feathers.

Why do all of these people want to hurt me? Hey, that guy has the same shoes as me!

The course has small roller climbs of varying sizes the entire route. The section of bigger climbs that runners fret over is from Newton to the top of Heartbreak Hill, which spans about five miles from roughly 16 to 21. I really like prolonged climbing and it felt better on my stiff, old body (and booty, in case you wondered) to take away the near constant fast descending and make the demand more fitness oriented. Doesn’t mean I was flying, but it was a more enjoyable part of the course. I could actually pass several people midway up the climbs without digging deep and I liked having another movement pattern. Why don’t we all run this course in reverse one year, and I bet people will be far less sore afterward?

I think I started to see runners cracking and starting to walk by the 16th mile, but the course continued to take many casualties from this point onward. It seemed like every couple minutes people were quickly pulling to the side of the road to stretch their calf, hamstrings, or quad cramps. More than I would have ever guessed. Though I felt fine, the thought crossed my mind, “will I be one of them?” Only you can decide if this is foreshadowing.

There was something, or should I say someones, to look forward to just prior to Heartbreak Hill because I knew my wife and son were waiting there. One of my biggest goals as a parent is to demonstrate to my kids that it is possible to do seemingly difficult things and to seek out challenges as a way to make the rest of life seem a bit easier. Maybe it won’t work, but I know running and sport has taught me plenty of coping skills. Even if they just learn to get outside and be active to stay healthy, I’d be happy and consider that a success. I was super glad I got to see them for some high fives, which still makes me a little emotional.

Exiting the High 5 Zone, obviously

Topping out on Heartbreak Hill the course begins to trend downward once again, dropping into Brookline where I swear all I could think about was how it reminded me of a real-life Sesame Street. Doesn’t take much because I’m from the country, after all. Plus, I saw Big Bird getting on the T. Or was that a rogue ostrich? I was extremely disappointed to see that I somehow(!) didn’t get the KOM/CR crown on Strava for Heartbreak Hill. The only plausible explanation is that the satellites must have been overwhelmed with all the unique GPS watch signals pinging from such a tiny area.

It seemed like for every runner dropping like a fly there was a runner who somehow paced well and was hauling ass down this final stretch of road. I wish I had those quads after all that prolonged high speed road descending. I also wish I could survey the motivations of each of these people at this point. Question #1: Do you realize that you are an absolute jerk for passing me? Question #2: On a scale of 0 to 10, how much does it hurt when I stomp on your toes?

The pedestrian control for all the city slickers trying to cross the road (to get to the other side) was a thing of wonder and beauty as these amazingly gifted volunteers would somehow siphon the now easily confused runners down to a three foot wide path with mysteriously alternating giant arrow signs. Was it a single arrow they would flip over along an x, y, or z axis? Did the sign have an arrow on each side? I still haven’t figured out that trigonometry. I would have paid more attention but I was too busy playing a revolving game of “I bet that person is a triathlete/trail runner/pure road runner/fitness enthusiast.”

I don’t understand how the word “chiropractic” is supposed to be a motivator

At this point something bites me hard on the left ass cheek as I detect a vague scent of fried chicken. Dammit Team Olivier/Danica! I thought I’d disposed of these two clowns. I’d obviously have to play my best hand. I tolerated their presence until the next aid station when I repeatedly batted the Dixie cups away from Olivier’s ugly beak, as he tried to poke me in the eyes but it ultimately forced him into an even deeper state of dehydration. Birds are particularly sensitive to dehydration. I know, because my chickens told me.

By mile 22 or 23 I had started to tighten up my neck and shoulders as my quads began to deny their role, causing a slight slowing of pace, until a random runner a few yards behind and beside me yelled, “drop those shoulders” and some other piece of possibly encouraging information. This person may not have even been talking to me, but I tripped him anyway and proceeded to relax my shoulders. I did need to be told that very thing in that moment, so it worked out and I got a little faster for a bit plus that guy won’t be running his mouth at people any time again soon.

This giant Citgo sign appears and everybody starts pushing to empty their tanks, making me feel a bit like a slacker. Then I had an “ah ha” moment: there must be a limited supply 50-cent sale on slushies. The psychological threat of missing out on the sale triggered my chimp brain into causing a couple left calf cramp pings, to which I was thinking, “apparently these stupid super shoes don’t actually let the calves rest that much compared to regular shoes.”

As I looked down at said shoe, I realized, all too late, there’s a tiny gauge on the inside of the heel, registering on “E” and you are supposed to fill the shoes up with “high octane 95% minimum fructose only energy gels” at the start line. To make matters worse, one gauge was slightly above “E” and could explain the awkwardly asymmetric run technique I adopted. It’s 2021 and shoes bonk now, are you kidding me? Agggghhh, I should have known there was a way shoe companies could milk more money from the consumer beyond the already ridiculous $230+ price tag and 150-mile durability threshold. Not surprised these things weren’t equally filled when I drove them off the lot two weeks ago. The things you miss when distracted by that new shoe smell.

But it was probably the fact that my quads died a mile back, so I was trying to rely on my calves more to maintain the same speeds. Maybe. Nah, I bet the shoes were bonking. I was torn between picking up the pace to increase the chances of slushie success while risking full calf lock down, or just ride it out because it was already far from a PR day for me after that meaninglessly intense Heartbreak Hill KOM attempt, even though this lackadaisical approach might just cost me a slushie.

That final section down Boylston Street was great. The crowd was wildly flinging discounted slushies at the runners. I am still not sure if they were maybe just trying to hit me? If so, jokes on them. One quick sip of Chuck’s Cherry Charger is all it took to make me want to sprint hard, and I did pick it up a little, just to pass those runners nearby that I had secretly entered into my own personal highly competitive 0.5-mile event because how dare these amateur schmucks try to pass me. WHERE ARE YOU DANICA PATRICK? I’m beating you SO BADLY right now Danica Patrick! There’s nothing like a sip of corn-syrupy ice granules to boost a man’s ego to superhuman levels. But I honestly didn’t see the point of truly hammering and just tried to be appreciative of those final few strides and savor the spectacularly loud crowds that were obviously cheering for only me.

Now give me that medal! The food bag the kind volunteers with melting faces give you past the finish line was marvelous. What an unbelievable apple that was (no joke). Though I actually wanted the Cheetos and not the plain Lays chips. I briefly developed a kinship with and harassed an older man with a West Virginia University sling bag because you’ll say and do lots of odd things in the 15 minutes after a long effort. As I lie soaking my sore quads and chafed nipples in the Boston Common Frog Pond, I was finally able to reflect on the morning’s 28.4 mile journey.

Frustrated, Danica recounts the barrier incident in a post-race interview, image credit CBS Boston

Look at these cool capes

Frog Pond Reflections

While I had a decent sense of the course structure beforehand, to execute this race optimally for speed, it seems like a marathon that you could do once to fully understand the course and then come back to do it again after having tailored your training specifically to the course layout. Fast downhill road running in the carbon plate cheater shoes would have been a lovely training addition in the couple months prior to Boston, but my ankle wasn’t going to allow that in large or even medium doses. Oh, well.

It definitely didn’t feel as much about cardiorespiratory fitness. I say this because I had far more aerobic fitness than I needed for a marathon from all the long ultra efforts, so that part was oddly easy and I actually felt physically good in the hours immediately afterward. I never really felt like I was breathing hard but just cruising along, albeit more and more stiff legged in those last couple miles from the blown quads. It’s a weird course.

Here Froggy Froggy

It’s borderline humorous how I’ve done events in the past 4-5 years with 10,000 to 20,000 feet of ascending and descending that didn’t ruin my quads because I was moving slower overall, deviating between many paces and terrains, and wasn’t wearing evil carbon plate super shoes. The only time I’ve had that much soreness during a race was from incorrectly executing the Laurel Highlands Ultra when my quads had imploded by 40 miles. Usually in ultramarathons they hurt and get heavy but it’s somehow a manageable, less sharp and less abrupt pain until the next day. The multiple days of systemic soreness from an ultra still takes the cake, though. #ultratrailrunsnob

Back to the woods, away from these beardless, short shorts road runners!

Finger Lakes 50K Race Report

In the few days prior to traveling up to New York for the Finger Lake 50s, I had checked the weather a few times and noticed the weekend precipitation predictions steadily increasing to a point where I wondered things like, “Why all the rain and cool temperatures? Is it even summer up there? I wonder what texture of mud they have?” Knowing that we would be truck camping in the Finger Lakes National Forest, I even did some updating on my truck’s camper shell to create as much of a water barrier as possible.

When we arrived in the forest Friday evening, clouds hung in a low, white-gray blanket overhead. The forecasted weather was indeed accurate: the temps were cool and rain fell intermittently. To truck camp we parked along the gravel Potomac Road while tent campers packed their stuff a couple hundred yards to a small campground near the finish line.

The rain continued in spurts all night and was sometimes heavy enough to wake me up as it pounded the shell roof. A couple times I awoke to the sound of rednecks driving their unnecessarily loud trucks and vans, at what I suspect was well over the 35 mph national forest speed limit on Potomac Road. I wish I could be that skilled, having the ability to let so many people know just how awesome I am at 1:00 AM on a Friday night of July 4th weekend. Maybe one day.

It didn’t feel like much later, around 5:00 AM, when the cars of non-camping racers began rolling in. It was obviously futile to continue any further sleeping attempts. At least it wasn’t raining when I emerged from the humid shell, which made the initial gear preparation easier, but it didn’t take long for another moderate shower to begin and complicate the breakfast and coffee prep.

After a bit of deliberation regarding the combination of rain and 50-something degrees, I opted for the long sleeve wool shirt. I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to stop raining anytime soon. By 6:30 AM, the 50 milers and 50Kers were gathered at the start line. The crowd was laid back and the final race director instruction proved entertaining as they knew the conditions were not exactly optimal. Anne and the other 25K runners would have to wait until 8:30 for their start.

Off we went for the first 16.5 mile loop, beginning with a quick 0.5 mile descent down the gravel road. As usual, I wasn’t surprised to see a small group sprinting to the front. Buh bye, suckas. Lots of hours left to play in the mud, why be in such a rush? The initial singletrack was plenty wet with a couple slick wooden bridges, and it began to quickly climb us right back up. The scent of wet pine needles and mud filled the air. Heaven.

It didn’t take long to start seeing and smelling pasture land and the first cattle field with an infamous cattle gate. “Don’t let the cows out” is a bit of an event slogan. This is fun. It reminds me of the cow pastures I ran as a youngster. And the mother cow that head butted me once when my grandad had me chase its calf to tag it. No cows in sight here but I also couldn’t see particularly far through the dense fog. Nor did I want to take the time to gawk around solely for cows.

We popped out onto the gravel Mark Smith Road at 2.5 miles for more fast descending that led to a climb up the Gorge Trail at mile 3.7. This was mostly runnable, gradual grade climbing so I never felt too bogged down, nor was there much power hiking time. My spine muscles were making themselves known by threatening to spasm after the less than stellar night of sleep combined with the faster descending.

The Interloken Trail comes up next along with a visit to The Beach aid station around mile 5. Nothing looked like a beach, but there was a swampy pond nearby covered in a layer of mist. Too bad I didn’t bring a camera. By the way, it was raining and the trail was a muddy mess with lots of standing water and tree roots aplenty through here. I could be wrong, but I think someone was smoking weed in the woods as I puddle hopped on by.

Back to another short gravel road jaunt. I really enjoyed how this was broken up into such a variety of surfaces even though elevation-wise there’s never a ton of variation all at once. It’s like a combination of various races I’ve done in WV, OH, and PA all rolled into one.

Up another portion of the Interloken Trail. My collapsible water bottle flew out of my waist pack, so I picked it up and carried it in my hand for a bit. Not knowing the trails, I didn’t realize a more gnarly downhill was coming. A downhill of many roots and plenty of water. On the descent, I attempted to put the bottle back into the pack with one hand, at which point I missed and it fell to the ground again, right in front of the runner behind me. Try again, but now with two hands behind my back while still running downhill amongst the rocks and roots.

And then it happened. With my hands still behind my back, as my right foot and ankle entered some deeper water surrounded by roots, I felt something I’d only ever experienced one other time. The feeling of my ankle rolling so far that the joint subluxes and there’s an interesting popping/grinding sensation. At first I didn’t even feel much sharper pain, just a dull pressure and ache that was still enough to make me slow up and limp. Another 50-100 yards of trying to bring myself back to normal-ish running, and I’m right back onto non-technical gravel road at The Library aid station just beyond 10 miles in.

That stupid bottle in my left hand gets dropped about one minute after this moment, image from Trails Collective/Ian Golden

A handful of seconds after spraining, lingering at the aid station, hating life while debating how smart it will be to continue, image from Trails Collective/Ian Golden

It didn’t feel terrible, so I kept going onto the next section of trail. I’m also kind of a stubborn, arrogant fool so unless there’s a bone sticking out or the pain is very severe, it’s unlikely I’d stop though I knew the risks. Was this smart? Probably not. It definitely prolongs the recovery afterward and would be particularly risky because the ankle is more likely to sprain again during any continued attempt to keep running on this day, as well as in the weeks ahead. If it had been my left ankle, I think I would have had no choice but to quit because it is far less forgiving from all of its prior battering. By the way, the ankle is known as “the forgiving joint.” Let’s hope this is true.

Limping quickly onward to a short piece of uphill paved road and to the Backbone Horse Camp. The only pavement in the race that I can recall. I didn’t notice any horses, but at least there were a couple of other runners around to provide a little distraction. This next section rolls nicely along the Backbone Trail, which is mostly grassy overgrown gravel road with plenty of squishy and slippery mud sections. The final aid station, The Outback, comes at the edge of the last cattle field, about 13.5 miles into the loop. That field was super mushy so I was not looking forward to revisiting it on a second loop, expecting it would be magnificently churned up at that point. (Should be great to plant seeds right now though.)

swamp

The course turns southward with another section of the Interloken Trail. There’s a ridiculous number of wooden bridges to cross because the area appears to just stay wet. It was a pretty jaunt through the pine forest with thick fog still in accompaniment. If I had known I would be forced to run slower I really would have brought that darn camera. It felt more like September than July.

I was hoping that I could trust my GPS, the watch time, and my location instinct as 16 miles clicked on by. My priority goal of evenly splitting the loops for a roughly 4:30 finish time wasn’t going to happen given the ankle sprain, so I set my sights on simply finishing and just trying to be careful enough to prevent too much worsening. Maybe if I can’t be the fastest overall 50K runner, I can be the fastest old (masters) 50K runner?

I noticed immediately upon starting up the first climb of the second loop that the course conditions had deteriorated further. This encouraged a quicker turnover because any attempts at creating a long, forceful stride on inches thick mud resulted in a power sucking experience and more ankle pain. Thank goodness the packed gravel roads remained in wonderful shape despite the fact that the rain had started to come down even heavier. These road sections provided a brief but welcome respite from the now thicker and deeper mud.

At this point, I was definitely not sad to have worn the long sleeve wool baselayer because I certainly wasn’t overheating in a downpour. I noticed while being so soaked that the repetitive movement had weirdly generated a foamy layer on my shoulders. This must be what they mean about working yourself into a lather? First time for everything.

Didn’t put my fenders on so mud was flinging everywhere

Every section of trail that was a mess before had become either deeper puddles, deeper mud, or were now fully flowing creeks. I became really paranoid about not being able to see what the heck I was stepping on, which is not an ideal thing you can focus on if you want to go fast. It already gets hard enough to control the stability of your legs once fatigue sets in.

Descending back down toward the Library aid station around mile 27, wouldn’t you know that the same section of rooty creek trail caused my ankle to subtly roll again! Come on. The race director was hanging out at the aid station and wanted to know if I had had any difficulty with the course markings. I said no but that I did really hate that last descent at this point. Hopefully he didn’t take it personally.

The rainy frolick continued and I really hoped that the people driving along that paved road would see me through the fog. Back along the Backbone Trail I tried to consume mostly liquid calories to reach that final super mushy cow pasture because eating solid food always starts to feel like an annoying chore. Some Coca-Cola provided a nice lift, but yeah, I was over it. Close enough to stumble in for a finish to avoid my greatest fear (a DNF) but demotivated from the injury-induced lackluster performance. Limp down the final portion of the Interloken Trail again with the ankle becoming increasingly less reliable and swollen. This had really become a technical mud and water nightmare from all of the foot traffic. Like I said, this section clearly doesn’t drain well anyway, so this time around I was tripping all over the place (though I still refused to succumb to gravity and fall!)

a boy and his cow

I somehow held on to be the first masters runner, thus acquiring the first giant wooden cow trophy of my career. It was really a big old pile of manure to not be able to give full effort considering that I had started out feeling generally good, the temperatures were great for pushing the intensity, and the course layout worked well for my style. I really did enjoy moooving through the course design for much of the first loop. Until I rolled my damn ankle and the priorities changed. Have I whined enough yet? Nope.

Few things are as frustrating to me as not being able to push up to the true fitness, psychological, and strategic barriers that should be the limiters on the day. But this is the way of the trail racing world. It is that greater level of unpredictability and challenge that a trail runner is often seeking. There are always factors that cannot be accounted for and circumstances that will create challenges that are not listed on the race entry web page. And I’m okay with that. So I guess I’m done whining now. I don’t wanna have a cow, man.

puffy in all the wrong places

Promise Land 50K++ Race Report

The Promise Land 50K++ is a long-standing, well-respected ultra trail run in the Jefferson National Forest near Lynchburg, Bedford, and Roanoke, Virginia. This 2021 version took place on April 24 with plenty of trail runners champing at the bit to race since the 2020 event was cancelled.

At 5:30 AM we started in darkness at about 1300 feet elevation with a roughly three-mile climb up a gravel road from the Promise Land Youth Camp. It was runnable at the bottom but became too steep for anything but hiking by the time the final half-mile rolled around. I was surprised to see how many people were just blasting this entire section. Being a spring event, that felt like a sure way to guarantee an awful experience for me, so I held back.

Then there’s a short section of slightly technical singletrack alongside Onion Mountain where I finally topped out the first climb around 50 minutes for 4.5 miles at an altitude around 3500 feet. Just a measly 2200 feet of gain in less than an hour. Yeesh. This leads to over three miles of gradual grassy service road descent on the side of Apple Orchard Mountain. Fortunately it drops only to 2600 feet and not back to valley levels. Still, so many people were flying on these open, non-technical sections. It was early, so patience felt like the best course of action as I tried to settle into a sustainable rhythm. The view of the sunrise was fantastic.

Around the 8.5 mile point, the trail starts climbing as everyone must reach the top of Apple Orchard Mountain. Before reaching the top, racers have a midway stop at the Reed Creek aid station at 10 miles where I refilled a bottle, took down a cup of Coca-Cola, and some chips, expecting the next aid station to come quickly. There’s more non-technical - but now steeper - grassy, wide service road to climb up to the Blue Ridge Parkway. I’m getting a feeling that this course is different from the types of trail runs I’m accustomed to.

Crossing the parkway, we reached the high point of the course at nearly 4000 feet and began a long, crushed gravel road (still non-technical) descent toward the Sunset Fields aid station. Some people were really rocking the pace as the runners I followed up the climb were drifting further from my sight. I was trying to hold back a bit to save my quads for later.

totally straight and flat

super flat

Now for the biomechanics lesson you didn’t ask for but need to hear. The destructive muscular impact of terrain elevation fluctuation is one of the hardest things to explain to road runners and non-ultrarunners. In ultras, there’s a significant likelihood that your quads will begin to hurt and/or simply have a hard time holding you up, especially on descents. It commonly forces people into walking because running feels untrustworthy. You can thank something called eccentric demand for that failure. A couple things increase the eccentric demand in the quadriceps muscles: 1) longer strides that make the initial point of foot contact further from the body, 2) downhills, especially steep downhills. Eccentric demand is far less with climbing than descending, but climbing gets all the sexy vertical appeal.

The bigger those eccentric demands as the hours pass, the faster your quads will begin to either hurt or straight up experience a reduction in their force generating capacity. So when you see a course elevation profile or some big elevation gain number, it’s just as important to consider the elevation loss and the grades because those are the most muscularly demanding periods of time, even though they might not require the most cardiorespiratory fitness. It’s definitely not free speed like coasting on a bicycle. Across a several hour mountainous ultra, there’s a good chance that hours of time will be spent descending, slowly working the quads toward failure. Could you run the descents faster? Yes, many times. But it’s not a great idea if you want your quads to do their job well, on all terrains, as long as possible.

Anne greeted me at the aid station, and I proceeded to complain a bunch about not being able to do anything with gloves on and being too cold to get rid of my jacket but I did get to eat some bacon!

Now for the descent off the other side of Apple Orchard Mountain. Finally, after 13 miles of waiting, the kind of running that I am accustomed to and half okay at: technical, rocky, singletrack where you have to constantly think about where to put your feet or you’re gonna fall and break your face. Considering that my GPS watch keeps taunting me, telling me that my “fitness age” is that of a 56 year old, I need all the advantages I can find.

