I’ll start this recap with what my expectations were for
this race going into it. My ultimate
goal was to finish. If someone were to
ask me what time I would expect to finish – and that actually happened on bib
pick-up the day before the race with the nice older lady behind the table
asking me what time I expected to finish the race so she can write that down
next to my name – I told her I have no idea, but if you need a number, put down
30 hours, because give or take 2 hours, that sounds about right. The week leading up to the race I was looking
at prior runner finish times and comparing those other ultramarathon
finish times listed on UltraSignup.com.
Looks like some people that had similar 100-mile or 50-mile finishes in
races I did (Bear Mt. 50, Bull-Run Run 50, Vermont 100 and Old Dominion
100) would finish in 26 hours up to 34 hours.
I was telling people who asked me that question that if I broke
30-hours, that would be icing on the just finishing the race cake.
To briefly describe the course, it’s 90% single track forest
trails and 7% dirt/gravel road and 3% asphalt. The course is a double out and back, with a
4-mile loop section in the middle. So
run out 10 miles, do a 4 mile loop up and down ski slopes and trails at the
Greek Peak Mt., run out another 11 miles, and then turn around and do it all in
reverse. That gives you 50 miles. Now do it all again. The course is plenty hilly, with over 22,000
feet of elevation gain and the same amount of loss over the 100 miles. The weather forecast for the race as of
Friday morning was 70% chance of scattered thunderstorms on Saturday, clearing
up to a partly cloudy day on Sunday.
Knowing rain was in the forecast meant the course would get slick and muddy,
depending on just how much it rained.
I arrived in Ithaca Hope Lake Park
The first thing I did was fill up my mix bottle with water
and about 1.5 packets of Vanilla flavored Generation UCAN. I won’t describe the product in detail. I’ll just say that it basically, gives me
about 4-5 hours of sustainable energy by having my body use fat as the main
source of fuel. This generally, let’s me
wake up later, rather than having to get up and eat a more solid meal, which
only lasts maybe 1-2 hours into the race before I would start to eat gels,
solid food, etc. After finishing the
drink in 10 or so minutes and waking up more, I put body on body glide (lubed)
up and got into my race clothes. Then
put in my contact lenses and then put on some warmer clothes before heading
outside the van and into the big cabin where most people were gathered to eat
the pre-race breakfast food of various breads and spreads and bananas. I chatted with many people. Some were doing the 50-miler, others the
100. Then I checked in at the table
because they have to make sure all runners that signed up, do indeed show up that
morning to run the race and don’t have second thoughts and bail. Then I went to the bathroom.
I’m wearing from bottom to top: Mizuno Cabrakan 3 trail shoes, Drymax socks,
Zensah calf compression sleeves, my Suigoi Team in Training super short (for those
that have seen them) tri-shorts, very light shorts over those, an Amphipod fanny
pack that contained a ziplock bag of toilet paper and another ziplock bag of
Tums and Enduralytes, a dri-fit white NYRR random race shirt, my 2006 Ironman
Lake Placid hat – on backwards with my headlamp for the start being Black
Diamond MM5990 spot headlamp. In both
hands I carried Nathan handheld bottles filled with water.
The countdown begins and we head out with our headlamps on,
looping around Hope
Lake
Around the 10K mark on my watch, I noticed a burning
sensation on my left calf. I basically
ignored it for 30 seconds. But the
burning continued and then I felt the need to scratch it. I look down and see what looked like a lot of
dust on my calf compression sleeves. And
then I see what is causing my burning.
There’s a yellow and black guy sticking out of my calf sleeve from his
rear. I was stung by a bee, or hornet,
or something in that family.
Awesome! First sting in over 20
years. Well, at least this time I wasn’t
crying. And I still had 3.5 miles to go
before the next aid station. I really
hoped I wasn’t all of a sudden allergic to anything or that it wouldn’t give me
any other issues in the near future.
At mile 9, we hit a downhill asphalt section, a little over
a mile long. My stomach was feeling much
better and I wasn’t screaming down this hill.
There were some awesome views of Greek Peak
At Lift House 5, we are doing the Alpine Loop. What I read over and over again in the course
description of this section was the following: “Elevation of
Note: Gain of 600 ft in first .7 mi, has steepest portion of course
mid-way at summit of ski slope glade rising 150 ft in .15 mi (21% grade),
corresponding loss of 700 ft in final 1.5 mi”.
