Me neither…

Until today.

The trippy little community of Serenbe

I’m not sure that I’ve really ever been to a “planned community” before.

And I’m not sure exactly what to think. Yea, it was beautiful with it’s big pastures of horses, wide open spaces, and miles and miles of gorgeous hiking trails; but it was also just a teeny-tiny bit creepy in a “us and them” kinda way.

I’m probably just jealous I don’t live there.

The little 15K that could

The coolest thing about this race was having my wife out on the trail. It was her first trail race, AND her first attempt at 9.3 miles. We didn’t get to run much together, but she likes it better that way anyhow. {sigh}

photo: Wife and I, and yes, I wear my 100-miler finisher jacket any time I can.

The race started at the center of the little community of Serenbe. We ran through the center of the pleasant-ville-ish town with it’s big country homes, neat little shops, art galleries, and restaurants, before crossing a pasture and entering some muddy jeep road.

And that’s where it happened…

This deer comes flying through the woods, right alongside all of us. It’s frantic acting, running really fast and wobbly and scared.

I felt bad for it.

The deer tries a couple of times to cross the runners’ path, but there doesn’t seem to be a gap he’s comfortable with entering.

Then he just charges it.

Runners bob and weave out the way, but one lady does not see him, or she freezes up or something, but the deer just plows right into her, twenty feet in front of me, spinning her around, and sorta’ forcing her up against this big, wooden farm fence.

It was crazy.

Less than a minute later, another deer, this time a buck, comes flying across a field, ducks his head, antlers and all, and charges right across the runners’ path.

Luckily, no runners were in his way.

From that point on, I watched for deer like a hawk, but never saw another one.

Is there such a thing as too pleasant?

What a great race. I settled into a semi-fast pace for myself, and just cruised through Serenbe trails.

We ran through double-track, single-track, pastures with beautiful horses, cute little donkeys (which my wife adored immensely), and goats, sheep, and roosters.

Some trail was rugged, but mostly it was well-manicured, wide and smooth with fallen leaves, creating nature’s more ideal running surface.

I was in heaven. I could have run out there all day. I was sorry to see it end.

My wife was …smiling?

My buddy crossed the finish line in 1:18, and I followed behind at 1:21. I had hoped to run a little faster, but unfortunately showed up with extremely sore quads from a nasty CrossFit workout.

I didn’t care though, ’cause I had a fabulous race. My fitness felt dialed-in and I never once had any trouble at all, …but I started to wonder about my wife Babette.

I had better back-track, find her, and run with her to finish the race.

“oh, man, Christian, she might be mad at you with all this mud and stuff…”, my buddy says.

“yea, I know.” - “She’ll probably scream at me and tell me not to run with her or talk to her.”

(she doesn’t like to talk when she runs)

But surprise, surprise, here she comes, about a mile from the finish, and she’s smiling.

Woo hoo! She doesn’t hate me.

She crosses in 1:55-ish, and I couldn’t be more proud of her.

Way to go Babette! You ran 9.3 miles like a champ.

You’re gonna kill the Atlanta Thanksgiving Half-Marathon!

Nothing like beer at 10:00 a.m.

You gotta love a race that cracks open the keg as the runners trickle on in at the finish. A couple of cold ones, a little socializing, and we were on way back to the real world of traffic, crime, and pollution.

Chalk up another great trail race.

This one might become a tradition. It’s just too damn pleasant.

photo: Babette cruising the trails, one mile away from her first trail race finish.

Serenbe 15K race results

Check out the Serenbe Community

Oh yea, this has me written all over it.

Self-supported race, with beaches on both sides, run in 90+ degrees, heavy humidity, treacherous running environments, with lots of potential hazards and multiple possibilities for real danger…

Yummy.

I registered with enthusiasm.

But you love the trails, why run a road ultra?

I dunno really.

I do love the trails. Every ultramarathon I’ve run this year {2008} has been mountain trails and I enjoyed each and every one of them; but I’m interested in branching out in 2009, tossing in some ultramarathon variety.

I love ultrarunning and want to try everything that sounds cool to me. I want to taste all aspects of the sport from point-to-point races, to timed races, to trail races, to road races and everything in between.

You only live once, ya know.

Planning the 2009 Race Schedule - Some new, Some old

So far, 2009 is shaping up with three 100+ mile races.

• Across the Years - To ring in 2009, I’ll be running the 72-hour track race at ATY outside Phoenix, Arizona. My goal is to log 175 miles over the 72 hours. Will I sleep? Maybe not.
• Keys 100 - Simple enough. Start at the highway mile-marker 101 in Key Largo and keep running until you fall off the continent at the edge of Key West. I love it. Unique in many ways.
• Superior Sawtooth 100 - Quite simply the most difficult challenge I have ever encountered. Naturally, I must go back and do it again, right? This race changed me as a person in ‘08.

Now, of course, in between these 2009 marquee events, I’ll sprinkle in some 50-milers, 50Ks, the usual marathons, and lots of 5 & 10Ks. I’m certainly running the annual Peachtree Road Race, the ING Marathon, the Atlanta Marathon, the Sweetwater 50K, Mountain Mist 50K, Laurel Valley …and a bunch others, so if you’re down, come get your running groove on with me.

Need a place to stay in Georgia to run some local races? - hit me up - just make sure you’re ok with dogs, ’cause we got’em and they’re big ol’ boys and girls.

2009 is going to be a great year!

Stump Jump runners, you know the one I’m talking about. Trottin’ along that bright green, over-grown, thin single-track ridge, just’a ’bout one mile before “the loop” portion of the lollipop course - stops you dead in your tracks, huh?

“wow. nice.”

The view makes the mountains look huge, and the river look cool as those ridge temps rise, and once again you’re reminded you why you love the trails so much.

Welcome to Stump Jump.

Fancy 50K

Stump Jump has more of a marathon feel. Lots of big name sponsors, thick swag bags, expensive product giveaways, and flawless race management. Not to mention a slew of runners from all over the Southeast - many of whom have made this race an annual deal.

It’s easy to see why.

The usual local speedsters were there - Todd Henderson, Marty Coleman, the Whortons, Youngrens etc… and the race certainly carried a strong runner-family vibe that made post-race chillin’ very comfortable.

