Copperhead 50K

When Nathan and I decided that the 50K we were originally signed up for this weekend was no longer worth the trip (the government shutdown meant the course had to be moved to a 4 mile loop of what looked like jeep trail), one of my first thoughts was "Oh man, now I don't get to write a blog post."  So, we decided to put on a low key, unofficial 50K here in Charleston so that I could write a report.

Okay, maybe there were some other reasons too.  I had trained for a 50K, at least by distance (long run was 30 miles).  My trail training was lacking, but all the more reason to get some miles in on trail.  Plus, I had tapered, probably more than I should have, and now I needed an excuse for running very little the last two weeks.  Nathan was undertrained due to plantar fasciitis, but he had still been looking forward to the race.

Howie helped me get the word out and soon Chad (Eagle Endurance) and Andrew (from Try Sports) were volunteering to bring water jugs, tables, tents, etc.  It was much more than I had expected!  I got together some snacks of standard ultra fare, Lana added homemade oatmeal raisin cookies, and we had a nice little aid station. 

The course was 4 laps of an 8 mile loop of single-track at the Wannamaker North Trail.  Or 3, or 2, or 1 lap as you like.  Six of us started down the trail (others would join later), chatting about toenails and such.  Lana had destroyed 9 of her 10 last month in the Georgia Jewel 100.  I was a bit jealous, having never lost a toenail myself.  I stubbed my toes as much as it may have been possible over the next 32 miles, but all I got was a lousy blood blister. 

The first copperhead tested our spacing.  We passed; no one ran into the person in front of them.  With lap two came copperhead two, thick, head raised, and slithering toward us down the trail.  I stopped a couple feet short of it, and the adrenaline rush helped muffle soreness that was already creeping into my legs.  This prompted the christening of the run, "Copperhead 50K."

Nathan and Andrew stopped early in the third lap (Andrew had just run the North Face Atlanta 50 Miler last weekend and Nathan is still battling plantar fasciitis), but Howie had joined us so I still had company for the lap.  Howie kept commenting on how quickly the miles were going by.  They didn't seem quite as quick to me.

As I filled up my waterbottles for the last lap, Nathan asked me "Last lap another 1:30?"  I told him I thought it would be more like 1:35 or 1:40.  This was a silly thing to say.  It showed I was planning to suffer, so of course I would suffer.  Howie was with me one more mile and then I was on my own.  In some ways I was glad Howie was gone so the suffering could begin.  Makes a lot of sense, right?

The next few miles were the low point of the run.  I was tired from carrying two water bottles for all but the first lap, and I was tired of stubbing my toes.  It rained a bit, which is usually welcome, but it fogged up my glasses so I couldn't see the trail and stubbed my toes even more.   Without the goal of passing other people in a race, I found it tough to stay motivated to keep moving. I had already decided I would allow myself to walk occasionally, so why not walk more frequently and for longer?  Once I hit 3 miles to go, I was fine, but I think the last lap served to show me that my "ultra brain" is out of shape.

I ended up running the 32 miles in 6:23.  A bit slower than I had planned, but I think it will definitely be helpful (especially mentally) on December 14th for Lookout Mountain 50 Miler.  Thank so much to everyone who came out.  You guys made it fun!

Jordan

Running Again

I haven't posted in over a year.  There's a good reason for this: I haven't run a race of more than 10 miles since starting my third year of medical school.  My third year started with surgery, and while one of the scrub nurses at the VA advised me that I could make time for my run by skipping dinner, I was too lazy and hungry to make this happen.  Over the six weeks on my surgery rotation, I ran between 5-15 miles, not per week, but total. 

I got a few more runs in over the course of the rest of the year, but I rarely ran more than 3-4 days a week with occasional runs in the 10 mile range on weekends.  Some rotations were lighter, but there was always a tough rotation looming that discouraged me as I looked ahead.  I couldn't sign up for any races because I could never be sure of getting a given weekend day off.  And I felt any time off needed to be spent studying for exams. 

It's a lot of excuses-I know.  I have classmates that maintained their mileage over the year and I have so much respect for them.  It did not happen for me.  And I am moving on.

