Back
in January, I got the 100 mile itch. It was probably inevitable
being married to Jordan and frequently running with a number of
accomplished ultrarunners here in Cincinnati. Having finished 50ks
and 50 milers, the 100 seemed the next logical step, and I found I
wanted that belt buckle. Initially, I was planning to do the Burning
River 100 in July of 2017, but Jordan convinced me I had enough time
and experience to train for it this year. I worked out a training
schedule that included the minimum amount of mileage required to
attempt to finish a first 100 and got to work. Training went well,
though a flirtation with over-training in early June convinced me a
solid week of rest was in order. The missed week required my long
run schedule to be even more precise leading up to the early August
race date. I got in my last long runs and settled into my first
proper taper since training for the Marine Corps marathon back in
2008. I definitely experienced the ‘taper crazies,’ and I’m
sure I was a bit difficult to be around as I obsessed over race
details, the weather, and who would crew for me while Jordan looked
after Fuller. Jordan’s brother Joey was able to come up for the
whole weekend to assist in driving and babysitting duties, and it
turned out my brother Heath and his family would be in the area ready
to pace or crew as needed.
The
day before the race was less than ideal. Joey and I left Cincinnati
with what we thought was plenty of time to drive the 3-plus hours to
Cuyahoga Falls, only to be caught behind an accident that shut down
the highway (a disturbingly frequent occurrence). We ended up
getting to packet pickup a little after 7:30, only to discover they
were out of shirts. It may sound pithy, but this is a BIG thing to
some runners (and I’m one of them). To their credit, the race
director made up for the mistake, and Joe and I went in search of
food. After being turned away from restaurants for our accompanying
beagle, finding chicken salad and stale bread at a local grocery
store, getting gear ready and taking a shower (the trail gods demand
a clean sacrifice), I didn’t get to bed until well after 10:30.
Between nerves, caffeine, and a toddler who didn’t like sleeping in
a new place (Jordan and Fuller joined us a little before midnight), I
may have slept 10 minutes before my alarm went off at 1:45 to catch
the 2:30 bus to the start line.
At
the start I tried to sit or lay down as much as possible; while I
wanted to look for friends who were also racing, any extra time on my
feet seemed a waste of resources. Just before the start I ran into
David, a frequent running buddy and member of our unofficial
ultrarunning group in Cincinnati (we’re working on a name), and it
was great to pass the first 11 miles with a friend. The road miles
were actually quite pleasant, surprisingly humid (the forecast looked
so good, it made me feel I was cheating; clear skies with temps only
up to 80) with lots of hills to give us chances to walk. We ended up
splitting up just before the Polo Fields aid station, where I quickly
refilled water bottles and got back on the trail. There I starting
chatting with Taylor, a local runner quite accomplished at the
marathon distance, who I would end up spending much of the day with
(our paces and goals were about the same). Miles continued to pass
by; I did well sticking to my drinking/eating plan (drink every 10
minutes, eat every 20), and I felt I was running well within myself
and not burning too many matches too soon.
Things
were going so well that I arrived at the Shadow Lake aid station at
22 miles a full hour before my crew expected me to be there. While a
bit bummed, my main concern was that I was running out of Shot Bloks,
the only food that was working (the aid stations were well stocked,
but nothing else appealed to me…). I called Jordan to somewhat
brusquely ensure they’d meet me at Egbert, a further 5 miles ahead.
Jordan assured me they’d make it, and they did, stuffing Shot
Bloks in my vest, handing me the marathon stick (my left calf had
been cramping for miles…), and even snapping a few pictures.
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| This is as awkward as it looks... |
After
Egbert, the course featured more proper trail, using a good bit of
the Buckeye Trail, which was surprisingly overgrown (this is
apparently an issue of too much of a good thing; there are so many
accessible trails in the area, these portions of the Buckeye Trail
see little use). Next came a 3 mile portion on the tow path, which
has a bad reputation for being exposed and very hot. I swear I had a
cloud follow me the entire way; those three miles were shady with a
breeze. I was living right! It was on this section that Taylor and
I decided to split up; he was still feeling spry, and I was starting
to take more frequent walking breaks.
While
at most aid stations my goal was to spend as little time there as
possible (2 minutes max), I had a lot of things I needed at the mile
38 Meadows aid station; more water (I had a bad habit of handing my
bottles to a willing volunteer and then wandering off to tend to
other things; to their credit, they always tracked me down), more
food, new shoes, marathon stick the left calf, and unloading trash.
As I was changing my shoes, Jordan asked, “Do you want the good
news now or later?” Turns out, she had worked out a plan that would
have Heath start pacing me at 50 miles, then she would take over at
72, so I would have company for the entire second half of the race!
That was amazing news! At this point, I was still happy and having
fun, but the miles were starting to add up in the legs and feet. I
headed out of Egbert (less than 10 minutes spent there, success),
knowing that I had a mere 12 miles left to run by myself.
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About to enter the Bog of Despair...
Photo courtesy of Mike Terry |
I
will freely admit, I was not prepared for what came next. These
trails included the infamous “Bog of Despair” (bone dry, so a
non-issue) and so many steep downhills followed immediately by
equally steep uphills that I was reduced to a fast shuffle at best.