It also said that “some have found trekking poles to be helpful on this
section”. If it weren’t for that little
blurb and reading a couple race reports from prior years that they have listed
on their website, I would not have ever thought about using trekking
poles. Trekking poles saved me so many
times on this course. So up the hill we
go. There’s a few people with me. I am the only one with poles. I start figuring out how to use them and I’m
climbing fairly well with not a lot of effort on my legs. We go up, then up some more. Then across a trail, then down. Then we go back up. Then across.
Then down. Then up. This just kept going on until we reach that
final steep climb up the 21% grade that was already a little muddy. Wow.
Forget hiking up, this section will be a pain to go down! Finally, I hit the long downhill section and
finish the first of what will be 4 of these Alpine loops over the course of 100
miles. When I reach the bottom, I decided
to keep my trekking poles because the next sections are supposed to be
technical. I’d rather carry them now and
know I should have brought them rather than not carry them, and WISH I would
have brought them. Four hours into the
race and mile 14, I take in my first calories.
About ¼ PB&J sandwich, 1/3 a banana, some enduralytes, and a
Tums. Now onto a 6.1 mile section that
seemingly never ends.
Aside from this next section being the longest stretch
between aid stations, it also has the biggest total elevation gain in the “out”
direction of the out and back course.
This section crosses a couple creeks which were thankfully low and
pretty dry at this point. There’s also
many gullies and fallen trees to hop over.
And of course, tons of trail with roots and rocks. Using the trekking poles, I would look to
launch myself over the downed trees and stabilize myself on the downhils. A little stupidity on my part had me laughing. At one point, we exit the woods and there is
a street. As I see the exit I see a guy
sitting in a chair with what looks like a clipboard. There were tons of cars and people visible so
I start yelling out “#10” so they can take my bib down. No one says anything back and when I jump
down the little embankment, I realize this is not the aid station, it’s just
people waiting to see their runners. So
I smile and joke with the people letting them know that I really thought they
looked like they were interested in knowing what my bib # was. And after saying that, I make a right up the
road for about 15 feet before I understand what they are clapping and whistling
and yelling at me about. I was supposed
to just head straight across the street and back into the woods. I don’t know why, but I decided turning right
and up the road would be the way to go.
I guess I still thought this was an aid station and I was looking for
the food. The folks there said the aid
station is about 10 minutes away. Nice,
very close. Although does that mean a 10
minute walk, or running a 10 minute mile. . . I never did really figure that
out. But I reach the Rock Pile aid
station which is just under mile 20.
I leave Rock Pile and head out to the turnaround point aid
station (Daisy Hollow) which is 5.1 miles away. There wasn’t much happening
here except realizing how amazingly accurate the course details listed on the
website were. They say “Stay straight to
follow white blazed Finger Lakes Trail to Babcock Hollow Rd. Chihuahua Maine
and had just started running ultras a little over two years ago (May 2010),
similar to me and Vermont 100 in 2011
being his first 100 (just like me!).
Unlike me, he went on to run four other 100s before Virgil Crest to my
one (Old Dominion). One of the races was
Western States! He got lucky enough to
be selected in the lottery his first try!
He went sub-24 this year there and ran Vermont Maine
He was quick with getting what he needed and leaving. He asked if I was ready and I told him to go
without me as I like to take my sweet a$$ time and make sure I get my fill of
what I want to eat and have everything.
I told him I’d catch up. Well I
didn’t catch back up to him until after I hit the next aid station. I passed him sometime on that 6.1 mile
stretch where I was feeling good and using my poles to make good time. I then stuck with someone the last two miles
who seemed like he needed some help. It
was a younger guy doing the 50 miler, his first race really. He was originally signed up for the 50K but
decided to go for the 50-miler. His
quads were cramping up so I gave him a Tums and told him he’ll be ok. We chatted and then he had to take a restroom
break so I went on. About ¼ mile before
the aid station, he flies by me downhill saying thanks so much for the
Tums. It really helped with the cramping
and he’s a good downhill runner (sprinter) so he was taking advantage of the
terrain and his good mood.
