In heat like that, what in the heck are a bunch of crazy ultrarunners supposed do?

That’s easy - create a new brutal running challenge, of course.

“If it a’int rough, it a’int me” - Eazy-E, NWA

Since I started running, I’ve always been intrigued by difficult challenges - be it a difficult course or difficult conditions or difficult qualifications - or a combination of all three.

Races like Spider Tynes’ Hot 2 Trot race where runners loop a 1.1 mile trail, over and over, for eight hours in sweltering Georgia August heat, or Claude Sinclair’s Laurel Valley self-supported, somewhere-around-35-miles, brutal beatdown on the South Carolina foothills trail; the relentless SCAR run that traverses difficult peak after peak after peak deep within the Smokies; The two loop run on Coosa Backcountry trail crawling 7000 feet of elevation in 26 miles; and of course the hardest thing ever for me, the Superior Sawtooth 100-mile race on Minnesota’s super-rugged Superior Hiking Trail.

Couple all that with a new running buddy who likes crazy as much as me, and other friends willing to tag along for the training, and you’ve got the recipe for some fun, challenging stuff.

Introducing the Inaugural and Unofficial Meat Grinder 50K++

If you’ve know me, you know that one of my favorite training spots is the Appalachian Trail [AT]. The approach trail to the Southern Terminus of the AT is a beautiful, and brutal, stretch that makes 8 miles seem like 18. We call it Meat Grinder, and a trip to Meat Grinder, out-n-back, will definitely be a 17-miler you won’t soon forget.

There’s a handful of us here in north Georgia training for the White River 50-mile race at Crystal Mountain in Washington state, and we are seeking as many hard, hilly training runs as we can fit into our schedule - but still nearby.

Naturally, the Meat Grinder had to fit in the plan somewhere and seeing as how we love to try new things, planning be damned, we did just that.

Sunday morning, June 28, 2009, three numb-skulls, “too-fast-Matt”, “three-kids-Tony”, and “phat-mouth-Christian” headed out self-supported, to complete a 34.2-mile run from the stone arch at Amicalola Falls Visitor Center to Hightower Gap, and back again, on 100% single-track along the Appalachian Trail.

The Unofficial Meat Grinder 50K++ was underway.

Section 1: the approach

Hehe. This is just flat-out tough. It’s no exaggeration when I say that the very first step onto the trail is a climb, and that climb continues for 1.25  very steep miles, to the parking area of Amicalola Falls.

Matt runs the whole mile up.

Tony and I run a third of it, opting to power-hike the steep gravel hill

The approach to Springer Mountain, and thus, the AT, sorta rolls like this:

Ascend steeply…

…descend steeply.

Ascend steeply…

…descend steeply.

Ascend steeply…

…descend steeply.

Three evident and distinct mountain climbs, with some rolling in between.

I’ve said this before, but I swear I can “feel” the spirits on this trail - the spirits of journeys started and dreams realized. So much history on the Appalachian Trail.

The trail is very rugged with root gardens, sharp chunky rocks and dense overgrowth. From a “challenging run” perspective, this is a great way to start a long event since it will most likely send the uninitiated back towards lodge after 8+ miles of this kind of stuff, knowing that an entire marathon distance still lies up ahead.

Section 2: headed to Hightower

I have never run past Springer Mountain and was shocked at the technical descent from the top, to the small gravel parking area at the bottom. Having communicated with Lane and Jenn Vogel (female winner of the Keys 100 race) the day before the run, they offered to leave us some water jugs at the base of Springer Mountain and run around until they found us as they were also training out there that same day.

This proved to be key as it was HOT and water was scarce. “Thanks guys!”

After we refilled our emptying water bottles at the base of the mountain, we made our way towards Hightower Gap, about 8 miles away.

Now, if you want to try this run, it’s helpful to know that this is where you can really open up if you have it in you after the approach section. The first half of this section is literally 4.1 miles of solid downhill.

Just remember, what goes down, must come back up {wink}

Of course, too-fast-Matt was way ahead, but Tony and I stayed close together through this section, both of us already hurting a little - yes, I know, only 10-12 miles in and already hurting - but, that’s the AT for ya.

All we could say was, “Duuuuude, we gotta come back up this thing”.

It was amazing. We just kept going down, down, down, finally hitting bottom at Three Forks.

After Three Forks, there are some light rolling climbs and descents, and a BEAUTIFUL fern garden that was super immense and blindingly green. I swear, like the Celestine Prophecy, I get energy from plants that just scream energy. I believe in the energy of living plants. This is also where we bumped into Lane and Jenn, and all of us, at various points along the way, got some quality miles in with the uber-fit couple.

But, this beautiful, rather easy running is pretty short lived - maybe 2 miles-ish - before starting yet another very long descent, which eventually turns into a drastic descent, finally dumping us out into the gravel parking area of Hightower Gap.

I might also add that this is where Tony and I bumped into too-fast-Matt Kahrs, already on his way back. The kid was 4 miles ahead of us! …and looking cool as a cucumber.

Not us.

Only halfway done …and dead freakin tired!

Section 3: the climb back out of Hightower

Oh man, this is where the beatdown was coming together.

It was now rolling into the hot part of the day. We both were almost completely out of water, tired, and facing 17 more miles - six of which were about to be all uphill, followed by the return from Springer Mountain back down the approach trail.

“Oh man, Tony, what was I thinking with this run idea?”

We started making our way up the first sharp ascent, fueling up while trying to conserve water. We reached a sign for a hiker shelter and decided to brave the extra mileage in search of water. Geeez, in the Smokies, the shelters are right there along the trail - but not at Hightower - we had to hike about a .25 mile before we found the water.

Nothing like bonus miles, right?

Fueled up with plenty of water, we started a series of run a little, power hike a little, run a little… and of course, because it’s my duty in this sport, I fell over and over and over again, but we finally made it to the top of the sharp ascent, and began running through that beautiful fern garden section again, making our way back to Three Forks.

I fell one more time, looked up, saw Tony’s blue shirt in the distance, heard him yell, “YOU OK?!”, and I never saw him again…

I made my way to Three Forks, plopped my sweaty, stinkin’ butt is the rushing creek, and soaked in the cold water liked an African hippo.

Remember that 4.1 mile descent that started off section 2 on the way to Hightower Gap?

Welp, time to go back up that…

and up…

and up…

Made it to the Stover Creek Shelter sign, but chose to try to make it back to Springer Mountain where water jugs were {hopefully} stashed for us.

Big mistake.

I seem to always do this. Like I am trying to deprive myself of what I need in order to conserve for when I might start feeling like complete death. This is a terrible strategy as it really only sets me up for complete death - not prevents it.

I only had 1.6 miles more to go to get to the base of Springer, but ran out of water with a mile to go. Any other time, who cares right? It’s just a mile…

…but at that time, it was the longest, dry-mouthed, dizzy mile I have endured in awhile …not to mention the anxiety that follows when one is waterless, tired, loopy and having difficulty thinking as clearly as one should.

But all drama aside I made it to the base of Springer where Lane and Jenn had left the water stashed behind a tree. I filled my bottles, poured the rest over my head, and started the steep, technical backside climb to the top of Springer Mountain.

Section 4: bringing it home

This is where the story turns emotional.

This return stretch from Springer Mountain to the Amicalola Visitor’s Center touched me many times in that 8+ mile stretch, in various ways.

Check this out…

So, I summit Springer to find two ladies, and a golden retriever, looking tired and spacey. I grunted a greeting and sat down to clean out my soggy wet shoes.

I made some small talk with one of the women about the heat, the climb, etc… when I noticed she had been crying - and her friend was over by a tree REALLY crying it up.

“yikes, is your friend having a difficult time on the trail today?“, I asked.

She smiled, “nope, those are tears of joy.” — “we just completed our thru-hike.”

“What???!!!”

I was shocked.

Here I was, dopey ol’ sweaty-ass me, sittin’ up here cleaning out my shoes in the middle of these two awesome hikers celebrating a MASSIVE accomplishment!

I was so stoked.

I started congratulating them, sharing my water with their dog, and talking a mile a minute. I was so impressed with these ladies and so happy for them. They hiked every square inch of the Appalachian Trail, my dream goal.

I sat up there with them for 15 minutes, taking photos for them with their individual cameras, talking story and sharing in their joy, …and it was just killer.

Man, I just can’t express how cool that moment was. I left Springer with a grin from ear to ear.

Way to go ladies!!!!!!!!

——

However, once that stoke started to taper off, I once again came to the realization that I was struggling a bit in the 95+ heat, was almost out of water AGAIN, and had no more calories.

Rats.

I started noticing I was swerving like a drunk. I was slouching and must have looked pretty bad to random hikers I would see here and there.

Just then - a butterfly swooped by my face, then came back again, almost hitting me in the forehead.

At first I was annoyed.

…but then, I realized it was my grandmother.

Yep, I’m that weird and wacko that I truly believe that my grandmother, who passed away in 2005, visits me on the trail when times get tough. Whether it’s real or not isn’t really relevant - I believe it - and that’s all that matters. If it gives me inspiration, it’s real.

I was so excited, I started laughing out loud all by myself. I thanked her for showing up …for always being there for me - alive or dead.

I clenched my fist, punched up towards the trees and yelled, “life is great!”

And I started running harder and with better form.

“Time to get back and put this one in the books.”

I ran the last 4 miles like I had just started the run - upright, positive, happy, fast feet…

…and there it was - the stone arch - the icon representing the start to the Appalachian approach trail - and the sign that reads, “2,108 miles to Katahdin, Maine.”

The finish

Just as I passed under the arch, I heard, “Beast!”, and saw too-fast-Matt standing there with a Coke, a Powerade and two bottles of water for me.

Good kid that Matt Kahrs.

Tony had finished about 15 minutes before me and was puking and resting in the AC of his car, much to Matt’s delight. We all hopped in the cold creek to soak the legs, sharing stories of our individual experiences on the trail, and laughing and smiling, all the while shaking our heads in disbelief.

If your an ultrarunner, you know what I mean.

On the ride home, Matt and I sounded like a couple of little kids, both proud of our accomplishments, but also already planning the next difficult run to take on next.

This is our fun.

We do these things because we love to run. We love the highs and lows and being out in the nature, challenging ourselves by overcoming mental, physical and emotional anguish.

I feel like I grow as a man with every single finish. I feed on the stoke. I learn more about myself and others and I become more aware of others and their emotional experiences too.

My life seems to be evolving quite a bit, and while my wife probably deserves most of the credit, running is a major contributor.

I am an ultrarunner.

Beautiful but deadly

I bust my @$$ every single time I run in the foothills.

June 7, 2009, I’m sure I busted a record number of times. …at least 15, but one day later, it sure feels like much more.

And I’m not counting the constant half-fall-stumble, catch-yourself-in-some-oddball-way staggering situations. Those were way too numerous to keep track of.