The descent down Cornelius Creek Trail has varying degrees of technicity and steepness but unfortunately couldn’t go on forever. High on the westward ridge above is the famous Appalachian Trail, though we never ran on it. A small group of us arrived at the Cornelius Creek aid station around mile 18. I reluctantly refilled a bottle with Tailwind and proceeded down the gravel road that became a paved road while still impressed with the many people moving quickly.

The downward trend finally stops as we exited from the paved road onto an unmarked and seemingly random trail that leads up to the Colon Hollow aid station around mile 21 (after a bit of climbing on a true singletrack, which I really enjoyed). I grabbed part of PB&J and some Coke, but neither felt very uplifting. The next five-mile section proceeding along the side of Pine Mountain was not my favorite. More non-technical grassy forest service road with a few hundred feet of large roller climbing to make you feel sluggish with a sprinkle of poison ivy for good measure.

My stomach wasn’t fantastic. By the time I jostled my way around to the Cornelius Creek aid station for the second time, at mile 26, it really wasn’t cooperating. I asked the volunteer if they had a Porta-John and he said, “nope, but we have the woods and I have some toilet paper.” So I took those six tiny squares and scampered myself off into the brush for a few minutes of alone time leaning against a tree with a rock as a kickstand for my arm, just in case the tired legs gave way, and then continued on with the adventure, knowing the unforgiving terrain that was about to come.

The Apple Orchard Falls Trail is all up. It starts out runnable and a bit technical but becomes increasingly steep and rocky with several impromptu rock staircases. And you know, there’s over a marathon worth of miles on your legs so they hurt a bit. It becomes nearly all power hiking for the uppermost two miles. For one of those miles, the saving grace is that it is pretty. There’s dark green moss covering the boulders throughout the creek and the falls themselves are impressive.

But once you pass the falls, there’s less foliage and fewer flowers that might otherwise distract you from another mile of hard hands-on-knees climbing. Part of this includes several not-so-lovely wooden block stairs rebarred into the ground but that is probably easier to deal with than eroding soil. Eating real food sounded difficult while panting, so I popped a nasty energy gel, which I could tell prevented a full bonk but made me queasy. I could eventually hear cheers at the next aid station, but there was easily another 15-20 minutes of work to do before getting there. Nearing the top, I attempted to run/shuffle a flatter section and caught my left foot on a rock, which promptly threw me to the ground in a heap. It hurt my elbow a little but falling uphill is generally the preferred option if I get to pick.

Another hundred yards and the Sunset Fields volunteers greeted me for the second time along with Anne, who was not loving the day of cold weather. I grabbed a little more bacon from her, more Coke from the volunteers, and a few chips. Upon leaving the aid station and crossing the Blue Ridge Parkway, there was a feeling of relief to be nearly done, and I tried to shove in the chips. Unfortunately, this prompted another feeling: intense nausea. So I ended up hunching over to hurl. Normally if this was to happen, just a couple heaves and I’m good to go but in this case it was more in the neighborhood of 6-8 heaves and left me questioning when or if it was going to stop. I’m blaming the energy gel combined with the Coke.

One of the runners I’d spent some time with earlier, Ben, came by and happened to meet up with his pacer for the final chunk. I figured I should jump on the train, hoping my stomach would settle now that it was theoretically empty. The singletrack was semi-technical and intersected back to a section we’d already climbed up in the earliest part of the course. I was moving fast with 7 to 8 minute miles and actually felt good enough to pass a couple folks. Too bad I didn’t vomit earlier. Then I caught my left foot again on an embedded rock. Thank goodness I was keeping a quick turnover that kept me from going down, but it sure as heck scared me.

The course finally comes back to the same starting gravel road (Overstreet Creek Road) for a high-speed descent on a broken body. It’s hard to hold back too much knowing that the finish line is now so close and really my quads felt good since the GI system was more of the limiter today. Striding into the finish back down at 1300 feet, I picked up the well-earned finisher’s award of custom Patagonia shorts, taking some pride in beating Anne back to the start on foot thanks to that smoking downhill.

In hindsight, the course was not what I expected. The climbs and descents were long, which I don’t mind, but for the most part, they are too runnable at high speeds for my liking, with the exception of that final climb. The majority of the course felt like a fast grassy forest service road, though there was plenty of gravel road and a little paved road too. It is definitely a real runner’s course and I don’t currently have the turnover for blazing such fast things! That’s ok. It was still challenging and nice to check off a classic event on an early spring day.

You can tell the event has functioned well for a while. It’s a well-oiled machine with great course markings and plenty of volunteers (even a couple at intersections in the woods where people might get confused or attempt to cut the course). Do watch out for ticks. I ended up having one embed itself far into my shin which caused an unfortunate cellulitis in the few days afterward. Would I do it again? Sure. But probably not for a couple years because my mind (and gut) took a beating that might take a little extra time to forget.

Bel Monte 50 Miler Race Report

Springtime kinks

Over the years of endurance racing, I’ve developed an uncanny ability to enter March events that exceed my comfort threshold. It’s easy to get hyped up for an early spring event after avoiding competition all winter, but then when you’re in the event, the excitement wears thin and early season lackluster fitness punches you in the gut. Most people that smash their finger with a hammer would try not to do it again, but I’m a slow learner so I just keep swinging at the nail. With my eyes closed. You should see my DIY home remodeling.

Denied GPS signal for that first mile!!!! Start and finish are at the same spot.

Coming out of winter, it is so hard to be properly trained for an early season race. Until I move to the Rocky Mountains and can cross-country ski all winter, I’ve given up on the idea of optimal fitness in March or April. I’d rather take a true offseason and ease into the better running weather of spring and summer.

With COVID-19, it’s even easier to enter a race with high hopes and good intentions. You feel an attraction to the days of normalcy when racing was a thing that people did without regret or fear of making others ill or spreading a virus that can kill. But now, you could spend months training for something only to have it cancelled at the last minute. I feel less bad about events now that I’m vaccinated, but it still freaks me out. It’s worth realizing that most trail races aren’t exactly mass superspreader sporting events - you spend much of the time alone, outside, with the only time of true group gathering at the start line for less than a couple minutes, while wearing masks.

Nearing sunrise on the beach

Course

The Bel Monte 50 miler is paired with a 50K and 25K on the same day but with seperate start times for each distance, which further prevents large group gatherings. All distances are on out-and-back courses in George Washington National Forest with lots of climbing, technical rocky sections, singletrack, doubletrack, and jeep road. The 50K and 50 miler are subject to the same rounding error as many other ultramarathons. Both courses are intentionally long, not because the race directors want to mess with you, but because the chosen turnaround points are necessary for safety and ease of volunteer accessibility. Who doesn’t love over two bonus miles in the 50 miler and three bonus miles in the 50K? The answer probably depends on the weather and your blood glucose level at the time.

Start

We became slightly discombobulated on the commute from Wintergreen to the starting line, which resulted in me having about 10 minutes to get ready to run. Despite trying to persuade it into updating my general location the night before, my GPS watch didn’t even have a signal when I hit the start button at 5:30 AM. Fortunately, it sorted itself out within the first mile, which was a gradual vertical loss on the pavement of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Near the start of the actual singletrack, about 2 miles in, on White Rock Falls Trail, I decided the trail was appropriately named. Because we were doing this portion in the dark with headlamps, the rocks and roots appeared a shade of grayish white. The surprisingly dry, dusty soil seemed a grayish white. Contrast is really helpful for picking precise foot placement and there was none. I don’t recall having this much trouble seeing surface definition before, but my eyes are getting older. I saw two people roll their ankle so I joined them in that celebration by rolling my left ankle as it seemed like a cool club to belong to. One guy tripped, yelped, and nearly fell. White rocks. Falls. Yep. Perfect. I’ll just be extra slow because I can make it up later. It turns out one of the athletes I coach (whose identity I will protect) did fall hard on this trail in the 25K a couple hours later and conked her head so I don’t think I imagined the lack of visual definition.

Sunrise on the beach

More carnage

One runner blasted past me just beyond the first aid station at mile 5: “Can I get around you, sir?” Sir? Either he’s actually polite, or he’s messing with my mind to make me feel old and slow. Now I’m pretty sure this was the same runner I saw doing a number two in the brush down the trail another three or four miles. Well, sonny boy, I guess shit happens.

This slight descent down Turkey Pen Ridge Trail went quickly, though I was trying not to run too fast, too early. After the next aid station at mile 13.6, I saw one of the runners in front of me on Coal Road walk off and hunch over in the ditch. I was a little too far behind him to hear, but I’m going to guess he vomited or came quite close. This gravel road section was nice as it wasn’t so long that it became a boring mental aptitude test but long enough to provide a respite from constantly picking your line.

It’s nice when the weather cooperates

We did have great weather this year. The temperature at this point, in the early morning, was in the 40s and then 50s midday with no precipitation. It was actually a little too warm at times in the valleys, so I’d look forward to climbing back up to the ridges where it was cooler. Except when climbing was difficult, which was too often.

I’m a Cranky Doodle Dandy

The roughly 4 mile climb from the end of Coal Road up to the highest point of Bald Mountain Jeep Trail was less fun. It hurt and took forever multiplied by three. Even after reaching the top, I couldn’t get into a good rhythm across the ridge. My stomach was bloated, which impacted my ability to get full, cleansing breaths. There may have been a little exercise-induced asthma and hyperventilation limitation. I decided it should have been renamed Bald Mountain Jeep *Parts* Trail because there was vehicular shrapnel all over the place from the good ole’ boys gettin’ tipsy and breaking their 4x4s over the years. Brake lights, glass, mufflers, trim plastic, bumpers. You name it and we can find a broken piece of it.

Not singletrack

Across the ridge, there were multiple large mudholes of unknown depths, though I think I saw one of those submarine periscopes sticking out of one. In the process of trying to skirt the edge of a mudhole and cling to some nearby flimsy sapling branches, my feet slid sideways out from under me on the clay mud film, like I was on ice, so my feet and legs ended up in the water and muck anyway. I can’t recall if I laughed, screamed, cursed, or cried at how dumb that was. It didn’t take long to begin descending down the other side of the mountain to the turnaround point at mile 26.2. I finally took in some Coca-Cola, which helped brighten my declining mood.

obviously from a 1996 Pontiac grand prix

Bacon, jerky, ramen, or really any savory food would have been so delightful but COVID-19 has drastically altered the availability of real food at race aid stations. Now race directors want everything to be packaged at aid stations for grab-and-go effect, but the tables look like a vending machine exploded, which is nothing like the old days of grilled cheese, PB and J, fresh strawberries, grapes, jars of pickles, bowls of trail mix, and so on. It definitely makes things a bit harder and will take an adjustment of carrying specific foods from the start or having a crew, which I did not.

No Jeeps on Jeep road

I finally felt like I could settle into a sustainable but slow rhythm climbing back up the jeep trail, but I still had no ability to fly across the ridgetop or take a consistent, deep breath. I picked it up a little on the descent back down to Coal Road, because it just felt right, and I actually could. Near the bottom pine tree section, a person who I’ll call “swim jammer guy,” came flying by me at what I’d use for a 5K or 10K trail pace, not 50 miler. A few seconds later, I heard him yell and looked up to see him in the middle of the trail sitting on his butt, still shouting. He reported he was fine, when I asked, and got up within a few seconds, only to pass me again. Well, then.

Swim jammer guy left the Kennedy Run Trail aid station at mile 35.3 ahead of me, so I chased him the full length of Coal Road and finally passed him in the mid-portion uphill grind back up Turkey Pen Ridge Trail. It didn’t last long because he and another runner caught and passed me on the steepest lower switchbacks of this final major climb. But he must have been hurting, as in bonking or overheating. Near the top he hunched over and stopped. He stood back up, walked a little more and promptly sat down on the trail side. I asked if he needed anything and if he had food. He confirmed having gels, so I encouraged him to at least take in a little of it, though I know it was probably the last thing he wanted to do. At the time I was thinking the next aid station would be nearby.

No coal on Coal Road

My adventure staggered onward with declining quadriceps function and I gradually realized it was a darn long way from the aid station at mile 39 to the next one at mile 48. It didn’t feel as long on the way out because it was more downhill, I was fresh, and moving faster. But this close to the finish, I’m too motivated to get done despite having a rough day. I hadn’t turned my GPS to timer mode for hours because I knew seeing the time would just be a source of frustration and demotivation. At least I wasn’t the only one hurting out there.

Shake shake shake

There were several 50K and maybe one or two 50-mile runners to pass, including the other guy that had passed me on the last climb, so that was at least a reward for not completely slacking. At the final aid station, I struggled with the fine motor coordination necessary to get my hydration bladder out of my pack. It was an inconvenient time to run out of water, this close to the finish, but I wanted to keep using my lone bottle for Coke as bonk prevention since my desire to chew junk food had gone so long ago.

Back the opposite direction on the White Rock Falls Trail, which was still visually tricky in places. I crossed the 50-mile barrier somewhere in there, and upon popping back out onto the Blue Ridge Parkway I caught my wife and her training partner, who were doing the 50K. I reminded them that they had lost the bet of whether I could catch them so I’d expect my $1000 payout the instant they crossed the finish line. I still haven’t received my money, so I’m making it publicly known that I won that bet and they need to pay up before I involve a lawyer.

Even though there were a couple times in this race that I’d think, “you should have entered the 50K,” which is not generally the most positive self-talk that one could employ, I’m glad I did it for the sake of experiencing new trails and views. And it is just the very early spring. In the dark days of next winter, when you’re looking for a challenge, look this one up. Just bring your own bacon.

Rim to River 100 Mile Race Report

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a reason to write about a running event. I wonder why that would be? I mean, everything in the world is pretty normal right now…

How am I recovering? Three words: maple creme cookies.

Pro tip: It helps to move around often even though the Monday morning stiffness compels you not to do so. At least work on the smelly race laundry, where you might find a collection of many unidentifiable (food?) stains on your clothing.

I enjoy the 50K to 50 mile distances so I don’t usually seek out 100 milers. With the Rim to River 100 being the first race of this length in WV, however, there was enough of a draw for me to buy in. It’s always taking a chance to be a guinea pig in a first-year race of any length, especially at ultra distances. The race director’s leg work had convinced me they could get this done. It was promising to see the registration was on ultrasignup.com. There were UTMB, International Trail Running Association, and American Trail Running Association affiliations. The main website had detailed elevation profiles, lots of maps, and good course descriptions. Many local and some national sponsors were on board. In other words, it looked like an event that had happened before.

About 10,000 feet of Gain but it’s always the descents that get you

I’ve had a contentious relationship with running in the New River Gorge due to the multiple nasty ankle sprains I’ve experienced there. Probably because I keep trying to run there in the fall. The potential for another sprain in the leaves, especially after dark and with heavy fatigue, felt higher than normal. As a result, my anxiety about the situation was higher. The boss, Anne, told me not to be a wimp and sign up anyway.

Race morning kicked off with an immediate slathering of skin lubricant to all of those typical high friction areas, such as the toes, armpits, inner thighs, and low-back waist line. Except I forgot one: the intergluteal cleft, otherwise known to the world as the butt crack. Oops. Deadly levels of chafing ensued by mile 28 when the constant friction heated my skin to 300*F, I collapsed into a screaming heap, went into shock from blood loss, and obviously, DNFd. No mortal can overcome that kind of pain once it has settled in. One emergency helicopter extraction and a $26,000 butt reconstruction later, here I am, face down, writing about the ugly backside of ultrarunning (pun intended).

Alright, you got me. I didn’t need butt reconstruction. Butt, take it from me, lube your intergluteal cleft people. Or you too, will be forced to make critical, life altering decisions at moments that are never convenient to you or your immediate family.

EARLY on in ACE with Bob and JR

Anyway, where was I before that story with about 10% truth in it? Ah, the start. The one and only nice thing about COVID-19 wave starts is the parking situation upon arrival. Despite showing up just 12 minutes before my start time, it was a mere 25 yards from my truck to the starting line. I even walked there twice as a completely and totally necessary warm up.

The bipedal eating contest festivities kicked off at 5:45. It was chilly at the start, but bearable. The weekend forecast seemed unbelievable as the days ticked down prior to the race. Several straight days of sunny, dry weather, and for Race Day, there was a high of 73* and a low near 40*. For weeks, I’d mentally prepared to have lows in the 20s, highs in the 40s or 50s and thick, gray clouds with some rain or snow. But in typical WV fashion, weather is hardly predictable in the fall.

The race begins with various loops around ACE Adventure Resort’s property for roughly 13 “let’s just have a great time frolicking” miles. I went ahead and slightly twisted my right, yet stronger, ankle within the first 5 miles, and then proceeded to roll the weaker left side within the next couple miles. Really off to a good start here. I chatted with Bob Luther about this past summer’s running and the DIY adventure runs that we’ve made up. Matt Baird joined us for the more abrupt descent toward Arbuckle Creek. Matt refused to carry me, or even slightly assist me, across that cold, cold, rapidly flowing creek so he was immediately fired from the job that I had literally just hired him for.

We did a tough little climb up to the Rend Trail and then continued to descend toward the New River on a paved road to Thurmond for the second aid station at mile 17. The elastic cord that holds a chest pocket of my running vest closed would decide that NOW was a good time to break despite a couple years of reliable use. Annoying, but nothing to stress over.

There’s a significant downward elevation trend over the first 25% of the course, which means it’s easy to be deceived by your pace and split times. There’s no better fool’s trap in an ultramarathon than self-talk like “I’m flying, but it feels so easy!” Or even worse, “I’m going to have a great day!” Yeah. No. You won’t. Reality check, my ultrarunning friend. You’ll either roll an ankle because you are running too fast for the conditions, or you’ll just crush yourself so early that a DNF is too tempting or inevitable because your butt skin overheats and kills you anyway. The thing about running any ultramarathon, but especially 100 miles, is that EVERYONE is going to slow down. Whatever time you think you are “banking” early can nearly always be made up in the second half by slowing down less than the suckers who started too hard or died during a semi-tragic friction-induced butt explosion.

Hey Bob!

There’s a bit of road climbing back up to Rend Trail but then we drop down beside the New River again around mile 20 for a 6 mile long stretch of the Southside/Brooklyn Trail. I watched Bob roll his ankle, but fortunately it wasn’t a race ender. The sun was high in the sky now, and made any brief glimpses at the river temporarily blinding. Bob and I continued to chat when we were surprised from behind by a rapidly approaching JR Luyster who had apparently taken a wrong turn.

The trail eventually becomes a gravel road before reaching the Cunard aid station at mile 26. Anne was supposed to be here but I was ahead of my predicted arrival since the trails just weren’t that technical and there’s so much early descending. (Actually, I WAS JUST BANKING TIME!) Always assume your crew won’t show up and you’ll always be absolutely delighted when they actually do! Lie to yourself. Say, “as long as there’s an aid station then the crew just isn’t that critical.” It also pays to carry some extra food if you are afraid of the aid station food.

It got a little too warm as Bob and I climbed up the steep paved road from Cunard. JR had pulled away from us up the climb. Anne finally appears on the horizon, driving like a 90-year-old grandmother down the switchbacks, one of the frontrunners stuck to the grill, while she’s happily warping the brake rotors on my truck and now completely unable to perform any actual crewing efforts, lest we would be breaking the race rules.

Once finally on top, the trail surface returns with a gradual descent toward Kaymoor. Part of this was familiar: I’d seen it a couple times in the Canary in the Cave 25K++. The climb up the Kaymoor Miners Trail is steep and rocky but just not long enough to worry about this early. The Trail Sisters were manning (?) the Arrowhead aid station at mile 35. They were informed that Trail Sister Anne should be immediately exiled from their well-respected group for failure to comply with several of the 49 specific goals clearly outlined in the mission manual, entitled Operation Bear Crawl, which I emailed to Anne just last night at 11:36 p.m. All in favor said “aye.”

Bob, JR, and I stayed close together as we rounded the rolling loop around Arrowhead trails. The leaf coverage seemed plenty thick in places but the trails were quite smooth. Onward to Long Point overlook, which was super busy with day hikers at this time of day, especially with the abnormally warm weather. I just wanted to get away from them. I have no love of crowds, and I was starting to become hypersensitive to smells of deodorant, perfume, and whatever other nasty odors they were expelling.

Out to the Long Point aid station at mile 43 and then an intermittently more technical descent toward Fayette Station. The views of the underside of the New River Gorge Bridge were fantastic midway down. It’s such a huge structure that you can run for minutes and still feel like it’s so close you can touch it. But you can’t. Unless you have one of those sweet Mandalorian jetpacks. I’ve been a good boy this year so Santa should be sending mine in time for Christmas.

