As Jordan
has already written a great play-by-play of our recent running of the
Rock/Creek Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race, I thought I’d add some ‘color
commentary’ from the point of view of an enthusiastic but relatively inexperienced
ultra-runner.
Stage 1: Raccoon Mountain
As always happens in a taper, the mind and body begin to
play tricks on a runner. In the week
leading up to the race, my plantar fascia began to tighten and my right IT band
began to hurt; signs of past injuries that I thought I’d long ago
overcome. As race day approached, my
anxiety worsened; I’d always been good at doing consecutive big miles on the
bike, but considered myself a ‘fragile’ runner, prone to injury (or prone to
over-diagnose injuries), so completing 60 miles over mountainous terrain after
living in Charleston for 2 years was no sure thing. We both went into the first day with a plan
to run as easy as possible; running hard today would only make the second and
third days harder. We appropriately
staged ourselves deep in the pack at the start line. After the start, it took a good 30 minutes of
passing and being passed to finally find an unhindered pace. While this was frustrating, Jordan
assured me that it was par for the course at every trail race she’d ever done. We reached the first and second aid stations
in surprisingly little time, leading to discussions that the course sections must
be short. I’d decided to wear a small
Camelback instead of carrying a handheld water bottle, and just topped off the
reservoir at each aid station. We had
also brought plenteous packets of Shot-bloks, so we blitzed through each aid
station, usually passing a handful of runners at each.
The Raccoon Mountain
reservoir is a wonderful playground for the outdoorsy type. The course we took circumnavigated the
man-made lake, and featured a number of scenic overlooks of both the lake and
the Tennessee River.
One frustrating facet of trail-running (as opposed to hiking) is the
lack of time to appreciate such scenery.
Many of the trails we ran were technical enough to require a lot of concentration;
much of our time was spent with head down, trying not to fall. The trail called the Small Intestine was
particularly entertaining; it looped back on itself so often that at many points,
you could see dozens of runners all going in totally different directions.
After we passed through the final aid station at 13.3 miles,
our conservative (and wise) pace was starting to frustrate me a bit, so I ran
ahead to stretch my legs for the last 5-ish miles (yes, with 42 miles left to
go for the weekend; I am still new at this ultra-running thing). I met up with a runner named Jimmy from Arkansas,
and we cruised over the next few miles, finally joining a group of six runners
that were trying to figure out how many miles we had left. The many switchbacks and consistent tree
cover played havoc with GPS devices (a frequent topic of conversation that
day), so estimates among the group varied widely as to how far we had to run to
the finish line. As it turned out, Jordan
had accurately predicted we’d cover the remaining 4.7 miles from the last aid
station in about 50 minutes, so I ran quietly at the back of the group,
confident we had about 5 minutes of running left. No one in the group accepted my invitation to
stage a sprint to the line, so we crossed the finish of stage one
en-masse. My legs still felt fresh at
the end, and I was optimistic about the next 2 stages.
Stage 2: Lookout Mountain
Much of our discussion leading up to the race concerned how
we’d handle elevation changes. Living in
Charleston, SC,
it’s hard, nay, practically impossible to do adequate hill training. While we’d spent a good amount of time
running the Ravenel Bridge
and doing hill workouts on the treadmill, it had been a while since either of
us had run a proper mountain. Stage 1
had been advertised in the race literature as “flat, for east Tennessee,”
whereas stage 2 featured 2506 feet of elevation gain over 22 miles.
We placed ourselves a little farther forward in the pack,
still a little anxious about what the day would bring. The first mile was on a nice wide gravel jeep
trail, which gave the field lots of time to spread out and easy opportunities
to pass. At just over 10 minutes in, the
course abruptly took us into the woods, and we came to a sudden halt. Looking up the steep hill to our right, we
could see 4 or 5 switchbacks packed with runners, all slowly scrambling up the
hillsides. The last 2 switchbacks at the
top were steep enough to require ropes to climb: my immediate thought was, “oh,
this is awesome!” Looking back down, I
was reminded of the famous switchbacks of L’Alpe d’Huez, so frequently featured
as a decisive stage in the Tour de France.
I was suddenly struck by the grandeur of what we were doing; while not
professional athletes by any means, we were taking on a multi-day challenge
that required persistence, stamina, mental toughness, and just plain guts. That feeling only continued as we hit the top
of a ridge that offered expansive views of the valley below and I thought, “Is
there any better way to spend a weekend?”