So you think your special?

I guess I am so cocky, living in my own head of la-la-land, that I don’t believe I need to ever recover. Like somehow, even though I am still a newbie, I don’t need to take recovery seriously.

But, since September 7, after completing my first 100-miler, I have succeeded in avoiding rest almost completely. Instead, I found myself:

• CrossFit competing, locally and nationally, with Fight Gone Bad (twice)
• Busting a 10K for time so that I could secure a good Peachtree qualification for ‘09
• Pacing my son in another local 10K
• Practicing the olympic lifts and kettle bell training incessantly
• and of course, now running the Stump Jump 50K …and sadistically shooting for a PR

Well, the PR wasn’t gonna happen. People who know the course quickly assured me of this fact, which only made me feel silly and stupid; but worse, I really had no business running a 50K at all right now - with or without all the ridiculousness I’ve been involved in over the last 30 days.

I wasn’t recovered.

So there, I got it out of the way. I had to say it, but I won’t dwell on it. The race itself deserves much more than me droning on about my idiocy regarding my over-training, lack of rest/recovery, and obsessive disorder to run myself into the ground.

Pun intended.

A first time in the Tennessee mountains

Surprisingly, this is the first ultramarathon I have run in Tennessee. Chattanooga is a cool little town, with some rugged mountain trails, and I sort of fell in the love with the place from packet-pickup, through our night on the town, and on into the vibe at the race start.

I rode up Friday night with Jason Rockman, a local speedy dude, and after swinging by Rock Creek Outfitters to gather our race packets, we headed to out for a pre-race meal of bone-in ribeye steaks and salad …and one, …well, maybe two, micro-brews at Big River Grille.

Ready, Go!

Standing in the dark, crowded parking lot, as the race director was shouting out the last of the race announcements, he asked, “how many people are running their first 50K?”

Lots of hands raised. Like, about of a quarter of the group…

“God help us all”, was his last comment.

And with that, we were off.

First trip up “the stick”

The race course is shaped like a lollipop.

Runners head up “the stick” of the lollipop which begins with some trail that seemed to probably be part of a high school cross country course. Well manicured, with some tiny gravel mixed in, and gently rolling.

This is a good place to pick up the pace early if you’re feeling strong because the trails in the first handful o’ miles are double-track wide and not-too-technical.

The “easy” part ends after the first aid station, and runners are presented with a very fast, technical descent, followed by a steep ascent, before yet another very fast and technical descent. Some of these descents were hairy when negotiated with quick feet, and a couple of times I felt the fears of a misstep.

After aid station 2, Suck Creek Road, the “stick” of the lollipop becomes a stretch of rocky, ridge-running, which presents a bunch of vast, gorgeous views - but don’t take your eyes off the trail for too long or you’ll become acquainted with it up close - and with a thud.

Loopy in the loop

The loop part of the course felt very different to me. It was darker, gloomier …felt more remote; and for the most part I was really enjoying it. A few hills, but nothing crazy, and although the feelings of over-training were rapidly descending upon me, I was in trail running heaven.

Then the rocks came.

er, boulders…

There was this ridiculous boulder field that during any other time, I might of thought of as cool; but not at that moment. All the pains experienced during, and post, my Superior Sawtooth 100-mile race, were coming back to visit me - and coming back hard and strong.

I might be wrong, but to me, it seemed this boulder field was at least a mile long if not longer. My legs took a beating both from slippin’ ‘n jacking them on other rocks - to - simply tweaking and cambering my ankles and feet in odd stepping contortions from one rock to another.

Again, normally, I’d love this, so I’m sure others probably liked this stretch, but in pain, it made for a difficult challenge.

Then, of course, comes the notorious 17th mile climb.

A steep dirt road makes for some interesting foreshadowing. Once runners take a sharp left off the dirt road, the trail gets even steeper, heading straight up.

It’s tough.

But it’s still not as steep as the climb out of… well, I’ll get to that inna’ minute…

After that welcome summit, runners get a little more single-track, forest running, to finish the 10.5 mile loop.

Back on “the stick”

This stretch at the end of the loop, to Suck Creek Road about 4.5 miles away, was some painful running for me. Although we had run it the opposite direction in the beginning, it seemed at lot longer with 21 miles on the legs.

I saw some casualties on this stretch.

Runners sure can bellow some pretty unique noises during a good bust-ass, and sure enough, I heard a familiar, yet one-of-a-kind, loud grunt, followed by a thud.

Rounding the corner, I laid eyes on a bummed out guy sitting on a rock, rubbing and cringing from a calf cramping dirt dive.

I just have to say, that the climb out of Suck Creek Road is just plain, east-coast-no-switchbacks hard. I was woozy and walking up the mountain like I was drunk.  The beginning and end of this section, to the 28 mile point, is really, really steep and I had to use my hands to finally crawl up and out to that last aid station.

A little surge to the finish

The guy I rode up with is completely opposite, but when I realize I am within five miles of a finish, I tend to find some new found energy and extra pain threshold.

I started to push it a little for much of the last stretch to the finish, running strong, and passing a few people who snipped me earlier.

I crossed the finish line in 7:17 disappointed, very tired, loopy, and hungry.

And that was it.

Nothing glamorous.

No nutty experiences.

No Spiritual awakenings

No new friends.

Just a solid realization that I am significantly over-trained, under-nourished, and in need of rest.

The Stump Jump 50K is a top-notch event, perfectly run with awesome swag bags, giveaways, and post race experience; but this is the lamest race report I’ve ever written.

I guess that just happens sometimes.

I did it. I got my first 100-mile trail race belt buckle; however, I share this buckle with the Superior Sawtooth aid station volunteers, my new friends Molly and Brian, and every other runner out there on that beautiful, but brutally technical, race course.

As I lie here in bed at the Caribou Lodge in Lutsen, MN, I am in complete pain and suffering intense exhaustion. I spent a straight 38 hours on that trail. I went to Hell and came back again. As if the trail itself wasn’t enough to shatter a runner, the trail Gods were relentlessly throwing every possible additional challenge my way. I suppose they wanted me to truly earn that buckle.

