Five days removed from my first 50 miler, I'm still coming to
grips with what we did. My training towards this race did not go as
I'd hoped. An ill-advised 24 miles on pavement in late August caused
my plantar fasciatiis to flare up in my left foot, and I was reduced
to minimal distance during the week, and trying to extend my long run
on the weekends. I researched training plans and race strategies,
the most encouraging of which stated that if you can run a marathon,
you can finish a 50 miler if you're smart about pacing and eating.
My only goal for this race was to finish, and the 13-hour time cut
ensured that finishing would be a challenge.
The week of the race, we watched the latest winter storm march
across the country. Rain and temps in the mid-forties were predicted
for race day (had we been any farther north, it would have been
snow). Race morning did not disappoint. The rain was unrelenting,
with the temps in the mid 30s, so we stayed in the car until the last
possible moment. I may have looked calm in that picture on Jordan's
blog, but my mind was screaming, “what the hell are you about to
DO?????” Though the race was sold out, there were definitely not
400 runners at the start line. Once we got moving were totally
soaked, my mind calmed and we got down to the business of running.
The race packet said that the views of Chattanooga from the first
6.3 mile section are really amazing, but I will have to take their
word for it; we were in a thick fog on the mountain. The trail
descended down the side of the ridge, hugging rock formations over
some very high cliff faces; with so little room for error, I was
thankful we didn't encounter this section any later in the race. The
first aid station at Craven's House came quickly enough; we had
averaged better than 13 min/mile pace, keeping things nice and easy
at the start of a long day. The next section remained in the valley,
with gentle rolling terrain on jeep trails; I hadn't expected
anything this easy on the course. I was stretching my legs a bit, so
Jordan and I decided to split up around mile 10 and run our own
races. I got to the next aid station a full 30 minutes before I
expected to, but still feeling good, knowing that the next section
included the long climb back to Covenant College at the top of
Lookout Mountain.
I walked much of the climb, which is one of the secrets of
ultra-running; we don't run the entire time. I'm sure some of the
frontrunners and professionals can run 95% of the distance, only
walking the most technical or steepest sections. I was aiming for a
60/40 ratio of running to walking, hoping to find a balance that kept
me within the time cut. I chatted with a number of folks, which
helped to break up the monotony. I rarely caught people's names;
sometimes we'd chat for miles and I'd never even see their face as I
followed them up the mountain. As the day went on, I could only
recognized fellow racers by what they were wearing.
I returned to the start at Covenant College still feeling good;
tired, but ready for more, as the first 22 miles were really only a
warmup. 'More' turned out to be mud; miles and miles of mud. The
hours of rain, overnight and throughout the morning, had turned vast
portions of the course into thick, slick, sucking mud. There was no
way to move through it quickly, and certainly no way to get through
it cleanly. As mud and water poured into my shoes, the water leaked
out, but the mud and silt built up into mounds under the balls of my
feet that I had to periodically stop and scrape it out.
As we descended the far side of Lookout Mountain, we were on
familiar trails. Jordan and I ran the Rock Creek stage race last
year, part of which took place in the same area. We were approaching
the part of the course that I'd been thinking about for months; a
collection of switchbacks so steep they required a series of ropes to
navigate. I wasn't worried about going up this section; my concern
was that in 12 more miles I would have to descend it, possibly in the
dark, having already covered 42 miles. Going up proved no problem,
and the trails leading to the Long Branch loop passed without
incident.
If I had a dark time during the race, it was on the Long Branch
Loop. My left knee had been hurting off and on, but the pain turned
on with a vengeance during this section (I discovered later that this
was due to my quads cramping and pulling on the tendons in my knee).
Going downhill was really painful, and even level ground was
uncomfortable. The 'short 4.5 mile loop' as it was called at the aid
station seemed to last forever; the trails were beautiful, but
technical enough so that I could never find a rhythm. I began to
think about what damage I might be doing to my knees, and how far I
could push before I should consider pulling out at the next aid
station. I must have felt better by the end, as a quickly grabbed my
headlight and a small burger at the aid station and headed back the
way I'd come, toward to the finish at the top of Lookout Mountain.
For the rest of the day, the passage of time was foremost on my
mind. I had four and a half hours left to cover the remaining twelve
miles; certainly possible, but this was unfamiliar territory, farther
than I'd ever pushed myself on foot. The trails proved just as
technical on the way back, but since they were now familiar, my
perceived progress was quicker. I steeled myself for the climb down
the roped switchbacks, warning runners around me that I was planning
to take the section very slowly to try to save my knees (it did occur
to me that flinging myself off the top would have been a more
expedient means of decent...). I made good use of the ropes as my
feet slipped out from under me at one point, leaving me dangling on a
particularly steep switchback. I only took on water and a reserve
energy gel at the last aid station, as seconds now began to count; I
had less than 3 hours to cover 7.5 miles, and knew I might need
every minute to beat the time cut.
It quickly became full dark as I started the last section. I
spent much of it alone, ticking off familiar landmarks and following
the dim shine of my headlamp. I fell hard at some point, flat on my
back in the mud, but didn't injure anything. I kept looking for the
start of the climb; my leg muscles were so sore by this time that
going uphill was the only action that didn't hurt. I worried that I
wouldn't make the time cut; I knew the difficult mud sections were at
the top of the climb, and wanted plenty of time to navigate them in
the dark. As I got higher on the mountain, the fog grew thicker,
until when I emerged at the summit, I couldn't see more than five
feet ahead. Cold wind hit me in the face as I came out of the tree
cover, almost blind, slipping in mud, trying to avoid the reaching
briars. I remember laughing inwardly, thinking, “this is absolute
hell.” Soon I was joined by another runner (never got a name, only
know she was from West Virginia), and we chatted for the last mile
and encouraged each other to the finish. At some point, I mentioned
that this was my first 50 miler, and she asked if I planned to do
another one. I responded by saying that now was not the time to ask
me that question... We knew were getting close when we could faintly
hear cheering and a voice through a loudspeaker. We knew we were
very close when we suddenly saw white Christmas lights strung through
the trees and a large red clock showing that we'd made it inside the
time cut with almost thirty minutes to spare. I crossed the finish
line, heard my name announced over the loudspeaker, and bowed my head
for a volunteer to hang a medal around my neck. Jordan finished
about ten minutes later, and as it was cold and they'd run out of
burgers, we quickly hobbled to the car, returning to the hotel for
hot showers and some of the best pizza I have tasted in a long time.
Now that the legs are less sore and the swelling has gone down, I
find myself already eying races for the future. Until Saturday,
fifty miles was a distance to be covered over a week of hiking; now
it's just a long day's work. And I had more to give at the end of
the race; I could have kept going. And that makes me curious...
-Nathan
PS – The endurance test didn't end on Saturday, as I had to
drive my standard transmission truck all the way back to Charleston;
shifting gears after a 50 miler is no easy task...
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