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…