Physically, I feel like I’ve been run over by a pack of moose; but emotionally, I am a different person today. I am humbled. I am amazed. I have increased my faith in people, …in the human spirit, and experienced some of nicest, most helpful individuals on this Earth. I simply can’t say that enough and you’ll read why.

Lastly, I now, more than ever, truly understand the concept of “relentless forward motion”.

This is how it all went down:

“There aren’t any Mountains in Minnesota”

Yeah? Well, someone forgot to tell that to Minnesota.

Here’s how most conversations about my upcoming race developed:

me: “I’ll be running my first 100-mile race in September”

them: “wow, really? I don’t even like to drive 100 miles. Where is it?”

me: “Northern Minnesota”

them: “Well, at least it ought to be kinda flat…”

They couldn’t be more wrong. The Superior Sawtooth 100-Mile Trail Race has 20,000 feet of elevation gain and 21,000 feet of descent; and actually offers up 102.6 miles of brutal trail terrain. This is no exaggeration regarding this terrain and I am shocked that I haven’t heard more about this on the Ultralist, in the Ultrarunning magazine, or anywhere else.

I like to think that our Meat Grinder training grounds are gnarly rugged trails, but this Superior Trail up here in Minnesota made my training spots, and even the tough South Carolina Foothills, seem a whole lot less daunting.

Not many southerners get up to this race, but I’m officially shouting out to all the Laurel Valley runners right now. This race is right up your alley. The nature might be different, the tree species foreign, and a lack of sweltering humidity, but the the terrain is SC Foothills-nasty all the way.

There are millions of tree roots. Not little trip-ya-up tree roots, but big fat daddies that go on for ever and ever. Mini hurdles. And the rocks? …dude, the rocks. Bowling ball-sized is about the smallest, with most of the rock sections being large, mossy, slippery and dangerous - oh, and they like to appear during steep descents which makes it twice as hard to negotiate …especially when the legs and hips are sore and fatigued.

The hills, like Laurel Valley, are relentless. At least, at Laurel Valley, you have some flat sections and runnable, rolling uphill and downhill in which to stretch out the legs. No much luck at Superior. It is constant up and down. Again, no exaggeration. Sure, the mountains may never get more than 2000 feet, but you are presented with tons of mini-climbs constantly. I can’t stress it enough. CONSTANTLY. When you go up, you immediately go down. Almost zero ridge running. And once you descend to the bottom, you again immediately go right back up.

These trails are hard and the Minnesota runners, whom I’ve learned are quite a humble bunch, deserve props for being so tough and training/racing on some incredibly difficult terrain.

phew, ok, sorry to go so long into that, but it’s important to the story to really stress the terrain of this race. I love technical trail - it’s my absolute favorite - and this trail taught me a lesson. It chewed me up and spit me out and left me for worse more than once throughout the race experience.

It all starts at Gooseberry Falls, Minnesota

Northern Minnesota is what I imagine Alaska to look like. I have never been anywhere near this kind of area before and it was really stunning. Lots of tall pines of various type, big cliffs overlooking Lake Superior, and lots of untouched, undisturbed forests and nature. They have moose here. I think that’s cool. Moose.

I was amazed at how many runners had crews and pacers. This being my first 100-mile race, I wouldn’t have known how to put together such a group, but you could really see how much it meant to the runners to get hugs and support before the race.

I was sitting alone, trying to collect myself, my nerves, and trying to stay warm under a little patch of sunshine. Just minutes before the start, a girl comes up to me and says,

“You’re the guy from Atlanta, right?”

She apparently used to live in Atlanta, but transplanted to Minnesota and was crewing for her boyfriend. I’m not sure if I looked lonely and pitiful sitting alone in that little patch of sunshine, but she offered her genuine sincere support and said that she’d be at most aid stations and would be glad to help me with anything I needed.

Like so many others, she ended up being a big part of my race.

There were 57 brave souls geared up at the starting line, and at 8:00 a.m. Larry Pederson sent us off into the forest.

Don’t judge a race by the first 20 miles

Oh boy, was I ever cocky.

I trained hard. I was ready. I felt fantastically fit and strong. After all, I am CrossFit-man, and I was convinced that I could handle this 100-miler without falling apart. {wink, wink}

Ha ha ha — what a joke I am. I have so much to learn …all the time - and I seem to live a life of constant lessons and a big, fat foot in my mouth. Lesson one at Superior: pace yourself.

I ran the beginning of the race with Susan Donelley, one of my longtime running idols, and someone who has racked up a handful of wins at the Superior Sawtooth.

The weather was nice at the time. The views of Lake Superior and various elements of nature were captivating and plentiful, and it was hard not to feel especially at ease and comfortable. A few climbs here and there, but the beauty of trails at this point trumped the early challenges.

I was running pretty damn strong. Once I got to the Beaver Bay aid station, twenty miles into the race, I found myself in the front half pack of runners pushing a 25 hour finish pace; but I was beginning to pay the price of going out too fast.

I was already fatiguing significantly.

The trail changes face

What was once a manageable and visual masterpiece, became an intense, brutal beast. That’s one thing to note about this race - the toughest sections are also the longest sections with roughly ten miles between aid stations for most of ‘em. Naturally, this is where the mental and emotional parts of your fitness come into play. It’s in these sections where you learn what your made of.

Miles 20-34 kicked my butt all over the place. This is where the relentless climbing began. Constant up and downs on inclines made up entirely of rocks. Many times, the trail, simply wasn’t discernible because it was rocks. (sorta like Blue Hell at Mt. Cheaha 50K) - You’d step on one rock, initiate a one-legged squat to get to the next rock, and then “swoosh”, the rock below you would fall and you’d end up over-stretched in a sort of front split, fearing a cramp and scrambling to find some stable footing before really injuring yourself.

This was a common scenario for me in this race. I had gotten to the loopy mental point where I would have discussions with the rock climbs before I started up ‘em.

“Please Mr. rock climb. Please let me find the stable, secure rocks to negotiate, and NOT go tumbling down…”

or speaking directly to a particular rock:

“ooooo, I see you tricky-man, I’m not stepping there you bastard!”

I can only imagine what it must have looked and sounded like if anyone would have been around.