The end of the first loop brought us back through the start
finish area, and we headed for Lookout
Mountain, where the real climbing
would begin. Some of our elevation gain
went unnoticed, as the trail gently climbed to the loop around the
mountain. Once there, the climbing began
in earnest. We covered a number of
steep, exposed sections where the heat became a factor for the first time. On the way up, I chatted with a runner Dan
from Chicago that was using this
race as training for the Leadville 50 Miler; which seemed appropriate as we
were climbing under power lines…
The course off the mountain and back to the start/finish was
largely uneventful. We knew (or thought
we knew) exactly what we had left; a repeat of the first loop, but in
reverse. When I started thinking about
the mileage of the different sections, the numbers didn’t quite add up. But since we felt that a number of the
sections of the last two days might have been short, I didn’t worry too
much. The highpoint of the loop was the
decent of the aforementioned switchbacks (traversed VERY slowly), down to the
valley where I was convinced (convinced!) the course would take us to the
gravel jeep trail and straight back to the start/finish. That’s why I almost ran over the course
markers taking us off the jeep trail and back up the hill, into the woods; I
just didn’t believe it. The technical
trail followed a wide mountain creek for a half mile, and Jordan
got a gap on me through the tougher sections.
Suddenly, the trail widened and turned straight into the creek, with no
bridge or rock to climb over, and volunteers waiting on the other side to take
my picture. Realizing the intent of the
race organizers, I waded through the thigh deep water, thankful for the cold,
and wanting badly just to sit down in the creek (I’d get that chance
soon). The course took us back to the
jeep trail, and I was surprised at how heavy running shoes are when filled with
water. I sprinted to the line, almost
catching Jordan
in the process.
At the post race party at the start/finish, I discovered one
of the true joys of life: after a solid day of running, getting to sit waist
deep in a cold mountain creek, and drink a cold beer. It felt like life couldn’t get much better…
Stage 3: Signal Mountain
One thing that has surprised me this weekend is the
competitiveness of the field, and how factors like age and gender don’t matter as
much in ultra-running. It’s much more
about experience, knowing one’s mind and body, and the skill of running over
technical terrain. On stage 3, I
realized I needed a lot more practice…
I was still a little anxious about the 3rd and
final stage; I’d never run so far in so short amount of time. But I was also happy; a large part of me
didn’t think I’d make it this far un-injured and able to continue. The organizers had promised to be more
forgiving with the time limits on the final stage, so at worst, I knew it would
be a long day in the woods (which is always better than a long day at work;
that’s why we consider this a vacation).
Whereas the elevation profiles for the first 2 days were impressive, the
last day was just scary. The first 6.6
miles consisted of a saw-tooth out-and-back that would certainly serve to warm
up the legs and trash the quads for the remaining 13.4 miles…
We made it to the first aid station and back without
incident, making our way carefully down the steep hillsides and across the very
wobbly suspension bridge over Suck Creek (didn’t quite live up to its name, but
the day wasn’t done yet…). The course
then took us on a long loop around the edges of a plateau above the river. Our footing was made problematic by the dense
flora on both sides of the trail; often you couldn’t see where your next step
would be. I couldn’t help thinking about
how much poison ivy I’d probably been exposed to; I’ve encountered it so many
times in my life that I’ve basically developed an allergy to it. We finally made it to the second aid station,
which was a mere 2.4 miles from the third; I couldn’t figure out why they were
so close. It shouldn’t take us long to
run 2.4 miles, even as tired as we were.
Turns out, those 2.4 miles were the gnarliest, rockiest, most technical
trails I think I’ve had to cover. The
trail would sometimes level out for 50 feet, only to send us back through
another rock garden (or boulder garden).
The footing was treacherous, and my progress was slow, while Jordan
pulled ahead. The last insult before the
Signal Point aid station was a series of very steep staircases leading up to a
picnic area with gorgeous views that I didn’t have the energy to
appreciate.
We got a short reprieve from the technical trails as we ran
up the hill out of the Signal Point picnic area, and into a neighborhood. The course veered off the paved road, and we
ran right by the front porch of a small nursing home, the residents of which
were out in force to cheer us on. We
then turned on a groomed gravel trail and I thought, “I can do this for 8 more
miles!” That reprieve didn’t last long
either, as the trail went through more rock falls and back down to a creek
where it seemed we were required to climb over every single fallen tree and
root ball. This was definitely the
hardest part of the whole weekend. Jordan
had gone ahead again, and I walked most of the section, eating the last of my
food, and thinking dark thoughts about trail builders and running shoe
designers (I’d been developing two huge blisters all day). After losing track of time and distance, I
finally wandered into the last aid station.
The volunteers said the last 3.6 miles were all rolling jeep trail,
which was the best news I’d heard all day.
I was able to keep a high pace for most of the rest of the race, taking
strength from the thoughts that I’d soon be done and would have completed 60
miles in 3 days. Jordan
was waiting for me at the finish (she’d pulled away by over 7 minutes), and I
was bonking hard, so I scarfed down 2 bowls of pasta before we had to get in
the car to come back to real life.
Jordan and I had an absolute blast doing this race. That feeling of running the last 3 of 60
miles, feeling strong and fast when I expected to be stumbling down the trail,
is one I won’t soon forget. Despite the
current urge to scratch all the skin off my shins (I did indeed find that
poison ivy), I would do it again in a heartbeat. I told Jordan
on the way home that the only negative from the weekend is that she may have
lost me as a crew member for her next race.
But she’ll have gained a running buddy for it…