• I have a stick jammed under my thumbnail from falling on top of wet roots
• A swollen rasberry on my arm and low back from flying backwards into a tree practically mid-air (and in front of  ”Stump Jump” Chad from Chattanooga)
• A crusty, swollen knee from, …well, I’m not sure, but it happened somewhere on that trail.
• A sore hamstring from slipping on a rock in the Chattooga River, twisting it under my body, and creating a gnarly cramp, thus causing some loud and colorful commentary.
• Bloody, bruised, scabby palms from trying to catch myself over and over and over …and over and over.

But, man…

When I wasn’t face first in the dirt, I was witnessing some absolutely incredible trail. The Foothills are very much like the Appalachian Trail - Thick roots. Steep climbs. Treacherous footing.

But that just adds to raw-ness of it all. To me, this is how trail running is supposed to be - not manicured and perfect.

The forest was thick with jungle-like vegetation. The rivers were loud, especially now that we have water, and the small, trail side water falls were in full effect. Here’s a full description of the SC Foothills trail from SCtrails.net:

Perhaps no other trail in South Carolina provides such an extraordinary backcountry experience as the difficult, Foothills Trail in the northwest corner of the state. Starting with the 1.2 mile Foothills Access Trail in Oconee State Park, only the first 28 miles of the Foothills Trail from the park to Upper Whitewater Falls was designated a National Recreation Trail in 1979. By snaking along the Blue Ridge Escarpment, this trail and its many connectors provide almost 200 miles of hiking; most of it the rugged Appalachian greenbelt variety. The trail is accessible only to hikers, although vehicular access is available to many points along the main trail which, depending where you start, is either 80 or 85 miles long. Even so, considering numerous spur trails and connectors, an ambitious backpacker could hike the backcountry for more than a week.

In fact, the other side of the trail is where the infamous Laurel Valley is held, yet another beautiful beast.

I’m so lucky that this will be the second year in a row that I get to race a majority of the 80 miles of the SC Foothills in a single year.

Burrells Ford, the start of Chattooga 50K Trail Race

Before the race I was chatting it up with Byron Backer, who is much faster than me, and thought to myself, “just for the heck’uva it, I’m gonna try to run with him in my sight for as long as I possibily can”

After the start, he took off, and I never even saw him again until the turn-around.

{sigh}

So much for that idea - a quick dose of humble pie.

But I did start out fast, running in the first group of about 10 for the first eight miles.

I don’t know why I do this - mental problems?

I get these visions in my head of being a cheetah, like if I just try hard enough, ignore the pain, I can run with some of these front runners.

But all that happens is that I go like crazy for about 10 miles, and then burnout horribly and suffer the rest the of way to the finish.

Love me some river action

I love races that have water involved.

The Chattooga begins along some technical, single-track trail and drops runners down to the river for some extremely technical running. This year, the river was so high, some of the trail was completely underwater and we found ourselves running knee-deep through the Chattooga.

I liked that. It made me grin a lot.

The first 10 miles are run without aid. Since the Chattooga 50K race course is an out-n-back, that really means the first 10 miles, and the last 10 miles are without aid. The first 10? No problem; but, that last 10 miles is much more of a management issue as the need for water and fluids has increased.

There are three sections in the first 10 miles that make it easy to judge your progress. If you plan to run this race next year, you can use these clues to gauge where you are (assuming you run natural, without GPS):

1. Waterworld: This is where runners are hugging the river, and sometimes running in it. It’s very technical with thousands of thick roots, mud and hairball footing. Enjoy.
2. Pine straw heaven: This is where you can open up. When the trail moves away from the river, runners are cruising along the tops, and ridges, on wide, soft and less technical pine-needle-covered trail. Yum.
3. Campgrounds: When the trail drops back down to the water, participants are running through a series of camping spots. This is actually helpful since the trail can get confusing and campers can be a big help. “yea, runners went that way!”

And then it’s just a nice, mellow climb out, crossing SC Hwy 107, and on to the first aid station.

What goes down, comes back up

I forgot how tough this race is.

I don’t know why. It’s run on the same freakin trail as Laurel Valley! Of course it’s gonna be hard.

But the Chattooga deceives you.

It takes you out for a nice little challenging, but easily manageable, run all the way to the turn-around at about 16 miles …with plenty of gradual downhill, forgiving uphill, and false sense of superiority.

After the first aid station, there is a boatload of downhill. Similar to the last six miles of Oak Mountain, but at Chattooga, you gotta come back up after ripping all that downhill. Faster people started to catch me as I really had no business running with the pack I was with in the first place, and I was starting to struggle from the fast starting pace.

This is the section where I met “Stump Jump” Chad from Chattooga, and where he witnessed my super gnarly, body-twistin’, leg-ganking, mid-air assault on a trail side tree.

I think he felt bad for me.

I felt bad for me.

I slowed way down and sorta ran in a daze. Too much ego to admit pain, yet crying like a baby inside.

That really hurt.

So, remember, if your keeping notes - make up time here, between miles 10-16-ish, because things will begin to get ugly very soon after.

Is this the same trail?

yup.

It’s more of that Chattooga deception.

After the turn-around, that once fun and fancy downhill action turns upside down. It’s funny how you rarely notice how long a section of downhill is until you are forced to turn around and hit it the other way.

I am confident that some Foothills spirits are at play here. There is simply no way that those climbs back out are the same trails that I just ran in the other direction. Somebody, or something, stretched them into much longer grinds.

So again, taking notes? You had better have your uphill running legs left for at least some of this section, or you will lose a LOT of time getting out of here.

But once you do get out, your return to the 10-mile (now 22 mile) aid station will be a happy visit.

Unless you drop.

Only 10 miles left

10 miles is a long way and should never be referred to as only-anything.

More Chattooga deception.

Actually, maybe not. I think I have this one figured out. The thick roots, rocks and ridiculous footing of the last ten miles were in fact there on the way out, but the legs were strong, fresh and nimble. The ankles solid and adaptable.

Not now.

Everything hurts.

Stepping on those roots now sends a shockwave through your hamstrings and quads. The calves start letting you know they’ve had a enough and are ready for pulled pork sandwiches and a comfy seat at the finish line.

It’s comical navigating some of these roots and muddy sections with sore body parts. Slow, goofy-looking, lots of cussing.

Falling when you feel like this is a complete body jar - too weak to catch yourself, too slow to make it happen anyway.

An all-out thud.

Like a sack potatoes.

But, that beautiful monster smiles on ya with more and more incredible trail beauty. It just keeps coming at ya. Huge ferns, flowering trees, birds a ‘chirpin’ …and long views down the Chattooga are there for the taking on this trip back, and I was stopped in my tracks more than once to stare at the river sights.

I wish I was smart like David Ray and carried a camera during races.

Dunk yo’self

But the all-time, best thing about the return trip is the last 4 miles, where the trail climbs back down to the river’s edge. Ah, heaven.

Picture this:

• you’re hot
• you’re tired
• you’re thirsty (’cause you probably ran out of water)

…and there’s that lovely, crisp, cool river water - rushing over the rocks with a roar, shimmering in the blaring sun. You know it’s in the 80’s. You know you want to do it…

Well, I do it.

Shirt, shoes, shorts, socks, hat, …everything.

I just laid there, in the river, and drank and drank and soaked and soaked.

Bridges too, I’m not a bit scared. If, I see cold rushing mountain water, I enter it.

One mile to go

I always love the kids at races that are there to support dads and moms.

I came up on this bridge, ironically, the place where I got terribly lost last year by going stright instead of crossing, and there’s a little kid sittin’ there waiting on his dad. He hiked about a mile down to the bridge to wait for him.

As I approached, he yelled, “One mile to go!”

And although I was unable to let out much more than a grunt, it was a discernible “thank you” grunt.

I could tell he felt helpful with his big ol’ smile, so I found a little more energy to thank him for helping all the runners out.

Cool kid.

The finish

photo: RD, Terri Hayes makes custom finisher awards for everyone.

Nothing clever. Nothing fancy.

Just a great group of people cheering at the finish. Families, friends - a real good time.

The race director arranged for a chef who had all kinds of great things going on the grill, in the coolers and on the fruit tray.

Terri really stepped it up a notch, while still providing the old school ultra experience that many of us enjoy. That’s saying something seeing as how she does it all for free (accepting donations on race day)

$20 is bargain for an ultra these days.

I finished in 6:58, so I can say sub-seven {wink}.

Good for 15th place overall.

I don’t think any more than three people sub-6′d this race. Byron Backer came close at 6:00:32 - it’s just really hard.

At least half of it is really hard.

—-

Next up, running in Mexico? Oh, yes I am.

I forgot how hard the SweetH20 50K really is.

In 2007, the inaugural year for the Sweetwater race, and my first year running ultras, I completed the race in around eight hours and fifteen minutes (8:15), and last year, I shaved off an hour and twenty minutes, to finish in 6:56 — so this year, I set another lofty goal, hoping to shave off another hour and some change, and roll in somewhere around five hours and forty-five minutes (5:45) — a huge goal, but I felt strong and determined.

You’d think after running the race twice previously, and writing race reports from each experience, plus managing the SweetH20 race web site, and training on the course from time to time, I’d have some idea how to approach this race by now.

Nope.

A family reunion

Local races are starting to feel like family reunions for me. I love showing up and seeing many of the same faces, shaking many of the same hands, and all the familiar hugs.

I especially like the hugs.

On race morning, the buzz around packet pick-up was energizing. Everybody looked happy, and excited. The weather was b-eau-ti-ful, and looking around at the field of talent, it was beginning to feel like some records were about to get broken.

It was great having the opportunity to cut up with ultrarunning icon David Horton.

Dr. Horton is a true legend in the sport of ultrarunning, and for someone like me, so new to ultrarunning and just starting to dip my big toe into the experience bucket, it was surreal to spend some quality time with him pre and post-race.

I met lots of new people that knew me via the run100miles blog, the ultralist and/or Facebook, and as much as some of the old-timers and grouchies like to beat up on Twitter, Facebook and technology in general within our sport, it’s really cool to see the power of social networking and ’same-interest’ communication flourish.

It’s simply fun to share your stoke and excitement with others who are feeling the exact same ways.

30 more seconds…

…was the last thing I heard. I started looking around, overwhelmed by the number of runners at SweetH20 this year. More than twice the number of runners from last year. I exchanged some positive vibes with those around me and…, bang!

The first mile of the race is on a road, and I shot out of the gate for a number of reasons:

1. I really wanted to get in the front pack so I wouldn’t get caught up in the traffic jam when everyone entered the forest, and the single-track trails.
2. I had some lofty ‘personal best’ goals of shaving 74 minutes off of my last year’s finishing time on this race course.
3. I wanted to see how the speed training has been working out and how long I could maintain a fast foot turn-over.
4. And, as always, I was testing how long I could maintain POSE running style.