The rock hill after rock hill was always followed by just as nasty a’rock descent after rock descent. My legs were starting to get trashed and my inexperience was rearing it’s ugly head. “Smart” 100-mile veterans, who had paced slower earlier in the race, were starting to pass.

It felt like FOREVER getting through the ten miles from the Silver Bay aid station to Tettegouche, and I was soooo happy to finally get there, get some food, and collect myself a bit.

John Taylor becomes my dark buddy

John Taylor was an interesting guy. We had a similar approach to the trails, running well through the flats and downs, and aggressively power-hiking the ups, and even though I don’t think we really intended on staying together, off-and-on, like we did, it was a great help to me.

John was an experienced 100-miler. He has done over fifteen hundos, and over 75 marathons. He had tree-trunk legs and massive power on the hills. And massive power in the lungs!

Dude had a story for everything and was telling me all kinds of wild stuff. I appreciated this because it kept my mind off the growing pain in my legs, hips, and feet and generally kept me entertained.

The power of other people

I rolled into the Couny Road 6 aid station with John just before dark. He was stoked because he was an hour ahead of his time last year, so I was happy that I was a positive addition to his run and not slowing him down in any way. I was stoked because here they had grilled cheese sandwiches. I ate 3 of ‘em. This was the 43 mile mark and I was still running pretty well. I was now in uncharted territory for myself since my previous longest run was only 40 miles.

Now, this is where I’d like to reintroduce the girl that approached me before the start the race. Almost every significant aid station had lots of runner crews, pacers and supporters all waiting for their runner so they could cheer him or her on and help them with anything they might need. Not having that for myself, this awesome girl would always cheer for me and offer to help me with my bottles or get me food. Sometimes it was her and some other girlfriends of hers cheering. It made me feel really, really good. I would have been lonely without it, and I began looking forward to seeing them throughout the race.

Never underestimate the power of support. I never will again. Ultras have a way of peeling away our insecurities about things.

Running in the dark is whole new ballgame

I was sorta’ looking forward to the dark since I planned to just walk all night, and regain running once it became light again - but nope.

When I shared that game plan with John, he had an unintentional way of making me feel my nighttime approach was sissy-fied. I know he didn’t really set out to do that, but there was no way I was gonna’ take that approach now. Not if he wasn’t. If he was running, I was running.

Running in the dark was a crazy trip for me. It gets so dark in the trails that you literally live inside a 15 foot circumference of light. Everything else around is pitch black.

To add difficulty to the situation, it began to rain, but it was a light rain which actually felt good, but made all the rocks on the course very slippery. {right John? hehe}

There were some rocky areas but for the most part, this particular section after county road 6 was very runnable and we cruised along this portion of trail and pretty much ran 90% of this stretch - crossing the awesome Beaver Dam thing - to the 50 mile point - Finland aid station.

You run the first 50 miles with your legs and last 50 with your heart

From here on out during the Superior Sawtooth 100, this mantra would continually be thrown at me from other runners, aid station folks, and complete strangers who wanted me to succeed.

This might sound dramatic, but my life changed after 1:30 a.m., as I left the Crosby Manitou aid station, headed through the most treacherous, the most intense, and easily one of the scariest experiences of my entire life.

The section begins with an immediate and ridiculously steep decline. A very, very long descent with huge, loose boulders, vanishing trail, extremely loud rushing rapids (that you can’t see, I might add), and all surrounded by total and complete darkness. This descent killed me and at the bottom, I sat down and began to second guess my decision to run this course.

They say it takes the first snowflake to make an avalanche and this was the beginning of my avalanche of self-doubt.

After finding, and crossing. the rushing rapids, the trail started climbing …and climbing …and climbing. Turn a corner, climb again. This climb was the nastiest climb for me of the entire race. I started to really hurt and tears were welling up in my eyes.

I was lonely and began thinking of my wife in our nice comfy king-sized bed, with posturepedic pillows, soft blankets, and a snoring beagle. Recently, before bed one night, she shared her concern for some of these nutty things I do and right about now, I was feeling a little guilty for making my sweet lady worry.

As you can see, I was sorta’ falling emotionally, and it was coming fast.

Extreme fatigue hit me during this climb and I found myself taking rest breaks along the trail. Just’a ploppin’ on down in the dirt, exhausted, and lying there thinking one or two minutes of sleep might help.

No luck. I’d begin to shiver and have to get up and start moving.

The most frustrating thing about long technical sections is the fact that without the ability to run as much, coupled with the painfully slow, difficult climbs, it feels like for-absolute-ever to get through it.

It took me about six hours to run this gnarly stretch and I ran it completely alone. I was cold, and shivering so badly, that with about 1.5 miles left in the section I ran. Hard. And never stopped running until I got to the 72-mile aid station - Sugarloaf.

Hypothermia in full effect

This is where I wish the aid station volunteers at Sugarloaf could jump into my report and share from their perspectives - but I was a complete mess. Babbling, stumbling, mumbling, shivering, nodding in and out of coherent-ness. I couldn’t really eat, didn’t want to drink, and all I wanted to do was close my eyes. Give me a chair, the ground, a bed of rocks, I did not care.

I wanted to drop.

The idea of trying to negotiate 30 more miles when I was already in a state of delirium seemed more than crazy - it seemed 100% impossible. In fact, I was so out of it, I didn’t even care.

Thank God that the volunteers cared. Every volunteer jumped to action with the intent of getting me well again and getting me back out on trail - even when I had given up all hope.

They wrapped me from head to toe in blankets (I hear there are pictures) in a sort of cocoon. They filled water bottles with hot water and put those under the blankets with me. I just shivered and shivered, under the covers, babbling a bunch of nonsense and proclaiming I was dropping this race and that trying to help me recover was futile.

I mean, come on - look at me {below}

I think his name was Patrick

I laid there for about an hour, shivering, and listening to runners come in the aid station, and leaving, all just adding to my frustration as my race placement fell deeper and deeper.

The guy that finally got through to me was a veteran runner volunteer named, I believe, Patrick. He had a sort of matter-of-fact, military-esque direct mannerism that somehow got me off that cot, out from under the blankets, and willing to try it his way.

He even gave me a dry, long-sleeved, shirt from his personal stash.

