Martin had talked me into this nonsense back in the early summer after my 4 deserts race through the Atacama Desert, and his 108K Canal Race in Germany . He figured we already had a good start on the training, might as well try to do something extraordinary. I was clearly still high on the endorphins of the 4 deserts race, and so after many repeated reminders from Martin, I signed up for the Pinhoti 100. After all, it is Alabama's only 100 mile race. How could we not?
So with eyes on the prize, which in this case is an awesome buckle, we began training. Martin had a grand training plan which was promptly thrown out the window due to injuries, sicknesses, work and family obligations, but we managed to get in all but 1 of the races on the schedule. Highlights of the list include Laurel Valley Whitewater Ultra (highly recommended self supported run through beautiful North Carolina), Scenic City Trail Marathon, and the North Face 50 mile (blah... great if you like rediculously technical running for 12 hours). So were were coming into this race with a good bit of trepidation, and a whole lotta "well, we already paid for it, might as well go roll an ankle or 2".
The night before the start we made it to Sylacauga, AL in time to register and carbo load. Martin tells a great story about how we had to go back to my house several times to pick up various things I'd forgotten, not the least of which was my running shorts. I'll just let it go and say that I was as organized as always. Regardless, my stomach was in knots. We were sitting in this gym grazing on lasagna, and I panned the room looking at the 50-60 runners. I had 2 thoughts. #1 These people were real athletes. Not many carried extra weight. Some of them looked like it would be more healthy if they did, but almost all were athletic looking to say the least. #2 What the hell am I doing here? I'm going to be conservative here and say that I was 188 at race start at 5'8"... definitely in need of a few less meals a week. I scanned the faces and wondered who among us wouldn't be finishing tomorrow. I did not count myself in amongst the finishers.
It was a short nights sleep after that, punctuated by bladder relief after bladder relief. I'm going to blame the 6-7 glasses of water with dinner and the 32 oz root beer with lunch, and not my age. But after as good a nights sleep as I could muster, we arose, hopped the bus and rode an hour an a half to the start. It was a cold start, sure, but Martin and I had dressed appropriately for the weather and were nice and warm through the first aid station (mile 6) where we made our first mistake of the day. Good to get them over with early... right?
Anticipating temps in the mid 50's by 10-11 am we took off our jackets, long sleeved shirts and pants and went with just t-shirts, running sleeves (cool swag from the pre-race packet pickup), and shorts. I was cooler than I wanted to be, but Martin was downright cold. And it didn't warm up enough.... but the ground was so soft. Pine needles coated the trail for the early miles and made the run enjoyable. I heard someone describe it as 'Running on pillows'. If you can imagine running with zero pounding on your joints, but firm enough traction to charge. It felt like we were gliding. Well, it felt like I was gliding. Martin, who usually leads the charge on every run, was behind me swigging water like crazy and gasping between swigs. I knew something was up because he wasn't talking. Martin always talks. Martin plans. Martin eyes the clock. Something was wrong.
Miles came and went. We met other interesting runners, one whose race report was posted on the pinhoti site from last year. We chatted for a good while, and eventually he left us, only to have us pass him a short time later while he was waiting for a friend. Martin never seemed to snap out of it, but he pushed on. We were gaining against the clock continually, so I didn't mind holding back. Besides, holding back was probably a 'good thing' (tm). Martin took the lead at 29, and I let him stay there (Ha! as if I could have passed him on the climb) all the way to 41. The top of Mount Cheaha. I don't like hills (yes. I said it.). And Cheeha was a hill and a half. A serious climb of almost 1500 feet, but we made it to the top and stopped for a moment at Bald Rock. The view from Bald Rock is one of the best panoramas in Alabama that I've seen. It was really amazing and we were both happy to crest the first 'hill' of the race. The aid station was nice, and we threw on our first covers for night (fleece jackets), and warmed right back up. It was just what the doc ordered for me.... and Martin seemed in good spirits as well. Down the back side we went, 'Blue Hell (Hill?)' they called it. It was more of a climb than a run, with the trail shoes slipping and sliding down the rocks. We made it down quickly though, and charged on to mile 45 where we were to be met with McDonalds Cheeseburgers by my parents.
