Bull Run Run 50 Miler: Not A Fluke

Hoping that my completion of the Lookout Mountain 50 Miler back in December was not a fluke, Jordan and I ran the Bull Run Run 50 Miler up in Clifton, VA this past weekend. As often seems to happen in run-ups to races, my training was cut short by injury. Often this is due to over-training or the wrong running surface; this time around, blunt force trauma was the culprit. Exactly a month out from Bull Run Run, I fell hard late in a 25 mile training run on local trails. I fell with my left arm pinned underneath me, felt my whole rib cage shift to the right, and heard an audible 'crack.' I lay still for a few minutes, cursing the unseen root that had knocked me down, but nothing seemed horribly wrong, so I finished the run in some discomfort and went home. I would later discover that simply laying down or sitting was uncomfortable, and laying on my left side was excruciating. All symptoms pointed to a bruised or cracked rib; the only treatment would be 3 to 6 weeks of rest (or until symptoms went away). I was at the peak of my training cycle (still needed a 30 miler), but suddenly breathing on a 5 mile run was difficult and painful. I fought through the next week and a half, making no progress, and finally took off a whole week to let things heal. I hoped that having finished a 50 miler would give me the mental edge to make up for the lack of miles in my legs.


With things feeling good by race weekend, Jordan and I headed to Clifton in time for the pre-race dinner on Friday night. Over pasta and salad (and even fajitas for the brave) we were implored by the race directors to follow two simple rules: don't die, and lube your b____ (er, whatever needs lubing...).


Race morning began comfortably chilly (that wouldn't last), and with the bugler sounding the Calvary Charge, we were on our way.  I quickly lost my arm warmers as we ran the lap around the parking lot to spread out the field, raucously cheered on by the race directors and spectators. Jordan had stressed the importance of being well placed in the group, as the most technical portions of the trail occur within the first few miles, right along the river. Due to the long winter, the blue bells weren't out in force, but I was happy to be feeling comfortable after the previous month spent worrying about my ribs. Having decided to run our own races, I soon pulled ahead, wanting to bank time on the flat sections (I still had some sub-10 hour illusions). The first aid station and turn around were packed with runners going and coming, and the excitement of passing so many runners seemed to make us go faster.


I returned to the start finish at mile 16 without incident, dropped off my arm warmers and trash, an headed out for the second part of the course. The day was quickly heating up, and my right knee continued to give me trouble as it had during the previous week (we don't have anywhere in Charleston to effectively train for downhills). It eventually quieted down, only for my left knee to begin painfully locking up every 15 minutes. I'd experienced something similar at Lookout Mtn, and thinking it was due to muscle cramps, began drinking NUUN as well as taking salt caps at the next few aid stations. While these didn't help my knee, they did help my overall race, as my body was able to use the 44oz (2 bottles) I was trying to drink every 3-5 miles (although peeing orange is always surprising and never pleasant...) I continued to stay ahead of my sub-10 hour pace, though my time buffer earned in the early miles was shrinking.


Throughout the course, I was surprised how many places I remembered from crewing for Jordan four years ago. It's a gorgeous area, though without leaf cover (another causality of the long winter), it had a bleak, hard look as the sun crept higher in the afternoon. I remembered that the Do Loop maintained an infamous reputation, and it did not disappoint. The steep, punchy hills came rapidly in the second half of this section, and I was forced to walk most of it. I kept up my sub-10 hour pace until mile 40, at which point my knees dictated that I would be hiking the last ten miles back to Hemlock. If I could maintain 15 minute miles, I just might have a chance to 'score' for the South.


But it was not to be; the hills, mud, and rocks that had been minor obstacles on the way out became big challenges on the way back, resulting in 17 minute miles at the last point I bothered to do the math. I wasn't upset; I think pushing oneself to cover 50 miles in one day is accomplishment enough, no matter how you go about it. Jordan passed me, running strong, with about 4 miles to go; after pulling ahead in the early miles, I don't think I was ever more than 10 minutes ahead of her at any point during the day. Remembering the map, I knew that once we got back to the river, we were close. When we started climbing away from the river (one last gut-buster of a hill), I knew we had to be really close. Once I could hear the race director's megaphone, I decided I wasn't going to walk anymore. I ran in the last quarter mile, even struggled for an awkward and painful sprint at the line that almost knocked over the waiting race director, for a time of 10:47:37, almost two hours faster than at Lookout Mtn.

The 'awkward' sprint to the finish
Photo: James Williams

I can't say enough good things about this race. The course is beautiful, challenging, well marked, and really well organized. And the volunteers were unbelievable: I have never felt so spoiled and well taken care of as a runner. Not once was I allowed to fill up my own water bottles; I was greated at each aid station (and sometimes before!) by a voluteer asking what I needed. There were folks to drape wet towels on us (a brilliant idea), someone with a hose waiting to give us a shower, another handing out popsicles (the popsicles, more on that in a minute), another literally putting my water bottles back in my vest when she saw me having trouble with fine motor skills. I always had the feeling that the volunteers had been in races and heat, and knew exactly what we were going through and what we needed. Finally, we knew we'd been spoiled when the service at the mexican restaurant we went to that night paled in comparison to what we'd been treated to all day.


And oh, the food! It is obvious where the race fee goes; each aid station had two tables (and often more) of every food one could possibly want during a race. While I had to stick to my trusty Fig Newtons and Pringles, I did have some fresh cut strawberries (so good!) and four popsicles. A note on popsicles; they're a great treat, but shouldn't be considered a replacement for food while running. The high sugar content made me euphoric (like, happy to the point of tears) for about three minutes, and then I'd quickly crash. I finally figured out the corolation on the last popsicle, and remembered to eat my Shot Bloks. The finish line did not dissapoint either, as they had burgers and hotdogs a-plenty (I told a few folks the story of watching a volunteer give the last burger to the guy in front of me after finishing Lookout). I even had a Fat Tire to go with it, as I was surreptiously directed to the right cooler by a kind volunter.


The finish line at Bull Run Run is perfectly set up for spectators to sit in the grass and watch folks finish, which most people do. There was a wonderful sense of community amongs these wild and crazy people who like to spend so much time in the woods. We stayed and ate and cheered for almost 2 hours, and as much as I wanted a shower and to go to bed, I really hated to leave. Thanks to the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club for giving us such a great day in the woods.