I found myself running with the front 35 when we ducked into the trails for 30 miles of challenging single-track. I knew damn well I shouldn’t be running in this group, but I decided to roll with it anyway.

Once again I got some trail time with one of the most interesting characters of the Southeastern scene, John Dove, and really enjoyed catching up with him, learning from his experience regarding my upcoming 100-miler at Cascade Crest, listening to his cycling stories, …and then watching him do this crazy, sliding-save-thing, down the spillway, at the first water crossing, the effects of which would later serve as a cramp machine for him throughout the rest of the race.

He still finished sub-6 …even hurt. Sheesh.

photo: John Cremers leads Christian Griffith, exiting the white loop.

High ho - high ho, to “Top of the World” we go

You know it’s coming.

You talk to yourself silently the entire first 8 miles or so to the spot.

“How am I going to approach top of the world this year?”

“Should I try to run? …walk when fatigued?

“Should I walk the entire thing hard, and use the banked energy for speed later?”

“Wonder how hot it’s gonna be out there all hot and exposed?”

Cross the bridge, hang a right… and,

THUMPIDY, THUMPIDY, THUMPIDY

“Dude …look out!”

“Whoa!”

WHOOOOOOSH!

“Holy sh$@!, did you see that!”

Dude behind me nodded, grinning from ear-to-ear, and said, “yep”.

Right after I crossed the bridge a big ol’ deer came sprinting down the hill, jumped the creek, and flew past my face about 10 feet in front of me. Close enough where I could feel the energy of all the mass flying past me.

Freaked me out.

I started looking for a second one coming up behind him, since they usually run in packs, but nope - he was solo, and I sighed in relief.

photo: SweetH20 course profile - click for larger version

You never get used to these hills

“Top of the World” is just plain hard. The series of hills consist of steep, rocky, calf-clenching climbs with even steeper, quad-pounding descents. The bright sunshine and heat was an added challenge since the hills are completely exposed, and the weather on this day was climbing into the mid-80s, with brilliant blue, cloudless skies.

During this first trip, runners have a very steep approach climb up a leaf-buried hillside before beginning the series of four hills - one baby, three killa’s.

Runners run down, and power hike up, run down, power hike up, run down, power hike up, run down, power hike up - zero flat - straight up, then straight down.

There is no easy way to handle it - just keep the ol’ head down, the heels up, the stride short and grumble-to-yourself as you move at a snail’s pace.

You just gotta open up

From a pure running performance perspective, I wasn’t having the best day. Mentally, I was excited and happy and driven for a solid course PR (personal record) - but my legs were just not cooperating.

I felt fatigue from the first tiny climb of the day, and that dead-legs feeling hung around pretty much the whole day. This was a very weird, unusual feeling for me. Typically, if I’m having a bad day physically, I struggle mentally too; but not today. I stayed very upbeat, happy and alive despite my weak physical condition.

There are some tough climbs, and lots of ‘em at SweetH20, but there are also many nice sections where runners can really open up, let the legs go, and chew up some miles.

I couldn’t seem to take advantage.

I felt like I was pretty much running the same, slow, mincy pace whether I was climbing, descending or running down a flat, pine-needle covered speed section.

I just couldn’t find a fast gear, ever.

But, if you’re ever considering this race, keep that in mind - as hard as it is, there are some really fast sections to take advantage of if you’ve got it in ya.

Halfway home

After the halfway-point aid station, runners enter the yellow loop, personally, one of my favorite sections in the park. A beautiful, flat and fast approach drops you off at the base of a very steep, creek-bed type climb that really chips away at runners this deep into the run. I saw many runners stopping on various sections of this climb, resting against trees, and trying to manage this lung-buster.

“Sorry to be breathing down your neck”

There was a girl behind me, huffing and puffing like crazy, but in a perfect rhythm, which I was sort of timing my steps to.

“No problem”, I said.

She must not have been too bad off - she passed me at the top.

Dying for a dip in the raging river

You spend a significant amount of time running with a wide view of refreshing looking river water. The water was calling me and I was dying to take a break and just flounder in the water like I would at Laurel Valley; but I knew the rope-assisted river crossing was coming and chose to wait for that little bit o’ fun instead.

We slugged through the backside powerlines section, up a short gravel road, and ducked deep into sloshing, knee-deep bush-whacked trail, before sprinting down a very steep, leaf-covered approach to the marquee race challenge - the river crossing.

And once we got to the rope, were presented with a waiting line, 15-runners deep, waiting to cross the river.

“Doh!”

Because of the conditions of rapidly moving water, the rescue team responsible for this potentially problematic crossing limited the rope to one runner at a time. It was definitely the right decision, and as much as I wanted to rogue it, I didn’t want to risk disqualification nor make things difficult for the RDs and volunteers.

So I stood in line like a good little boy.

I was bothered for about 30 seconds, but quickly got a grip.

This is what ultras are all about: Dealing with the unexpected. How you deal with the challenges you encounter in a very long, difficult mountain race can be very telling of your overall character.

Negativity breeds negativity.

And once I shrugged my shoulders and shelved the 5:45 race goal, it lifted a lot of self-induced pressure and actually made my second half of the race a lot better than the first half.

I’m 15.

What?

After the crossing, I ran with a 15-year old kid. It’s humbling to be toughing it out with a 15-year old only steps behind you. He seemed shy and didn’t really say much to me during the hour or so we ran near each other, but then, halfway up one of the climbs he yells out, “you know what? After I finish, I’m going to Zaxby’s for a basket of chicken fingers and a Coke!”

Running a 50K, but still I kid. {grins}

For some reason that made me laugh as I think of my own step-fella’ and the teenage love affair with chicken fingers.

The kid sort of dropped behind around the 22 mile point, but I hung around at the end to see him finish and shake his hand.

15 years old, y’all…

Let’s make it just a little mo’ harder

From the time you cross the river, the only thing on your mind is heading back out to “Top of the World”.

Here’s where I caught up to Florida runner Jeff Bryan, and together we ran down Jack’s Hill at a hobble. I want to thank whoever left the styrofoam cooler, at the top of the single-track steps, leading to Dave and Orlando’s aid station. It was full of ice cold Cokes and Mountain Dews, and came at a time when I was out of fluids, thirsty and craving sugar.

God, that Mountain Dew was good.

…and necessary, because the second trip to “Top of the World” hits you at about marathon-deep, 26 miles, and is harder than the first time you had the pleasure.

The race directors bring runners around the backside of the mountain this time, throwing a couple-four bonus climbs at ya, before taking you to that same grueling approach to the same series of grueling climbs known fondly ‘roun here as “Top of the World”.

But once it’s over, it’s time to sniff for the barn.

And I was sniffin’.

I was hot, fatigued and ready to wrap this beast up.

But no…

Feeling a little frisky, the RDs decided to cut a climb, straight up, from the trail along the river, to the blue-blazed ridge a few hundred feet above.

I mean straight-up. This is no exaggeration. Straight, freakin’ up!

This hurt me bad.

Mentally, it popped my “all-the-climbs-are-done” balloon, and physically it wore me down to a point where I had to use small trees for leverage, stumps for rest, and endured doubled-over gasping periods for some small semblance of recovery along the way.

This was totally unexpected and the grade was easily over 75% for a majority of the trek up.

“Please let this be it for the surprises”, I prayed to the trail Gods.

Put the hammer down

Perhaps “put the hammer down” is grasping a little for pace description, but I definitely was ready to finish and decided to run as hard as I could until I either fell out, or finished.

I passed quite a few people who seemed content to walk it in from the last aid station, but nobody I knew or I would have heckled them to start running.

I was fighting the fatigue with all I had, just kinda hoping that even though I lost 20 minutes at the river crossing, as well as a couple of minutes of self-induced, missed-the-flags bonus miles, I still had a shot at a personal record for the course.

Turned the corner, looked at the clock, 6:25:34 - a tad over 30 minutes better than last year, and a new personal course record for the SweetH20 50K.

But, if I choose to shave off the time I was stalled at the creek, I could claim a 6:05.

That’s cheesy and I won’t do it, but at least I know what I’m capable of doing under different conditions.

SweetH20 is big time now

This race will fill very quickly next year. It’s got its mojo now. It’s run very well, with an incredible volunteer crew, great RDs, and heavy southeastern following.

The Virginia runners came down here and did very well, but I’d also be curious to see what some of the Alabama gang could do here - we better see y’all next year.

10 Big Ups

I sorta hate to do this because I don’t want to forget anyone or any cool situation, but I wanted to take a moment to share 10 performances or circumstances that stoked me during this year’s race:

1. My friend of almost 10 years completing his first ultra distance - in 6:45!
2. More friends, Colt and Dale, completing their first ultramarathons - both also breaking seven hours!
3. John Nevels super-impressive 5:01
4. Matt Kahrs - what can you say about this kid? He’s a phenom and he’s coming for you West coast guys at Diablo next weekend. Watch this kid because I think he’s about to change things. You heard it here first.
5. Kate and Jon, ultraunning’s newest couple and uber-nice and positive characters, finishing together in 5:39
6. Sally Brooking, female masters winner and absolute hero of mine, rolling in at 5 hours, 24 minutes. Sheesh, girl.
7. Marty breaking 5 hours. Less than five hours on this course is impossible for me to even wrap my head around. Dude is a STUD.
8. All the GUTS runners and fellow club members finishing strong on a meaty course.
9. The Rogue Runner volunteers, Lerch’s, Cindy, Dave, Orlando, and everybody else who kept the positive vibe flowing and supportive cheering coming!
10. Seeing the biggest snake I have ever seen in my life on the blue-blazed trail with Andrew Hackett, Jeff Bryan and few hikers.

I’m not going to congratulate Spurgeon because I kinda wanted to beat him. I never really had that goal until I found myself in the same pack as him a few times, and kinda-sorta thought I could reel him in.

Nope.

No chance.

Never saw him again after about the second trip to TOTW.

Will this report ever end?

Maybe not.

I continue to feel more and more love for the sport of ultrarunning. I can’t believe, as I roll into June, that it was this very month, June 2006, when I first laced up in Las Vegas, NV to run three miles down the strip, working towards my new goal of becoming a runner.

Just’a fat, lethargic man in clunky fat-boy running shoes with wide-eyed, kid-like goals and dreams.

Sticking to it has been one of the best things to ever happen to me. I have made hundreds of new friends all over the country, and a few internationally, and I’ve learned that I LOVE to run.

Anything and everything…

I’m running all over the country, with all kinds of unique, cool and interesting people with opportunities popping up all around me and I’m loving every, single minute of it.

So, the question is - who’s headed to Chattooga 50K next weekend?

Get some!

photo: Christian gets excellent support from his crew.

I learned yet a little more about the sport of ultrarunning this weekend.