When we arrived at the aid station however, no parents. No cheeseburgers. I checked my watch. We were 20 minutes early. We couldn't wait for them. So I texted them to meet us at 55 with new, fresh cheeseburgers and on we charged as the sun went down, and our headlamps turned on. Mistake #2. Most of the mistakes of the day were having to do with not enough layers, and clothing. The sun had fallen and with it the temperatures plummeted, so much so that when we left Aid station at 52, we were both shivering uncontrollably, and it was at this point that Martin's knees started failing. The 55 mile aid station came, and along with it McCheeseburgers, Hot Chocolates and my very cold and shivering parents. The temps had fallen to freezing or just above and Martin's ligaments behind his knees started to feel the strain of being cold all day, and/or running tensed. He informed me that the pain was going to have to give soon, or he would have to drop. I was not keen on running along in the dark and cold, but I knew I couldn't 'talk' him into staying. I tried to be positive and cheery, but I'm not sure I did anything but sort of aggravate him since I was itching to let loose and run a little. We decided to tell my parents to meet us again at 60 and we'd make further race determinations there.
At mile 60, my parents again met us but at this point, Martin could barely walk. He decided that pressing on risked permanent injury and he dropped from the race. Mom and Dad drove him back to Sylacauga while I proceeded on. About 2 miles from the 60 mile aid station on a nice uphill respite on a jeep road, it hit me that I was alone, in the cold and dark night on unfamiliar trails. Those same trails that I would have been lost on earlier in the daylight without Martin's assistance. I became increasingly paranoid that I was going to miss a course marker and spend hours walking aimlessly in the dark. Combine this with the fact that I was getting extremely sleepy and it was not a good combo. Time to talk to someone!
Throughout the race, I'd been texting Bri (my GF), as well as my brother, and James. Partially to keep up to date on what was happening with football, and to keep them informed about the race. But by now I couldn't take my hand out of my glove without it freezing. Also, slowing down to a walk that was slow enough to text message was dangerous as I would start to get cold very quickly. Texting was out, and I was slowly falling asleep on my feet. (Suprising note, I talked to at least 2 other runners who said they'd had 'naps' on the trail while walking. This is the way I felt but I didn't want to close my eyes) Anyway, I had started to have partial dreams while I was walking, which is a fancy way of saying I was hallucinating. The shadows the headlamp would cast made it seem that there was always something moving to my left and right following me on the trail. Worse, while I was looking down at the ground it seemed that there were flies all over just about everything. Not distinct flies, just like a visual buzzing swarm over everything. Even in my groggy state, I noted that this was probably not great, and decided to brave the cold, take off the glove and make a phone call. I called Bri and she talked to me for about 15 minutes. Enough to wake me up so that the flies went away, and to where I started back onto a runnable downhill which woke me up well. The miles then flew by till about 70 or so.. about 30 minutes outside of the 68 mile aid station.
This is when my headlamp decided it had had enough. The batteries, though fresh, were cold (sub freezing at this point) and they pooped out while ascending a little hill. I just happened to be 30 yards behind Kena, a runner I'd met at the Strolling Jim 40 mile race earlier in the year. She just happened to have batteries which fit my lamp, and was so kind as to stop her race, dig through her bag and lend them to me. I want to pause here and think about how lucky this really was. I spent most of the night alone in the woods with no one for miles. It was sub freezing. I was soaking wet and it was a new moon. New moon stands for *no* moon, so when my lamp went out, I couldn't even see my feet it was so dark. I was on a hillside with a steepish drop to my left, and mountain on my right. Had no one been near me, I would have had to stop.... in the cold, in the wind, in wet clothes,in the pitch black. It would have been a hypothermic nightmare..... whew. Thanks again Kena.
We marched on though, and I followed Kena and her friend for as long as I could. They informed me that the race was just about over once I crested Pinnacle. Needless to say, I was both looking forward to Pinnacle and also really worried. I'd heard people say that it was harder than the ascent up Cheaha, and they were right. The ascent up Pinnacle is awesome. It would be hard on fresh legs, and it was extremely hard on exhausted ones but what made it so great was the aid station at the top. Georgia GUTS runners manned the aid station, and I'd heard great things and whispered rumors of made to order fried egg sandwiches. The rumors were true. A great crew in great spirits met me at the top where I had the best freshly made fried egg sandwhich ever (clarification here. It was a fried egg on 2 pieces of toast). Best egg sandwich *ever*.
Mile 75, down, only 25 to go. Race was over, right? Well, .... no. See, after Pinnacle it was not all down hill. The single track turned gnarly. Ugly, rocky, rooty, ankle twisting, hate yourself, trip and wake the heck up, mean, ass, trail. It went down to steep to enjoy and up much much to steep to keep speed. By the time I reached 85, my hour and 40 minutes against the clock had diminished to 40. My dad said it best... "You're cutting it close!"
