72 Miles at the Burning River 100: A Learning Experience

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. 

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.

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.

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.