This race lesson wasn’t about pacing strategies, or nutrition tweaks, or gear selection, or which shoes to wear, or which shoes NOT to wear…

…as an admitted ego-maniac who loves “look at me”, this effort wasn’t so much about me.

Nope - this race lesson was all about the appreciation of a good crew.

I just got to play in the street for 10 hours.

Controversy? Snide Comments? …Did I hear Dangerous?

After last years Keys 100 Ultramarathon, some in the online ultrarunning world weren’t exactly “kind” about the race. Allow me to quote some of the post-race remarks after the 2008 race:

“…got an email from a friend who ran the Keys 100. As she called it, the Roadkill 100.  She dropped after fearing for her life on the highway.  Said it was very very dangerous…”

“…Only an idiot would run it…”

“I really can’t think of a much worse place to run.”

“It is one thing to run under harsh or hard natural conditions, something quite different to be forced into playing tag with speeding semis and lesser vehicles on US 1.”

Are you kidding me? For someone like me, after reading all that, there wasn’t a thing in the world that could keep me from trying this little piece of controversial kool-aid.

Don’t do it? …oh, I’m doing it.

A Dummies Guide to the Keys 100 races

Can I be sued for saying that? the Dummies thing?

Anyway, The Keys 100 consists of three races, all self-supported:

1. The 100-mile relay (6 team members running intervals of their choice)
2. Individual 100 mile racers
3. Individual 50 mile racers

If you’ve ever visited the Florida Keys, you know that there is only one main road in and out of the island chain. The road is called US1, and since it’s the only way in and out of the Keys, most of the local addresses are based on the green highway mile markers from the top of the chain, all the way down to southern most tip of the United States, in quirky little ol’ Key West.

The 100 mile runners (and relay teams) started the race in Key Largo, at mile marker 101 at 6:00 a.m.

The 50 mile runners started four hours later (10:00 a.m.) from Marathon, with all runners headed to their final destination of Key West.

photo: me and my crew chief, longtime pal, BonBon

Yup, there is intense traffic. There’s also intense heat, and in our case this year, the sun never, ever let up. Clouds with short, tropical showers the day before and the day after - but nutin’ but pure scorch on race day.

But, there’s also the unique and awesome experience of running in the tropics with the Gulf of Mexico over your right shoulder, and the Atlantic Ocean over your left.

In fact, during one particular skinny section, and just because I thought it was a cool thing to do, I threw some ice to the right of me, into the Gulf, and then immediately tossed some ice to left of me into the ocean.

Think about that for a minute.

That’s just flat-out cool, …kinda like standing with one foot on each side of the equator.

Goals a’plenty

In April, after running 50+ miles at the Delano 12-hour, I changed my registration in the Keys 100 from the 100-miler to the 50-miler.  At this stage in my ultra development, it simply made perfect sense to me to attempt to run the entire 50 miles of the Keys 100, with a goal of no walking on the course, as opposed to suffering through the 100-miler where my experience would be less of a race against myself, and more about just staying upright and alive.

Other unknowns also made the 50-miler a much more attractive option:

1. The race is self-supported.
2. As mentioned, I had a goal of running the whole thing without having to walk on the course.
3. This would be my wife and longtime bud’s first attempt at the art of crewing.
4. This would be my first time using a crew in a race.
5. The race is 100% road, and almost all my ultramarathon experience is running trails
6. I had NO idea how the intense heat would affect me and my crew.
7. I had no idea how I would deal with the hectic tourist traffic brushing along me all day.
8. I wasn’t confident that I had the right gear, or nutrition strategy, for even 50 miles, let alone the hundo.

Having vacationed multiple times in the Florida Keys, I knew the times would most likely be much slower than some other 50-milers simply due to the heat and the amount of crew time that would be necessary refueling and hydrating with a roaming crew.

With a generous 16-hour cut-off, I set a baseline goal of a sub-12, with a “good day” goal of sub-11, and a dream race goal of sub-10 hours.

Then, eight days from the race, I hurt my low-back doing some heavy dead-lifts without proper warm-up. Why was I doing dead-lifts 8-days out? I don’t know. I’m stupid, I guess.

I visited Doc Karen, the chiropractor, a few times which helped a bunch, plus lots of ice/heat, massages at night, chair support devices …and rolled into Key Largo Thursday afternoon, a heavy 205 lbs from no activity for eight days, still in a little pain, but trying hard to implement mind over matter.

I printed the maps from the web site, met briefly with my wife about it, and just like that, we’re at the pre-race meeting at the Holiday Inn, Key Largo, listening to the race director bellow out the warnings and cautions - the theme of the race is “take care of yourself”, and “don’t do anything stupid”.

Sounds easy enough. {wink}

The eyes of Miami upon us

Maybe it was me, but I found the crazy traffic along US1 to be a big help in the race.

Last year, I heard some horror stories about drivers purposely trying to run racers off the road, honking incessantly, and throwing things out the window as they passed. While there were instances of all of that, I really got a kick out of all the honking.

The Miami Herald ran a front page story about Sister Mary Elizabeth Lloyd, aka.the Running Nun, who was 60 years old and attempting to run the 100-miler in an effort to raise awareness for orphans with Aids. I believe this sort of attention probably cast a positive light over the race and set the scene for more traffic-tolerant, supportive drivers.

Hundreds of vehicle drivers and motorcyclists honked, waved, thumbs-up’d, and yelled supportive messages throughout the entire 50-mile trek.

The best though, or perhaps the worst depending on your ‘view‘, was getting mooned by a college girl who practically fell out of the passenger side window swingin’ that butt around.

Let’s call it section one

photo: I’m smiling because this is the easy part - bike path, first 4 miles

At 9:57 a.m., 65 nervous runners stood at the 51-mile mark in Marathon, Florida, nervously awaiting the 10:00 a.m. start.

It was already 85 degrees, with bright overhead sunshine, and I think it was right about then when people began to realize what we were in store for over the next 10 hours …or more.

The first four miles was a nice easy trot through the small town of Marathon, Florida, and I ran with an attorney from Sarasota. It was his fifth ultra, and I REALLY want to remember this guy’s name since he saved me 10 minutes before the start with a handful of Scaps! electrolyte tablets. (I forgot mine and would have been DEAD without ‘em)

After this nice four-mile trot, I met with my crew, grabbed an extra bottle, and headed towards the start of the long, seven-mile bridge.

photo: Top view of the seven mile bridge in the Florida Keys

For many runners, the seven mile bridge can be sketchy. There is VERY LIMITED space for which to run along the bridge and you are doing so, facing oncoming traffic with semi trucks, confused tourists, and high speed drivers coming at you non-stop.

There is also no crew access on the bridge, so you’re on your own during this long, hot, exposed stretch.

But probably the most troubling for some people is the fact that there is nowhere to get out the way. If for some reason you are faced with a errant driver, the only option is to jump over the barricade and drop about 65 feet into the ocean - that might suck a little.

But, as usual, I freakin’ LOVED IT!

I saw a bunch of dolphin, one of which might have been the largest porpoise I have ever seen. I also saw a huge loggerhead turtle swim by and tilt his head up, almost as if acknowledging me, before ducking back down into the deep and outta sight.

I loved the wild life, loved the water, loved the supportive traffic honking and waving and taking photos and video and yelling out support. It was awesome! Might have been my favorite section.

How about that? - everyone’s worst, became my best.

Note to self: never drink Gatorade during races longer than 10K

The breeze was strong, and for the most part at my back, making me feel light on my feet and very run-strong. …but I had a …umm …how should I say, “a bathroom super emergency” on top of that bridge.

And it would seem to never end.

My stomach gripped itself in these horrible pains down low and I knew the fructose in the Gatorade I was drinking was wreaking havoc on GI system. I knew if I didn’t “rectify” the situation shortly there would be a front page picture at the Miami Herald that might be even more popular than the running nun. All I could picture was me, squatting on the seven-mile bridge, with nowhere else to hide, taking care of business under the horrified glances of drivers flyin’ on by…

Ugggh.

But I made it the end of the bridge and Veterans Memorial Park without a moment to spare!

My apologies to the innocent older gentleman already in the park bathroom brushing his teeth.

My crew is better than yours

Ok, so I don’t know if that’s all true, but like a young kid who believes his Dad is the rootin’est, tootin’est, toughest hombre around, that’s how I felt about my crew.

Sure, compared to most, I had a small crew - just my li’l ol’ wifey Babette, and my longtime surfing bud, Matt “bonbon” Thornton; but for what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in attentiveness.

Every time I approached the crew vehicle they were there waiting with ice-soaked shirts, bags of ice, and freezing cold water to pour over my head.

Constantly pushing food in my face, even when I didn’t want it, but knowing I needed it.

Filling up my bottles with the speed of a Nascar pit crew …and making sure not to let me dilly-dally.

They kept me updated with my current place in the pack, and who was coming and who was starting to crumble ahead of me so that I might reel’em in.

They motivated me by telling me how strong I looked, and how solid I was running, and how they’d be at the next spot waiting for me with this or that…

I never had to think.

Just run.

4:57 at the Halfway Point

I felt good running into the 25 mile checkpoint. I joked around with the volunteers while my crew prepared some bottles for me, and left quickly, excited that I was on pace to satisfy at least one of my goals, and maybe even my dream goal of sub-10 hours.

The second half of the race felt a bit more baron with long stretches of mangroves, lots of stinky low tide smell, and iguana, squirrel and snake carcasses every mile or so. The bridges were always a welcome sight because I knew that once I got on the bridge, I would get a nice little cooling effect from the wind.

I started to pass a few people …maybe about four dudes, from miles 25-35, and although I was starting to slow significantly, I never started walking. I figured even my slowest run was faster than my fastest walk, so I continued on - not out of ego, but out of a desire to attain my goal of running the entire 50 miles.

Even though it was hot as you-know-what, I was having a ball.

The turquoise ocean and bay all around me.

The smell of the ocean.

The whole Island vibe.

The nature.

…even the sun and I had a very volatile love/hate thing goin’ on.

I’m all about the beach.

The beach is my home and I am content near, on, or anywhere remotely close to the water.

But it can’t all be sunshine and kittens

With about 15 miles to go, the low point set in. My New Balance 790s were soaked the whole race from both sweat and the buckets of ice cold water being dumped over head, and I started to form a small blister on the bottom, center of my left foot.

“dammit!”

I knew the last 15 miles was gonna hurt, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing you can do to stop one on the bottom.

So, like a good crew team, my wife laced up, threw on her Eminem-looking, 70’s sweat band, and started loggin’ miles with me; and let me tell you, it’s very humbling when your wife starts heckling you about your slow pace.

She’d run a mile, let me go another mile or two, and then run another one with me.

It was nice to have her there. Thanks, LuvPi.

Seeing single digits

Man did that 9-mile marker look good to me.