The volunteers filled up my bottles, gave me some food to carry, and Patrick lead me back to the trail telling me, “just get to the next aid station …don’t think about the total miles, just get to the next aid station and walk the whole way to recover.”

With that he wished me well, waited for me down a cup of soup, and I was, somehow, back in the game.

I honestly have tears in my eyes while I type this. It was an example of humanity during a period when every layer was peeled away from me. This guy, this entire aid station, saved my race and I will always think about them when I wear my buckle loud and proud.

A series of highs and lows

After about five miles, I started to come back to life. I wasn’t running again yet, but I was moving forward and starting to feel really good about NOT dropping. I ate a Snickers bar, took some more caffeine, and now that it was light again, the start to day 2, I actually started to feel, dare I say, “happy”

But that wouldn’t last long.

When I got to the 77 mile aid station, I had a drop bag there with Boost drinks, a warmer shirt and Ibuprofen - which by the way, did nothing for my pain.

Yet another lesson in 100-mile ultrarunning - expect severe high and low swings - and take each in stride.

…which I did not do.

As soon as my short spurt of elation evaporated, I began to collapse yet again. I got passed in this section by just about all the remaining hundred milers. I was so tired, I was wobbling on the trail and craving sleep. I don’t think I have stayed up all night like that since college, and the sleep deprivation was eating me up.

I would stop about every half mile during the 77 and 84 mile stretch and lie down to sleep. The marathon had just started, and runners were flying by, jumping over my legs and wishing me well.

“Keep it up”, they’d say.

“You’re looking great”…

Yea. I’m lying in the fetile position on the trail like a little sap. I’m mumbling. My hands are swollen the size of grapefruits and I can’t even make a fist to grab rocks on steep descents. My legs and hips hurt so bad that I’m stumbling like the town drunk.

Yep, I’m looking great.

Molly saves the day

When I finally got the 84 mile aid station, I had endured enough. I just didn’t care anymore. All I wanted to do was sleep. I had already rehearsed how I would rationalize dropping to all my friends, family, the ultralist, …I had accepted that I would catch a little grief for my steadfast confidence. All I wanted was to speak to my wife and be told, “it’s ok.”

I announced that I was dropping - which I have now learned is the stupidest thing to do if you really want to drop. There is no faster way to spark good aid station volunteers into action than to announce a drop.

People were feeding me food and every running cliche under the sun to change my mind.

Then, out nowhere, a girl named Molly said, “come on, get up, I’ll pace you to the next aid station”

Molly had started the 100-mile race with everyone else but got stung by a bee at around mile 24 and had a terrible allergic reaction. The ironic thing is that when it happened, she was right behind me with some other guy and when they caught up to me they asked if I got stung - and when we got the aid station after her sting, she looked all puffy and was scratching all over and peeling off her shoes and socks…

That was the last I saw her back at 25 miles, and now here she was, willing to help me to the finish. It’s crazy how things work out.

Her husband prepped her, we grabbed some food to go, and hero #2 and I headed back to the trail.

More rain? You’ve got to be kidding

I was NOT looking forward to going into my second night. I was hoping to finish this race before dark, however, a second night on the trail is more common than not during this brutal 100-mile race.

Molly and I made it through one additional aid station, and she continued to stay with me, chatting away and keeping my mind off of the pain. I couldn’t believe it. What an angel. A true angel.

Then, at about mile 92, it started to rain again.

“I can’t F’in believe this”, I yelled.

I was scared to death of getting cold again, like the previous night, and I had come this far only to possibly risk a finish. Molly and I got drenched. It rained really hard, and within minutes, I was cold again.

“This trail is doing everything it can to prevent me a finish”, I hollered. I was very upset and frustrated.

Molly stayed positive, we kept moving, and finally made it to the last aid station where Brian, her husband, had the truck. We scrambled into the truck, cranked up the heat, and thawed out for about 15 minutes.

I couldn’t find my drop bag at the last aid station, so Brian, who doesn’t even know me except as the guy his wife is pacing to the finish, gave me a dry shirt and a wind-breaker. The support from those around me made this race for me.

“I can’t believe it, I’m going to finish”

And with that, we checked out of the last aid station at 6:30 p.m., complete with lights for night #2, rain jackets, and garbage bags to keep us dry.

All I had to do was make it 7.1 miles to the finish. I was excited, but in so much pain that the upcoming 7 miles weighed heavy on my psyche.

The last stretch felt really long. There are some very tough climbs, including Moose Mountain (a ski mountain) and a bunch of steep, rocky descents. Seeing a theme here?

Again, I forced Molly to stop every now and again while I’d take brief, 1-3 minute breaks, lying on the ground in the dirt, against a rock or tree stump, and collect myself. The pain was tremendous and I was close to my complete breaking point.

The finish line

There was one guy in front of me whom we caught up to within 100 yards before the finish. I couldn’t see the finish line, but I heard everyone cheer for the dude so I started running. I was so happy, so elated, so satisfied, so emotional… and the greatest thing was seeing all those who supported me, helped me, and pulled for me to finish, all standing there congratulating me.

It was one of the greatest moments in my life.

Yep, I got my finisher buckle, but I couldn’t have done it without the help and support of a cast of people here in the great state of Minnesota.

Thank you to everyone associated. I am indebted to each of you - and not just because you helped me get that buckle. It means so much more than that. You helped change my perception of the “fellow man”. You taught me that it’s ok to rely on other people, and hell, that other people get something out of it too.

You taught me to be more humble. Something I need to work on more and more.

I’m in a lot of pain today. My ass cheeks are so inflamed that a shower just hasn’t been tolerable yet - my chaff is so serious there’s puss involved. My hips cannot hold up my torso without 30 seconds of leg balance and acclimation, and my feet feel as though they are in a constant cramp.

I have heel blisters, between the toe blisters, and bug bites on my shaved head.

And I love every moment of this agony. I heard 29 out the 57 starters dropped the race, and while I can surely empathize, I am so glad I hung in there to get that damn buckle. So, so very glad.

I’m a hundred-miler now.

{pictures to follow when I arrive back in Georgia}

to send me pictures: christian@crossfitmetro.com

Read all the great comments

I feel like I should be a little scared - but I’m not.