I didn’t suffer any dark times, but I was definitely having less
fun. The day had gone so well that I was entertaining the
possibility of breaking 10 hours for 50 miles (a huge PR), leaving me
lot’s of time for a sub 24 hour finish, but this section corrected
those misconceptions. I got into Boston Mills at 50 miles in just
under 10:45 to meet the crew and pick up Heath.
Though
leaving Boston Mills would indicate the farthest I’d ever run, I
wanted the moment to pass with as little fanfare as possible, as I
was still only halfway done. Jordan gave me lots of food and my
headlamp (I thought I’d pick it up at mile 72, but she insisted,
which turned out to be a really good thing…). With a look and a
“You up for this one, Mav?” to Heath (I wanted to give the
impression I was still feeling good), we headed out. Heath was a
fantastic trail guide, living in the area for a number of years and
often training on the very same trails. His knowledge was
encyclopedic, letting me know the type of trail and terrain that was
coming up. And his excitement was infectious; with a recent career
move across the country and two little girls at home, he hadn’t had
many opportunities recently to run. He would email me later in the
week, “I know you were in pain (so I didn't mention it during the
race), but I was literally euphoric for most of it.” We knocked
out miles, though walking more than running. He had a GPS watch
which proved super helpful; I asked him to set a 15 minute pace and
just did my best to keep up. This became harder and harder as time
wore on. At some point in this section David passed us; I hadn’t
seen him for over 50 miles! He looked good, and I had high hopes for
his day.
As
we came into the Ledges aid station, I could tell I was working on
some pretty sizable blisters on the balls of both my feet. We hadn’t
planned for the crew to meet us there (Jordan was putting Fuller to
bed right about then), so I decided to push on the 6 miles to Pine
Hollow, hoping the blisters wouldn’t get too much worse. We passed
Taylor leaving the Ledges (hadn’t seen him for over 20 miles); he
saw me and called out, “I think we may have overcooked that first
half, huh?” I didn’t want to believe it then, but the next 6
miles would turn out to be some of the hardest I have ever covered.
At
this point, the best I could manage was a 15 minute walking pace, but
only if the trail was flat and non-technical, which is wasn’t most
of the time. Night came, but that didn’t seem to bother me; thank
goodness Jordan had insisted we take our lights. My blisters were
getting worse, and my lower back began to spasm when I coughed or
sneezed (I’d overworked those muscles keeping myself upright as I
tripped over roots and rocks). The thought began to creep into my
head that I would stop at mile 72 at Pine Hollow. When I mentioned
this to Heath, he was appropriately distracting and encouraging,
making plans to treat the blisters and get me back on the trail. As
my pace slowed even more, and any technical element of the trail
brought me to a halt (lifting my leg over a downed tree was torture),
the idea of stopping became a certainty. I moved so slowly up the
two hills leading to the aid station; I wasn’t hallucinating, but I
couldn’t figure out why there was so much traffic on the road
beyond (I mistook the hanging Christmas lights for cars…). An aid
station worker offered to fill my bottles and direct me to the next
trail, but I just wanted to find Jordan and fall down. There weren’t
pictures (mercifully), but I ended up curled up on my side, holding a
half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich, as my body twitched from both
fatigue and cold (the grass was wet and the temperature was
dropping). Jordan accepted my decision to stop, though not without a
fight to get me back on the trail, and let the aid station workers
know I was dropping.
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This is actually mile 50;
just imagine it dark and more pitiful... |
As I
look back on this first attempt, I can’t call it a failure. Yes, I
stopped short of 100 miles, but I did run a lot further than I ever
have before. I thought I had a healthy respect for the distance, but
I was not prepared for just how drained I was so early in the race.
Most of my training (okay, all of it) consisted of long slow distance
runs, with a lot of miles on the roads, which didn’t add up to
enough time on my feet in preparation. Nor was I prepared for the
hills of northern Ohio; while we have hills here in Cincinnati, they
aren’t as steep or as rugged as what’s around that Bog of
Despair.
I
got a number of things right. After many years, my gear and shoes
are dialed in (Saucony, don’t you dare mess with my Kinvaras!). My
hydration and eating plan worked great; I never had any stomach
problems, and watermelon and grapes were a great supplement to Shot
Bloks and Nuun. The marathon stick was a last minute inclusion in
the gear tub, and proved a wonderful solution to stubborn muscle
cramps. My decision to change shoes and socks at mile 38 was well
timed, though in future, I will carry a spare pair of socks and
possibly a blister kit so I can take care of hot spots earlier.
I
read some wisdom bestowed early in the race on another Cincinnati
runner who did finish; “See those guys in front? Half of
them will drop, and we will pass about a third of those who won’t.”
I was one of that half. While that hurts, ours is a sport that
rewards experience, and I think I needed this stepping stone between
50 and 100 miles. I will most definitely be back; Burning River is a
world class race, the organization and volunteers were fantastic, and
the course was beautiful (yes, there is a lot of beauty between
Cleveland and Akron; I feel like I live in one of the country’s
best kept secrets). I’ve got some timed events on the horizon to
get me more time on my feet, and some hilly races to make me in
stronger for the next attempt. I will bring home that buckle.