Something about knowing I was in the single digits, with only nine more miles to go, somehow made the pain go numb. I ran mile markers 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4 with decent speed - enough to make my wife ask me if I was sure I wanted to do this.

“Yea, I’m ready to wrap this up”, I’d say.

photo: Babette runs along with me during a gnarly construction stretch

Up and over the last bridge, and there it is - Roosevelt Blvd., Key West, Florida.

I ran alone from the 4-mile marker to the 2-mile marker where Babette joined me one last time to pace me to the finish. We ran along the boardwalk, fielding congratulations from runners’ crews, relay runners, strangers, and anyone else milling around the scene.

I got a little ahead of myself, ran too hard after seeing the 1-mile marker, and had to stop for fear of puking my guts out.

Less than a mile away, and I had to walk for a couple of split seconds.

“Rats.”

And finally, I saw the clock ticking away and I started a modified sprint to the sound of my wife and bud hootin’ and hollerin’ for me.

10:32 (although, I thought it was 10:35)

Success!

While I missed my dream goal of a sub-10 hour, I easily surpassed the sub-12, and sub-11 goals, and ran 99% of every step of the race.

I wanted to finish in at least the top-25, so getting a 13th (or 15th) place finish was a huge bonus!

But the real heroes were Babette and BonBon. They kept me going through incredible heat and the mental challenge I had been expecting. Without them, I can’t even imagine what the day would have been like.

If you two read this - thank you, thank you, thank you.

I know I’m an intense, maniacal dude who thinks the whole world revolves around him, but you guys really were the main ingredient that made this whole race, in fact the entire trip, a wild success.

Much love.

Technical stuff

So here’s some technical stuff and race tidbits that may (or may not) help individuals who might someday run this race, or any race like it:

• Heat kills - I expected to need two, one gallon jugs of water. My crew went through 10!
• Loved my 790s - I wore my favorite trail shoe, the NB790, and was glad I did. Although the race was all road, the road is gnarly, half melted, rocky blacktop, and the 790s just cruised right on through.
• Traffic - yup, there is lots of scary, hairball traffic and no, you don’t ever get used to it. Deal with it.
• Even pace was key for me - my splits were pretty close to even. Not as close as some people can do, but for me, 30 minutes slower on the second half is quite an improvement. I constantly paid attention to my pace based totally on ‘feel’.
• Crews win the race - as runners, we’re just pawns in their chess match. If your crew is good, you won’t be doing a damn thing but playing in the street.
• CrossFit folks e’rewhere - lots of CrossFit guys and gals running this race. Love it or hate it, we’re in the sport now.
• Bob Becker is one heck of a race director

I love the Keys, I love the tropics, and I loved this race.

Next year, I’ll be ready for the 100, I’ll just have to figure out a way to ensure BonBon and Babette will crew for me once again.

photo: day after the race, milling around Key West on mopeds.

Next up, one of my favorites - SweetH20 50K

Get some!

a li’l Preface: so, I’m sittin’ here feelin’ like everything is right in the world. It’s a beautiful, sunny day and the trees that surround my sun room are in full, luxurious bloom. Reggae music, and I mean molasses-smooth crucial reggae, is streaming melodically through my speakers and I feel a physical sense of completeness.

…even though I missed “completion” by a mile.

make that, …30 miles.

But I now have one of those stories. One of those experiences. Like surfing the raw expanse of Costa Rica, or paddling out at dangerous Pipeline on the north Shore of Hawaii, or being chased by waves the size of strip malls off Diamond Head, or the hundreds of stories in my head from teenage years of traveling the country skateboarding, …I now have another adventure notch that has made a significant and life-long impact on who I am as a runner and a person.

Yup, it was that cool. Check it…

Photo (left to right): Vic’tah, Three-kids-Tony, Suwee, C$ (that’s me), and Rockgut. Both Jeff (of Jeff and Nancy hiker support fame) and a thru-hiker were taking photos, hence some of us looking a different direction.

First of all, what is the SCAR?

From the email I sent to friends and family the day before leaving for he run:

“Five us are attempting to cross the Smoky Mountain range section of the Appalachian trail [AT]. The run is known in the trailrunning, ultramarathon world as the SCAR

The route is 71 miles, with 18,800+ feet of total elevation gain, with various summits as high as 6,700 feet (Clingman’s Dome). The run is completely self-supported since there is no way to bail out along the way except for Newfound Gap at 41.3 miles. This route is sometimes popular with hikers who usually carve out 5-7 days for this - we are going to try to run it 24 hours.”

Here’s a little more about SCAR if you’re ever considering it.

Whaddya want, signs?

“Dude, what time is it?”

“11:30″

“What??!! We need to get some sleep”

Five guys, hyped to the max, but a little lost on the edges of the Great Smokey Mountains National Park. Our goal was to drop my car at end of the 71 mile route, at Davenport Gap.

Finding a “gap” along the Appalachian Trail proved to be much more difficult than us “city geeks” had anticipated. Dashboard Garmin navigational toys are great for helping you find a Starbucks, but they can’t help much with trail landmarks.

We had to resort to good ol’ fashioned map reading …which whittled a group of business “professionals” down to collection of drooling, sleepy, stumblin’ dopes looking like they were trying to read braille.

Ok, so maybe not that bad, but I promise, before this year is over, I’m going to take an orienteering class. I learned, very succinctly, just how “resourceful-lame” I truly am when outside the comfort and convenience of the city.

In bed by 2:00, up by 4:30

We eventually stumbled upon Davenport gap in the pitch black.

“dude, shine your phone on that sign”, Jason yelled as we jumped out of the truck in the pitch black of a mountain road somewhere on the edge of the Smoky Mountains.

photo: Appalachian trail sign at Davenport Gap (which is really nothing but a mountain road crossing)

We found it.

But there was nowhere to leave the truck.

We found a ranger station about two miles away, transferred all of our gear from one truck to another, and set out for Gatlinburg, TN to get some sort of sleep before continuing preparation logistics, and hitting the trail by 9:30 a.m.

But we got lost. Sorta.

Bailed on Gatlinburg, found the nearest hotel, and tried to crash.

But who can sleep knowing that the adventure continues in about two hours? (well, that and the fact that two of the guys snored like buzzsaws - but let’s keep the stoke going)

Riding with Jeff

Up at 4:30a.m. and back on the road to drop off the “bail out” vehicle at Newfound Gap, and catch a ride from Jeff Hoch, co-owner of the well-known Hike Inn and friend to hikers and trail runners of the Appalachian Trail.

We hired him to drive us 40 miles to the start of the trek, Fontana Dam, a HUGE dam about one mile from the official start of the Appalachian Trail in the Smokies. This was a highlight of the trip. Dude was a character with a strong side of giving spirit coupled with an equal amount of grizzled, mountain-man rough edge.

He had great stories of hikers and ultrarunners, some who fared well, and some who experienced year-after-year of total smack-downs, only to keep coming back for more.

He warned us of bears and wild hogs, the latter of which had proven to be a real problem lately and he was especially cautionary with regards to them. Apparently these feral hogs (?) are nocturnal animals and not as easily scared away as the bears were supposed to be.

He says that he mostly discourages hikers from hiking at night, but said, “but you runners, …well, …it is what it is, I guess.”

Good answer, Jeff.

Giddyup boys

And just like that, we’re off on a nice, easy trot across the dam, up a short hill, and onto the Appalachian Trail.

…and immediately start climbing.

Two took the lead, two of us settled into the middle, and our “tracking” man brought up the rear. Vic’tah was carrying the SPOT tracking device for both safety purposes, and to test the device’s tracking capability. More on that later…

The first landmark was Shuckstack Firetower, at about 4,500 feet, and we must’ve climbed almost 3 miles to that Firetower, and it took us roughly an hour getting steeper and steeper as we got closer to the tower itself.

Rockgut already started getting blisters.

But alas, no Goldie Locks

We had settled into a series of rocky ups and downs when a crackling came across our radios we were all carrying.

“Guys, I gotta stand-off going on over here with some bears”

Three bears crossed the trail in front of Vic’tah and because we were all ahead of the bears, he was there all alone.

photo: Vic’tah takes a little souvenir parting shot as the bears moved on.

Being the self-centered friends that we are, we answered with,”Yell and scream and throw things”, and continued on.

Up one mountain, then down, nope, up, another mountain. Short downhill, then up another mountain.

“How is it possible to go up so much, but rarely go down?”

Can anyone really run this entire route? Really?

Even 75% of it?

I just don’t think so, but maybe I’m naive. This felt more like a fast-pack to me, than it did a run. I feel like I was power hiking ridge after ridge, running when I could, but in really small increments.

Early into the run, a few things became apparent to me for which I did not consider during preparation:

1. I’m not sure how heavy my two running packs were, but I had too much stuff, and all this added weight really increased the physical impact of each foot fall.
2. Just about every water stop involved a sharp descent, significantly off the trail; and also take note, just because there’s a wooden sign pointing to “water”, there’s no guarantee.
3. Heat. Temps shot well up into the 80’s and none of us were a single bit heat acclimated.
4. Food. I didn’t bring enough because I never imagined in 1000 years it would take me over 16 hours to go 42 miles. I’m not super fast, but seeing as how I did the hilly Pine Mountain 40-miler in 8:40-ish, I couldn’t imagine it taking me TWICE as long on the AT.
5. SCaps save lives. {this I already knew, but they saved me}
6. Talking to thru-hikers is very interesting and inspiring. I got jealous a few times.
7. My head lamp sucks.

Between miles 5-10, a section I’ll call “the shelters”, there were sections of run-ability within some really beautiful, rolling ridge lines. The footing would get pretty rocky and “dug-out” in sections, and of course, climbs would end up in the mix as well, but it was nice to open up a little and get my Tarzan on.

Through the trees I could see these wide-angle views of the huge, steep mountains and wide-open valleys, as far as the eye could see. This was pretty much the case all day.

Sometimes I’d just stop. Stand there. Think about taking a photo, but realizing that there is no way my little point-n-shoot could capture the scene like I was seeing it.

…so, I’d just take a deep breath, thank the trail Gods, and move on…

It reminded me of being surrounded by the loud silence of the huge Redwood trees in Humboldt County, California.

Sometimes nature has a presence that commands attention and respect.

“Welcome to the Terrordome”

After Spence Field shelter, the scene opened up into these sort of mountain top meadows with tremendous climbing.

I had no idea where I actually was, but I had a “feeling” I was approaching Thunderhead Mountain. It was an interesting mixture of incredibly steep climbing, but with mountaintop rewards of incredible views, easy, breezy winds, and bright sunshine.

Hard and hot, but heavenly.

By the time I got to the summit of Thunderhead, I could barely breath. The open summits had baked my skin in the 80+ degree heat and sucked the life out of me. I tried to radio the others, but no one responded.