The Fayette Station aid volunteers at mile 48 greeted me with cheers and their bacon was not only a welcome sight but a welcome taste. Shortly after leaving there, I crossed the Tunney Hunsaker bridge and had to wait at the railroad tracks on river right for a train to finish its passage. Up another sizable paved climb to a gravel road that becomes a very long gradual descent toward Hawks Nest State Park. Train after train could be heard below, drowning out the river sounds. Hitting the crushed gravel climb up the Hawks Nest Rail Trail to Ansted felt like one of the toughest parts of the entire course. It seemed so consistently steep for an old rail grade. It’s about 300 feet of gain in 2 miles, which I calculate as a 92% grade. (Somebody check my math).

My favorite pic from the whole race

Nearing the top, I think this was one of two places where I heard crazy loud crowd noise and thought, surely that’s not all the people at the aid station. It must have been a local football game. Anne and Aaron Watkins took such good care of me at the turnaround that I didn’t even need the aid station. (They offer crewing services for other events but you can make the check directly out to me for $500 and I’ll see that they get their fair share.) I swapped into a long sleeve baselayer for the cool night ahead, switched out my socks, and emptied my shoes of the last 55 miles worth of accumulated debris. My brain function was clearly starting to deteriorate as I left because a volunteer stopped me from going up some other path or road instead of the place that I had literally just come from. It’s an out and back, you dummy.

Darn tree fell across both sides of the switchback on the Hawks Nest Connector Trail

Small tasks require big concentration

Bob and JR passed me as they headed up about a minute later. Now that awful grade up the rail trail becomes a terrible 2 mile downhill for the quads. The longer I spend not moving at an aid station, the longer it takes to find my legs again. Now a lengthy singletrack ascent up the Hawks Nest Connector Trail. Chris Pabian flew past me as the darkness began to fall, and JR came along shortly after with his pacer. He didn’t have a headlamp so I gave him my backup to get back to Fayette Station. They bombed the paved descent and I tried, unsuccessfully, to stay in contact.

think i forgot to stop running

There was no train to wait on this time, but I experienced a moment of panic when the volunteers at Fayette Station told me to take the road to get to Ansted and they’d see me again in 14 miles. I said I didn’t remember that part of the map, thinking there must be another road section now? Fortunately, I mentioned I’d already been to Ansted where I saw Miss Muffett sitting on a tuffet, at which point they realized I was clearly bonking just like the last idiot and must be making a return trip, now at mile 62. A volunteer here had made sushi rice cakes with egg, which I used to rely on religiously for calories, so I had to engulf one of those like a macrophage alongside even more delicious bacon. A little known rule for success (in life) is that you can never, ever eat enough bacon.

More trotting and shuffling in the dark back on the pavement to the challenging climb up Fayetteville Trail. It was pleasantly distracting to have other runners coming down to encourage when I wasn’t huffing and puffing like a tired, old steam locomotive. Sometimes they would unintentionally blind me as they focused their headlamps in my eyes, since I was now dressed in an ultra fuzzy and convincingly real black bear suit. My ramen noodle intake ramped up 300% when hitting the Long Point aid at mile 67. At this point sweet foods are just not appealing to a bear like me.

I don’t remember much of any excitement before getting back over to the Arrowhead loop and accompanying aid at mile 74. It’s dark. You’re tired. You stare at the ground and try to zone out a lot. I’m supposed to be hibernating, but it was unseasonably warm. It felt long, but at least Anne would be there to give me the full spa retreat session that she had agreed to, in writing as well as verbally, as part of the reconciliation package we negotiated upon her not meeting the terms set forth in Operation Bear Crawl. I did not and have not since received said session and am currently interested in pursuing legal action if anyone can recommend a good lawyer for suing your spouse? I’d like to keep it as cordial as possible so she’s not bitter about it.

Let me say this: the descent back down Kaymoor Miners Trail at mile 74.xx absolutely sucked. Use your hands, get a sherpa, rappel. Just get down. And, oh my god the climbing from the bottom of Kaymoor Miners Trail back up to the top of Cunard. It’s pretty runnable but that’s also a problem. I could settle into a nice rhythm but never imagined it would feel so long in this direction. Continuing our theme from the past 6-8 hours, I passed JR up the climb and he destroyed me descending down the steep pavement into the Cunard aid at mile 82. But then I never saw him again after that. Anne somehow perfectly timed her arrival to this crew point! She brought along a spectacular Sheetz bacon cheeseburger, probably in an attempt to avoid the legal case that was rapidly mounting against her. However, while basking in her self-administered praise, she forgot my other nice headlamp at Arrowhead and tried to use volunteering there as an excuse. Blah blah blah. Funny. I don’t hear any other members of Operation Bear Crawl making excuses. (Full disclosure: there are no other members of Operation Bear Crawl). No biggie as long as the one on my head keeps working for a while.

Trail Sisters Aid station courtesy Sara Lunden

And my headlamp decided to go to crap shortly after leaving the Cunard aid station. It wouldn’t shut off, wouldn’t leave its red light mode but wouldn’t turn on to a normal white light of any intensity. Better than complete failure, I guess? Perfect lighting if I was camping, trying to cook a meal, or in a tent reading the latest issue of Bear Packer magazine. This is another reason why I keep a cheap backup light in my pack, but I had no idea how long it would last and it was still a long, lonely stretch from mile 84 to 100. I had no choice but to use the backup light, though on a dim setting to conserve its battery. “Who’s the dork wearing two headlamps and a bear suit!?” no one shouted. Shuffling my feet through the crunchy leaves felt safer with that limited visibility. I would have struggled to do that if the surface had been more technical. My left big piggie ended up bashed hard against some rocks as it was. An ever-present roar of the impressive New River was my only companion along this stretch of the Southside Trail, though I did catch one racer and his pacer.

Actual footage of Me at a road crossing

I never wanted to obsess over my time too closely because there’s enough to worry about in just finishing 100 miles. I figured it better to shuffle cautiously and come in under 23 hours than to attempt pushing with limited visibility and really bust up my toes, foot, or ankle for a chance at coming in closer or under to 22 hours. Hey, that’s still a PR for me, which hardly matters in the trail running world anyway.

At mile 88.5 the ACE Beach volunteers had so many fires going I thought they were having some sort of satanic ritual, but I think they were just mostly bored young men waiting for runners to come through. They had batteries so I felt better about bringing the backup light up to fuller brightness when I left there to cross that damn freezing Arbuckle Creek. Next time I’m bringing my Gore-Tex bear suit. The climb back up to the ACE Resort trails felt like it took forever. My bear suit was absolutely soaked and full of wet leaves. Pretty sure I saw the race director out there in the middle of nowhere around mile 89-90. I dropped a banana from the last aid station somewhere so I hope a bonking runner found it and was so desperate that they ate it before those ungrateful raccoons I talked to at mile 91.

My brain was frying (as if you can’t tell). Everything felt like a climb but I think that’s because most of it was a climb. Paranoia of missing a turn increased ten-fold. I saw lights approaching from behind and picked it up because there is nothing more demoralizing than being passed by a runner in the final 10 miles of a 100 mile race. Or maybe there were aliens chasing me. Either way, I figured it was keeping me honest a.k.a not slacking. I made it a point not to linger at the 95.5 mile Concho Rim aid where I hear they brought out Nutella pancakes later. Come on! What’s a bear gotta do to get a Nutella pancake around here? Maybe I should have lingered.

In what I’m sure is intentionally tortuous course design, you shuffle right past the start/finish area at mile 96. Stare at the ground. Do not think. Do not look around. Just go out through the woods once more. I managed to make one wrong turn during mile 98 by creating a loop around a little pond, then heading back on the trail I had just taken. The actual trail was hidden behind an uprooted tree - but at least I knew it quickly and got back on within a minute.

The final couple miles took FOREVER. I wanted to run a little quicker but was still just afraid of rolling an ankle for no good reason so I stuck with a comfy shuffle. Even the final paved descent that felt like 2 minutes of uphill at the start of the course seemed to take 10 minutes now. Down, down, down to the finish line and super happy with my finishing time of 22 hours and 26 minutes. Not bad for a guy in a bear suit who had been blinded numerous times, using partially working lights, and denied Nutella pancakes. I crawled into the back of the truck to lie down while Anne drove me back to the cabin. However, mysteriously, she “forgot” how to get to the cabin 2 minutes away for at least 10 minutes as she proceeded to drive around on all of the bumpy ass dirt roads of the resort. Like she was tired or something. Pffft. I’m going to go scream in the shower now once I bear crawl up these steps.

Just as spry and fresh as 23 hours earlier, image courtesy APtiming

In the future, the November timing of this race would be good to finish out a typical competitive season, though this year we take what we can get, when we can get it, and we try not to whine too much, right? The course has a really nice ratio and distribution of dirt road, trail, and paved road. The volunteers were great. The quesadillas were delectable. What more do you need to know? Check it out next year!

https://www.adventureappalachia.org/rim-to-river-endurance-races

https://www.strava.com/activities/4307610305/overview

West Virginia Trilogy Race Report and Tips

How do you succinctly summarize three days of beautiful fall trail running in a remote part of West Virginia’s Monongahela National Forest? Unforgettable. That probably sums it up.

Cool. Blog post complete. Man, I am good at this. Why am I not getting paid to write this kind of insightful material?

Fine. Ok. Let me try again.

The West Virginia Trilogy is: 1) a stage race, 2) a trail race, 3) an ultramarathon, 4) unforgettable. So that’s kind of a single orange sugar maple leaf on a twig that connects to a bigger bough on the massive tree of running. It’s a niche event, though remarkably well known.

Alright. You get the idea. Really got you with that tree reference, right? Now I can stop writing.

More? Come on people. I’m still tired from running this thing. Just go do it yourself and save me the trouble! At least try one of the days.

What? You only run on roads but love a good, or even mediocre, story?

Awesome! I’m full of mediocre stories. Watch this.

Once upon a time, in a magical Appalachian forest, not that far away, in a tiny village near the great kingdom of Circleville, there were 36 trail runners that embarked on an unforgettable woodland adventure filled with amazing creatures, treacherous terrain, and furious battles with their own minds and bodies.

Boo ya. Done. I’m outta here.

Oh no, now I can’t quit. Thanks a lot. Here’s a pic then.

courtesy anne foreman

Each adventurer had invested roughly 14,000 rubles ($200 American) during the summer’s most oppressive heat and humidity for a chance at traversing 94 challenging miles with 15,000 feet of ascent, a sunrise summit of Spruce Knob, a Patagonia zip-neck pullover, a cool T-shirt, six hearty and warm meals, pleasing beverages, and the ultimate finisher’s mug to support their bragging rights.

Consider these items critical to their success in completion of their self-inflicted mission/journey/challenge/adventure subscribed to in a moment of unclear thinking.

1) The clothing will be used in desperation to keep warm at 2:00 AM when the temperature drops into the low 30s and they don’t realize exactly how cold it is to sleep in a tent at such temperatures.

2) Food provides the nourishment necessary to run three long days in a row. You probably shouldn’t do that without eating, duh.

3) The beer numbs the painful legs and minds of the Trilogy runner and may provide finish line motivation for many. Or perhaps makes you more tolerant of the runner at dinner who refuses to shower between race stages. It may even help the frigid snoozing of those individuals sleeping in the two shirts just mentioned above. The coffee is a motivator that makes people think they can push themselves to phenomenal limits that they probably shouldn’t. Oh wait, that’s beer too.

4) Finisher’s mugs to sip hot cocoa in the coming winter months while reflecting on their adventure should they survive the mission/journey/challenge all while tortuously contemplating “Should I do that again next year?”

Don’t Do this Race if This looks like too much work

I understand some people stay in the yurts that are on site at Experience Learning but I could never do that, only because “yurt” sounds a little too much like a sound that your stomach makes at mile 40 of 50 before you emergently need to find a large tree to hide your bare ass. Not saying I’ve done that but just saying where my mind goes. I personally slept in the back of my truck curled up like a roly poly pill bug.

Runners are welcome to participate on any single day, but don’t be surprised if a competitive three-day Trilogy runner will do their best to run you and your fresh legs into the ground and make you feel bad about your clearly unwise decision to race only a single day. It’s popular for some people to run the 50K on Friday and the half marathon on Sunday, skipping the 50 miler on Saturday to do more important things, like trimming their toenails or maybe volunteering for the 50 miler, in which case THANK YOU! Also thank you for trimming your hideous toenails. By the way, you might want to see a podiatrist about that one little piggie.

The 50K appetizer

We had great weather for the 50K on Friday, though overnight temperatures dropped enough to leave frost in the lowest dips. I was surprised (yet not surprised) to see the number of runners hammering the first 2 miles of the course after the 7:00 AM start. I’m old and don’t like to experience 5K pain anymore, so I fully endorse a nice, gentle start when it’s going to be such a long weekend. No need to hurt my fragile, little quadriceps earlier than necessary. Although, on second thought, if you are racing me, please do go ahead and floor that accelerator as hard as you can for the initial three or four miles since we all know a 50K is really short, your pace never fades, and you’ll have so much trouble passing the slow conga line of people I’ll be leading in that fourth hour on all of the narrow cliff-lined singletrack.

courtesy anne foreman

I caught Trevor Baine just after the first aid station, which are, by the way, really close together for the 50K. Shortly after, as we descended the Elza Trail, I hooked my right shoe solidly on a sharp root and refused to disengage it, just to make sure Trevor was paying attention behind me. I had enough time to think “that was a dumb idea” and somehow saved myself from creating a crater in the earth with my face, sparing my already titanium teeth. The occasion did provide at least five more minutes of amusement for the two of us. We trotted and chatted along together for the next couple hours, occasionally catching a glimpse of a runner in front of us.

Trevor and I eventually came upon Bob Luther just past Judy Gap on Bear Hunter Trail, but then Bob proceeded to educate us on descending skills while coming back down Horton Trail. I became particularly timid while descending when I rolled my left ankle on a narrow, cambered section. We’d chase Bob up Seneca Creek, freezing our legs a more and more with each crossing. Bob rejoined us on the ascent of Judy Springs Trail. Being the phenomenal runner that she is, Judy Gap caught back up to us as well. If only Judy Gap was a real person and not the name of the aid station. Oh, the dad jokes you must endure to finish this unnecessarily long blog post!

For me, the most mentally difficult part came when running the flat but very rocky Lumberjack Trail from mile 24 to mile 27. After a brief gravel road section and a stop at the Seneca aid station, I didn’t run very long until I came into what appeared to be a beaver dam area and promptly fell flat on my face, just as I was recognizing that there were definitely some deep holes to watch out for amongst the water, sticks, and high grass. And that’s where I’m writing this entire thing from while I await rescue. Do you think they’ll be here soon to get me?

A brushy, briary section of old logging road eventually clears out and leads to quicker logging road travel. Pushing the effort up Cardiac Hill to catch Bob, I cramped at my inner right thigh muscles, briefly stopped to stretch, and somehow managed to catch back onto him in the field next to the Experience Learning facilities. I’m not sure either of us wanted to kick to the finish knowing more than 60 miles remained in the coming days but I picked it up to finish in 5:06:54.

The 50 mile main course

The good weather continued for the 50 miler on Saturday. A slight vehicular position adjustment of precisely 25 degrees in the coronal plane and 13 degrees in the transverse plane dramatically improved my sleep quality. I don’t need your Tempur Pedic mattress. It had warmed slightly in the night as cloud cover moved in, maybe to the mid to upper 40s. Enough to have less condensation inside the truck than the night before. Every degree counts when you are sleeping outside.

The start was an hour earlier at 6:00 AM, and perhaps the resulting fatigue led to a less aggressive pace than the day before, thank goodness. There was a brief confusion (loss of consciousness) at mile 2.2 where I followed a few runners onto an incorrect trail but everyone I could see in front of me quickly realized the mistake. This is a much easier mistake to make in the dark because you tend to focus only on what your headlamp lights, like the giant nocturnal woodrats and whistlepigs. This resulted in needing to pass a few extra folks up the climb but really left me wondering what position I was in for a long time.

Strange creatures on the game Camera courtesy Katie Wolpert

Striding along the only pavement in the entire race climbing up to Spruce Knob, I was in a group of fast moving folks. They must have saved that quick start for that stretch instead of the initial mile. It was still dark amongst the trees atop the mountain so I kept the headlamp. “NO WHISTLEPIGS GONNA EAT ME TODAY!, I yelled. I ran alone, surely talking to myself in increasingly greater quantities, for about a mile heading down Huckleberry Trail, then came upon Bob Luther and did my best to pace with him for the majority of the race. Hopefully he wasn’t counting on quality solo running time.

As we headed up the Allegheny Mountain Trail climb from the mile 25 aid station, the fog and drizzle were rolling into the top of the adjacent ridge. Within the hour, it had reached us, chilling me a little in the process. The aid stations were much further apart than yesterday’s race, which is one of the challenges/mind games you must endure. I was pleased to find warm broth to drink at the mile 33 Horton aid station (though I may have been better off to bathe my aching muscles in it). I also didn’t mind the brief chunk of gravel road after the descent had beaten me down.

Seneca Falls courtesy Anne Foreman

Bob encouraged me to use this last major climb up Spring Ridge Trail to push before descending back to Judy Gap at mile 40. So I did. Maybe he was tired of listening to my heavy breathing or hearing about my obsession with megafauna. Despite all the climbing, I was pretty chilled and anxious to get off of the cold ridge. He had described the portion after Judy Gap as being more quickly runnable and, if I had the legs left, to take advantage of the lack of climbing and lack of technicality.

Check Out these Nice Volunteers Dealing with My Problems. What’s in the Thermos?

I pushed the pace well through mile 44 up Seneca Creek Trail but was definitely getting annoyed with the taller grasses on the former timber road of the Allegheny Mountain Trail until the mile 46 aid where I definitely did not feel like eating anything and just wanted to be done. Of course the paparazzi (aka my wife) showed up to harass me, always in search of that ridiculous eyes crossed, mouth open, and drooling camera shot to sell to the National Enquirer. I caught up to Frank Gonzalez here, and we ran the remainder of the course hard (at least for me), hurdling a couple fences and power hiking the heck out of Cardiac Hill in the process. I passed Frank and pushed through the top of the climb and then proceeded to have Frank outkick me so fast in the final 200 yards that he must have a hidden turbo button. I was pretty cold and frazzled so I took a long, warm shower, and went back to sleep with the baby whistlepig in my truck for about 90 minutes. (Special thanks to the nice couple that felt sorry for the barely conscious idiot that I am and drove me to my truck!) Finish time: 9:03:27.

Courtesy Anne Foreman

The half marathon dessert

For the Sunday finale, the race directors brought in more fantastic weather for the half marathon. The sky was clearer and more chilly again overnight but at least this race doesn’t start until 9:00 AM. I wasn’t sure how my legs would fare on this third day, but why not just see what it feels like to go completely anaerobic for well over an hour after all those longer runs? Coffee! More coffee!

YURTZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ Power

The start was faster and reminiscent of Friday, especially since there were 95 total half marathoners and 36 5K runners. Who are these people who lack sunken eyes? The legs felt good after the prologue loop and it felt easy to hit the first real trail descent down Cardiac Hill with intensity. The half course was very runnable, probably because of the gravel road sections, but definitely didn’t have a shortage of climbs, yielding 1800 feet of climb on my watch. I didn’t realize what a test I was in for with the gravel climb up to the Gatewood Firetower. That left a scar. At least you get to bomb back down it, though I felt like I was flailing like a used car dealership’s inflatable windsock man. Back along some gravel, drop down the hill, and once more through the bottom of the cow pasture with fence jumps and crawls to return to Cardiac Hill and the 94 miles of racing is, sadly, about to come to an end. Today’s time to completion: 1:39:26

Total Trilogy time: 15:49:47. Meanwhile some dude broke 2 hours in a laboratory experiment marathon and stole all of my thunder.

Courtesy Katie Wolpert

RESULTS Link

Tips for an aspiring Trilogy stage runner:

Do some back-to-back longer running, perhaps with some higher effort on the second day to mimic running on tired legs.

1. Have an understanding of your typical recovery time for a given type of effort. It takes much less time to recover from 20 miles of aerobic running where you were comfortable the whole time, eating well, and drinking plenty than it does to recover from the same distance where you were anaerobic, breathing heavily, and barely eating and drinking. Do not do that in this race!

2. Eat and drink constantly. Sure, in a typical ultramarathon you still have to eat and drink often to even complete the distances but if you get too far behind in your intake one day, the next day or days will suffer. You have to take more of a preventative attitude and remember you aren’t eating for the current situation as much as eating for the next day.

3. Along those same lines, eat and drink as immediately as you can tolerate after finishing each run. According to something known as science, or better yet, physiology, there’s a “glycogen replacement window” that remains most effective at rebuilding your spent muscle glycogen stores in the couple hours following exercise.

4. Hygiene. Shower as soon as you finish each day, otherwise you won’t make friends. But more importantly, there are just way too many bacteria waiting to flourish on your skin and cause jock itch. The warm showers on site made life so much more pleasant.