I get back to the Lift House aid station and have to now do
the Alpine Loop in reverse. Going up the
other way was much more difficult because it was a harder surface. So the trekking poles didn’t really provide
any support. So it was just power
walking up. At this point, around mile
36-37 I started to feel pretty tired. It
hit me all of a sudden. It was about
2PM, so 8 hours into the race. Nothing
to do except slow down a little, take some enduralytes and a Tums, hydrate and
wait for the tiredness to pass. But
before that happens, I hit the top of that steep decline (was an incline the
first time we did it!). I decided to
take a video of myself going down. After
3 seconds, CRASH. The video looks great
because you hear me falling down and the camera is flipping everywhere. Then I’m just sitting on the ground and curse
myself for doing something stupid. The
section was muddier now after more people went through it, combined with the
rain. I finally complete the loop and
drop off my trekking poles. I didn’t
recall really needing it for the first 10 miles of the course so I decided I
don’t need them on the 10 mile stretch back.
At mile 43 – about 10 hours in I hit another down
moment. I realize the down moments are
now coming on a little more frequently and lasting a bit longer. I had 7 miles to go for the 50-mile
turnaround at the start/finish and was hoping I could do it in under 2 hours
which would put my halfway split at 12 hours or better. I realized that it is an aggressive time
overall. But with that 12, my guess was
I could do the second half in 14-16 hours and finish around 28 hours. I would be thrilled with that! Then I thought worse case, I take a long time
and finish in 30 hours which was my guess originally. But picturing running for another 18 hours seemed
really tough. Because I would have to be
really slow for that to happen and at this point, I was feeling good, albeit
with down moments. But it wasn’t slowing
me a lot. At the aid station before the
start called Gravel Pit, I kept reminding myself before reaching it that I had
to take my headlamp that I dropped in my bag after we reached it many hours
ago, because there was a chance it would be dark by the time I got back (about
9 miles later). I leave Gravel Pit (mile
45) and get about 0.15 miles when I realize I forgot my headlamp. I was going to continue on without it, thinking
I could get back in time before the sun sets but then in popped a phrase I
heard from my friend Mark in his blog, who has ran some of the tough 100s in
Virginia including Grindstone and Massanutten (look them up). It’s simple.
“Don’t be stupid”. The saying
came from (no, he didn’t create the saying – just in this context for ultras
here) Dr. David Horton, a race director who puts together really tough courses
(such as Grindstone, Hellgate, Mt.
Masochist
I'm not sure where this was either!
I made it back to the Gravel Pit aid station without needing my headlamp up to that point. But I barely made it. So I leave, and probably in 15-20 minutes I turn the headlamp on. This wasn’t my really good headlamp which was waiting for me at the Lift House aid station. But it worked. I see many people coming back the opposite direction from me doing the 100 miler. I get back to the Gravel Pit aid station and grab my headlamp. I head out and make it to the Lift House aid station, switch to my good head lamp, a Petzl MYO RXP (up to 205 Lumens!) and do the loop without any real issues. I load up on some amazing homemade Apple bread, Blueberry bread, and Banana Bread. It was fantastic. I head out to take on the long 6.1 mile section to Rock Pile. Ok, maybe the Alpine loop took something out of me. After leaving it, it’s over 15 hours into the race and mile 65, I was at another down moment. I just was tired and not having fun at that time. It was raining hard, it was hard to see everything I wanted to see even with the good headlamp and so I was moving slowly because of the lack of visibility and a lot more mud than the first time around. The cool thing was that some of the leaves on the ground really glowed like reflector tape when the headlamp would shine on it. I don’t recall seeing anyone at all during this 6.1 mile section. After such a long time, I reached the Rock Pile aid station.
I was feeling pretty bad here. I got some hot food (chicken noodle soup) and
some Gu Chomps, which I was tending to eat at each aid station because it was
easy to handle digestively. As usual,
the amazing aid station volunteers ask if they can get anything for me, and
right after I say, a new pair of legs I also spurt out, I’m sure you’re tired
of hearing that one. . . they nod but say they understand. The guy at the aid station then tells me I’m
in 9th place. I was very
shocked by this. But I wave him off
saying I really could care less. I just
want to finish and any place is fine with me.
It makes some sense though thinking about the few people I saw coming
back at me when I was running miles 45-50.
But I wondered how far behind the 10th place runner was. I asked the guy if he knew when the rain was
supposed to stop but he had no idea.
Onward I go.