I feel like I should be preparing days in advance - but I’m not

I feel like I should finally start resting - ok, I am.

The Ceremonious Final Training Run

photo:One of the cool bridges along the trails where I train.

Even though I really not supposed to be running, I went out for a really cool two-a-day. The first run was early in the morning on the short Simpsonwood nature trail. I took a camera to force myself to stop often, run slowly and simply enjoy just being outside. The second run, later in the evening, was more of an exploratory run. I found some new trails, close to my house, and they were KILLER!

I can’t wait to continue exploring those trails upon my return from Minnesota.

photo: Tearin’ through Simpsonwood Trails on the final training day

Next stop - 102.6 miles on the Superior Hiking Trail

So that’s it.

I’ll see ya (virtually) later.

Next time you see me, I’ll be sporting the much coveted 100-mile finisher silver belt buckle.

—

Shout-out to CrossFit Endurance - Thank you for your support and prop’ing me on the front page of the site. You guys rock!

Only three weeks to 100 miles
Only 8 days to 100 miles
Only 6 days to 100, er, now, 102.6 miles

As I write this, I am exactly three weeks out from hopping on a plane to Minnesota for the Superior Sawtooth 100-Mile foot race along the Superior Hiking Trail.

The race has a total elevation gain and loss of over 20,000 feet, and a punishing terrain. As usual, I chose a doozy for a first 100-mile attempt.

• Superior Trail terrain photos
• Superior Trail photos from SHTA.org

But, as you can see from the images, it’s also GORGEOUS - some say one of the most beautiful 100-mile ultra races in the country. How could I say no?

Superior 100 Course Segments

Incredible detail of segments along the Superior Hiking Trail, including photos of the views at various locations along the trail where the Superior 100 mile race will take place:

• A great description of miles 24.3 to 42.8
• Then 42.8 miles to 71.6 miles (W/O Elevation, however)
• Then 42.8 miles to 71.6 miles (With elevation)

Wow!

72 Hours of running at Across The Years

“Why do you want to do something like that?”, asked my wife.

“To see how many miles I can get, I guess”, I said.

“You’re crazy.” she said

“Yea, I know - wanna go?”

“Yep!”

Across the Years is a popular, at least in the ultra community, multi-day ultramarathon event. I will begin running on December 29, 2008, on a track designed for this purpose; and will complete the 72-hours at 9:00 a.m., January 1, 2009 - hence “across the years”.

My goal is to log 175 miles, or about 58 miles a day.

Typically, I only really have liked mountain trail ultramarathons, but as of late, developed an interest in the multi-day discipline. The mental fortitude necessary for three solid days of moving forward should be an unique experience to say the least.

Jumping Stumps and More Masochism

I will also be doing the Stump Jump 50K in Chattanooga, TN. Everyone says, “you gotta do stump jump”, “you gotta do stump jump”

So, I’m doing Stump Jump.

And lastly, it’s back to Mountain Masochist, the mean and nasty 50++ miler that handed me my first, and of this writing, only DNF (did not finish) to date.

I have an axe to grind at Masochist.

Shower Me with Love

Well, ok, at least wish me some luck if’n ya feel the love. I really enjoy hearing from friends, other runners, and blog readers who read all this nonsense.

It makes me feel good and stuff…

Cheers!

One of the interesting allures of Claude Sinclair’s, self-supported Laurel Valley Whitewater Run is the fact that no one truly knows how far it is. The route is very difficult both in terrain, and the amount of climb, which leads many runners to clock times roughly one-to-two hours longer than their typical 50K, but is it really 40 miles?

I have my own ideas, and I think the race is closer to 35 miles, than to 40, but here are some elements that certainly make it seem like 40 miles:

• Since the race is self-supported (e.g no aid stations), there are really no mental breaks in the race. If you are the type of runner that looks forward to getting to aid stations, that won’t help you at LV.
• While the entire race is run along the Foothills Trail, and thus blazed white throughout, it’s still possible to get lost. I missed a turn, myself, and ran an extra mile out there for good measure.
• Climbs, climbs and more climbs. I would love to see the total elevation accumulation of this race. There are some climbs in this race that are ridiculous and really should be switch-backs; but would I change it? Nope.
• Runner finishing times tend to be more reflective of 50-mile races.

A Week of Excitement Leading up to the Race

I have been training my ass off.

Part of it’s been left on the trails, and a lot of it’s been left in my CrossFit gym, but I t’aint got much ass left.

I was excited about running this race again this year for many reasons, but primarily, I knew that my performance in this race would be a solid indicator of where I am with my training leading into my first 100-miler at Superior.

I was very excited, but also a little nervous. I promised the RD, Claude, that I would clock a respectable finish time so that I would be granted a 6:00 a.m. start with the veteran Laurel Valley runners. I like Claude and did not want to disappoint.

3, 2, 1 Go!

I’m a little bummed that I’ve never had the opportunity to start LV to the sound of Claude firing an old Civil War musket, but “3,2,1 Go!” works ok too, I guess… {grins}

Now, typically in my race reports, I offer a blow-by-blow account of the race, my individual experiences, and the people I met, but this year, in this race, it was mostly uneventful. I ran seven of the eight hours completely alone …making that an individual and unique experience of it’s own.

To sum it up - I just ran. - and stayed focused on three specific goals:

• Managing my nutrition and hydration
• Staying strong and injury-free
• Finishing in a respectable time as promised to Claude

I ran with those things in mind, and just soaked up the Jurassic environment around me.

I finished the race in 8:42, over three hours better than last year’s 12:14, and most importantly, although I was fatigued, I was not completely wrecked, and I now feel a little more confident leading into my first 100.

I’m sorry to make this all about ME, but I have been really focused on both Laurel Valley and my upcoming 100. Below are some of the elements that I believe are making a huge difference in my training - and I believe it’s a combination of all these things, and none more important than the other.

Run Those Uphills If You Can

I know we hear a lot about walking the uphills, but I believe it’s all in how you train combined with the total distance of the race. I have been training extensively on the Appalachian Trail and increasing my uphill running over time to a level where I can almost run the entire AT approach trail {almost - Black’s still kicks my ass}

I aspire to be a gnarly mountain runner. The people around me that I look up to like Byron Backer, Sally Brooking, Janice Anderson, Marty Coleman, etc… all seem to run uphill and they are gnarly mountain runners.