Now, it is fourth year.  Glorious, "best year of your career" fourth year.  I've been enjoying it for nearly three months and have not yet had to come into the hospital on a weekend.  There's one busy rotation ahead, my acting internship in the PICU, but the rest mostly takes place during weekday daylight hours.  So I am running.

10 days ago I ran 27 miles.  My weekly total that week was 50 for the first time in over a year.  This weekend, 30 is on the calendar for Saturday.  I call myself ultrarunner again.  It feels good.

The race calendar for the next year is taking shape.  Oct 6: FATS 50k with Nathan. Dec 14: Lookout Mountain 50 Mile with Nathan.  Feb 1: Uwharrie 40 Mile.  A spring 100 with plenty of singletrack (Massanutten? Rock Creek Thunder Rock?)  Maybe head back to Bull Run Run 50 Mile if there's time.  There are a lot of opportunities.  I'm excited.

So that's where I've been the past year, and where I hope I'm going in the next year.  I'll do my best to have  tales of massive blisters and clutch slices of pizza in the coming months.  I can't wait to get back on the trails!

-Jordan

Sometimes, It's Supposed to Hurt...

It's official; the fall racing season for the Garris family is about to begin! With the arrival of football and the promise of cooler temperatures comes the expectation of longer trail runs and excitement of new race goals. I've always thought of distance running as a fall/winter sport, and living here in the low-country has only reinforced that opinion. Having officially signed up for my first 50 miler, I wanted to collect my thoughts and bridge from the end of my running season last year to what lies ahead.


I've been loathe to write about or even discuss my DNF at the Tsali Frosty Foot 50k in January. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out what went wrong. After a consistent 22 miles with some really enjoyable moments, I found myself struggling to walk up a non-technical, gentle climb to the aid station at mile 24. The day had been surprisingly hot for North Carolina in January (mid 70s and sunny), but I didn't think the conditions were to blame. I ate my remaining food, hoping that I was just bonking and would recover after consuming some calories. I continued to feel worse as a number of runners passed me, offering words of encouragement (we all know it's easier being the one doing the passing...). I convinced myself in those two miles that I should quit. As I stumbled into the aid station, that's what I did, despite the encouragement of Jordan and the aid station volunteers to continue. I sat down in some bushes, and just cried.


On the way home, and in the weeks after, I tried to figure out why I quit. I'd like to think it was because I wasn't “having the race I wanted.” I ran 4:45 for the same distance just a month before. While that was a significantly easier course, I felt I had adjusted my expectations for the challenging terrain of Tsali, but at mile 22, the race was suddenly not panning out the way I'd planned. Could I have walked the last 7 miles? Maybe, but I didn't know how long that would take, and Jordan and I had to get all the way back to Charleston that day (a six hour drive). Did I train enough? Hills are hard to come by here in the low-country, but we have treadmills and a bridge. Did it hurt too badly to continue? My legs were cramping on the mile walk back to the car, and I remember thinking, “there's no way I could walk 7 more miles feeling like this...”


Did it just hurt too badly?


I've been thinking a lot about pain recently. One of the first things Jordan told me as I began to contemplate running the Last Chance 50k was, “sometimes, it's supposed to hurt.” I started my running life as a 'fragile' runner. My triathlete friends stressed that “pain is your body trying to tell you something.” I think I went a little overboard, slowing down or even stopping my training at the slightest tweak in my knees or feet. What I didn't realize is that the sports I enjoy hurt. No matter how fit or fast or young or old you are, it hurts to push your body over the distances and at the speeds required to be competitive in distance running and cycling. It's unrealistic to run 5 or 20 or 50 miles and expect every moment to be pain free. What defines those that succeed are how they deal with the inevitable pain inherent in pushing one's body to its potential. That is not to say that we ignore our bodies; the trick is to be able to distinguish between injury-related pain and effort-induced pain. As Greg Lemond said, “it doesn't get any easier, you just go faster.”


I don't know if it was injury-related or effort-induced pain that caused me to quit at Tsali. For the next four months, common notes in my training log were 'brain not in the right place' and 'pain in R knee.' My running was sporadic and frequently frustrating. Only by late April, after completing a 14 mile run with local running friends, did I finally start to feel like a runner again, and begin to think about goals for this season. Even now, I'm still not sure if it was my muscles that gave out, or my mind. But one of those possibilities hurts just a little bit more...