5. When it comes to gear, bring it, even if you don’t think you’ll need it. I ended up loaning some clothing items because I had extra. Of course I only loan the sweatiest, dirtiest items that I just took off. You are welcome, Anne!

6. And on a related note, bring extra pairs of shoes. Maybe even models designed for different conditions like super muddy or dry. Or in the case you really damage a shoe, you’ll have spares. I ripped a one inch gash through the top of a new pair on the first day when it hooked on a pointy root. You never know what’s lurking out there that might shred your shoes. Whistlepig teeth are also very sharp and are known to penetrate up to two inches of solid metal so your shoes are no match.

7. Run at least an open 50 miler beforehand. Unless you just love the process of suffering and learning the hard way, I would not suggest your first 50 miler to be in the middle of the Trilogy (unless that’s your open event) because your legs and body will feel like it’s 70 miles instead of 50 by the finish.

8. Don’t let your mind wander too much while running. The 50 mile cutoffs are more aggressive, so you have to stay on task. The rocks under the leaves want to hurt you. I fell down twice and rolled my left ankle once the first day, rolled my right ankle once the second day. Too much of an injury and the entire weekend is ruined!

9. Observe and apply the knowledge and methods of a veteran Trilogy runner. It drives me absolutely nuts when people think they know it all and completely resist the advice and help of their more experienced peers. There’s always something useful to be learned from someone else. For me this was Bob Luther, a previous winner of the Trilogy. He knows the courses well and gave me fantastic advice throughout the 50 miler but especially for the closing 10 miles. I was also able to pace with him for the end of the 50K and his input on the half marathon gave me an idea of when to best push my effort. Without his guidance and presence, my performances in all three races would definitely have been slower than if I had gone in blind.

10. Don’t forget about the climbs and power hiking. FYI: the mountains aren’t going anywhere.

11. If you have a bad day, don’t underestimate the power of good nutrition followed by a good night’s rest for improving the next day’s performance. Just get it in ASAP. This does not mean drink a bunch of beer.

12. If you plan on camping each night at the Trilogy, go camping a couple times before the race to work the kinks out of that process so it’s not another stressor on race weekend.

I’m continuing this already lengthy rhetoric to take time for a public service announcement on thanking your friendly, local race directors. Thank you Adam Casseday and Dan Lehman for mobilizing volunteers, marking and trimming a ridiculous amount of trail, finding sponsors, losing sleep, tolerating stupid questions from racers, stressing, and repeating the same things over and over again that you clearly posted on the event website. Thanks to Katie Wolpert of Experience Learning for inviting us all to your great venue. Thank you mom for watching my kids. Thank you Anne for not publishing those couple terrible drooling photos you took of me.

Eastern States 100 Race Report

With the help of a few good people, I managed to survive a race that is considered by many trail runners to be the toughest 100 miler in the Eastern US. That’s hard to quantify, but there’s a few considerations in support of the argument. First, it’s longer than 100 miles at 103+ miles. Second, there’s about 20,000 feet of climbing matched by an equivalent amount of descending. Third, there are many rocks and roots that want to hurt you (and they will succeed). Fourth, it’s August in PA so there’s bound to be some humidity and heat. Fifth, rattlesnakes. Sixth, Sasquatch. Seventh, the course is closely monitored by a violent drug cartel known as The Fuzzy Friends Club.

I think I executed it well as a 90 miler. Which, according to my Monday-after arithmetic, leaves about 13 miles of tough terrain to suck it up and go into survival mode. Not knowing the course, I knew I was running in a way that was taking a chance, chasing a time goal on terrain I’d never seen, hoping that the elevation profile and talk of the elevation changes being more forgiving in the later stages would pay off. Well that didn’t quite work. I would have been better off trying to run this like it was 115 miles, but it was still memorable and awesome.

It fascinates me how quickly events like this can go by. Anyone crewing or pacing would probably disagree, but for the runner, it’s crazy how such an intense focus allows time to slip past. The whole experience became so robotic that it’s impossible for me to remember the order of some locations and various events. But I was told by crew captain Anne that it’s like childbirth and if I don’t quickly write something down about the events, I’ll really forget what happened. The one and only obvious difference is that after 30 hours of labor I gave birth to a finisher medal and finisher jacket that will never require swaddling, changing, or feedings in the middle of the night.

After getting to bed way too late and struggling to fall asleep on Friday night, I awoke at 3:50 AM to shovel in more of the sweet potato and bacon hash from dinner’s leftovers. Staying at Happy Acres Resort made for an easy one-mile commute to the start line at Little Pine State Park. I basically hopped out of the truck and walked to the start line to hear the pre-race meeting and took off at precisely 5:00 AM.

Starting with a paved road mile, of course people haul ass. I held way back and still ran an 8:30 mile. Eventually we enter the woods within the campground and of course the climbing begins up the Mid-State Trail and didn’t seem to let up until day was breaking atop the first mountain, at around five miles, with a couple hermit thrush performing their daily ritual. Very steep. Unusually steep? Shades of what was to become a theme. I was able to briefly chat with my future pacer, Aaron Watkins, volunteering at the Ramsey Road aid station (mile 5.8).

And the road runners just can’t seem to understand why the paces are so “slow”

I ran a lot of this first section with eventual women’s winner Meg Burke, who seemed to be in great spirits, and I wondered then if she wouldn’t eventually take the win. We bombed one of the next descents where I just about ended my day early by rolling my left ankle slightly on a “sexy because it’s barely-there” strip of off-camber singletrack. That would have been sad. Alas, I carried onward, too dumb to care and too stupid to quit.

At Ramsey aid station (11.3 miles) I could still think straight and chatted with the race director briefly about his champagne-laden aid station at another great race, Rock ‘N The Knob, last year. A brief, two minute jaunt up the rail trail results in access to more trails that go straight up the mountainsides, soon connecting onto the Tiadaghton Trail. Several more minutes of hiking and more lovely, non-technical ridge running followed.

You’ll notice I’m not running. Image courtesy Lugnut Media.

During the next long descent, Meg and I were fooled into thinking we could hear people yelling but realized shortly thereafter that it was just a rooster crowing on the opposite side of Pine Creek. We eventually reached Lower Pine Bottom (mile 17.8), which felt like an accomplishment unto itself. This was the first crew accessible point, so I did a little strip tease for the spectators to make a couple of quick bucks, changed into some fresher clothes, took a couple minutes to eat and headed on back to a nice gravel climb up Lower Pine Bottom Road. That nice climb had to end, of course, as we then traversed the always steep, never flat Wolf Path. Didn’t see any wolves, so I want my money back. Clearly no one has ever taught the local trailbuilders about the concept of switchbacks. This one sucked a little out of me. I didn’t see any Sasquatch in the designated Sasquatch pen at the top of the climb either.

Where were you when I needed you to comfort me the most, at 3 A.M., SMOKEY? It’s a little known fact that Smokey “Da Bear” is the head of the Fuzzy Friends Drug Cartel. There is a fully automatic weapon in Those 80’s denim jeans and that’s why he never wears Jorts, even on hot days like This. Truth. Just look at those Eyes.

I gained a new running partner for a bit, cruised through a couple more ups and downs, and had the unfortunate chance to watch my partner take a hard digger into the dirt on one of the descents. Chunks of this section are ATV trails, though I saw no recent evidence of ATVs. I tried to eat like crazy upon entering the Brown’s Run aid (mile 25.8) because I knew there was a long climb coming. If only I had received lessons in effort dispersal. Browns Run was nice to cross occasionally for a dip of the hat or a splash of the face, but it also became mildly annoying after the fifth or sixth crossing.

Probably shouldn’t have been running here. Image courtesy a nice person on Facebook.

While the Dutchman might have been happy at aid station 5 (mile 31.6), I was not. Because I had the stupidity to believe that the more runnable 5.8 mile climb up the Browns Run creek ravine should actually be run. That’s probably why I was getting annoyed at the creek. I hung at the aid station additional time to make sure I was un-bonking, started walking, and took a couple bites of a pierogi, which immediately and violently came back up with one big heave. Something about that squishy, doughy, jellyfish-body texture really didn’t agree with me at that moment. Welcome to the Vomiting Dutchman, may I take your order, please? On second thought, you can shove your order where the sun doesn’t shine. I hate you. Go away and stop eating fast food because it’s horrible for you...

OK... any who… where was I? So I’m going to need to shift to frequent but tiny amounts of food for a while because I doubt large quantities of anything will sit well. I nursed an energy gel as I shuffled along the grassy snowmobile trails, trying to stay in sight of the eight to ten runners who had come into the aid station just behind me. I was thankful and surprised that this was more of a plateau, because it allowed me to recover but still get in a few miles without taking too many more forceful punches to the stomach.

The Ritchie Road aid (mile 38.5) had some wonderful ramen noodles and grilled cheese, which the volunteers swore wouldn’t make me vomit, and did indeed become safe options the rest of the race, along with my standby bananas. There’s a great view just past the aid station if my memory serves me correctly. I really enjoyed my time in the powerline section, listening to the comforting snaps and crackles that accompany the highest voltages. Race directors put these kinds of sections in to mess with people so now I’ll return the favor. The electrical field must have messed with my brain’s neural connectivity because I had visions of taking a selfie with two Pringles chips perched on my lips to make “ducky lips” but I forgot to take the photo so you’ll have to imagine it or use Photoshop. I soon caught a couple folks as I exited the woods and we chatted about the Oregon Trail video game, rattlesnakes, and deadly jellyfish down the next section of gravel road.

Gliding into Hyner Run (43.2 miles) was really great. There must have been a hundred spectators at the crewing area. What wasn’t great was the climb out of that ravine. Wow. Brutal. Rocky. Technical. Still no Sasquatch sightings in the next Bigfoot pen but that’s okay because I’m getting my money back for the lack of wolves earlier. May have smelled one though, just not sure because this was my first visit into a Bigfoot pen. Very positive I saw one of those giant, interwoven ground nests that Sasquatch fabricate as an indication of their highly intelligent capabilities.

Let me see that 5:00 minute mile

I believe it was prior to Halfway House (mile 54.7) I saw a gun on the ground and had to go back to make sure it wasn’t real. It wasn’t. Then there was an unopened can of beer on a log, and shortly after a terrifying collection of stuffed animals known as the Fuzzy Friends Club. Rumor was a guy was sitting there playing a harpsichord/Autoharp for the folks behind me but I missed that spectacle. Not sure if I should be sad as it was plenty creepy enough?

Some kind of Fuzzy Friends club Trap I didn’t fall for

That perverted smile on the bright green frog’s face is what offends me the most about this group photo of the various criminal members of the Notoriously Evil Fuzzy Friends Club.

You can’t tell that this is ridiculously steep and once you reach the bottom there’s a mirror image of this descent to climb back up.

Another notable, long, and technical climb precedes the unmanned Callahan Run aid station at 59.4 miles. The sun was getting lower now, which looked beautiful through the trees. I was looking forward to Slate Run to pick up my pacer. Before descending I envied the man who had set up camp for the night at this awesome overlook, the Hemlock Mountain Vista.

First up to pace me from Slate Run (mile 63.8) would be Aaron, fresh off his finish at Laurel Highlands Ultra, which also has some steep climbs. I tried to keep things interesting for the volunteers (and myself) by threatening to throw bacon slices at a uniformed Air Force member that was hassling me. Aaron and I couldn’t exactly start out running because the next section begins with a 3-mile uphill grind. We were so close to seeing the sunset at a couple of the overlooks on the way up but our timing was off by maybe 10 minutes. Still daylight but no sun. Nice pics at least, and it was still beautiful to look upstream and across the Slate Run ravine in the orange glow.

Not that it was crazy hot all day, but it was plenty humid and warm enough that I welcomed the cooler temperatures as night fell. Aaron and I ran frequently through the Algerine Wild Area because a lot of it is a plateau. I told him I noticed a theme to the course: 1) crazy steep climb for 30 minutes, 2) go across a plateau that’s surprisingly runnable, 3) descend something that’s half runnable and half steep back down to a road, 4) repeat.

I wanted to get Aaron a new Facebook profile Pic

I lost my bottle of quick pick-me-up Coca-Cola while crawling under a fallen tree. Fortunately, Aaron gave me one of his bottles to fill with Coke at the next aid station. Great pacer move! There did seem to be a few more downed trees on the latter half of the course, or it’s just that I was noticing them because I was getting more tired and it took more work to get over or around them.

Getting blurry cuz i stopped paying attention long ago

During Aaron’s final descent, 20 hours into this adventure, on a narrow cut of mountainside singletrack above Blackwell, we came upon a 2-foot wide, freshly crafted wooden bridge with no handrails spanning a 10-foot eroded gap. I was too curious and peered over the edge to see a good 30-40 foot drop. Without handrails and having questionable legs, it kept things exciting at 1:00 AM. Must have been why the race notes said, “Watch your step or you could make a big splash in Pine Creek.”

Bridge to Blackwell, getting blurrier

Upon rolling into Blackwell, themed in pirate paraphernalia, I chugged about 10 ounces of EHQ Endure Fuel, cold brew, restocked my vest with food, and performed another seductive disposal of my sweat saturated clothing. Next up to pace would be Mark Sutyak, who is apparently a glutton for punishment and I assume came along to sample the aid station cuisine because there sure wasn’t much running going on through the middle of the night.

We spent much of the next 10 hours hiking, and my running was probably still his hiking. My estimation that the final portions of the course would have more runnable sections was about 33% correct. Much of it was still too steep to run, up or down, even on fresh legs, but I really think I had just gotten too far behind on my calorie intake.

Somewhere in here a racer and his pacer passed us up a shallow climb and within the next few seconds I heard them yelling and sticks breaking. I glanced up to see the backend of a large porcupine running up the trail. But then it would stop a few yards away, still on the trail, requiring those guys to throw and bang sticks to scare it, although it clearly wasn’t scared. This went on for about 100 yards. Cocky little thing with all those sharp quills. I’m not sad the other runners came to it before me. I’ve encountered lots of unusual animals in the wild but this was the first porcupine.

I love my Petzl Nao headlamp. It’s like a car’s headlight coming through the woods. I’d left it on the most intense setting, which was fantastic for maybe 5 hours. The headlamp was giving me it’s warning flash and quickly dimmed around mile 84, indicating that it was going into power saving mode (kinda like my brain had done since mile 50). No big deal, that’s why I have the second lamp, although it’s not as awesome at lighting the way.

An older gentleman volunteering at the Skytop aid station (84.8 miles) informed us that the next 8.1 miles would be very runnable. And that if we didn’t think so, we were welcome to run back to call him a liar. Totally reasonable. It’s not nice to play mean tricks on tired runners, sir. But seriously, so many of these folks at the aid stations were super pleasant, experienced, and helpful. It was becoming cold enough on this ridge now that I needed arm warmers and began to shiver from stopping. The heavy dew covered grass rubbing my feet and legs wasn’t helping.

We continued our shuffle toward Barrens aid station (mile 92.8). We scurried down a technical stream with waterfalls and sometimes non-existent trail. I really enjoyed the next long climb on the smooth, grassy forest service road, mostly because I didn’t have to think, just move. You could actually relax a little on the less threatening surface. I decided to take care of some increasingly present lower butt chafing issues as we summited, so I pulled my shorts slightly down to lube those sensitive inferior gluteal regions, trying not to break what little stride I had, now around mile 89. But I had forgotten that I had tucked my phone in my waistband, despite having a perfectly good vestpack on my body. And in that process I apparently dropped said phone. We kept on going until I realized my mistake, at which point we turned around and were promptly greeted by a few different packs of runners. I was amazed that so many people were still so close together at this point. Now I really wished I’d had the brighter light still going to find that phone.

The entire last 40 miles of the course was lit with Christmas tree Lights. Yeah right.

Then an oncoming woman cut me off and threatened to tackle me if I kept going back up the hill because her friend was apparently taking a potty break in the middle of the service road. Here’s a useful tip ladies: if you don’t like even the slightest chance of your butt being spot lit by a random headlamp at 2 AM in the woods, MOVE OFF THE TRAIL WHEN YOU PEE. NEWSFLASH: EVERYBODY PEES IN THE WOODS, EVEN THE SASQUATCH SNEAKING UP BEHIND YOU! I wish I had said that, but I was too tired. So, finally, the pee pee police permitted our passage and we were able to continue on upward, continuing to ask runners if they’ve seen my dropped phone as I spoke mostly in profanities. It didn’t take too long before I encountered a couple of the runners I’d chatted with earlier, Neal and Megan, who’d found the phone. Yay. It’s a damn Eastern States miracle. Oddly enough, I was upset at the potential for losing the pictures I’d taken all day, not the phone itself.

The legs and brain struggled from Barrens to the Hacketts aid station (99.1). Yes, there’s not much change on the elevation profile but it was not an easy walk in the forest, especially when you don’t eat much. I think it was in this section where there was a pine forest trail with an erratic habit of suddenly appearing up or down the hill from where we were standing at any instant. For a while it sorta paralleled the creek and there were helpful blazes on the trees, but without the reflective flags it would have been extra tough. Seemed like a great place for a dirt nap.

Nearly crushed by this falling tree

As we hit the final aid station (mile 99.1), now in the daylight and beyond my initial time goals, I was hoping that most of the beating was over and had long ago stopped caring about the actual finish time. Upon hitting 100 miles on my GPS, I asked Mark where my buckle and finish line was. In the valley that I can’t even see yet, of course. I tried to run more the next couple miles but the hemorrhage of time wouldn’t clot without calories. The most ridiculous downhill greets us around mile 101.5-103. It’s hard because of every reason, ever. It’s steep. When it’s not steep, it’s rock drop-offs so that’s still actually a way of being steep. You have to use your upper body sometimes. Thank goodness for the trekking poles. Midway down there was a family of eastern rattlesnake viewers taking in my shuffle technique, reminding us to keep our distance.

I got your Timber Rattler Meat right here. So hungry for Timber Rattler at this point.

The downhill finally gave up surely because I did not, we popped out next to a field at Little Pine State Park and I was greeted again by Aaron for the final couple hundred meters of walking and chatting. Can I have that Eastern States buckle now, please?

Thank you for holding me upright Anne. Obviously you allowed the person behind you to fall down and fracture their femur.

Thank you Mark and Aaron! These guys made great company and I’m really happy they could share in a substantial piece of the experience of being out there.

You can get a little idea of the course from this video.

Anne’s crewing notes:

One may assume that as someone who is a trained researcher and spends much of the day reading and conducting research studies that I would apply this analytical framework to other aspects of my life. This assumption would be patently false. In preparation for crewing, I think I read (skimmed) two articles of questionable provenance. One may have been from Runner’s World, a somewhat dubious source for accurate information about anything, particularly ultramarathons and trail running. I think I avoided doing any prep work because the task seemed so incredibly complicated and arduous that I preferred not to think about it at all. Given all of this, I don’t think I did too badly. On doing some searches post-crewing, I realize that there are a lot of great resources out there. So to avoid attempting to reinvent the wheel, this list is brief and not at all comprehensive.

1. You are crewing. Therefore, none of the amenities of the race are available to you. You must prepare accordingly. Bring at least one healthy food item that you will haul around for the weekend and then dump, uneaten and likely mashed or broken, into your compost tumbler when you get home. For me, this was a bag of clementines. 

2. Make sure that you have a full tank of gas on race morning. Otherwise you may find yourself with a near empty tank at 9:05 pm, 16 hours into the race. The only gas station within 25 miles closed at 9 pm. You now must speed out of the mountains to get to a Sheetz 40 minutes away and hope you can make it to the next crew spot in time. And you will have to wait until after the race to chastise the runner for leaving you with an insufficient amount of gas in his truck because it would not be fair to unload on them at mile 63. Even though you really want to. (*Note from the editor: The truck had nearly a half tank of gas, thank you very much.)

3. If you are preparing food that requires any preparation, bring your own kitchen tools. Otherwise you will find yourself hacking away at a raw sweet potato with a bent serrated knife on a peeling melamine plate from the cabin’s tiny kitchen. But you will persist because your runner asked you to prepare sweet potato hash the night before his race so he doesn’t get tummy troubles, and you are way too nice of a human being to refuse him.

4. Ask your runner about different scenarios and contingency plans associated with each. The night before the race I thought, “I should ask Derek what to do if he’s barfing.” I realized the next day that I had forgotten to ask him that question. Luckily for me (and Derek), there was no barfing. 

5. Ask your runner what you should not say to them when you see them. For Derek, he does not want me to ask him how he’s feeling. What’s the one question I always want to ask him? Yes. It’s that question. 

6. In one of the two articles I skimmed pre-race, they mentioned that some runners like to have a magic or “safe” word that means, “I actually want to quit now.” I asked Derek what he wanted his to be, and he laughed for a very long time. I guess this makes sense as Derek is a person who Means What He Says And Says What He Means and does not throw around the idea of quitting lightly. But, uh, if ever in a dissociative fugue I decide to run 100 miles, I may need a magic word.