Employing this training strategy REALLY made the difference in this race for me.

There is so much climbing in this race that if you walk all the uphill sections, you’ll be walking more than you’ll be running.

Trim the Fat

Last year I was 215-ish pounds at Laurel Valley.

This year, I came in at a designed 195 lbs.

This helped a bunch with feeling nimble and comfortable throughout the race. Plus, since one must carry so much water and nutrition based on the self-supported element of the race, there’s a lot of added weight in the form of water bladder packs and hand-held bottles.

My continued goal is to get down five more pounds, to 190, by the Superior 100 next month.

…185 by Mountain Masochist in November.

Strength Training Rocks the House

CrossFit baby!

I drank the juice and am a believer forever. It’s stunning how much strength, power, fat loss, and all-around fitness gain that I can contribute to CrossFit training.

CrossFit’s really nothing new - it’s just hard - which somehow got lost over time during the fitness revolution. It’s like self-induced, Army boot camp fitness training.

Get some! You’ll never look back.

Running on Beefy Trail

I like technical, gnarly, single track. I like to be deep in the woods, buried in the mountains, running point to point; therefore, I have been training on similar terrain.

All my races will be this way - aside from ATY - and training on the AT is making all the difference in the world. I wish Chris Wedge was still on the ultra email list. This was his advice to me when I first started running in June 2006, and it was a solid piece of advice.

It’s hard to continue running uphill with heavy fatigue, but it makes all the difference in the world to finishing times.

I Don’t Recommend Laurel Valley for Runners

Sike.

I think it would be a big eye-opener for runners from far and wide. The foothills carry a magic that you just have to experience to understand.

All 5,000 widely-spaced wooded steps built into many of the uphills…

The ridiculous climb at the finish…

The long, false-summit climbs throughout the entire race that never-end and challenge your mental and physical fortitude…

The Jurassic ecosystem with lots of forest green, big creeks, loose rocks, stunning views, swinging bridges, lotsa bees, tough climbs, boulder scrambles …and a really cool, big-ass waterfall view at the finish…

And lastly and most importantly, the impossibility of a DNF - you either finish, or spend the night on the trail.

As expected, I was happy to eat my ginger snaps at the finish line, sitting with all the finishers, and basking in the glow that is Laurel Valley, …and still, my all-time favorite race.

Thanks Claude.

Welcome to the Meat Grinder

The Meat Grinder is the nickname of the brutal trail run in which a group of us have been subjecting ourselves to throughout the summer. Typically, we run this trail from the Amicalola Falls Visitor Center, to the top of the falls, and then proceed along the Amicalola Watershed. There’s hills… lots of hills, with rocky footing, and overgrown foliage.The trail is designated as strenuous in the hiking guides, but for ultrarunners, that just screams - “LET’S GET SOME!”

It’s beautiful, but brutal - and we love it.

Saturday, July 12, 2008, I got my ass kicked at the Meat Grinder. This is my story…

The Good, the Bad and the Thirsty

First, the cast:

• Rockman - local speedster, marathon runner, focused on time and built like an elite runner
• Vict’ah - Hilarious, free-spirited, runner who carries enough gear and food for a week
• Christian G. - You’re humble narrator, who simply wants to survive each brutal Grinder session

And as the sun started to rise in the mountains of North Georgia, we squeezed into our trail shoes, strapped on the water packs and water bottles, grabbed some nutrition, and took off under the famous stone archway on our way to the Southern Terminus of the Applachian Trail.

The Good…

Since Rockman is much faster than me, I enjoyed having him leading the way. It forced me to push harder than usual. I was running some of the more difficult portions, such as Black’s Mountain, that I probably would have speed-hiked had I not been behind Rockman.

The end result of running with Rockman was a PR (personal best) for me on the ascent to Springer Mountain. He made it to the top in 2:05 and I arrived three minutes later in 2:08. Killer - but I believe he held back a little with me. I strongly believe he is capable of a sub-two hour climb to Springer.

Another “good” was seeing a black bear for the first time in the wild. It was a small cub, which freaked us out for fear we might be smack dab in between the cub and it’s mama, but we kept moving anyway, yelling a lot, and hoping to scare them away.

Still my first bear. I was stoked.

…the Bad

Around 6 miles into the trail run, I inhaled a bug.

Not your nat variety of bug, but a big-ass, what-in-the-heck-was-that? -kinda bug.

A flying filet mignon.

I started choking and gagging - both because it was caught in my throat, but also because I freakin’ disgusted. I could feel it buzzing and moving. It was very traumatic.

I swallowed a ton of water and eventually I either drowned him or swallowed him whole - probably both - but I was finally able to collect myself and carry on…

…and the thirsty

This sorta’ plays into the bad, but… feeling a little high from my accomplishment at getting to Springer, Rockman and I decided to push a little further, beyond Springer Mountain, along a short section of the Appalachian Trail, and onto a beautiful, serene, and somewhat eery, road-less-traveled section of trail called the Benton MacKaye.

I was out water.

But, “don’t worry” says Rockman, “there’s water near a shelter not far from Springer Mountain”

{uh, huh}

So we kept running deeper into the Benton MacKaye, galloping downhill and loving this interesting and new, unexplored (at least to us) section of trail.

But when we turned back, and found the creek near the shelter, there was no water.

Well, maybe a trickle.

I was thirsty, mad and started cussing. “I can’t go another 9 miles without water…” — and in my somewhat agitated state, I happened to walk all around in what little water there was, and Rockman was none-too-happy.

We got what little bit of brown water we could, which was practically nutin’ and headed back. I think Rockman was agitated that I walked through the stream, so he pushed on ahead while I sat for moment to reflect in the log book tucked away under a rock at Springer Mountain.

This theme continued for the next six miles.

I caught up to Vict’ah, whom I hadn’t really seen the entire run, and he was also desparate for water. He sent me down a path with a sign that said “water” …but when I descended the long, overgrown hill, the same thing - no water.