I was all alone on the mountaintop, but really wanted to share, so I broke out the cell phone and Twitter’d a message to the world:

“…I’m sittin’ on top of Thunderhead, 5,527 feet…”

photo: Marker on top of Thunderhead Mountain - one brutal climb.

And then started down the other side.

Talking to myself during the steep, technical descent, I kept trying to remember the name of the mountain I just crested, and was now descending, but the name that kept popping into my head was “terrordome”, so I started singing Welcome to the Terrordome loudly and aggressively, as I tripped and stumbled down the northern side of the mountain.

Finally, some decent running

At Buckeye Shelter (or maybe Derricks Knob shelter), I learned that I was only 22 miles into the run, but had chewed up almost eight hours.

{sigh}

I caught up with Suwee and he was not doing very well. He was having trouble eating and was feeling very low. He decided to stay at the shelter and wait for Vic’tah who was a few miles back.

As quickly as I had found someone, I was alone again. I ran 95% of this run alone.

But after this shelter, the trail became incredibly nice. I was glad to finally get some good running in here and running actually lifted me out of this funk that developed from the constant slow grind of excessive technicality with relentless climbing.

I continued to sing, this time 80’s hip hop, and had a nice smooth trot going. I figured if I could keep this up, I could make up some of the time for this second half of the run.

Ten hours in, only 25 miles or so… from christian griffith on Vimeo.

Ran through a few shelters where the greeting from thru-hikers was generally the same:

“Are you one of the runners?”

“yea…”

“well, your buddies are about an hour ahead”

“yea, I know …keep an eye out for two more coming up behind me”

“ok, are you guys gonna run through the night too?”

“that’s the plan.”

“you’re crazy”

“I know, …where’s the water?”

Clingman’s Dome: My final breaking point

.
It was already dark when I rolled into the final shelter before the three mile climb to Clingman’s Dome, the highest point on the entire Appalachian Trail, from Georgia to Maine, at 6,643 feet.

I had all kinds of moments here that are really funny looking back. During this three mile, brutally long, technical climb, I experienced the following:

• Cussing like a sailor, swearing off ultrarunning forever
• Heard one, or more, of those wild hogs and started screaming frantically to make them, or it, run away. …even picked up a thick branch and ran with it expressing loudly to the mystery pig that I’d be having some bacon if he popped out of those dark woods.
• Saw two eyes reflecting off of my headlamp and jumped 10 feet. Literally felt my heart thump in my chest and I almost fell down. …it was a bunny rabbit. {sigh}
• I laid down on the trail multiple times for 30 second stints.
• Because I was so high up, my phone showed service, so I called my wife and proudly proclaimed I was bailing at 42 miles. She was relieved.

Finally, I arrived at the top of Climgman’s Dome, and thinking I was vey close, like less than a mile from the finish, I rejoiced and plopped my butt on the ground for a rest.

As I was resting and feeling beat-up but satisfied, I looked over at a trail sign:

“8.7 miles to Newfound Gap”

WHAT???????????

I don’t know what I was thinking, but I thought Clingman’s Dome and Newfound Gap (where our car was) were almost side by side.

They aren’t.

It was almost 10:00 pm, my light sucks and was already starting to dim, and doing the math, I realized that I was still going to be on the trail for 3 more hours.

I broke down.

I spent 10 minutes sitting up there trying to figure out a faster way to get out of this. Considered trying to descend the road to Clingman’s Dome and hitch-hike, but it was dark, no one around, and would have no assurance that I’d end up where I needed to end up.

I had no choice but to descend Clingman’s Dome, and make my way almost 9 more miles to Newfound Gap.

Out of water, out of food, in tremendous pain and the mountain just didn’t let up.

The last stretch was even more technical, more gnarly with steeper drops and step-downs, loose rocks, and twists and turns that confused the hell out of me since my whole world consisted of a dimming circumference of light.

Mentally, I just checked out and kept moving. Surprisingly, when presented with tiny stretches of runnable terrain, I could move pretty well, but they would last for maybe 20-50 yards max, and the trail would again become sharp rocks, drop-offs, or fallen trees.

Newfound Gap

At 1:30 a.m., I reached Newfound Gap. The first sign of civilization since hitting the trail 16 hours earlier.

I found Three-kids-Tony sleeping my sleeping bag on the concrete next to the car and Rockgut piled into the front seat with heat on inside the car.

“wow” was pretty much how I greeted the boys. It was pretty obvious that no one was in any condition to continue to Davenport Gap.

I knew Vict’ah and Suwee were still out there and I felt for them because the dark was really creepy in the Smokies - especially alone - but about 1.5 hours later, they arrived, having completed the last 20 miles together.

At about 3:00 a.m., we piled into the van, drove to a Gatlinburg hotel, and slept like babies for a few hours before heading home.

Success? Failure?

Well, we failed at completing the entire SCAR; but, I still feel awesome!

I wish that I could truly explain what I experienced out there. All alone, relying on myself for total survival in some of the most unforgiving terrain I have ever seen in my life.

It was really that gnarly.

You hear this alot, “tough terrain”, but until you’ve actually been out there and experienced it, you are probably not prepared for just how gnarly it really is.

We’re going back.

Like most who attempt SCAR and bail out early, it becomes that monkey on your back and you realize that 80% of getting through it is proper planning and preparation.

Logistics analysis

Next time, we’ll be better prepared and most likely will discuss some changes before the next attempt. I will mention these items both for my own reference as well as for others who may be interested in attempting the SCAR.

What I did wrong or can improve:

1. Packs: I need to figure out a way to carry less weight. I wore two packs, a Nathan and an Eddie Bauer 2-litre water pack. This was too much gear on my back and became a problem very early on.
2. Train: This is the wrong kind of thing to do on a whim. Next time, I will train with a pack before heading out for something like this without any pack experience.
3. Sleep: I really did not get any sleep the night before. Not one wink. This was a problem for me and most likely contributed to my early attitude decline.
4. Map: Vic’tah made maps for us complete with water locations, but I lost mine before we even started. I had to walkie-talkie the guys every time I was running low since I was clueless where I was and I ran 95% of the run alone.
5. Food: Like an idiot, I didn’t plan food properly at all. Throughout the entire 16 hours, I only consumed two beef jerkys and two small single-servings of Combos pretzels. What the heck was I thinking?
6. Route: I’m just not sure, but I have to believe that north to south would be easier. We climbed much, much more than we descended, so it stands to reason that coming the other way would offer more downhill sections - but, that being said, terrain is terrain, and that terrain is uber-gnarly whether climbing or descending.

What I did right or felt good about:

1. Water: Having both a handheld water bottle and bladder was a good idea for water management. I would drink the bladder dry, since I never knew how much water I had left in there, and then used the handheld to manage remaining fluids until the next creek.
2. Shoes: NB 800s was the right shoe choice. I never had foot issues, other than fatigue from the rocks. The terrain required the ‘bite’ of the 800 tread, and 790s would have been really tough for me at my level of minimalist-shoe development.
3. Shuttle: Three cheers for Rockgut for setting up the shuttle to the start. That made things easier and now that I know “Jeff”, I will use his services exclusively

So when is SCAR v.2?

Tomorrow.

Just kidding, but I’m going back soon. This is in my blood now. This was one of the most incredible journey’s of my short three-year ultra career.

So it’s back to the grind.

Back to training.

Back to the trails.

The Florida Keys race is up next - and I’m not underestimating a thing.

I mean, what’s not to love? The New Balance 790 trail shoes are light as a feather at a measly 7.6 oz., “ultra”-comfortable, simple, flat, …and quite honestly, look damn good with a pair o’ baggy jeans and t-shirt.

…but yea, I know what your thinking, and I also have issues with the tread - could be a little grip-e-er. The shoes could also dry a little faster when they get wet. …but all that gnarliness is what 800s, now 840s, are for.

For a legion of us, the MR790, for the ladies, WR790, is the best trail shoe ever.

Here comes the NB100, New Balance 100 Trail Shoe

This is all hearsay. I only know what I hear. I’m not an in-depth reporter, nor shoe reviewer with the “inside scoop”. I know a few dudes who work in shoes, and I ask around, and I put together other things to try to understand what’s happening.

A friend sent me some pics of the New Balance 100 trail shoe which, I was told, will be replacing my beloved and cherished MR790.

Oh man, I’m gonna say it - “those are some big shoes to fill”.

New Balance 100 Trail Shoe Pictures

Side of the New Balance 100 Trail Shoe

…the other side of 100s

NB 100 trail tread

NB 100 Trail Shoe Information

So whaddya think?

This is what I think I know, and more will be posted here as I learn more:

• The NB100 is supposed to come out sometime around October 2009
• The shoe is supposed to weigh a measly 6 oz.
• The shoe is rumored to be a collaboration between NB athletes Kyle Skaggs and Anton Krupicka
• The shoe appears to be quite a bit different in design

NB100 Updates and Web Information

I will add resource links and updates here as I find ‘em out:

• 4/19 update: Inexpensive 790s can be had in black for $44.90 - all sizes
• 4/20 update: I have learned that the 100 is now in the retailer/wholesale catalog for dealers.

The way ultrarunning used to be?

“Awesome”, said Matt Silva when he received his number at check-in. The number was a recycled Turkey Trot 5K number, presumably straight from Ray K’s 2008 race participation inventory.

Every race number was that way and every single one was unique. It was classic and in stark contrast to the new, white numbers runners get at most races.

Already, the race had character.

Standing on the starting line, which consisted of a line in the dirt that Ray K drew with his shoe, I was 100% clueless. None of us Crowders newbies had any idea what to expect.

Robert Youngren would be proud.

There was no race web site complete with race instructions, course maps, race reports, nor course descriptions - nothing.

Just a printable application, and a warning that they “reserve the right to refuse anyone who they don’t like from running in this race.”, and that’s it.

So standing at the base of Crowders Mountain everyone was sorta wondering what was about to happen, and just before the start, a female sheepishly spoke up and asked Ray K, “is the course hard?”

“it’s not impossible…”, he said.

Why not start with two miles of climb?

Ray said go, and the field of 16, or so, started the tromp up an inclined gravel jeep road.

It took me about 3 switchbacks to figure out the beginning of the race was going to be an uphill grind, straight to the top of Crowders Mountain. “Betta’ back off a little, this could go on for awhile”

It did.

It’s roughly two miles to the top, with some very steep patches - but all I could think about was the upcoming White River 50 miler and how I need experience with as many of these long climbs as I can find.

Bring it!

We ran to the top, danced across a rock garden near the communications towers, and began a steep and drastic downhill, including 588 steps built into the mountain. 

A chance to open it up

After climbing up and over Crowders, we took a hard left (thanks Mike Day for not letting me drift off), and dove into some rocky, rooty, rolling single-track trail.

My favorite.