So here's the race schedule for the fall; along with some shorter local races, Jordan and I are planning on running the FATS 50k (http://fats50k.com/) in North Augusta as a warm-up for the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler, (www.rockcreek.com/lookout.rco) in Chattanooga in December (our Christmas present to each other). I'm understandably anxious; it's almost 20 miles farther than I've ever run before, and features over 6300 ft of climbing. I don't know how my body will react to this challenge; I will train it the best way I know how. But this time, I will be damn sure of how my mind will react. I know it will hurt, but now I know it's supposed to.


Nathan


PS – I want to plug two books I've recently read that have formed the basis for my mental preparation for this season. The first is Scott Jurek's Eat and Run: My Unlikely Journey to Ultramarathon Greatness. While not fantastically written, it's an interesting look into the mind of an elite ultrarunner, his preparation, and his mental strategies during races (it also includes a number of vegan recipes I'm interested to try). The second is A Life Without Limits: A World Champion's Journey by Chrissie Wellington. Chrissie (I think the entire triathlon community refers to her like that) had just begun dominating ironman distance competitions when I was first introduced to the sport, and to hear the story of races I followed online and in magazines from her own words was fascinating.

Eagle Endurance Last Chance 50k Race Report

After spending the last few years sharing in and marveling at Jordan's ultra-running accomplishments, I've had the quiet desire to try one on my own. Not having touched my bikes since we moved to Charleston, I've found running long distances mimics much of the endurance I enjoyed in cycling. And after years of reading the literature, I finally tried some lightweight, 'semi-minimalist,' low heel-to-toe drop shoes, which have kept me injury free and allowed me to get my most consistent mileage since I trained for a marathon in 2008. So I set a goal for this winter race season; two 50ks a month apart, to see if my body can take it, with my sights set on something even longer next winter...

The first of these races was the Eagle Endurance Last Chance 50k here in Charleston, put on by Chad Hoffa, and so named because if the Mayans turn out to be correct, this will have been the last weekend to run a 50k before the world ends. I'd done a number of Chad's trail races this year, enjoyed each (okay, Dirt Dash was pretty darn hot...), and looked forward to spending a long day in the woods and supporting a local race director and fellow lover-of-trails.

After stressing over the weather report before the race (with a week to go, we were enjoying December temps in the high 70s here in the low-country), the morning of the race dawned chilly and gray; perfect weather for a 5 hour run. The start finish of the out-and-back course was deep in the Francis Marion Nation forest, but still only an hour from our apartment. I had quite the support crew to follow me; Jordan came to shout encouragement and wisdom, and our friend Kirsta blew her duck call to cheer on me and a number of other runners she knew.

There is often little pomp at the start of an ultra; at the requisite time, Chad just said good morning, everyone have fun, now go! The trail immediately narrowed to pine straw covered single track, and the pack spread out fairly quickly. I soon discovered that while researching the course, I may have misjudged the technical nature of these trails. The elevation was of course pancake flat, and the trails looked to be mostly dirt, a few roots, and the fore-mentioned pine straw; the trail running equivalent of running on pillows for 31 miles. We quickly discovered that the leaves and pine straw were hiding numerous small holes and shallows; the perfect size to catch a toe or hyper-extend an Achilles and send a runner tumbling (as many did in the early going). I realized it had been at least a month since I'd done any proper trail running, so tried to make my way as quickly and carefully as I could.

While somewhat featureless itself, the trail led through continuous woods, occasionally crossing dirt fire roads, a nice reminder that we weren't too far from civilization. I spent most of the first 7.5 miles chatting with other runners, catching up with some and meeting new folks. We were so wrapped up in conversation that we blew right through the first aid station, I waved to Jordan and Kirsta, and dove back into the woods. This second section had the most variety, including a two mile stretch that had recently been 'swept' of leaves, and consisted of good flowing singletrack. The trail was clearly marked throughout, although one short section of overgrowth caused a moment's concern and a few seconds walking in circles (getting lost is just part of doing an ultra). After fighting with the laces of my shoes for a couple miles, I got a strong second wind, and cruised the last few miles into the next aid station at the turn-around. My goal was to break 5 hours, and reaching the halfway point in 2:15, I knew I had a comfortable lead should I start to fall apart in the second half.