I was so mad - and to add to my enjoyment, I now got to climb back up that long hill - still waterless.

I was a little worried - I wasn’t sure how my body would react without water for so long, and in that humid heat. With no other option, I pushed on, eventually catching up with Vict’ah once again as HE was climbing out of a possible water trail — with nothing but a 1/4 bottle of brown goo.

No thanks. I kept moving.

For about four miles I suffered worse than I suffered since the Chattooga 50K.

The miles were clicking off ever so slowly and I started getting some delusions and hallucinations. Dizziness, wobbly legs on downhills, and hot as hell. …I was not in good shape.

But I guess I’m just a worry-wart wimp, because I arrived at the big creek, about a mile from the Falls, and drank and drank and drank; but I wasn’t finished yet…

Sprinting to Soak

All I could think about for the last mile and a half was finishing this run and soaking in the creek at the end - a ritual we have for easing sore muscles - and mine were in exceptionally bad shape due to the dehydration issues.

Luckily, the last .5 miles or so, is all downhill and fast. I took advantage and literally sprinted down that mountain and plopped myself into the creek ready to express to Rockman, who had already beaten me to bottom by 30 minutes, how beat and battered I felt.

…but after 5 minutes in the creek I was happy.

- good training for Laural Valley in a couple of weeks.

- good times on the trails with my friends.

- the runners high from hell

…and eagerly awaiting whatever food was sure to come in the next 20 minutes.

A Last Minute Decision to Run

I hadn’t really planned to run the 2008 Peachtree Road Race. When I received this year’s application, I procrastinated to the point of missing the deadline for entry.

Why? I dunno.

Perhaps, with all this ultrarunning going on, I felt like the Peachtree was, well …just another 10K and why should I care about running a measly little 10K? …but that’s not only arrogant-sounding, it’s skipping an opportunity to participate in a great running event; and, since I ran it in 2006 and 2007, my own sort of Atlanta fourth of July tradition.

A New Peachtree Road Race Course

For the first time since 1970, due to issues with the Georgia drought, the City of Atlanta forced the Peachtree race directors to end the race somewhere other than our famous Piedmont Park. The event still races down Peachtree street from Lenox, and the runners still make that famous turn on 10th street; however, instead of finishing the race on 10th Street at the Piedmont Park entrance, runners take a quick right onto Juniper and carry on a set of short rolling hills to the finish at Ponce de Leon.

This made it seem longer to me, but I still liked the change a lot.

The Crowd Makes the Peachtree

I am always amazed at the runners I see who are so “gung ho” about their race times at this race. It’s really a waste of anxiety to stress this race because:

1. It’s so crowded, even in the 1-3 time groups; so, unless you are the very elite, expected run under 40 minutes, and thus ’seeded’, it’s really difficult to get a fast start.
2. You’d miss all the fun and excitement that makes the Peachtree Road Race so unique.

And that really is what makes this race so special. Along the course this year I experienced:

• A runner in a Speedo, barefoot, with an American flag cape
• A couple of military guys running in full fatigues …some carrying flags
• Two gorgeous twins running every step together
• People launching water hoses and sprayers all along the route
• Businesses were again throwing out t-shirts to all the runners
• Folks were offering cups of ice, fruit drinks …and beer along the course
• Slapping at least 100 random hands as people stuck them out in support
• Cheering wheelchair patients in front of the hospital
• Radio station booths tossing out swag and screaming over the microphone
• Drunk college kids, and twenty-somethings, partying and cheering along the course
• Talking to people whom this was their first Peachtree
• Shoots, talking to people whom this was their first 10K!

…and so much more.

I saw old running friends (as old as two years of serious running can make a friend), and made a couple of new ones. The t-shirts were awesome {see design below}…

…and even on only about 2.5 hours of sleep, I am so glad that I dragged myself out of bed and made my way down to Lenox along with 55,000 other eager and excited runners.

I crossed the finish line in 53:21 (53:07 chip time) which is rather slow for me at this stage in my training and development, but who cares? I had a fun, kick-ass run.

Also, quickly, to whomever that was that yelled out my GUTS, and RunnersWorld, forum name “surftrip”, about a 1/4 mile from the finish, what the heck happened to you? I slowed up and looked around for you and you simply disappeared. {sigh} …but that tends to happen in a sea of runners.

How about you? Please share your Peachtree Road Race experiences in the comments below.

Back to the ultra training…

“I’ll give you $1000 if you run a 10K in 59:59 or less before you are fourteen”

This is a challenge that my 13 year old stepson is eager to conquer. So far, he has made two attempts at capturing the prize; and while he’s missed it each time, he barely missed it…

…and still walked away with an age group trophy.

Saturday, he will try again at the flat and fast Possum Trot 10K at the Chattahoochee Nature Preserve and I really want him to make it. …well, kinda - $1000.00 is a big hit to the ol’ wallet.

The Wife

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em”

That’s how my wife responds when friends and family ask about her new found love for running. Although there is no monetary goal for my wife, she has also been bitin’ by the running bug.

She started first with a 5K, finishing somewhere around 33 minutes. Next, she moved to the 10K distance, her seemingly favorite distance, and has continued to improve her times with each race.

Like my stepson, she has been walking away with age/sex division trophies as well - I am very, very proud of my family and their new accomplishments.

The Stepfather and Husband

We all know I am way to self-centered to skip myself in all of this.

While I typically train for, and run, ultramarathons, it has been a blast running with my family. In fact, running the shorter distances with them during the week has helped me to improve my own 10K speed and as a result, score a 10K personal best of 47:17.

This should get me a great starting block spot for the Peachtree Road Race in 2009.

What Has Running Together Done for the Family?

Everything.

• Family togetherness, instead of individual interests
• Stronger personal connections
• Healthy competition
• Weight control
• Increased energy
• Improved fitness
• Improved athleticism - especially for my stepson who plays soccer.
• Bragging rights (we all love’em)

If you have the means, I strongly suggest you give family running a try in your household. Start out with walking like my family did …then, increase to running short distances …then longer distances…

Support the family and they will embrace the activity and develop their own sense of accomplishment and goal achievement.

Next thing you know, your busting your hump to keep up with them!

Cheers!