7. Don’t take anything personally. Runners lose their social niceties, like 35 miles in, so you just have to take it in stride. This one is very hard for me. Derek once lightly tossed a bottle to me with a slight frown on his face at an aid station at Highlands Sky several years ago and I’m still recovering. 

8. Bring your dogs and then regret bringing your dogs when you’re trying to do anything. But then be happy the dogs are there at 2 AM in an otherwise empty cabin in the mountains of Pennsylvania. 

9. Prepare for no phone signal or wifi. For me, this meant downloading podcasts and reviving my love of the New York Times crossword app (I was like four clues from a completed Thursday by the end of the weekend! It was an easy Thursday). Avoid anything true crime because you may be spending a lot of time driving alone on windy country roads at night. 

10. Alternate between marveling at the strength and determination occurring all around you and questioning whether it’s all just a time-consuming narcissistic exercise. Settle somewhere in the middle. 

Miner's Lady 8-Hour Endurance Run Race Report

The Miner’s Lady 8-Hour Endurance Run is held in Harpers Ferry, WV. The entirely/100% trail route consists of a 6.2-mile loop that includes a short (but memorable) out-and-back section. You run as many loops as you wish for eight hours. This seemed like the perfect race for me, a full-time working mom with two small children and a husband who likes to go tromping through the woods for hours upon hours on the weekends, because if my training didn’t end up being sufficient for completing a 50k, then no problem, I’ll just do three loops and collect my medal and finisher’s hat.

The day before the race, I drove to Wheeling to drop my darling children off to my very kind mother where I left them screaming at each other over possession of the Kindle Fire. I shot her an apologetic look as I sneaked out the door to haul ass back home, where I picked up Derek so we could make the three-hour drive to Ranson, WV and pick up my packet at Two Rivers Treads. After picking up my packet, we browsed the broad selection of running items available and purchased some new gels to try (not during the race, of course! Although I have about 400 fewer race credits to my name than my husband I am not a TOTAL amateur). I resisted the urge to hop on one of the many True Form treadmills in the front of the store. Although I’d love to give one a try some day (and I keep encouraging Derek to buy one for the clinic), I absolutely would be the person who sustains an embarrassing injury on a running store treadmill the day before a race. We met up with two friends/running buddies, Stephanie and Sara, for a borderline-adequate meal of Italian food and a trip to the grocery store for all of the things we forgot to pack (mostly chocolate). After returning to the hotel and doing typical night-before-the-race prep like agonizing over which clothing items will chafe the least (answer: probably the shorts you chose not to wear), we set the alarms for 4:00 AM.

Everyone’s smiling cuz it’s the first Lap, Photo courtesy Paul Encarnacion

After some typical night-before-the-race restless sleep and some really bad hotel Keurig coffee (I’m edging closer and closer to becoming an Aeropress-toting coffee snob), we hopped in Sara’s car and headed to the race site, which was about a 20-25 minute drive from Ranson. Given the small size of the race location, participants are required to carpool lest they be banished to the “dungeon lot” which requires a one-mile walk to the race start (the race directors do provide a Facebook group to facilitate making carpooling arrangements with other racers). We unloaded our gear and our valiant crew captain, Derek, hauled the 85-pound pink Yeti cooler to the crewing zone. Right before the start, running celebrity Dr. Mark Cuccuzella gave the gathered racers a safety briefing, and the race started a couple minutes after 6:00 AM.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the 6.2-mile loop exceedingly runnable. Here, Derek, can describe the course because he’s better at it than I am. Pacers were NOT allowed, but he was doing a long run on all the local trails and managed to include the loop so here he goes:

“Well, my first impression of this course is that the loop is tailored to beginner trail runners or an advanced runner looking to PR for whatever distance they could achieve in eight hours. Which, I’m guessing, was the director’s intention. Not to say there isn’t any challenge from the elevation fluctuation. The winner set a new course record of 50 miles and it makes sense. But I’d say the event is more about bringing new people into ultrarunning and an active lifestyle than it is about pure competition. Having run the other trails in the immediate area, including the Appalachian Trail and others in the same greenspace, I couldn’t believe how smooth the race course was by comparison. These trails were heavily maintained and as burned-in as you’ll find. Several portions are on old timber road but there’s enough singletrack to be distracting and keep it mildly interesting as your laps would pass. The loop begins and ends with a tendency toward downhill. I can see where the out-and-back to pass over the Virginia border could be mentally challenging if you were several hours deep into a hard effort. The descent down is just steep enough and just rocky enough that you can’t completely relax to pick up speed and upon the return it’s steep enough in sections that most people can’t run it top to bottom, which contrasts the rest of the course. So the out-and-back portion is likely to be the mind crusher/soul destroyer. If I was racing it, I would push the heck out that last mile or so of each lap once you’ve topped out the climb back from VA. My GPS had just over 800 feet of elevation gain for the entire loop. As a spectator for a timed event, it’s certainly more entertaining to see your runner or runners with great frequency, as it prevents complete boredom and one of my greatest fears: public napping.”

Turnaround Waterfall, Photo courtesy Paul Encarnacion

Here are some of my thoughts during each loop:

Loop 1 (miles 0 - 6.2):

• This course is so runnable!

• Hold yourself back! You didn’t train doing 10-minute mile long runs, you dummy.

• Slower!

• Why do people think it’s okay to play music from a speaker in the woods any time, but especially during a race?

• Someone asked Music Man how long his battery lasts.

• Why am I still near Music Man.

• I want to get away from Music Man.

• Eat something.

Loop 2 (miles 6.2 - 12.4):

• Stop thinking about how much time is left.

• I don’t remember most of this.

• Oh, this climb again.

• These last two miles feel like they go on forever.

• Oh hello again, Music Man.

Loop 3 (miles 12.4 - 18.6) :

• I feel amazing! I could do this forever.

• I love trail running.

• Why doesn’t everyone do this?

• I should sign up for another race when I’m done with this one. Maybe on the car ride home.

Loop 4 (miles 18.6 - 24.8)

• Uh oh, quad cramps.

• (While descending and following the advice of my crew/physical therapist/coach/personal trainer/husband) Tiny steps, tiny steps, tiny steps.

• Do a body scan like Derek always says. Unclench your jaw, woman. Relax your shoulders.

• I may have just peed a little.

• Shut up, legs.

Loop 5 (miles 24.8 - 31)

• This ice in my hat and vest feels amazing (a big thank you to the crew!).

• Stop thinking about how many miles are left.

• Uh oh, quad AND calf cramps.

• Why do we pay to do this to ourselves? (Oh yeah, to get the hat and finisher medal)

• That lady is turning around. Smart lady.

• Last time I have to see that rock. Last time I have to see that twig.

• Do I have enough time left? I’m going to text Derek and ask him even though I know the answer is yes.

• Coca-Cola is AMAZING. MANNA FROM HEAVEN. NECTAR OF GODS. (also a suggestion from the crew)

• I’m going to text my friend Emily. She’ll send me encouraging, all-caps messages. I should choose future races based on the location of the nearest cell towers.

• Try to run this part.

• It’s okay to walk this part. You’ll probably fall on your face otherwise.

• Try to run this part.

And then I finished! In like 7:35, so about 25 minutes under the eight-hour time limit! I sat on the Yeti cooler and watched Stephanie finish her 5 laps. Sara was sidelined with significant knee pain after lap 1, but PT extraordinaire and A+ crew member, Derek Clark, was able to fix her up so she could complete three laps.

All in all, I think this race would be excellent for newer trail runners and seasoned runners chasing PRs, as the course is very runnable. The aid station at the beginning of each loop was well stocked with a variety of items as well as a ton of volunteers. Another aid station was located between miles 3 and 4, and offered water, Tailwind, and pop (or soda or Coke, depending on your regionalism of choice). The course was well marked and the volunteers were friendly and plentiful. As someone who usually hates running loops because, in general, I identify as weak-willed and cowardly, I found it to be a good mental challenge, and the loop is long enough that I didn’t find it too aversive. Thank you to the race directors and volunteers for a great race experience!

Highlands Sky 40 Mile Race Report

Is this the best trail running event in West Virginia? A lot of people think so.

There’s a huge list of things that make the Highlands Sky race experience unique, but one that stands out would be the frequency of ecosystem changes from sphagnum bogs, to red spruce forest, to barren ridges of giant boulder fields. The surfaces are constantly changing, except at some of the mentally toughest sections, when you want a change and nothing does. It’s technical and you’ll spend lots of time battling deep water, sticky mud, relentless nettles, never-ending rocks, slick roots, and maybe oh-so-cuddly black bears.

In my fourth attempt, I had a few goals going into the race this year.

1. Personal record for the course of 6:45-6:55.

2. Negative split the second half of the course.

3. Run from aid station #4 to aid station #7 with some actual energy in my stride (and no pity parties).

4. Top five overall (though I know this depends on who shows up, but I’d done it before in 2016 and made sixth in 2018 so how dare you judge me).

5. Slow the heck down through the first section up to aid station #4.

6. Impress and/or confuse my five year old son who would be attending this event for the first time to observe/cheer/harass me or just play on a Nintendo Switch.
   

The race starts at 6:00 AM. Several folks either start hard from excitement or because they are trying to avoid a pile-up conga line as we enter the woods. We begin with a two-mile gradually descending paved segment along Red Creek from Laneville. In an effort to be patient, I opted to ease along and exited the road some 15 or 20 spots back. Just 39 uphill miles to go my friends. Well, maybe not all uphill, but there’s quite a bit.

Gigantic black bear cub, which this area is known for, chasing me off the early pavement. Photo of this rare moment thanks to Mandy Helms Sullivan.

Several Morgantown trail runners signed up for the race this year. I think I’d spent the last week or two telling as many of them as would listen about the brutal first climb that starts as soon as you leave the road. The final mile of it will make you suffer if you start too hard. It’s about seven total miles of uphill grind that becomes distinctively steeper around 5.5 to 6 miles in. I really tried to take my time up the steepest part, which thankfully meant I felt really good at the top. Good enough to run 33 more miles anyway. And despite taking it easier, I passed a few people on the way up.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a great rock wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. Yeah, Humpty Dumpty came tumbling down, to the ground, and with a loud shout: “Ow!” Betcha didn’t know I write nursery rhymes about getting hurt. It takes real talent. Just before mile 8, I managed to catch my left foot on one of the many large, white pieces of sandstone that are strewn across the Roaring Plains. My left hand and left forearm were now bloody, and my right knee hit something (most likely a meteorite, you say?) to make it hurt briefly, but it didn’t have a real wound, fortunately.

At some point before aid station #2, I met up with Ryan Ramsby, first time Highlands runner. I tried to relay some of my course knowledge to him as we ran together. As he ran behind me, he said something like “it’s so funny to watch half your body disappear” as I would step into mud and water filled holes that are ever-present in this section of the course. I ended up losing Ryan around aid station #3 but he hung tough to finish 10th on the day.

SO you really want me to believe there is a baby bear chasing you?

I came into aid station #4 just before mile 20 with Daniel Fogg, who was looking strong. You can have crew access here so Anne tells me someone just dropped, but I still didn’t know what place I was in at that point, and I didn’t ask. Now, in the middle, the longest mental test of Forest Service Road 75, otherwise known as “The Road Across the Sky” begins.

Daniel and I exited the aid close together and at about a mile or so onward a photographer pushing a running stroller (containing a real, living, breathing, baby!) told Daniel that Trevor Baine was 15 minutes up on us. That’s a pretty big ol’ gap, fellers. It’s always interesting to see how different people execute on different courses. I figured out running this before that my varicose-vein-filled-old-man legs can’t quite do that early intense running here, but maybe if I do the race like 10 times I’ll figure it out just in time to be in the grand masters category.

I’ve gained some distance on the giant bear cub who appears smaller in the distance but is actually quite gigantic. Photo Credit: Keith Knipling

Aid station #5, at mile 22.7, was a quick stop for some watermelon and banana, but in the process Daniel went on ahead of me. This was mostly helpful because it gave me someone to chase though not without some occasional negative self talk about the gap between us growing in size. My GPS was messing up early on the road segment but eventually corrected to relay the fact that we were running 8:00ish minutes/mile. It made me happy to be able to push this section a little and it went by so much quicker than the prior years. Even though I did mistake the next-to-last climb on the gravel road for the last climb and really had about another mile to go before the turn and aid station.

Photo courtesy Keith Knipling

Though it may not have created many gorgeous blue sky photos, the weather was more cooperative this year than in the other times I’ve raced. I don’t remember the sun starting to bust through until I was at least 30 miles deep. Usually by the time I get midway through the Road Across the Sky, the temperature and humidity start to dish out a beatdown. There was still fog and pleasant temperatures while heading across the service road.

Aid station #6, mile 27, at Bear Rocks was partially staffed by fellow runner and Physical Therapist Robert Gillanders. I do like seeing people I know at the aid stations, partly because they tend to be more encouraging but mostly because they are more willing to give me a quad massage. Fruit seemed like the only appealing menu choice (especially after an aid #4 trail mix debacle I won’t bother describing) I gathered banana, strawberry, potato, and orange pieces. Yes, a potato is fruit. Duh. Get with the times. I caught back up to Daniel here and he mentioned that he wanted to slow down but having just witnessed him crush the Road Across the Sky I wasn’t too hopeful that he actually would. We ran together for a few minutes, but then as we continued, I drifted away in front of him and we lost contact.

Gapped the giant baby bear. Suspect muscle glycogen depletion is at play.

Getting to aid station #7, at mile 32.9, always seems to take FOREVER. The landscape remains barren and exposed much of the time and it is mostly singletrack. I had just caught Zach Beckett coming into the aid station when I noticed they didn’t even bother putting up a pop-up tent since the chilly wind was gusting so hard. The bundled-up volunteers kindly refilled my bottles with Coke and water, I shoved down some watermelon and proceeded to open a baby-sized Baby Ruth, only to have the real force of Mother Nature reveal herself with a wind burst that ripped the caramel, chocolate, and peanut goodness from my Reynaud’s-afflicted baby hands. No matter, two second rule. Thou shall not waste a perfectly good candy bar. In my fumbly drama, I left the aid forgetting to see if Zach was still there or if he had taken off in front of me.

Downward is the trend of the course at this point, thank goodness, but there is more climbing to do. I caught a glimpse of Zach when I reached the base of the Timberline ski slope. I shuffled on up, through the pines and down the infamous Buttslide section, which feels longer every time I run it. Onto the gravel of upper Freeland Road and I can still see Zach a couple hundred yards away but he’s looking awfully strong. Maybe he’ll crack?

Shortly after leaving aid station #8 at mile 36.9, where I must say I always love their encouragement and Coca-Cola, I spy another runner, Trevor, and realize that Zach is chasing him, hence explaining the obvious renewed fire in his pants. The pavement allows for quick running if you’ve got anything left in the tank, have been slacking on the effort, or if you simply need to get to the finish line to pee. Down through the 8 inch tall grass to the Canaan Resort entryway, on to more pavement for the home stretch and I see in the distance the duel for third and fourth about to take place. I could tell I was probably going to PR at that point, so I was content to stride along steadily and consider that success.

This is/was a top 5 podium photo

Moments later, I was pleased with a new PR of 6:51:32. It amazes me that after 41 miles, third through fifth place were only separated by 3.5 minutes. Of course I didn’t realize that critical fact until there were less than two miles to go, but that’s one of the strategies of trail running: out of sight, out of mind. Maybe I could have drawn a little more effort out of myself from Bear Rocks to Timberline, but I don’t think I could have kicked a final mile much harder. I felt like I had a good settle-in-and-grind gear but not much maximum effort. Might have something to do with racing a tough 100K last month.

This race is so good, so tough, so check it out sometime, unless you don’t like running in the woods or cuddling with black bears.

Thanks for the great event and work you do Adam Casseday, Dan Lehman and volunteers!

Ultra Race of Champions 100K Race Report

The day began with fog and a frog. The frog had jumped onto the hood of my truck during the previous night’s drizzle. Perhaps to show off his skills at hopping several feet from the ground and sticking to smooth surfaces. Perhaps to distract and slow my morning progress as he required a gentle eviction from the hood.

Nice amber glow frogface

The Ultra Race of Champions 100K, otherwise known as UROC, has been held for eight years at various locations around the United States. The trend for the last three years has been to keep it in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia’s George Washington National Forest. It has also been in notoriously awesome and historical trail running locations, such as: Auburn, CA, Breckenridge/Vail, CO, and Copper Mountain, CO. The organizers, Bad to the Bone Sports, offer a large, $21,400 prize purse, so it draws many more elite runners than a typical trail running race.

As nice as it would be, I certainly had no illusions of winning a part of that prize purse but wanted to aim for a solid day characterized by consistency in pace throughout the course. Sure, most folks are slowing at the end of an ultramarathon, but the idea is to keep it to a minimum.

Elite Bib Assignment. Courtesy http://www.territoriotrail.es/ultra-race-champions-uroc-gem-east-coast-elite-prize-purse-central-virginia/

Being on the same weekend, I initially debated between the closer Glacier Ridge Trail 50 Miler in PA and the UROC 100K, but I needed to get in a ton of challenging climbing and more distance in preparation for other upcoming events this summer. I prefer the wilderness setting of a national forest and the climbs were longer in VA, so I decided to go with UROC though I knew I’d be lucky to crack the top 10 overall there.

The more information you have going into long events, the fewer surprises and tough spots you’ll get into (so do some internet research). Google revealed only a few race reports to draw from though.

A partial solution to my ignorance was doing a little course recon after going to the University of Virginia Running Medicine conference in March. That was definitely helpful to get an idea of the typical trail surfaces, climb and descent grades, tree cover, road crossings, and general course design. If only I could have run the entire course because I still ended up surprised by the trail in the final hours of UROC. Another good option would have been to run the Bel Monte 50 Miler in March as it traverses some of the same trails.

Let’s just say the UROC course is demanding, which is partly due to the >11,000 feet of climbing, but also because of the similar quantities of descending. It was the descending that would ultimately be my undoing.

Standing at the start line during this damp morning at Skylark Farm, where the races begin and end, I was greeted by fellow Morgantown trail runner Trevor Wolfe. The thing about ultrarunning is nobody needs to do a warmup run so we just stand around and bask in each other’s nervousness.

I was able to run and chat with Weirton friend Travis Simpson through the Blue Ridge Parkway and onto the Whetstone Ridge Trail, where we would gradually descend 1500’ for the next 11 miles. We were eventually joined by Leadville 100 women’s champion Katie Arnold for much of this section. Katie had never raced trails on the East Coast and being from Sante Fe, it was interesting to get her thoughts on the course as we moved along. I couldn’t tell if she was having more or less fun than the rest of us every time we’d get to a gnarly, steep, rocky section and she’d let out a yelp.

I had drifted away from the pack as I approached a slightly confusing intersection in the trail at mile 14. After gathering about eight runners, we decided on the most likely route downward and thankfully, were correct in our choice. I became a little too caught up in the flow of this part of the descent because I was at the front of that pack. It was narrow but non-technical so I’m sure a couple of us were moving at least 7:00/mile, if not quicker. I’ll never know - my GPS data was quite jacked up on this section. Still, we weren’t as fast as the leaders passing us that were returning from the aid station at the bottom of the climb. No one seemed to linger at that 16-mile aid long but I knew it was a lengthy, 11-mile uphill back to the next aid. Sure enough, on the way back up, the sun busted out, the temperature and humidity came up, and I had to give another runner water, so it was worth the 45 seconds to completely refill my hydration pack.

Even though it felt like less than two hours, now five hours deep, at the mile-28 aid station, I’m briefly humored by the fellow telling me that I’m maintaining a good pace and looking good but then asking me what I have wrapped around my ankles (gaiters) and whether I’ll take a 30-minute break to sit down. Apparently the leaders must have been in and out a little too quick for the interview.

I ran solo on a couple more miles of Parkway, plopping potatoes into the gas tank, as tolerated, then the hit the graveled Spy Run Road, then grassy paths back to Skylark where I was actually hot enough to pack ice under my hat. By the time I made it out to the next section of real trails off the Parkway at Bald Mountain, it was starting to rain, the sun was gone, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees again.

Back off road at mile 35 and happy to be running now on some of the trails that I’d previewed in March. The weather was chilly that day, but it was dry and clear with perfect visibility from the overlooks. Today it was strange to look out from the same vantage points to see nothing more than white, thick fog enveloping me and the trees. It almost felt like the edge of the earth was merely a few feet away, or that’s just weird stuff your brain conjures up 6.5 hours into a hard effort.

Before the Rains

The rain became harder and washed all the Nutella away. From my hands. Not from the earth because, oh my God, no one wants a world without Nutella. I bombed the lovely White Rock Falls Trail in the pouring rain, perhaps with a little too much pep in my step. But it was a ton of fun and flowy. Even after climbing some tremendous steepness back out of that ravine I was getting chilled and switched to a wool long sleeve upon returning to the Slacks Overlook aid station around mile 43. And wouldn’t you know the rain promptly stopped, and I began to overheat a bit again by the time I made it a couple miles away.