Push off a rock, leaping to another rock… stutter-stepping roots, …mountain-bike type whoop-di-do hills, all tons and tons of fun for me. I really picked up the pace here. The weather was cool, the terrain technical and fun, and I was feeling fantastic.

Here’s where I want to applaud Sam and Ray, the RDs, for somehow providing EMTs, park officials, and law enforcement as aid station volunteers. This was incredible and a total first for me. More volunteers than runners, I think. Every single aid station was manned by someone tactical, radio-in-hand, and genuinely interested in the race success of the runners.

Each station consisted of just the bare essentials - water, Gatorade, ice, potato chips, and Fig Newtons.

Again, how I picture ultra races in the early years.

Pay attention, ’cause it’s out-n-back

Which I didn’t really do, and paid for it later, but we’ll get there in the story shortly.

The approach to the ridgeline trail was another gravel jeep road and here is where I may have had one chance to capture second place. I could see the #2 runner up ahead of me, but he was moving pretty well, and faster than me.

I lost him about as soon as I saw him.

The ridgeline trail was awesome. Lots of steep downhill running, beautiful foliage and nature all around …including pollen, and nice, wide-open single-track.

I still felt awesome, had a smile on my face, and was really enjoying the morning.

I love gettin’ my Tarzan on.

And before I knew it, there’s the sign designating two miles to the Visitor’s Center (Kings Mountain, maybe?).

This visitor’s center is the halfway point where 30K runners end their race, and 60K runners turn around and run the course backwards.

My carpool buddy, Matt, easily won the 30K in 2:17, and was there volunteering for the 60K runners.

Matt offered tons of encouragement, filled up my bottle, challenged me to catch the #2 guy, and shuffled me out of the aid station to prevent possible floundering.

30K down, 30K to go

I love halfway points.

Up until the halfway point, I always seem to count up in miles, but after the halfway point, I always count down. It helps me mentally and emotionally, I think.

And I needed help.

I have no idea what happened, but I went from feeling fantastic, to complete and total crap in less than two miles. The mile before and after the turn-around is extremely nice single-track that cruises along a creek, with lots of greenery, and LOTS of boy scout hikers. They kept encouraging me, telling me I wasn’t too far behind the 2nd place guy, and to “run hard”.

Great group of kids.

But dancing around them was unusually fatiguing for me - kids with heavy packs aren’t as agile as they could be, and I found myself starting and stopping and running off-trail since these water trails were so thin and the foliage so thick.

By the time I reached that same two mile sign, only now coming back, my legs seized up, my head went a little fishy, and I had to walk.

What goes up, must come down

Having to walk made me mad.

Worse, I’m already aware of my race idiosyncrasies and my habit of second-guessing myself during the middle portions of a race, so I start complaining to myself about so many back-to-back races lately, and “who do I think I am”, and wah wah wah…

…then Mike Day comes up behind me, extends his hand, and says, “Mike Day”, and I, being an insecure, sorry-ass, immediately start making excuses as to why I am now falling into fourth place.

He shuffles on, outta sight, and I’m still struggling, now feeling the intensity of the rising temperature, and trying to take inventory on my recent Scaps usage and fluid intake.

I couldn’t keep a thought and reasoning skills were not there - Not a good sign.

I walked about 1/2 mile and figured my wife would have me walking all day Sunday anyway, so I might as well pick up the pace and start running again.

It felt good to get the legs moving again.

“You must have rocks in your head”

Remember, earlier in the story, when I went on and on about the downhill running? Well, I was paying the piper on the way back.

I was sorta running on autopilot.

I was tired, but running anyway. I couldn’t really think very well, but ignorance was bliss at the time since too much reasoning might have caused me to slow again.

It was hot, and getting hotter by the hour.

I was noticing odd behavior by the EMT volunteers when I’d leave an aid station.

“why is that dude on the radio”, I thought to myself as I left one of the aid stations.

“hope he’s not talking about me”

Turns out he was.

Apparently, these guys were radioing back and forth and reporting on the condition of runners, especially necessary as the heat started kicking in.

I guess my reports weren’t too good, and as I found out later, Ray K had even thought for a moment I might be dropping.

At one station, the EMT asked me to sit down.

I refused.

He made follow a pen, with my eyes, side to side.

I passed, I guess, and he let me leave, but not before saying, “that boy must have rocks in his head.”

Next aid station… “Are you sure you don’t want to stop for a minute?”

“No, sir, it’s hot and I just want to finish”, I said with a smile and handful of potato chips. “Which way to the trail?”

It was right in front of me.

Road to recovery, trail-style

And just like that - like just about every race I do, I came alive.

Earlier, I had regained 3rd place, and got a lift from that, but now I was running the last 6-8 miles as hard as I had run in the beginning. I didn’t want Mike Day to catch me, and kept looking back at the top of every climb.

No Mike.

I sort of kicked into this weird, arm-circle, rhythmic run that seemed to keep me moving at a good clip with minimal exertion. It felt really nice and pleasant, and although I was tired, I was sure I was going to be able to run strong to the finish.

More hiker encouragement, more recognizable turns and landmarks, more excitement at getting close to Crowders Mountain again - all contributed to my improving state of mind and being.

…and then the steps.

A steep climb and 588 steps

The race director, Sam, his wife, and a few others were hanging around the last water stop, but I cannot, for the life of me, remember anything that was said or done at this aid station. I just remember drinking two large cups of Mountain Dew, and making my way towards the steep climb, and the 588 steps built into the mountain.

And yes, I counted each and every step. (however, I cannot confirm my accuracy)

At the top of the steps, there’s still a little more rock climbing to get through, with some technical rock gardens to negotiate, but I was feeling home-free.

Only two more miles to go and it’s all downhill from here.

Downhills are the devils of ultrarunning

The jeep road from the top of Crowders Mountain to the bottom is long, steep, and fast.

Super fast.

My quads and calves were screaming, causing me to scream out every now and then myself, and ask every single passing hiker, “how far to the bottom, dammit?”

I was getting a little grouchy.

But sure enough, I see the picnic tables, and Ray K standing at the make-shift finish line, holding his watch and counting down to sub-7.

6:59:33 - good for third place and finishing just about where I wanted.

A race, or a gathering?

This felt more like a gathering than a race. Ray K is one of the most colorful and entertaining characters in the sport, and I was honored to participate in the event. Sam Baucom, and his wife, did a tremendous job ensuring that the runners were well taken care of, without adding a bunch of unnecessary fluff.

The EMTs and other volunteers were priceless, the course was challenging, the other runners were all class acts, and the weather was gorgeous, albeit a bit a hot for my level of 2009 heat acclimation.

I think the single element making this course as tough as it is comes down to the easier sections near the turn around. How a runner manages these easier sections is important because miles 24 and later, are really, in my opinion, the most difficult sections in the race.

Hope I’m not giving away the secret.

See ya next year.

I had to write my report right away.

Like an excited kid, I’m all proud.

The ING is a hilly course, and 3:47 is not fast by most judging standards, but it’s a giant improvement for me and a positive nod in the direction of my chosen training methods.

My first marathon (2006) was a chunk over five hours.

My last years ING was 4:37. 4:50, I think, year before that.

I slapped my PR around by 12 minutes (2008 Atlanta Marathon), and took back over 40 minutes from last years ING race.

This is one of those experiences that is good to share with kids because it’s pure proof in the power of hard work.

It feels good to work hard and have it pay-off.

It just does.

Next stop 3:35, right?

Simply tons of fun

For this trail fanatic, “Tons of fun” is the best way to describe the Oak Mountain 50K race course.

Varying terrain throughout with challenging ups-n-downs, rocky trail sections, periodic crushed-gravel-speedy-sections, thin single-track, nice views, interesting rock croppings, and trippy trees — all the things that excite devoted trail runners.

Although it may not have been in my best interest to run this race after completing 52 miles just last weekend, I did it anyway, and had a great time, with some great runners.

Getting right to it

The first section of the Oak Mountain 50K, to me, was the most challenging. There were a lot of ups-n-downs, in rapid succession, which makes it difficult to get into a running rhythm; furthermore, you’re fresh, which makes running the hills attractive and “seemingly” easy.

That’s the thing about Oak Mountain. It might not have the serious climbs of Mountain Mist or Mount Cheaha, but it does have a lot of these “seemingly” easy climbs. I feel I have a very unique appreciation of this relentless concept having run the the Superior Sawtooth 100, and getting my butt kicked by a similar “relentless hill” phenomenon.

See, here’s the deal: when there are definitive, steep climbs in a race, 99% of the field is going to power-hike these beasts at some point. While they might be difficult climbs, runners do get the opportunity to recover a little during these power hikes, and in the case of the other two Alabama races mentioned above, are usually presented with a lot of runnable ridges where a running rhythm can be set for a significant number of miles.

But through much of Oak Mountain, you are presented with hill climbs that make you say to yourself, “ahhh, that’s not so bad, I’ll just shimmy on up this one.”

Then another one.

Then another.

Then another.

Next thing you know, you’re running a lot of little hills, and they are slowly chipping away at you, making the energy expenditure add up to big hills. …a sort of trick-er-ation.

Because I’m stupid

Up, down, around a lake, and I’m feeling fantastic!

Running everything, chatting to people, scurrying up hills…

Hit the first water spot, then climb a hill, run down, dip into a moist, humid gorge, cross a crazy, rickety swinging bridge, and…

…and oh, NO!

Chafe.

“already??!!”

Dammit. I’ll never ever learn.

Packing for the race the night before, I had run out of compression-type shorts to wear underneath my Race Ready shorts, and just figured, “ah, no worries, I’ll be fine.”

So stupid.

And, to make matters worse, when I ordered my Race Ready shorts, I ordered medium length, thinking they would be, well, medium length.

Evidently, Race Ready and I have much different views regarding “medium length”.

…much to the heckling enjoyment of my friends, I might add.

I’m showin’ so much leg in these things, that when I returned home from the race, my step-fella’s sleep-over friend asked me why I was wearing my boxers… {sigh}

So anyway, I started chafing 4 miles into the race, so you can imagine how the remaining 30 miles felt down there. One thing about chafe - once it starts, it never, ever leaves your mind the entire event.

You can shift your shorts around, run with a wider gait, bob and weave around with your hips, but you aren’t escaping it.

Period.

Seven miles of a slice of trail heaven

I loved the section after the first aid station. After a significant climb, and meeting “Summer”, a buff female runner with all kinds of torque who passed me like I was standing still, we were presented with some really nice trail running. Gorgeous, rocky single-track, all really easily runnable and just too damn pleasant.

I was hurting a little with the chafe, plus of course, I went out too fast, and started to fall a couple of spots in the pack; but, I knew “this too shall pass” and simply charged right on through the low point.

As we neared aid station #2, about 14 miles into the race, I missed a sharp left in the rocks during the Peavine Falls approach descent, and started running across a bridge and up a hill, before I realized no one else was around.