And fall apart I did. I don't know if it was a mental thing or the Pringles I ate at the aid station (usually one of my favorites), but it took me over 30 minutes to get back into a rhythm after the turn-around. I could really start to feel the mileage in my legs, and keeping a good pace took more and more mental effort. The toughest part was back on the flowing singletrack at mile 21; my favorite section on the way out. Jordan always talks about 'dark times' during ultras, and just to accept them and remember that they do indeed pass. This one finally passed once I reached the last aid station, had some flat Coke (a race favorite that did work), and learned that I was placed just outside the top ten overall. I estimated that the last 7.5 miles would probably take at least ten minutes longer than on the way out, which was pretty spot on. After the pleasant distraction of conversation during the early parts of the race, I didn't see another runner for the last 11 miles. I was greeted at the finish by Kirsta's duck call (a nice variation on the cowbell), a vuvuzela, and Jordan chasing me down the trail for the last 100 yards.

All in all, it was a great race, and a great success for an inaugural event. The convenience couldn't be matched; an ultra practically in our back yard! The trails were well maintained and indicative of the area, giving out-of-towners a true impression of low-country trail running. I hope to do this one again next year, assuming we get the Chance! 

Chattanooga Mountain Stage Race - Nathan's post

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 3^rd 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…

Chattanooga Mountains Stage 3: Signal Mountain

They weren't kidding about the 20 miles at Signal Mountain being the hardest day of the 3 day Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race.  It had some brutal climbs and descents and miles of incredibly technical trail.  I absolutely loved it!

Nathan and I got to the starting line with some time to spare: time for self-doubt to creep in as I rubbed my sore legs.  Since I finished 147th on the first day and 132nd on the second day, I was hoping to continue my streak of moving up the pack.  My legs were making my wonder if that was possible.  Once the race started, I felt much better.  My quads shouted at me on the downhills, but their complaints were no match for the momentum of gravity.

The first 5-6 miles were mostly steep ups and downs.  We went down one mountain, across Suck Creek (I promise not to make any bad puns) on a very wobbly suspension bridge, up another mountain, and then back down it to the 3.3 mile aid station--we didn't reach it until 41 minutes into the race.  Then we turned round and did all of this in reverse.  The course mandated at lot of walking (at least for us, the top runners probably ran most of it) but by the time we came crested the third climb, my legs had loosened up considerably.  A woman we were running with gave us the layout of the course, telling us the major climbs were over and the last 3.5 miles were very runnable.  It sounded as though the hardest part was behind us.

The next few miles were lightly rolling along the ridgeline with some beautiful views.  We couldn't look at the views much though.  The course was technical enough that you could either look up or run; there was no doing both at once, especially given the cliff that was often at our immediate right.  We were able to move up in the pack a little by running the gradual uphills that others walked and we cruised into the 9.8 mile aid station, looking forward to the short 2.6 mile segment ahead.

It may have been 2.6 miles, but it was not short.  The trail was arguably the most technical I have ever run, and I've run some gnarly courses.  Every once in a while we'd get a smooth 50 meter patch and run, but it was mostly hopping around rocks, climbing over logs and boulders, stepping carefully down rocky descents.  This sort of trail is actually a strength of mine, so I pulled ahead of Nathan a bit.  The trail became difficult to follow, and Nathan and a couple others caught up to me.  One of them knew the course well and told me that yes, we were supposed to go up those really steep staircases.  So much for the climbs being over! 

We refilled on water at the station and one of the other racers told us that the next section was "like a dream" compared to what we had just done.  That was the case for about a mile, and then the trail reverted to its rocky state, only marginally better than the previous section.  It made for a tougher course, but worked to my advantage.  I worked up through the pack and left Nathan behind, thinking he would probably catch me in the 3.5 mile runnable section at the end which would favor his speed.

When I looked over my shoulder on a rare section where you could see more than 100 ft of the trail behind you and couldn't see Nathan, I realized I didn't want him to catch me.  Having the mindset of racing him made it a lot easier to push than waiting for him to catch up with me did.  The trail was very tough to follow; there were a few well placed race flags to indicate that the course went over this boulder, up that switchback, etc. and without them I definitely would have gotten lost.