Onto the final descent on Torry Ridge Trail, the surface and grade were becoming increasingly brutal, resulting in the first real moment when I really felt “over it” and wanted to be done with a particular section. It was increasingly rocky and steep, so much so that my legs just stunk at controlling speed and keeping me in an upright position. I hadn’t been at an aid station for over an hour, so I probably just needed a hug or a teddy bear. Unfortunately, I’d left teddy in the truck to lighten my pack. I was forced to slow to my pace dramatically (which was clearly not part of the plan). It was intermittently raining, though nothing as heavy as the saturating downpours I’d come through on the Slacks Trail and White Rock Falls Trail. And then I almost stepped on this super bright yellow box turtle to shake things up a bit. “Watch where you are going, jerk!” (I’ll leave it up to the reader to decide which one of us said that). Thank goodness it was just a close call because I didn’t have my license, registration, or proof of insurance with me at the time. Turtle shell repair work is just so expensive these days.

FINALLY, the trail swings a hard left and becomes less damn rocky. Back to 9:00-10:00ish per mile pace for a few minutes. I’d wished I could have run that portion of the course beforehand. Had I known of its difficulty, I would have held back more in the White Rock Falls loop. But that’s all part of the adventure and challenge. I could still run the flattish or slightly uphill parts of the course at a good clip, even after mile 50, but any steep descending made my quads scream loudly enough to deem them untrustworthy.

There was a brief but nice ~2.5 mile total out-and-back dirt road section at mile 51 before the gradual ascending to the base of Bald Mountain on Turkey Pen Ridge Trail. The final mile of Turkey Pen was full of switchbacks and typically just steep enough that I couldn’t talk myself into shuffle running. I hiked it all at a consistent effort and was happy to be on it, though I was definitely starting to bonk a bit, which meant a more sideways wobble than forward hustle from time to time. The fog was insanely thick but helped prevent my grunts from echoing into the next county.

Coming into the final aid station at mile 58, I went for my reliable standard baby potatoes, a couple swigs of Coca-Cola, and a handful of chopped bacon. As I reached for my collapsible bottle from my vest to make a mix of watered down Coke, I realized that it was gone. Why me? Why now? Waaaaaahhhhh! No, I wasn’t actually that dramatic but I sure did like that bottle. Breakups are never easy. So, to whomever found the clear Nathan/Hydrapak bottle on Turkey Pen: enjoy the free gift but remember I kissed her first!

Obligatory watch check photo

Zombie transformation complete in less than one second

The volunteers here chatted back and forth about whether I should take a bottle that somebody had forgotten or dropped earlier. The one young woman said “there’s only four miles to go” and completely distracted by the fact that four miles sounded really small at the time, I took off without actually finding a substitute for what I was going to put in the bottle that I no longer possessed. I did not grab a gel as I had planned to do. Oops. Which means I started to really, really bonk as I headed back up the Parkway. It felt easier to run with my eyes closed, so I did. (FYI I don’t recommend running with your eyes closed, especially on the road. In heavy fog. Duh.) I think I could have taken a nap then pretty easily and I felt like I was kinda floating in the fog. Thanks hypoglycemia. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be caught by anyone else and I wasn’t going to do anymore catching, so it was more about finishing at this point. Hypoglycemia also makes you not care about, well, anything.

Generally, I really liked the course design. I would not have wanted to run all of the paved sections at once but having multiple broken sections of paved Blue Ridge Parkway to run was nice for a 15-20 minute mental break and develop another rhythm. Beyond mile 60, the Parkway eventually peaks out and gives way to the grassy and paved descent back toward the race start. As a I ran past the pond just below the peak of Skylark, I could hear just a couple peeps. Looks like the day ends as it began: with fog and a frog.

In the midst and the mist, I’d hoped to be closer to an 11:30 finish time but ended up in 12:03:12 with the 9th male position. There were about 118 people pre-registered but 69 finishers. If the 100K sounds daunting, there are 50K and 25K options to check out that would also make good precursors to the 100K.

Thanks to the volunteers, Bad to the Bone, and Anne (my solo crew member) for a well-supported and challenging day!

4 Lessons learned at the JFK 50 Mile

This past November I made a late season decision to enter the JFK 50 Mile. I was looking forward to it from a new race perspective, but I was also well aware that it was unlikely to become my favorite event ever. It is typically more of a road runner’s ultramarathon and the course doesn’t lend itself to my strengths (i.e. climbing, technical singletrack, power hiking). But I did it anyway, partly because it’s big for an ultra but more because it’s the oldest existing ultramarathon in the US. I’m not a huge history buff, but being close to home I’ll buy into the novelty. However, if not for the section on the Appalachian Trail, I would have gladly searched for something else.

Instead of me describing the course, I’ll just copy from the JFK50mile.org page:

“The first 5.5 miles (starting on road surface and joining the Appalachian Trail at 2.5 miles) gains 1,172 feet in elevation. The course from 2.5 to 15.5 miles is on the Appalachian Trail (except for two miles of paved road between 3.5 and 5.5 miles). This section of the AT is very rocky in sections as it rolls across the mountain ridge. At approximately 14.5 miles the course drops over 1,000 feet in a series of steep “switchbacks” that then crosses under Rt. 340 and connects with the C & O Canal towpath. The “Canal” section of the JFK 50 Mile is 26.3 miles (from 15.5-41.8 miles) of almost totally flat unpaved dirt/gravel surface that is free of all automotive vehicle traffic. The JFK 50 Mile route leaves the C & O Canal towpath at Dam #4 and proceeds to follow gently rolling paved country roads the last 8.4 miles to the finish. The Boonsboro start is at an elevation of 570 feet. The Williamsport finish is at 452 feet above sea level.”

A fall storm had dumped several inches of snow on the area a couple days prior to the race which made for unique conditions. I was initially fearful that the Appalachian Trail section would be an ankle sprain waiting to happen with all of leaves down this time of year but with the snow, water, and mud it mostly just turned out to be messy, cold, and slow. There were plenty of sections of standing, frigid snowmelt midway up my shin.

Here’s what I’ll remember most from this odd race in odd conditions.

1. Getting and staying cold can cause a pretty noticeable decrement in performance, for me at least. I’ve trained plenty and raced several times in colder and even snowy conditions. But the combination of an extra long event paired with deep, cold water chilled me more than I expected it would. My feet were numb as we descended down to the C & O Canal. I figured I would warm up just from getting on the drier towpath and running consistently. And I sorta did. At least my feet weren’t completely numb anymore. The problem was I couldn’t sustain running fast enough to truly become warm enough. The lightbulb moment came when I guzzled a cup of warm chicken broth at an aid station. So that’s what I emphasized at each one. The unfortunate part was I skipped the broth at a couple of aid stations prior because I was initially thinking I’d warm up naturally and just took in cold food instead. Better late than never on figuring it out though.

2. I’ve come to this realization before, but I was reminded that there’s always more effort left to give than you might expect. You really can’t assume that if you have been feeling crappy that it will go on forever. I had garbage legs for 20 miles, which is definitely the longest bad patch I’ve needed to run through, but it eventually came to an end a couple miles before the end of the C & O Canal towpath. I’m certain a huge part of this was psychological - at that point the course only had 10 miles or so to go. It didn’t help that the towpath is just boring and I knew that coming in. I was partly spurred on by another runner that was moving at a pace I could stick to when they caught me. But the point is that my better self was there, waiting. The stars might have to align to draw it out but you can keep trying to find it. It reminds me of when a basketball team is down by double digits and not scoring. The game’s not over and there just has to be a little spark to bring back a big run on points. What can give you momentum?

3. A tough day isn’t really a bad day. Draw from it what you can. I still took away a PR for the 50-mile distance despite feeling rough for a good chunk of the race. That’s largely the nature of the course layout, but if I’d given up more mentally, it would have probably never happened. I know now that I can withstand a 20 mile stretch of suckiness. I didn’t get to do a real taper as if this was my planned “A” race, so my expectations align with the outcome. Bonus race = bonus pain = bonus discoveries.

4. It’s good to try something different purely for the experience. This race is big. Not massive, like a major city marathon, but huge compared to typical trail races where you could end up alone for several minutes or even hours. The size made me curious, but it also wasn’t appealing to me, at least on this day. There wasn’t a time in this entire event that I couldn’t see someone in front of or behind me. If you thrive on pacing off or being social with other racers, this would be a more ideal race. It’s not the most enjoyable if you expect solitude.

Greenbrier River Trail Marathon Race Recap

The Greenbrier River Trail is a rail trail, mostly double track, that extends about 77 miles from Cass, WV to North Caldwell, WV along, you guessed it, the Greenbrier River. Much of its length is contained in the Monongahela National Forest. The Greenbrier River Trail Marathon is a USATF-certified race on the River Trail that starts in Cass, WV. The funds raised by this race benefit the maintenance of this lengthy recreational throughway via the non-profit Greenbrier River Trail Association. West Virginia only has a handful of marathons and this one will certainly put many marathons, even national events, to shame when it comes to beautiful surroundings. The course layout should produce times similar to a road race but those ugly and annoying buildings, cars, and streets are replaced with crushed limestone gravel, trees, fly fisherman, and a meandering river.  

But dang, I’m sore. Quaking quads. Cantankerous calves. Hurtin’ hammies. My severe soreness shall, in no way, bias this race recap. See, flat running is a significant departure from my typical racing and training. I love vertical change. Up, down, up, down, wash, rinse, repeat. This marathon has about as little up and down variation as you will find in this region. It drops approximately 300 feet across its entire length. So yes, it’s averaging a downhill grade but there are definitely short sections where it’s flat or will have just a very slight uptick in grade. But I’m accustomed to climbing and descending 300 foot changes in as little as a half mile!

Years of triathlon training and racing have taught me that you can’t underestimate the toll that flat and downhill courses take on your legs. The movement pattern doesn’t vary much the entire time, making it a unique demand compared to rolling or mountainous courses. Floridians would do well here.

If you have the chance to ride the Cass Scenic Railroad, it’s a great family outing. On the day prior to the race, we rode the train from Cass to Whittaker Station. The leaves weren’t quite at the peak of their color change yet, but it was still very much worth the trip. The lack of running during the taper week made me want to race the train up the mountain as it held a steady distance-run-esque pace.

Bet your marathon doesn’t have a steam locomotive

After the train ride, I was able to get a preview shakeout run on the Greenbrier River Trail, pick up my packet, and enjoy the pre-race pasta dinner. Cass is a small town so everything is within walking distance.

Race morning it’s still nearly dark when we arrive. The fog, forest, and terrain keep this valley darker a few minutes longer than expected. An off-pitch Cass Railroad whistle echoed through the otherwise silent mountains during my warm up as I climbed Back Mountain Road, giving an almost eerie sense to the foggy surroundings. Cue the banjo.

Our weather was almost ideal at the 8:00 AM start. A touch of humidity hung in the air and it would likely have been warmer than the mid-60s already if not for the heavy fog blanketing the hills and hollers. We could tell it would eventually become hotter as the day progressed, much as the day prior had done. And it did.

Though I didn’t warm up as much as I wanted, it wasn’t much of an issue since I like to start easy and build on long races. I don’t need a reminder that a marathon will take hours to complete and I have no issue with delaying the onset of suffering a bit.

At the starting line one of the other racers mentioned going for the 2:40s. I was hoping for 2:50s but all of that prediction stuff is guesswork when no one has raced the course before. We line up at the Cass Community Center,and the train whistle signals the start (a nice touch). We make a quick loop through a gravel street in Cass, and then we are onto the Greenbrier River Trail. I trotted along in 4th place as the first three pulled away. Would be a nice day to get top three though.

I wanted to take in my surroundings but tried not to lose focus. It’s difficult to ride the line of observing nature, working hard, and not falling on your face. The Monongahela National Forest is one of my favorite places, so I hate not to admire the views.

Despite the current beautiful weather, it had unfortunately and abnormally rained much of the prior week. The River Trail generally drains well, but being in a winding, tree covered valley, there were places along the path that were just a smidge wet. There was never any nasty, heavy, sticky, tacky mud but there was definitely squishiness in a few places where the trail becomes more grass and dirt than the primarily crushed limestone surface. A couple of the wooden bridge crossings were slick but not dangerous.

The aid station folks were super supportive. It helps when volunteers give time splits and say things like “you’re looking strong.” I stayed within sight of the second and third runners for several miles but had lost sight of the first runner by mile 5 or 6 because of the curviness of the course. I think it was somewhere around mile 6 when I caught the two guys in front of me in relatively rapid succession. I felt decent and the splits were consistently where I wanted them. The aid station volunteers at mile 10 informed me the time gap to first place was two minutes. Really? After taking off that quickly? That’s not much at that point, depending on how things shake out, but I wondered if that wasn’t a rough estimate and more like four minutes.

At some point, there was a very long straightaway in the trail that allowed me to see the lead cyclist and the first place runner. Perhaps I’ve made up time? Perhaps the gap really is just a couple minutes? Though they were just little specks on the horizon, it was enough information to keep me excited for the possibility of a better finish.

Many of the miles at this point were flying by, which is good for racing but bad for taking in scenery. My legs would actually do what I wanted. Speed up, slow down, square dance, hokey pokey, it didn’t matter. I occasionally had this feeling that my head was just mounted on a set of legs that were not my own. I’M INSIDE A ROBOT!!!! GUYS, I’M INSIDE OF A ROBOT!!!

As I rounded a sharp rightward curve around mile 15 I suspect my blood glucose was dropping and I broke my brain for a second as I glanced upward to the entrance of a giant space portal that was about to transport me into another dimension. Oh crap, that’s Sharp’s Tunnel. Doofus. Entering the portal, I quickly learned the tunnel is curved so you can’t see the other end and it is amazingly dark. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. Don’t trip, space boy. It was actually very smooth soil. Pretty darn cool feature and certainly the first time I’ve raced through such a long tunnel.

An aid station awaits at the end of the tunnel. A volunteer yelled for me to get a banana and told me something like “you’ve got to catch the next guy.” Fantastic idea. I...chomp...will... chomp...win... chomp...this...chomp...eating...chomp...contest!

Falling apart at mile 26.15

More running ensued. (Bet you wouldn’t have guessed that.) By mile 19 I could consistently see first place and could tell I was gaining rapidly. Maybe gradually ease up to him and hit the pace hard? By mile 20 I had drifted up behind Andrew. He knew I was there, probably from my periodic grunting, said he had blown up but was very encouraging to me pushing onward past him. Thank goodness I didn’t have to do a hard surge because those hurt.

Taking the lead becomes a different beast because you are now the chased instead of doing the highly distracting and motivating chasing. I had no idea if there would be someone capable of hitting negative splits in the closing miles. A couple of miles clicked off where I was happy just to see splits under 7:00/mile. I had briefly listened to music for a few miles but now it was just irritating. I gained a new friend in lead cyclist Ray Adams who probably grew tired of my heaving and groaning.

Race director Kellyn Cassell berating me for not running faster

The final couple miles through Marlinton transitioned to pavement. My legs were reminding me with each step that they were indeed my own painful masses of contractile proteins instead of the Terminator’s as they seemed to want to piston more up and down than swinging forward and backward. I couldn’t get up onto my forefoot for any additional robot power because I could sense both calf muscles were one aberrant neuromuscular synapse away from cramping. Going to need an oil change and 15-point inspection after this.

The street crossings in Marlinton were staffed with more great volunteers. They rhythmically chanted “ROBOT SPACE BOY! ROBOT SPACE BOY!” with astonishing volume. (Not true). I spied with my two tired eyes an iron bridge that I recognized from a video of the finishing section. Must...aggggghhh….be...uggggghhhh...close. And then I see my favorite volunteers ever dancing while dressed in neon orange Japanese kimonos (or simply just waving orange flags) indicating a right turn into Stillwell Park. A glance at my watch tells me all I need to know...start kicking. Inflatable finish line arch, I love you. Wow, I’m glad that’s over.

Seltzer, post-race snacks, pizza, sandwiches, finisher medals, pint glass age group awards, and custom pottery overall awards occupy our minds afterward. Great event Kellyn! Now, who wants to run back the other direction?

Results:

https://aptiming.com/race/results/624

The local paper wrote a nice article about the race:

https://pocahontastimes.com/first-ever-grt-marathon-a-big-hit/

Rock 'N The Knob 20 Miler Race Report

It’s fall, my absolute favorite time to run and compete, particularly in trail running events. And much like the road marathon season, there are far more events to choose from this time of year. I can’t seem to stop myself from signing up for runs even when I am initially planning for a non-competitive weekend.

The challenge and scenery drew me back to Claysburg, PA since I initially had the pleasure of attending Rock ‘N The Knob in 2015. Central PA has developed a large and involved trail running community, partly due to their fantastic selection of trails. As a result, great events like this have continued to grow. And a bonus: this is PA’s highest elevation trail running race.

Directed by Allegheny Trailrunners, the event has had a shorter race of 5-6 miles and a longer 20-22 mile event since 2012. The 10K was clearly quite popular this year with nearly 150 finishers. This may be the 2018 site of the USA Track and Field 10K Trail National Championships next year, which would make it even larger. The longer course was my preference this weekend and it ended up with 66 finishers.

The race typically starts a little later in the morning because the top of Blue Knob Ski Resort tends to be enveloped in thick fog during the cool September mornings. This year was an exception - we had a clear, sunny sky. I didn’t even realize how truly awesome the views were until this year. I had even raced the Lost Turkey Trail Marathon here a few weeks prior but that course didn’t go to the absolute top of the mountain like this one. The drive in certainly had fog and cooler temps but by the start of the race, temperatures were already above 70 degrees.

Photo by Connie Stappello

The long course starts with a short gravel lot section followed by about 1.5 miles of rocky, technical trail. It’s so rocky that I managed to roll my left ankle before even running one mile. Frustrating. It must have been obvious since the runner behind me even asked if I was okay. I needed to be more careful or I was going to have the shortest trail race ever.

Photo by Connie Strappello

The trail does eventually become less technical, on average, which is great because we really started descending. This portion visited the Lost Turkey Trail and the Crist Ridge Trail. I couldn’t believe how much the trail was covered with leaves in the valleys already. A group of four of us formed at the front, the lead occasionally changing between each runner in the first five or so miles. I eventually made it to the front to eat my fair share of low calorie spiderwebs. Three of us arrived closely smooshed together at the Pavia aid station, around mile 7.

Hitting the first major climb here, the legs were feeling good and reliable. That can be a deceptive thing when you have been going downhill for a couple miles, though. I recalled this area as part of a loop from 2015 where I somehow sprinted past a subterranean bee’s nest without being stung while the midpack runners heading up the hill were clearly not so happy. This year I’m carrying an Epi-Pen and Benadryl in case I’m not as fortunate.

Most of this first big climb was runnable, and Lee Strappello and I remained close as we neared the top and were forced to hike on increasingly loose and steep rockiness. Lee had been great to talk to for a few miles but after one hour of running together, I guess the time had come to split up. (AKA, I started feeling anxious.) His mother was taking tons of photos of us, a couple of which I’ve posted here.

Photo by Connie Strappello

The trails become a little more overgrown and technical in the next section, around 10-11 miles. Unfortunately, I started to feel my calf muscles tighten during the steeper hiking of the 500-foot long Chappell climb. I knew I was taking a chance by racing for the third weekend in a row, especially since my calf muscles were more sore than normal after last weekend. Ultimately I wasn’t expecting to have full recovery and a peak performance but the trails here are so challenging, fun, and unique that I took the chance to race anyway.

Upper Ridge Trail was a quick reprieve from the technical parts and heavy climbing. The next tough, yet fun, area occurred around mile 12 at Deep Hallow Notch. Here the trail suddenly climbs the steep mountainside to the left, often using mossy, sandstone rock steps. It’s a climb of about 0.3 miles, far shorter than the upcoming Beaverdam Hollow climb so the threat level is lower. Knowing my calves were already tiring out, I kept trying to make it a point to take a slightly longer hiking step to make the quads take a bigger share of the load. Better in theory than practice.

Arriving at the Raven’s Rest aid station around mile 13 I downed half a water bottle, a few small cups of pickle juice, a gel, gummy worms, and a cookie. Let’s hope all that stays down. I recognized this station from 2015 so I knew there was about to be a really cool, technical section of singletrack up Mountain View Trail but then one of the tougher climbs I’ve ever encountered would begin. But that’s really why I came in the first place.

The Beaverdam Canyon climb crushed me in 2015 because I knew nothing about its difficulty. Even though two years had passed, I knew this time that it was painfully long and basically unrunnable. Over one mile of 99% power hiking at 14:00/mile. This is the part of the course that nearly every long-course runner won’t forget and I’ve not raced anything else comparable around this region.