Doh.

But, a more coherent female, who, by the way nipped at my heels all freakin’ day, pointed me in the right direction, and I was back on track.

The only really tough climb is here at Peavine Falls, where runners actually climb straight-up, parallel to the waterfall, using hand-over-hand techniques, random branches, creative footing, and any other strategy in a hill climbing repertoire.

Rolling into aid station #2, I had a grin a mile wide.

Running through the sky

After the second aid station, the course runs along a nice creek before beginning a long, gradual climb to the highest point in Oak Mountain State Park.

Running around up here was my kind of running - very technical, short, steep ups and downs, loose rocks, …you know, …all kinds of potential danger. I really love it gnarly like that.

Sometimes, I think I actually growl out loud on sections like this.

I definitely cuss.

After running a mile or so, maybe more, on the mountain top, runners are rewarded with a blistering, technical descent, where I got smoked by some shirtless kid who came outta’ nowhere.

I must’a been slow on the rocks above, because he literally came out of thin air, blew by, and was gone just as quickly.

Chatting with mountain bikers

After aid station three, about 21 miles into the race, we began a very long, gradual five or six mile ascent, back to the Peavine Falls aid station.

The first few miles travel up a wide and rocky mountain-bike trail with lots of creek crossings. As I scooted up this section, I came across many mountain bikers struggling to get up the hill. They were either geared too high, and working too hard, or they were geared too low and peddling like cartoon characters.

Whatever though, they were all really nice and supportive, and very curious about the race. Some were particularly chatty …where I was not.

This is where I met Alan. Alan has a nice family, but I digress…

Just before getting off this bike trail, and ascending a gorgeous section of the Green Trail, I looked behind me and there she was… that girl that steered me correctly at Peavine falls, nipped my heels coming into aid station three, and really pretty much stayed right behind me the whole race.

It stressed me out, so I pretty much ran hard the whole way back to Peavine, to the last station, hoping to shake her. {hey - it’s ok to be a little competitive}

It’s all gravy from here

It sure was.

I came alive here, but that’s typical for me since that’s “how I do”.

I go out too fast, then I struggle, complain, make excuses, and doubt myself all through the middle of the race, and then wake up, like an excited kid on Christmas, towards the end.

The last 6.x miles of the race is fast and furious. It’s primarily downhill the entire way. I didn’t believe it when I heard it, but it’s 100% true.

I flung my body down the hill and let gravity do all the work.

Smelling the burgers

This is a great way to end a race. Lots of downhill and flat-ish running, knowing you are getting closer and closer to Miller Time, and savoring that mental and physical state of anticipation at being close to the finish, while managing some hard running, with a fatigued and battered body.

I swear I smelled the burgers before I saw or heard the finish line.

The trails were winding all over the place, sorta making you feel like you weren’t getting anywhere, and thus adding to the finish anticipation that much more.

But coming around one last corner, I could see the road and the pavilion and the race clock (6:34) and the cones, and I got that feeling that I hope every race finisher felt - complete satisfaction.

It wasn’t my speediest time, but man, I had a blast!

Notes and noticeables

The Oak Mountain 50K is a great race on some incredible trails.

I really had a great time at this race. I had so much fun running these trails - even chafed - and I’d love to come out to Oak Mountain again, race or otherwise, and play some more on those beautiful trail sections.

Especially the Green Trail.

Below are some of the things that made this race special:

• Seeing many of the same ultra buddies. I have so much respect for those in our sport, and when everyone is together it’s just cool.
• Meeting new folks like Alan, Summer, Keith, Sonia, the Cascade Crest dude, …and I can’t believe I forgot her name, but that heel-nipper that stressed me out the entire race. {grins}
• The finisher beer glass was very creative and cool - and put right to good use immediately after crossing the finish line.
• Jamie Henderson is one of the most supportive runner spouses I’ve ever seen. She’s at every aid station and interesting junction, snapping pictures and offering positive support. Jamie, you rock! ..and Todd, you gots ya a cool wife.
• John Dove makes me laugh a lot. Even when he’s not being funny.
• Vikena Yutz, local ultrarunner and GUTS member, had a very impressive finish - PR - and it’s a longer course. Nice.
• Dwayne Satterfield won, humbly, and has made himself that much cooler in my book.
• Beverly Anderson-Abs ran the race, and won the female division. 2nd overall, I think.
• Aid station folks were top-notch and very helpful and attentive. Thank you all.
• Rob Apple was there finishing, I’m guessing, somewhere around his 540th-ish ultramarathon, and yep, I took another photo with him.
• Where’s Dink?

I’m sure I forgot some things, and you’re probably sick of reading by now anyway; but, this is a race not to be missed.

If you don’t run ultras, this right here is one good reason to start.

It doesn’t get much better, or more pleasant than running Oak Mountain.

———————————–

The race is rumored to be 33 miles instead of the typical 50K distance of 31 miles, but I didn’t wear a Garmin. If anyone knows the actual distance, please email me.

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The whole way up to Decatur, Alabama, I kept wondering if I could really handle it.

If the weather channel was right, it was going to rain, at varying intensities, from Friday ’til Tuesday, straight-through, nonstop.

Can I really run in 100% rain, with soaking wet clothes, for 12 hours straight?

one, two, …even three hours, no sweat; But twelve hours of nonstop rain-running?

I love ultrarunning, but that sounds like cement shoes, blisters, chaffing, and nipple rash to me.

I was a little worried…

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Ended up having one of the best ultra experiences so far.

Up’air just’a ways

I’m not going to hate on the town of Decatur, AL because the people we met were as gracious and kind as possible; but, not a community where accurate navigation is of much importance.

Trying to find a restaurant:

Them: “O, you gotta try Logan’s Steakhouse if you want a good steak”

Us: “cool, how do you get there?”

Them: “You turn right up ‘ere {pointing vaguely north}, and go 4 red lights, turn right, then turn left, go down a  ways and it’s right there on the right, …er, left.”

Us: “ummmmmmm…”

After one hour, and four unsuccessful and further confusing phone calls to the restaurant, plus yet another helpful shopkeeper’s “directions”, we finally stumbled upon Logan’s Steakhouse where I enjoyed a 12 oz. fillet, mushrooms and three lobster tails as a monster pre-race feast.

The restaurant’s parking area was starting to flood, and it was impossible to get back to the car without dancing ankle deep in parking lot puddles

“Oh my God, what’s tomorrow going to be like?”

The three amigos, off to Walmart to buy rain gear, ponchos and a tarp.

12:00 a.m. 

still raining.

4:45 a.m. 

yep, still raining.

5:00 a.m.

Weather channel shows rain from that very moment clear through to tuesday.

nice…

6:00 a.m.

Those of us running the 12-hour race stand in the dark rainy Delano Park pavilion at 6:00 a.m. ready to physically, and even more so, mentally, tackle the one mile loop.

The Delano 12-hour race is a timed running event where runners circle a one mile, mostly flat course, in an attempt to collect as many miles as possible. For fifty miles, runners would endure a measly 500 feet of elevation gain, and 500 of elevation loss, making for stronger times than your average rugged trail ultramarathon.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1 - Go!

And like that, 54 runners hit the sloppy trails of Delano Park.

’bout 47 degrees, semi-hard rain, a bit of wind, and dark; and I loved it.

The Runners

Perhaps I’m just getting to know more people in our sport, but for me, the best part of the race was all the other runners. Some of whom I see at many races, and some new friends made along the way.

It’s always cool to run in the midst of the Huntsville Fleet Feet crew. They read my ramblings on the ultra email list. They know I’m half crazy with my intense desire to figure out this sport, but they always treat me with friendly respect and offer lots of support, knowledge and camaraderie. Props to the Fleet Feet gang for being such cool ambassadors of East Coast ultrarunning.

photo: Dink Taylor enjoys a post-race beverage after slaying 50 miles in 6:54!

Also at the race was Jamie Donaldson, 2008 Female winner of the Badwater 135-mile race, and a member of the 24-hour National Team. Being a sort of ultra-groupie, I was stoked to hear she was running the race, and I couldn’t wait to watch her. 

What stood out most? Her focus. 

Jamie has mad focus, yo.

photo: Jamie Donaldson finishes the 78th mile to win the Delano 12-hour

Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing Matt Kahrs

But, for us, the story of the day was our local boy Matt Kahrs. 

Matt is a brand new ultrarunner and is absolutely made for the sport. Besides being a phenomenal runner, he’s one of the most positive, bouncy, happy and stoked participants on the course. Anytime, anywhere.

Matt led the race for 85% of the day before finally giving up the lead to Jamie, but we did our best to keep him on the track so that he could blow his personal best outta the water. 

For someone who’s never gone beyond 50K, he stoked the entire field by logging 75 miles, with a smile on his face, with almost no pacers, and came 3 miles from tying the course record!

photo: congratulations Matt, you did Georgia, GUTS, and all of us very proud.

And within all these great performances there were all the things that make ultra races so great. Trail conversations with the usual friends like Spurgeon, Jason, Victor, …and new friends Clinton, Debbi and Lynn (57 miles! - nice job ladies)

Picking up the pace

Around mile 46, I started doing the math and thinking that, even though I was fading, if I picked it up a little, I could get, what I thought was, 50 miles in under 10 hours. 

I pushed the pace hard for the last 4 miles, and finished my last lap in 9:56, opting to quit at my goal of 50 miles and save myself for more training and racing.

While I thought that last mile was my 50th - the race web site says 52 miles - good for 17th place in a field of 54 starters.

This would be a first for me since I’ve never done 50 miles in under 11 hours. …and also my first sub-six 50k, since I got my 31 miles in 5:30-ish.

Keep running, Christian

I am convinced that the more I run, the better runner I become.

My growing strategy, which seems to be opposite from what many others tell me I should do, is to run as much as I can. I ran 96% of this race, walking only near aid stations while I hydrated and fueled, and never walked a complete lap.

This is the how I want to train.

I took an email list beating from the walk-some / run-some crowd for my stubborn belief that more running will make me a better runner; but I just don’t care. I am watching the people whom most inspire me and the common denominator in them all is strong, hard running.

I’m nowhere near there yet, and I don’t have 1/4 of the skill of many of those elites that I watch and learn from, but dammit, I’m gonna try and see how close I can get.

Find my ceiling, if you will.

Like the saying goes, “strive for excellence, achieve good - strive for perfection, achieve excellence”

I just want to keep improving. As long as that continues, I know I’m on the right track.

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Thanks to the RDs, a great group of guys and very attentive hosts. Thanks to the aid station ladies for all their support, lap after lap, and all the sugar-coated, marshmallow Easter chicks.

Thanks to my boys for putting up with me for four hours there and four hours back. The three amigos (that’s us) had a great trip, running good miles, and talking lotsa smack.

‘nother one down, boys. Another one down, and plenty mo’ to go.