I got through the last aid station quickly and took off on the last section: jeep trail and double track gravel.  I knew I needed to push it because Nathan could run this very quickly.  My legs felt the best they had all day and there was lots of flat and downhill, so I moved well and had fun.  The was one steep climb that I had to walk early in the section, and another at the end that I wouldn't have walked if I had realized just how close I was to the finish, but I ran quickly for the rest of the section.

I finished in 4:13, my lack of finishing kick allowing two runners to pass me in the last 100 feet.  But I managed to crack the top 100 with a finish for the day of 99th place.  Nathan came in at 4:20 for 114th--he also moved up in the pack each day and was only 3 minutes behind me in the overall standings because he took off on the last section of the first day after faithfully running with me for the first 14 miles.  We ended up 117th and 123rd overall.  There were a lot of really excellent runners at this race!

The whole event was wonderful--I loved all three of the courses and the sponsors and organization were top-notch.   I am putting this race series in a special category of races I want to make a point to do again along with the Umstead Marathon and Bull Run Run 50.  Nathan had a blast as well and I think surprised himself with his abilities in running more than he's ever run in 3 days before.  He may want to give a post from his perspective as well.

Thanks for reading!

-Jordan

Chattanooga Mountains Stage 2: Lookout Mountain

Today's race was 22 miles that promised to be more challenging than yesterday. We had done everything we could to recover: yesterday included compression socks, ice, advil, leg rubs, lots of water/gatorade, a nap, a huge pizza, and a walk around downtown Chattanooga. Yet our legs were still stiff and sore as we started off down the gravel path that made up the first mile of the race. The wide path made it easy to spread out and run our own pace, but we came to a standstill as we turned on to single track with a set of switchbacks so steep and technical that three ropes were required at the top. It took us about 10 minutes to go two tenths of a mile as we waited for a hundred runners in front of us to navigate the ropes. After that, the climb became runnable and we set a better pace.

The trail opened up and widened as we summitted, allowing beautiful mountain views and faster running. Our legs felt surprisingly fresh, but my IT band hurt on the downhills, making me worry about the rest of the day, let alone tomorrow. We entered the 5.7 mile aid station back at the start/finish at 52 minutes. Considering the delay on the climb, we're pretty sure the first section was short.

Next up was the big climb: a 10 mile lollypop that took us to the top of the mountain before coming back through the start finish again. We did well on the way out, moving up the pack, our legs still feeling great. It was mostly a gradual uphill with a few tough steep climbs—90% runnable for us.  After the aid station at the top we started back down.  There was a little more climbing, but it was mostly downhill the next five miles--generally gradual, some really fun on tight winding trails.  At 15.5 miles, we came through the start/finish again at 2:52, trying to ignore the top runners who had already finished and were climbing into the ice bath.

The last loop was the first loop in reverse.  We ran/walked the climb up and then were able to run well until we came to the rope climb down, which we took especially carefully.  Then we were back on the gravel, an easy mile to finish, picking it up a bit---why are those flags blocking the way?  

The course sent us back onto very technical single track that we hadn't had to do on the way out, adding a little distance and a considerable bit of time since much of it required walking.  I pulled ahead of Nathan a bit and after about a mile we came to a wide stream crossing to soak our feet just before the finish.  As we went back on the gravel road Nathan started to catch me again, calling out to me at the finish that I'd better hurry or he'd catch me.

We finished in 3:47, a pace that was actually faster than our pace from yesterday.  We took full advantage of the great post-race set-up, icing our legs in the creek and refueling with the provided pasta and beer. 

We are absolutely loving this race.  The courses have been so much fun--especially today!  I've decided it's a great distance because the cumulative mileage is significant enough to require endurance but the daily totals are low enough that issues like nausea and dehydration don't come up as long as you're smart.  I've not had any of the emotional ups and downs that come with ultra running either--probably due to both the shorter distances and having constant company.

One more race to go tomorrow--the really hard one, Signal Mountain.  It's only 20 miles, 2 less than today, but we've been told to expect to run 30 minutes slower than today.  But first, we get to eat and sleep again!

-Jordan