And so the Battle at Beaverdam begins with repetitious crisscrossing of a half dry stream, switchbacks, and dozens of mossy rock steps. Midway up I see a soldier groundhog climb a few feet up a tree in front of me. I wondered if groundhogs and beavers were genetically similar. It leaps back down into the trail, surely plotting its line of best attack. But then it decides to climb back onto the tree and maneuver to the backside of it, much as a sneaky squirrel would. Clearly a confusion tactic, rodent. As I finally step beside the tree, the groundhog is clinging right at my head level, a couple feet away, staring with its beady eyes, blood dripping from its mouth. Okay, so there was no blood but I had visions of it leaping onto my face in a rabid fit of rage. Thankfully it stayed put.

More light becomes apparent through the trees and soon enough I can kinda, sorta run, here and there, at least. Even though the major climbing is done, the course rolls through the woods on the Lookout Loop to the next aid station around mile 18 where they tell me I had a six-minute lead at the prior aid station. I lean on the table and prophylactically down more pickle juice. So close to the finish yet still so far when my muscles are not agreeing with my brain about their assigned task.

I’m greeted with a bit more climbing up a brushy power line and then a huge descent begins down the ski slopes. That was a nice change until I came to the part that had a sign that said something like, “Are you an expert?” Here the slope really narrows amongst the trees and becomes ridiculously steep. This would be sketchy to walk on fresh legs. I seriously can’t comprehend people safely skiing that stuff. Despite having my shoes pretty snug at the start, my big toes and forefeet are noticeably unhappy hotspots while trying to limit speed.

Photo by connie strappello

Cutting on into the woods again, it wasn’t long before I arrive at the next gut punch: a scramble climb known as “I Need A Sherpa.” A tow rope would have been sufficient. Because I had been descending for a handful of minutes, the moment I started to climb this entirely unrunnable section, both calf muscles and my left inner thigh locked into a cramp. Oh no. No. No.

There was a moment of doubt as to whether I could actually get my legs to work well enough to get up that hill. I began to move as if I was wearing downhill skis and trying to go uphill, rocking side-to-side. Maybe more like a gingerbread man would walk. The loose, flat rocks slip and slide underfoot, making traction unpredictable. Fortunately, the hill was covered in enough small birch saplings that I could use my upper body for assistance. There was a single random glove stuck in one of the saplings. Yes, please, give me a hand.

Cresting onto a service road, I started seeing folks from the 10K just down the hill. They were a nice distraction. Then up another less intense climb and then there’s another where two spectators at the top asked, “What do you want to hear? Pop? Rock?” My initial thought was that they must have a boombox or instruments. I yell, “Rock!” They immediately begin serenading me with their accapella version of Crazy Train. It was unfortunate for them that I had no money to leave a tip. Thanks fellas.

The course flattens and both calf muscles retaliate once more, making my ankles useless. For some reason I’m now running like a cowboy that just jumped off a horse. Dory from Finding Nemo enters my mind. “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” Because the calf cramps were from fatigue-related muscle failure, no amount of pickle juice was going to stop them but I’m certainly glad it didn’t start any sooner. The cramping gradually eased again with each step and I’m sure my grunting helped bring it under control. The 10K folks were encouraging me onward.

The course nears its finish as I pop out onto a road with spectators claiming the finish is just up the paved road. I guessed it shouldn’t be more than a mile with this many people around. And it wasn’t too many more steps before I saw that lovely timing clock and kicked a tiny bit.

Good enough for first place in 3:12:44 and an REI folding camp chair. Race director Ben Mazur greeted me with a cool medal/bottle opener. The local beer distributor was stationed a mere 12 feet from the finish line, making that Goose Island IPA a very reasonable distance away.

Being an odd distance under an ultramarathon or a marathon, I wasn’t quite sure of whether I should wear my hydration vest, carry a bottle, or just take water at the aid stations. In 2015, I didn’t carry anything but gels. But it was a heckofalot cooler then. By the end of this day, I drained a 50-ounce hydration bladder and was glad I went with that choice. And I still drank more water at several of the aid stations. It was hot and humid.

I was impressed by the number of 10K finishers hanging out at the finish line to cheer on the long course finishers. And maybe it was the beer but they were super nice and encouraging too. Fun day out there!

Nutrition:

• 3 Gu gels
• 4 Gu chews
• 2 bananas
• 10 oz. or more pickle juice
• 1 cookie
• 2 gummy worms

Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/1187257503/overview

Results: http://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=47941

Iron Mountain 50 Miler Race Report

Absolutely the best race that $25 can buy. 

Damascus, a small town in southwestern Virginia, has been the host of the Iron Mountain 50 Miler for several years now. As trail running has become more popular, the event grows, and the level of racing becomes progressively more competitive. The event’s popularity isn’t likely to stop anytime soon.

The 50 mile start is at 7:00 AM so you can actually sleep in compared to many ultramarathons that would start at 5:00 or 6:00. We stayed just 15 minutes away in Abingdon, VA and arrived just after 6:00. Damascus itself is filled with a ton of bed and breakfast establishments, which might be more appealing if you were staying more than one night. For me, the $89 Quality Inn was sufficient for 10 hours of use.

A Unique setup for the toilet paper dispenser

Parking was stress free right at the start/finish area for the 50 milers arriving early but I’m not sure if the 30 and 16 mile racers feel quite the same ease when that reaches max capacity. There is nearby overflow parking for entrants to use, regardless. Packet pickup goes off without a hitch. The shirts looked pretty cool though I didn’t buy one (because I’ve been informed via an unnamed source that I have about 30 too many).

With hurricane Harvey pushing moisture up the interior of the US, the chance of precipitation heading into Labor Day weekend was going to be high. So it wasn’t a surprise that it rained at the start of the race, then intermittently rained throughout the first half, and then progressed into a persistent heavy rain by the final two hours. Very reminiscent of the trail marathon I did a few weeks ago. I’m getting really good at ignoring rain. Historically, the race is more hot and humid.

Prepare for launch

We start the race exactly on time - a testament to the consistent management of the event for several years now. The cloud cover makes it darker than typical for this time. The start for all distances is a five-mile stretch of crushed gravel rail trail known as the Virginia Creeper Trail. Damascus is a unique intersection of the Iron Mountain Trail, Creeper Trail, and Appalachian Trail. The Iron Mountain Trail was a part of the AT until the AT was relocated in the 1970’s.

Pretty quickly I felt like I was running too fast, my heart rate already in zone 5. Ummm….just 49 miles to go people. Can we at least keep it over 8:00/mile? I’d seen the prior results of my fellow competitors and had no intentions of vying for a win on this day as I watched three guys gradually drift away.

A couple more runners passed me as I tried to slow slightly and get my heart rate into zone 4. I struck up a conversation with a runner from NC who told me she was moving fast while she could. Long climbs and technical sections apparently weren’t her strong suit. If I recall correctly, she said she had competed there a total of seven times among the various distances. The conversation helped those early miles pass more quickly, but that section will still occupy your mind with its rhododendron and numerous bridge crossings over Laurel Creek or Whitetop Laurel Creek.

Leaving the rail trail and entering the real trails, I started the first climb in 7th place overall. I couldn’t believe how dark it seemed. The trees and undergrowth were so thick that a headlamp would have been useful for a couple hundred yards. That climb is particularly steep, but often wide, and occasionally rocky singletrack in its first mile. The course continues to ascend on more packed and smooth singletrack trails until close to mile 7. Then there’s still plenty of climbing to be had all the way to mile 20.

My left foot had been nagging me a little during the past week, so I broke down and dry needled it the day prior. I felt it kick in a couple times from mile 9-13, while traversing the ridgeline along the Iron Mountain Trail. The pain just intense enough and lengthy enough to scare me. Fortunately, it ended up stopping. I’m not sure it would have stopped had I not sucked it up and done the dry needling.

After the 16 mile aid station, the 50-mile course crosses Whitetop Road and becomes gravel road that eventually gives way to grassy forest service road. Good. I particularly love running gravel road. Despite another four miles of climbing, this six-mile section goes by fast, partly because it also contains a quick, mountainous descent surrounded by a bit of fog as it tops our second highest point. I caught one runner on the descent, almost too easily, which makes me think I need to slow down. I was actually having more fun following him because it made me feel like I was moving faster.

A long gravel descent on Hurricane Road follows the aid station at mile 22 but I am finally met again with true trails a couple miles later that force a little more climbing out of my legs. Around mile 25 you should return to gravel road but I mistakenly crossed that road and followed a trail that was not on the course for just a couple hundred yards. I suspected that it was incorrect whenever the trail narrowed and I acquired several spider webs on my face. I would not have been the first person to come through if this was the course.

After coming back up the hill to the intersection where I lost the course, I am greeted by a long descent with tons of switchbacks. There are a few rollers but it finally arrives to an aid station at mile 29 where they tell me the climbing begins. Three miles to the next aid station, the volunteers say as they are refilling my hydration pack. By this point I’m annoyed with both gravel roads and descending and say, “Good, I’m tired of going downhill” in between mouthfuls of pizza. They confirm that I’m in fourth place. Not bad. Maybe number three will crack a bit?

Well, after 2.5 miles of that climb to the next aid station, I was the one starting to crack, struggling on the upper half-mile because it’s stinking steep. Everything looks and feels steeper when you are tired at mile 31. Additionally, that section of trail is used by horses and has more mud, ruts, and poo than the rest of the course.

Eventually, painfully, stubbornly I reach that next aid station at Hurricane Gap. This is the same aid station as mile 22 and completes this lollipop loop of the course for mile 32. Beef jerky looks to be the most appealing item. The climb had left me pretty drained. Leaving there I thought that I’d completed the main climb. Boy, that was COMPLETELY wrong. I guess the previous volunteers said three miles to the aid, not to the top of the climb.

I pop out onto a gravel road that seemed to climb for the next half hour. I was beyond halfway up but couldn’t seem to regain the running legs. Unfortunately, I’m not sure of the exact time spent continuing the climb because my GPS data was all jacked up after the fact, but I do know there were a whole heck of a lot of switchback turns up the rest of that mountainside, each one resembling the one prior. My love of gravel roads left a few miles ago. It was the mental low point of the day. I had to count steps or pick targets in order to run even brief periods.

Finally! I summit the highest point of the course around 4200 feet and drop back onto the Iron Mountain Trail from the gravel. At this point the rain is heavier and I’m becoming cold but at least I can run at a decent clip on the singletrack. I start to put on my jacket but just as I’m ready to slip into the sleeve, the jacket is mysteriously ripped from my hands and disappears behind me as it’s grabbed by the surrounding thorny brush. My coordination is apparently declining.

I’ve never been so happy to get back onto singletrack, which tends to be the emphasis until you get back to Damascus. The major climbing was over. Just 15 miles or so to go. Now, the wet weather was adding a whole extra element of challenge as parts of the trail gradually became a streambed. But it was awesome. The ridge was already surrounded by fog and most areas remained very runnable. It is at this point that I seem to become robotic and is the point of running that I find to be a little addictive. I’ve entered “the zone.” Sure, the legs are a little uncomfortable but the descending on a rhododendron covered, tunnel-like trail feels like that warp speed they use in Star Wars as the periphery becomes a blur.

The next aid station is mile 37, Skulls Gap. I never did get to ask anyone about that peculiar and creepy name. In my haze I asked the volunteers if this was mile 38. A volunteer says “No, 37.” I said, “It’s okay if you just lie to me at this point.” The volunteer says something like, “In that case, you have 7 miles to the next aid.” Hey.... wait a minute! That’s not fair. My brain doesn’t work.

My wife surprised me at the mile 43 aid station, which was also mile 9. The volunteers tell her after I leave that they were worried about me because I apparently looked a little disoriented. What is orientation, really? There’s up, down, left, right. Good enough. But really I just wanted to be running again. It’s not weather I like to stand around in and I just wanted to finish up. At that point you’ve already proven to yourself that the major task could be done so let’s just hammer it home.

Around mile 46 the course splits back apart, so it was “new to me” trail once more. Here, I am running on motivation more than calories. My ignorance led me to believe it’s pure descending to the finish but actually I’ve encountered a challenging climb of maybe two-thirds of a mile. I surprised myself and ran nearly all of it. This is not the time to lose a placing because it would be a huge ego killer. It’s not looking good for seeing third place but I am catching a lot more 30-miler folks who were always encouraging me onward.

The final descent begins. It’s rumored to be unliked and technical. It actually wasn’t as technical as I was picturing but I did manage to briefly roll my left ankle once on those loose rocks. That portion went on forever, became quite dark, and then suddenly spit me out onto a paved street in Damascus. Gotta be close now though I don’t know where I specifically have to go.

This last section is the only real paved road running in the entire circuit. Arriving at the next main road intersection I had to stop to wait on vehicle traffic. My legs were so weird and wobbly at that point that I began to lose my balance, having to take a big step to the right in order to not fall down. Whoopsie. Good thing I don’t need need to pass a sobriety test.

Back onto the Creeper Trail, over a final bridge, and there’s the finish line at Damascus Town Park. I actually had enough energy to kick hard and felt good. Though I had wanted to come in under eight hours, I’ll take the 8:05:58 without complaint. I know where I lost the time and perhaps I’ll get another jab at this race one day.

I literally became a mountain goat on the climb

I’m positive there were burgers and hotdogs and other snacks awaiting my arrival but my memory was a smidge fuzzy right then. I do know I ate something. And my wife was kind enough to find my favorite recovery drink at the local grocery: chocolate milk. Every finisher received a nice package of freshly baked cookies.

Such a great, adventurous course and memorable day! Thanks to everyone volunteering many hours of their time to help us challenge ourselves!

Results: https://sites.google.com/site/ironmountaintrailrun/results-race/2017-results

Big ol’ nutrition list:

• 4 Gu gels
• 1 Carb-Boom gel
• 3 bananas
• 2 Oreo cookies
• 3 vanilla wafer cookies
• 1 mini Snickers bar
• 6 Clif Shot Bloks chews
• 8 oz. Coca-Cola
• 16 oz. ginger ale
• 2 small handfuls gummy bears
• 2 small handfuls M & M’s
• 2 small handfuls beef jerky
• 2 oz. pickle juice
• 4 dill pickle spears
• 2 small cooked potatoes
• ½ peanut butter and jelly sandwich
• 1½ large handfuls of grapes
• ½ slice of cheese pizza

New River Gorgeous Trail Half Marathon Race Report

If you wanted to run perfect trail conditions, the ACE Adventure Center outside Oak Hill, WV was the place to be this weekend. It was plenty sunny, hot, and humid, so there was no shortage of sweat dripping from the brim of my hat and a higher than average forecast for nipple chaffage, but that’s what you expect for August, isn't it?

When I had last attended this event two years ago, packet pickup took a very long time and as a result, the race start was delayed. Things were much improved this year. My packet pick up was completed in about 10% of the time it took me in 2015, which was a ton less stressful.

Despite driving nearly 3 hours, it was easy to make the trip to Oak Hill on race morning because the race didn’t start until 10:00. I know this bothers some runners, but I think it’s favorable if you like the additional challenge of running in the heat or maybe have an upcoming event approaching that will be in the heat. As we started, the temperature was around 70 degrees. Most of the course is tree shaded so the temperature in the woods likely stayed under 80 degrees for another hour or two.

How many people are touching their watches and why is everyone afraid of the timing mat? Photo by Appalachian Timing Group

Charleston runner Clay Evans started out hard from the gun. And then I realized I hadn’t started my music. Fortunately we started on a short stretch of gravel road before entering singletrack so there was a moment to get those favorite jams going. I train with music about 25% of the time but in short competitive events such as this, I thrive on incremental doses of upbeat and occasionally vulgar rap and alternative rock. Music is a legal ergogenic aid. Just use only one headphone so you can hear folks coming, okay?

Clay and I separated from the other runners quickly, switching the lead back and forth from time to time. Then he told me he was running the other simultaneous event - the 8.5-mile run. I briefly considered letting him drift away from me as we headed uphill but figured any amount of hanging at the quicker pace could help me get closer to my goal of breaking 1:30:00 in the half marathon. As we neared mile 2, still climbing, he began pulling away from me at a pace I wasn’t willing to attempt, regardless of event. I wasn’t expecting to be just a couple beats away from my maximum heart rate. Sure hope he wasn’t kidding about being in the other race. Seemed like a good time to take in a glimpse of this view:

photo by Anne Foreman

After hitting the high point of that first and longest climb, I started recovering a bit and gradually came back up to Clay and coasted on by him. I could tell it was going to be a good day by the brief amount of time it took to recover from that hard effort and by the impressive number of birds cheering for me.

The best course description here would be “rolling.” It was actually really fun to hit some of the rollers out there, which reminded me of a rollercoaster on several occasions. Gain enough speed on the downhills and you can coast part of the way up the next climb before it feels too effortful.

Photo by Anne Foreman

Most of the course is double track the width of an ATV (or four-wheeler, if you prefer). Some of it is wider forest road double track. There’s probably just a couple total miles of singletrack. For the most part it is non-technical as there aren’t many roots or rocks. Some sections are wide mown grassy paths. Overall this makes it a road runner’s trail race. Many of the trails would be a good introduction to trail running.

Much of the time I was paranoid of rolling my left ankle to the point of spraining as I had done in 2015. With the trails typically maintaining a clockwise direction around the mountain, there is a frequent camber to the trail that keeps your left side on the lower side of the hill. I remembered the exact point where I rolled it previously so I did what any sane person would do at that section: I slowed down.

The footing on the trail was typically firm and predictable as it hadn’t rained recently. The course circumnavigates the mountain top, never descending or climbing for long periods, so I’m sure that helps keep them dry as well. Trail maintenance had cleared out a couple of recently fallen trees. But somehow they didn’t clear out the snakes. I’m not asking much, am I?

Much of the course is wider trail

After topping the highest point on the course, and passing heavy equipment that you don't normally see on a trail run, there’s a fast grassy forest road descent. Nearly to the bottom, I caught a glimpse of a shiny black tubular creature in the grass and reflexively jumped away like an Appalachian kangaroo. I heard the snake jerk, probably because I scared it as much as it scared me but I didn’t bother stopping to ask it. I doubt it would have suddenly struck at a kangaroo because they can't eat kangaroos. I told the next aid station worker about it but I don’t think she was impressed.

The left hip flexors tightened a bit by mile 8, the climbs hurt more, and my general form deteriorated as the thigh muscles became heavier. I thought the course was a little short based on my old GPS data so I tried to remind myself that it was really only 20 more minutes of pushing. Rounding is always a useful tactic for time and distance mid-competition. It’s a great way to lie to yourself about the distance remaining because you’ll forget about it in 30 seconds anyway. And there is a ton of descending in the final 1/3 of the race so I just needed to quit whining. Although you don’t want to underestimate the final climb to the finish.

Bombing the final grassy section of double track descent I spied yet another shiny black tubular creature less than a squirrel’s length from my feet. Is there a reptile convention here this weekend? Where can I get my tickets? This one was stretched across the major width of Erskine Trail. There was no option to change direction at that very moment because: 1.) there was a giant drop off to the left, 2.) a steep embankment to the right, and 3.) my pace was roughly 6:30/mile. Good thing the kangaroo legs were warmed up by the earlier snake. Definitely the first time I knowingly jumped over a fully outstretched snake! It’s really okay if I make it another 23 years of running before that happens again.

I became a little panicked near the finish as I popped out onto the final road climb because I thought the next course marking I was to follow pointed toward some newly built trails on the opposite side of the road. I lost time wandering around in the woods there for over a minute while trying to find the next marking only to realize the course really did just climb up the road, just as it did in 2015. Wah wah wah. No race ever goes perfectly but I was bummed to not achieve my goal of breaking 1:30, coming in at 1:31:11.

Apologies to the young woman finishing her 8.5 miler that didn’t see me sprinting to the finish line and probably had her life flash before her eyes as I grabbed her to keep us both from going down in a burning heap of human shrapnel.

Course summary: Minimal climbing (average 100 feet/mile, 1300 feet total), generally non-technical with occasional loose rocky sections but no rooty sections, slight but frequent off-camber, minimal singletrack at approximately 1.5 miles total, no more than a couple hundred yards of pavement, minimal muddy sections and no crazy swampy sections, primarily wide and maintained ATV width trail, about 0.5 mile of gravel road, no drop-offs, 100% runnable, generally well marked, fun course overall

Results: https://www.aptiming.com/race/results/543

Lost Turkey Trail Marathon Race Report: Lunging to Victory

Somehow I managed to enter an event before the largest rain soaking of Summer 2017. There’s crazy flooding all over this region and I thought it was a great idea to drive 140 miles in the pouring rain and sleep in my truck in the pouring rain and then do a long trail running race in the pouring rain. Needless to say, the drive that should have taken 2.5 hours was almost 3.5 hours. I slept in my truck bed but my camper top leaked so that was kinda damp and I woke up about every hour. Poor me. I’d do it all again.