I leave the aid station and head out towards mile 75, the final turnaround point. For the last 5 miles or so, I was having some quad pain in my left leg. I would take some Tums and it seemed to work sometimes. But my pace was really so slow and it wasn’t due as much to visibility and mud issues as I was exhausted and hurting. This section I remembered had some really narrow tracks that were right next to the edge of a small opening. Losing balance, slipping, tripping, or leaning the wrong way would not be a good thing to do. So I really took care and used my trekking poles for support. I couldn’t wait (sarcasm) to do it the other way back. I get to the turnaround, and don’t stay there too long (that I remember) and head back the 5.1 miles to Rock Pile. I do not remember seeing many people cross my path the way back to rock pile. Where was everyone?! It’s like there was a 2-hour difference between 8th place and 9th place (me) and 2-hours to 10th place. I am really starting to feel terrible. I’m very cold from the rain and temperature drop all night. My legs are killing me, but really this spot below my knee and outside. I’m not sure if it’s the bone or a tendon. But it hurts going downhill or moving fast on flats. Uphills are ok, but it’s not like I’m running them. Finally, I make it back to Rock Pile for the last time.
I get there and tell them I’m exhausted. I don’t want to drop, but need a break. So I sit down in a chair right next to a fire
they have going to keep themselves warm at the aid station. There is a saying “beware the chair”, but at
this point, I’m more worried about hypothermia. So I get a warm cup of soup and
try to warm up. I look to the right of
me and see a guy named Todd that I met 5 minutes before the race began. He was wearing a pair of Hoka One’s (ultra
people know what this is, if you don’t, look it up) which got us talking about
it at the time. I ask him how he’s doing
now and he says he’s not good and that he’s dropping. The problem with him dropping though is his
crew or friend was going to meet him at Lift House. But Todd wasn’t going to be heading to Lift
House. Todd didn’t know his friend’s
cell number so they couldn’t call him.
So he asked if he had either the race director or a different person’s
number to call. Basically, we wanted to
let the RD know that he was dropping and to immediately post that drop on the
website and tracking so that his friend might hopefully see that he dropped and
not go out and wait forever at an aid station where Todd won’t show up. But before they made that call, the aid
station captain tried to talk him into not dropping. He said you know how it works. Why don’t you go warm up and rest and sleep
in the tent we have set up and decide later if you plan to drop. For him, it
was 4AM roughly so he had 14 hours to do 30 miles. It’s certainly doable! It’s a 28 minute mile pace for 30 miles. But sometimes it’s not and the risk is too
great. Todd has done many ultras before,
including Badwater, a 135 mile race that goes through Death Valley and ends up
at the top of Whitney Portal of Mt.
Whitney
This next 6.1 mile stretch was the worst part of the race
for me. Hands down! I knew I was going to hate it 50 miles
earlier, and was dreading it at this point.
After probably half a mile or a mile, I thought I should turn around and
drop. I couldn’t do anything but walk
slowly. But I really didn’t want to go
up the hill to the aid station and walk that mile back. So I slogged on. At mile 82, 4.5 miles from the next aid
station, I thought the same thing. I had
my video camera and recorded this statement, “I feel absolutely terrible.
Felt like this last 10 miles. If I were smart I would have dropped. Cold.
Exhausted. Stepping weird. Sleeping. Legs are completely shot. Everything is
shot. How will I do the alpine loop? If I don't drop, maybe I'll
sleep for a bit. I have know idea. Not too good right now.” Out of the blue, I also had to take my first
pit-stop for #2. Amazingly, squatting
wasn’t so bad. This was a rather
uneventful deposit! Adjusting for times
I was stopped, which the Garmin does automatically, my times on my watch for
this stretch of about 5 miles of death was in minute/mile pace rounded to the
nearest minute, 29, 34, 32, 24, 25. The
first time around in that direction it was, 13, 14, 16, 11, 13. Here is where my bag of motivation played in
big time. Lots of times throughout the
race, I had pulled it, but here was a big part to keep moving, instead of just
lying down on the spot. As a coach for
Team in Training, I always hear people give “mission moments”, which is when
someone will come up and give their reason for joining Team in Training or what
motivates them to keep running. So I’ve
heard so many stories of participants that have lost friends and relatives to
cancer. I’ve heard from people who had
recently gone through treatments or have been in remission. More recently, one of our walk coaches had
relapsed. She goes through Chemo every
week but still comes out to our practices and when she can, she walks with her
walkers. Another friend of mine, not on
Team in Training had found a tumor on his pancreas and one test came back
negative, the other positive (malignant). So he is now going through
Chemo. Meanwhile, I volunteered myself
to go through what I’m going through in this race. They have no choice in going through the side
effects of Chemo. I’m lucky enough to
not have to go through that myself.