Thankfully my parents had arrived at 85 with a sausage and egg biscuit, and new shoes and socks. It was hard to imagine that I'd seen them a short 25 miles ago, but I guess that's a long time when you're only pulling 3-4 miles an hour. My feet were developing hot spots all over, and the shoe had hit my ankle softly so many thousand times that the soft pounding had turned the outside of my ankle into a ring of bruised blistery fire. But armed with new shoes and daylight, I was feeling like the race was over and in the bag. Mentally, I couldn't process that 15 miles is still a long way. Mentally, I was going to run a 2 hour - 1/2 marathon and get done by 9:45. Mentally.... I was definitely mental. Crack heads have less lofty dreams.
So off I sprang and dashed out of 85 feeling better than at any other point previous in the race. You absolutely have to love adrenaline. I made the 4.6 miles to the next aid station in less than 1 hour and I put 20 minutes back on the clock (yes, 4.6 miles/hour is not fast, but after 85 miles it was speedy to me). This was *easy going*. Just 10 to go. I figured I could make that next 10, and I didn't need to eat. It was only 10 miles. Two miles later at 92 miles I was dead. Nothing. No energy, no gas. I could barely muster a walk. The 'downhill' had translated to 'uphill'. The jeep road had gotten rutty. And to make matters worse, we left the jeep trail and went back onto single track for a while. Emoticon time. :-( !!!!!! :'-( !!!!
One more aid station, and my stomach turned away food again. You'd think I would have learned, but no. More jeep trail, more single track. Finally I made it out of the woods, and onto the street which was more of a highway. I knew I had only 2 miles to go. If I could just muster a jog then I could be there by 10:30. Nope. Another note : Rule #1 of ultra running should be *eat*. *Eat* every chance you get. Not a lot. Just gauge how much you need to the next aid station. *Eat* even if your body says no. Without food, there is no running. Rule #2 is salt, but that's a different topic altogether.
I trudged on that road for what seemed like hours. I finally came upon my father who walked out to pace me the last mile. My heart seriously did a little fluttering thing (kinda scared me a little) when I realized it was just about over. We rounded the corner to the stadium, and progressed across the field to the track. I did the ceremonial half loop and was greeted by a wall clock saying that it had only been 28:55 since I started. I'd managed to keep that hour that I gained by walking as fast as I could. I crossed the finish line greeted by Martin, and my parents, and the RD Todd Henderson handing me my Buckle.
Holy cow guys. I *own* a buckle. I owned it. I did it. But not without help. Thanks to Martin for getting me to sign up, and gently encouraging me to run it with you anyway after that horrible North Face 50 where I fought depression for the entire race. Thanks for gutting it out for so long, I know you were in pain. Thanks to my parents who showed up when they were needed. Cheeseburgers are awesome, and the mcdonalds hot chocolate was heaven. I don't think I could have made it to the finish without the shoes and the biscuit either. Thanks for your support even though I know you both consider me insane. Thanks to Kena for being so generous and yes, saving me from hypothermia. Thanks to Bri for answering the phone and waking me up... Passing out in the woods is a scary thought even now. So many thanks to the aid station workers for enduring the frigid temps and helping the runners. I *must* sign up to help at on of these events. You guys rock. And loads and tons thanks to the RD for putting on such a great race. Well done.
All I can say right now is that I'm proud. *That* was friggin hard. That made Atacama feel like a nice stroll (except for the long day on the torn ankle ligament). This race... it means a lot to me. And its been over a week and its still getting to me.
Next up... healing and getting ready for Mountain Mist... but after that. hm..... Western States perhaps?
Last note on injuries :
1. Still can't feel 3 toes on each foot starting with the big toe. Looked it up. Probably nothing major. Just really friggin annoying.
2. I've got severe pain in my ankle when I roll it. This is on my good ankle. So... I guess I now have 2 bad ones?
3. I'm stiff as a board but I've been stretching. I'm ready to crossfit for a while.
Lessons Learned and future thoughts :
1. Can definitely break 28 hours. Thinking that 24 is possible with *good* training. No more LSD only. Speed work is needed.
2. Change shoes at least 3 times during the race. Feet will thank you.
3. Think more about food. And what is palatable at the later stages. PB&J/m&M's... etc... you just don't want them. Chicken broth/Hot Chocolate/... thinking fruit. Watermellon? Cantelope?
4. More changes of clothing (shirts/etc...) are needed. They make you feel almost as good as shoes.
5. Get a treadmill.
6. Bring Beer to the finish.