It’s interesting that the entry price for the marathon and 50 miler were the same, but due to the timing of an upcoming 50 miler that I am training for, the marathon worked better in my training plan because it could replace a long run and push my effort. After being sick for the past several weeks with lyme disease, I wanted to race again now that I had begun the lovely antibiotics last week and was actually feeling a ton better. I hate ticks.

When I awoke for the fourth time at 3:00ish I considered that I could have just run the 50 miler because they were going to start at 4:00. The marathon went off at 8:00. The marathoners had to be shuttled from the Blue Knob State Park to the start of the Lost Turkey Trail whereas the 50 milers do an out-and-back on the same trails.

The bus was a little late picking us up, which I expect was from the insane fog on top of that mountain. And it was still raining. At first I could not even find the tent to pick up my packet at 5:30 even though I was only a hundred yards from it. The roads were barely visible and several us missed the turn into the parking area. It was the craziest, thickest fog I had ever seen.

I had raced from Blue Knob State Park before at an event called Rock n’ the Knob. The climbs were a little more epic than western PA and northern WV offer so I wanted to come back to have that extra challenge. The last time it was super foggy and a little drizzly but nothing like the drenching of the prior 24 hours.

6:00 AM, fog's actually thinning out

1:00 PM, what a difference

Exiting the shuttle bus we had about 30 minutes until race start time. The rain slowed and seemingly stopped. I removed my Gore-Tex jacket, stuffed it in my pack, and put on a lighter shell. Normally I don’t carry two jackets but I don’t normally run in a hurricane either. But with just a moment to go before starting, the sky decided to begin another downpour. The race director fired a starting pistol. Only it didn’t fire, it… clicked. Fitting for the past few hours.

The first couple miles of the course were full of standing water. Being on a plateau, the water just sits and doesn’t drain anywhere. Plus it was still raining pretty heavily. My inner ankle began aching a little from the increased demand on my tibialis posterior tendon that comes with rock hopping and trying to run a little more gingerly on the slick or unpredictable deeper grass. I actually started to welcome the deep puddles as they would briefly override the ache.

I had three runners in front of me through this several miles of new squishy swampland. Even though the initial mile section is rocky and more technical, many of the early miles are wide, nontechnical grassy paths. There are a ton of intersections with other trails and roads throughout this course, so you really have to pay attention to avoid missing the turns. Finally, after much hoping, the trails started to feel a little more technical and that helped me pick off a runner.

I began passing the suffering runners from the 50 miler who were running the opposite direction. They were actually a really nice indicator from afar on whether I was still on the right trails. It looked like only about half of them even started and I know several people bailed from the marathon too.

At the first manned aid station, Buffalo Road, mile 9, the race director tells me the next runners are two and five minutes up. Being of the opinion that the first guy went out way too hard and the second guy probably did too, I figure there’s a good chance of closing that gap down. I was counting on the later steeper inclines I saw on the elevation profile to work in my favor.

Not my pic

Eventually we get to a really long section of old pea gravel covered access road. I suppose it is still part of the Lost Turkey Trail but it is not technical at all and lasted nearly two miles. It felt like a road race because it was ever so slightly downhill and I felt like I could really open up. Being so flattened, it reminded me of running across an old coal strip mine, only without the acid mine drainage.

As I approach the next aid station, I see the runner who was previously two minutes ahead of me. Fantastic. I felt decent and spent just a few seconds in the King’s Field aid station so I could monitor his position. I tried to use the descent to my advantage but I couldn’t seem to see or catch that runner. Strange. Well that’s because he took a brief wrong turn just past the aid and I just didn’t know it until the next aid station.

I told those aid station volunteers that was the longest descent I had ever run and they thought it was funny, apparently because the race is known for crushing people. Beef jerky in hand I started up the really steep section of trail from Burnt House around mile 17. Lunge. Lunge. Lunge. Work it. Work it. Feel the burn in that booty. Uh huh. Uh huh. These are all things I say to myself on these climbs and are clearly one of my biggest and best performance enhancing secrets. Actually, I was thinking “who the hell puts a trail straight up the side of these steep ass hills without switchbacks.”

I notice my low back aching a little more than usual. I blame my inability to strength train for the past several weeks because the stinking lyme disease did something to my muscles that made them really easy to strain and become sore for days, which I had to learn the hard way multiple times. I hate ticks.

Perhaps it is somewhere in here where I recall running a ¼ mile section of the softest moss covered trail ever. I felt like I was committing a crime but I’m guessing it must be pretty resilient or it wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

Then, if I remember correctly, after getting to the top, a section of trail begins that seemed a little like someone just hung some ribbons along the hillside and figured running a group of people over it would eventually make a trail. It was super narrow and sometimes not benched at all so the mud on the off camber would just make you slide sideways down the hill toward what would surely be instant death. On one of steepest sections I had to climb through the limbs of this downed tree. I fell down there a little thanks to those pesky 50 mile runners who had come through and torn up the wet trail and smeared the tree in mud.

You won’t believe what happened next! Through some miracle of the human spirit, I kept on running. Because this is a running race, dammit. There’s no time to lie on the ground and bemoan the existence of mud. I realized this course becomes increasingly technical as it progresses.

Around mile 21, I approached Bob’s Creek, which I had seen in photos because of it’s unique overhanging cable “bridge.” It looked serious in the picture. But in real life I looked at the water and thought “that doesn’t look very deep.” Yeah, the muddy liquid was moving a little quick but I just stepped down into it and walked across, the water never going any deeper than my mid-thigh. I suddenly felt a little cheated, because I was imagining on the bus ride that this thing would have to be deep and fast today. I would surely have to cling to the cables above raging rapids. And if I fell in I would have to swim while being swept downstream for at least 50 yards. Other runners on the bus were even talking it up. If only I could have texted some frowny faces to someone who cared.  

also not my pic and clearly from winter but there's disappointment creek

Just after I crossed “Disappointment Creek,” another serious climb begins. Real serious. Welcome to the final part of the event: the uphill lunging contest. About ¼ mile up the climb I spotted the runner in first place. Time for the arm warmers to come off (because I wasn’t wearing boxing gloves - this is a running race). And they were just going to slow me down anyway because of their poor aerodynamics. Past experience has taught me that uphill lunging contests are all about aerodynamics.

He caught a glimpse of me and I could tell he was probably more interested in just finishing at that point. Mostly because he said, “I’m just going to move at a snail’s pace” and immediately started screaming “Why me! Why me!” Well you can never really trust these trail runner folk because many of them are actors so I lit the afterburners and lunged my way up that climb at record lunge pace.

My lateral calves began cramping a smidge on the next descent and my left big toe was not happy but lucky for me there was soon an aid station known as “Lost Children” at mile 24 where I guzzled a bottle of miracle pickle juice. Here the race director provided her encouragement because she knew I had worked my way up to the front. Despite less than ideal conditions she was doing a really thoughtful thing by bouncing from one station to the next to encourage us. The volunteers were super encouraging too.

"stairs"

At this point the sun is coming out and it’s suddenly a beautiful day. Too little, too late Mother Nature. Don’t even try to talk to me right now, I have a race to finish. Here begins the final uphill lunging contest challenge of going from 1800 feet to 3100 feet of elevation just so that you end up back at the Blue Knob Ski Lodge to eat a hamburger. Nearer to the top, the trail has a long section of rock stairs placed for your enjoyment. No longer can you define your step length because the steps do it for you. One less thing to worry about. For some reason I began grunting and snarling more than usual during this final piece, perhaps to demonstrate my manly dominance over the puny and weak mountain.

The race director cheated and drove her car up the much shorter and smoothly paved road to the top of the climb but she did greet me at the finish line after 4:15 of running with a sweet custom turkey call so that I can find that darned lost turkey.

Loads of swag

I'm getting out of here

Results are here.

Nutrition:

• 4 Gu gels
• 4 bananas
• 1 bottle pickle juice
• 4 Gu chews
• 2 pieces beef jerky
• 1 Rice Krispies Treat
• 2 electrolyte tablets

Highlands Sky 40 Mile Trail Race Report

A couple days have passed and my quads still haven’t let me forget about this race. My quads aren’t normally this sore, but then again I don’t normally have such unusual circumstances leading up to a race.

I started feeling a tad funky on June 11, and I developed a 101-degree fever by the end of the next day. An accumulation of infant-induced sleep loss, disease carrying children, general life stress, recently increased training load, and a lovable personality made me the perfect host for Virus 349XY.

The fever persisted, fluctuating in intensity throughout each day - my intracellular fluids apparently being too tasty and nutritious for Virus 349XY to throw up a white flag. Every time I thought I had won the battle, I’d start to become super fatigued and fevered again.

Did I mention I went to the ER? Because apparently I had also strained a deep abdominal muscle in the weeks prior and just in case there was an off chance I had actually formed a strangulated hernia, I wanted to know prior to an ultramarathon. But there was no hernia and they thought I was crazy. Not sad about that lack of findings.

But it wasn’t good enough to just be sick. That little punk, Virus 349XY, also sucked out my motivation, threw it on the floor, and stepped on it repeatedly with its tiny little virus boots. All 47 of them. Jerk. So I’d stress about all the stuff I should have been getting done while lying on the floor with my squashed motivation.

I certainly wasn’t eating or drinking like I normally would leading up to an event. The one good thing is I would have been tapering and resting anyway. With this increased rest, as each day passed, I could feel myself growing stronger, like the stench on a pair of sweaty socks in the laundry basket, but the week is only so long and the laundry is eventually all washed up.

sunrise at the race start

After reluctantly making the trip south on Friday, we ended up getting to the pre-race dinner a little late. We joined the other racers to help ourselves to a good meal at the Canaan Valley Resort. I still didn’t have a huge appetite. Perhaps it was the (low) altitude. Probably not. I began to prophylactically guzzle Pedialyte and juice. Carbs and electrolytes, you mean everything to me. Please don’t let me bonk.

Off to bed before 9:00 PM under some decent fatigue. Mr. Virus gave his one last war cry by awakening me with a low grade fever again at midnight. We spoke briefly and I told him to get the hell out, I’d had enough of his misguided ways.

Race morning I awoke at 4:15 feeling pretty normal. But I knew there was no point in trying to hammer. Mostly because my wife coach told me so. My goal had to be modified from racing hard to simply completing the event. I’d come to terms with that possibility a couple days prior. Mostly because wife coach told me. Not ideal for something I had been building up to for 6 months but slow running is better than no running, right?

Wife coach wanted to see the start (and to ensure I wasn’t faking “normal”) so I skipped the shuttle bus and we drove down to the starting line at Red Creek. I was less excitable than usual but still just wanted to get moving. One of the race directors remained unwilling to allow me to race under a pseudonym in order to protect my fragile ego. I don’t want to mention any names but thanks Adam. My ultrasignup.com ranking has plummeted and my sponsors won’t return my calls. My lawyer will be in touch.

nobody seems to go slowly the first 2 miles of pavement

Anyway, I hiked so much more of the first half of the course this year than last. I went way too fast on that section last year. That definitely helped me to feel pretty decent at the mile 20 aid station. Wife coach met me there, I think mostly to grab the ripcord from my pack and provide a de-motivational speech if I would happen to look the least bit like a dying squirrel left by the side of the road. Boy was she surprised. And yet so proud. So proud.

It hadn’t rained much lately so the course was drier overall than last year. I was surprised to be in the top 10 at that point because I was really trying to hold back and many people were passing me.

switchback hidden amongst Stinging nettles

more stinging nettles

traded nettles and slight climb for ferns and steeper climbing

trading up to pine trees

topped out and we can see the sky again

Then as I began to run the “Road Across the Sky” there was no doubt that I just didn’t have any of my usual oomph to give. The legs were heavy, the strides were short, and the quads were already sore. Not good that early. But it didn’t come as a surprise, so I didn’t stress too much about it. I just tried to be consistent and enjoyed the sights and sounds of the birds, flowers, trees, and elusive wild pugs that have roamed this region for centuries. I stopped multiple times, which is atypical for me in a race, to take pictures and to listen for the faint snort of a wild pug.

wild pugs should be appreciated from a distance. The WV DNR denied their existence for decades but frequent sightings led to their ultimate acceptance into the local animal identification texts by 1974. The WV DNR suggests that you do not attempt to make contact with a wild pug as they are typically disease carrying scoundrels. 

pretty high up here

Road across the sky is about to end

Compared to last year, there were better conditions this year while coming across the wide open Bear Rocks segment of the course as the temperature was only in the 70’s and it was partly cloudy. I found Travis Simpson at the next aid station. He wasn’t having a great race either. Claimed he was mostly walking but for some reason I never saw him again after that aid station. A federal Strava investigation using judicious amounts of taxpayer dollars revealed that “walking” at that point must have meant a 8:00/mile pace.

There's a Lot of this

overlooking the canaan valley from Rocky Ridge before descending 

more overlooking

I could not get down that mountain quickly enough. My quads had passed “GO” 10 miles earlier, taken the $100, and spent it on comic books and booze. Worthless. Get a job loser(s). After all I’ve done to/for you!

The final section of road where I was able to give a good push last year seemed to take forever. I reached the final aid station at mile 37.6 a full 10 minutes after my 2016 finish time. And I still had a few miles to go despite my begging and pleading to the aid volunteers. Still, no tears were shed. At least not by me, in public, at that moment. I knew others around me were not having stellar days. Wife coach would want me to continue onward knowing that another race is always on the horizon. I held my chest high and shuffled down Freeland Road as quickly as three fully functioning quadriceps muscle fibers could move a person.

somewhere in canaan

and somewhere else

An hour slower than last year, I finally arrived to the lovely sights of a finish line. I’m really happy with that, considering the circumstances. It certainly made for another level of challenge. One that I do not need to replicate again.

Thanks for a great event again this year Dan, Adam, and Highlands Sky volunteer army.

This article has been dedicated to the memory of Virus 349XY who passed in the early morning hours in Davis, WV while doing what he loved to do most. He is survived by his cousin, the mutated form 349XZ, currently residing in 127 different humans, mostly ultrarunners, across Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Virginia, and North Carolina.

Map: https://www.strava.com/activities/1041547950

Stuff I ate: ½ Gu Stroopwafel, 6 Gu gels, 6 Clif Bloks, couple handfuls Pringles chips, at least 16 oz. cola, 9 oz. ginger ale, 2.5 bananas, 8 dill pickle spears, handful of grapes, several mini Snickers bars, 3 handfuls of watermelon, 2 strawberries, my pride

Stuff I wanted to eat: freeze pops, more pickles, elk burger

Coopers Rock 50K Race Report

This turned out to be a very interesting event this year. After a taste of warmer spring weather for the past couple weeks, Mother  Nature changed her mind and dumped a few inches of snow in the area on Thursday into Friday. With Coopers Rock State Forest being at the higher elevations of around 2000 feet, the snow and colder temperatures stuck around for the race on Saturday.

At race start, the temp was about 29 degrees and the woods had a varying 2-5 inch blanket of snow. I can’t recall  competing in this much snow since the Snowflake Chase 5 Miler in McHenry, MD, some 20 years ago. Last year we had the perfect dry, cool conditions. I guess you never know what spring will bring around here from one year to the next.

The 50K course begins with a 1.5 mile road section and a simultaneous half-marathon start, which does cause a slight confusion for placement estimation. Fellow 50K runner Travis Simpson started off harder and faster than I typically ever do, even if it were a marathon. But that’s just his style.

As a result, I exited the pavement as the second 50K’er and wondered how big of a gap I would have to close for that first position. It certainly took a while. I finally saw Travis pop up just before the 6-mile point as we entered the Mont Chateau trail, where the half marathoners split off, but it took me until mile 7.6 to catch and pass him at the bottom of that trail. Here, next to Cheat Lake at 650-700 feet of elevation, there wasn’t a bit of snow.

Warmer

The lake happens to be the turnaround point of a short out and back where we began a 1300 foot climb back to the top of the state forest. It didn’t take long while climbing back up this overlapping portion to pass the 3rd through 7th place 50K runners. There must have been good technical runners in that group. Travis finally didn’t seem too interested in pushing at this point so a gap formed between us, although it shrunk back down as we approached Rock City.

We ran Rock City together and then I separated from him again as we hit the Underlook Trail (a challenging world of boulders, this time covered in snow!) It is on this trail that you have to hike and climb quickly on large rocks that are surrounded by other, even larger rocks. All are gradually breaking away from the cliffside every couple hundred years. Rhododendron abound and provide a saving handle sometimes. The footing was so uncertain that you have to constantly watch where your feet are landing. At one point this focus caught up to me because my peripheral vision was also slightly inhibited by the brim of my cap and I managed to ram my left shoulder straight into one of the boulders at full fast hiking speed. Ouch. Five minutes later I cracked my right knee off of a boulder. More ouch.

Underlook Trail

I entered Aid Station 2 at mile 10 feeling pretty well despite playing geology tackle. Following this portion, we do another out and back to the Raven Rock overlook. That design quickly lets you know the gap to the next competitor - and it wasn’t far. Maybe 60-90 seconds. I tried my best to remain steady on that section and approaching the McCollum Campground as it was still too early to push the pace.

Raven Rock

Please don't pass me

Then we hit Aid Station 3. I checked my watch and noted that my time was basically on par with my time from last year. This was a bit of a problem considering the course was perfectly dry last year and this year it was a muddy, slick, snowy mess. Somehow I was still climbing well.

I headed out to the Powerline trail off Clay Run. As I reached the top of that mile-long climb I could still see Travis trailing me by a similar time gap. Isn’t he getting tired yet? But I knew we had had similar performances in 50Ks in the last couple years.

Ever instruct a dizzy runner?

Returning back to the same aid station again, I began the not so fun trip on the Roadside Trail toward the front entrance of the state forest. It reminded me of running on horse trails. The many giant footprint divots in the snow had melted partially yesterday and must have frozen again overnight, creating some nasty, unsure footing.

In some ways I was happy to arrive at the paved Henry Clay iron furnace roadway to get off of that trail. I tried to eat the banana I was carrying but it had frozen nearly solid so that didn’t quite work as planned. Unfortunately, midway down the road Travis came barreling by me. I might have tried to hang on if this was a 5K, but it wasn’t, so I watched him gradually drift to a quarter-mile lead.

It was at this point that I *slightly* regretted helping Travis with his hamstring strain injury earlier this week with dry needling in my clinic. Next time Travis, I may use more of a “sham” treatment technique if we are going to be in the same race that week. I’m kidding, of course.

When we hit the Advanced Ski Trail I started to reel him back in again. We chatted a little and then I separated from him again down the Intermediate Ski Trail. Making it to the next aid station at the frontmost parking area, Travis came in just 20-30 seconds behind me. I was starting to feel like crap and I don’t think he was feeling great either. We coasted along the new swampland known as Scott Run trail. My quads were clearly unsure of their function. Travis surged on me again, I fell back about 5 seconds but then caught him once again up the final technical climb.

Having seen his stellar road running abilities, I knew I was in trouble with the design of the final portion of this course. Travis threw another surge as we exited the final aid station and entered Roadside Trail again. He has too much raw power for me to counter on those flats! I tried to stay strong, but without any more climbs or technical sections, my ability to catch him again became substantially inhibited.

He would end up taking the first spot while I came in a short distance back. He executed that final part very well. Over the entire event we were never really more than two minutes apart from each other. Third place, Aaron Horrell, didn’t take too long afterward to come across the finish line either. Three of us coming in well under 5 hours in those slick conditions was quite surprising. And as much as I would like to have won, I was really happy to see an individual that I helped with a new injury overcome the odds and run to their fullest potential.

Would be a sweet view if these guys would move

Looks like there were 40 total finishers in the 50K, although I’m pretty sure we started with closer to 50. It was definitely a day to test limits.

This is the second year for the event, and I thought the course markings were even better than last year’s, though I am a little biased for having known the course already. This year for entering we received “A Guide to Coopers Rock State Forest” along with the SweatVac brand synthetic shirts, which run a little on the large side. Last year we had the same shirts but received a durable map of the forest lands. Unique swag.

I definitely must thank the volunteers who braved the cold for hours to come out to help with this event. It’s not comfortable and not easy to stay warm when you can’t move around much. We all appreciate the ability to get food and drink in at the aid stations.

Here are the results on the Coopers Rock Foundation site. 

Favorite Statistics:

• Average power: 228 watts
• Average pace: 8:57/mile
• Elevation gain: 4967 feet
• Amount of time climbing: 2:15:05

Strava link

Strava Flyby Player 

Nutritional intake:

• Breakfast - egg and bacon on english muffin and coffee, trail mix, frequently sipping water all morning
• Thirty minutes prior to start - one banana
• In race - 5 Gu gels, 1 Gu stroopwafel, ½ banana, ½ peanut butter and jelly sandwich, 2 pickle spears, 2 pieces boiled potato with salt, 1 cookie, about 40 oz. water, about 8 oz. Coke/Dr. Pepper sodas

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