Those people are the strong ones.
So if I could lend them strength, I would. And there’s no way they would give up because
it’s their lives at stake. I can give up
and be in a warm car. But I don’t have
to give up and I have a choice. They don’t. So I should stop whining and just keep
walking.
On I go. I had to
continually use more positive thinking because I continually thought about
dropping once I reached the next aid station.
The reason I was ready to drop was aside from thinking I was hypothermic
because I was so cold, but also because my legs were done. My arms were tired from the trekking
poles. And I was having trouble walking
straight. How in the world could I
navigate the Alpine loops? Especially on
the way down that steep and most likely unbelievably muddy section? It would not be possible. I’m done!
With about a mile to go before the aid station, I could see the sun was
starting to make its appearance. With
about 10 minutes before the next aid station, it was nicely lighting the way
and I didn’t need my headlamp. But with
the rising of the sun, so rose my spirits.
This is what happens in 100-milers.
You feel like garbage in the middle of the night, but the sun comes up
and you feel refreshed. A good dose of
natural Vitamin D or Serotonin. So now I began to tell myself, let’s just see
if the volunteers at the aid station can give me a blanket and hot food, warm
me up, and maybe I can get back into this.
Here was my thinking. When I
reach the aid station, I had about 11 hours left to finish the race. That’s 11 hours to do 14 miles. Or 47 minutes
per mile. There should be no reason, except for not being able to crawl the
course, for me to not be able to make the 36-hour cutoff. But again, I felt terrible. I really didn’t want to drop of DNF (Did Not
Finish). Why the hell would I put myself
through the torture of the last 10 miles if I could have dropped
earlier?!!!! No f’n way will that terrible
time out there be for nothing. The
amazing volunteers at the aid station found a nice purple kids blanket for
me. I changed into long tights, a new
long sleeve shirt, a warmer jacket (instead of my current lightweight rain
jacket). They gave me some heavy gloves
to wear, some soup to eat and they restarted the fire pit which was roaring at
night. I spent about 20 minutes warming
up and getting ready here. Just sitting
in a chair by the fire. Discussing things with the amazing volunteers. When I felt like I warmed up enough, I
decided to eat some more of that awesome bread they had leftover and then got
ready to go. As I was leaving, I heard
the cowbell ringing that another runner was making their way in. Well hello 10th place I
thought. Now I have some motivation to
move faster!
I somehow managed the Alpine loop in roughly a 20-21
minute/mile average pace. Only about 5
minutes per mile slower than the first time doing it that direction. I got back to the aid station but shortly
after I heard the cowbell ringing and 10th place was coming
down. When I looked back on my way down,
I didn’t see him. But he was moving very
well. He ended up leaving the aid
station before me and was running. The
aid station people clapped and told me I did really well getting through that
tough spot and looked good and was good to go finish. My legs were dying after the Alpine loop
though. So all I could do was walk. That’s ok because after 1/3rd a
mile or so began that long asphalt road over a mile long before getting back
into the woods. This is where I would
now see the 50K runners whose day started at 8AM Sunday began. They were all very friendly and said “great
job” to me as they sped by. Somehow,
this 5-mile section took forever! I was
moving very slowly. My paces were even
slower than the Alpine loop! I struggled
and finally made it into Gravel Pit. The
race director was there and he congratulated me on sticking with it and that
just 4.5 miles to go for the finish. I
asked him if I could put my dropbag in his truck so I didn’t have to wait until
who knows when to get it back. He said
it was no problem. I thanked them and
went off.
I could smell the finish now. It was just a matter of time. But I was so tired of running and being out
here and NOT being able to really move fast that I just wanted to be done as
fast as possible. Or at least get to
that pavement stretch that goes around the lake. So I made it a point to use the poles and use
my hips and try and race walk this section.
As a generally fast marathoner (at least compared to most people on Team
in Training – my PR of 3:10 is nice, but I don’t consider myself super fast,
even though I may be one of the faster runners in the group), I’ve taken it
upon myself to understand run/walk and race walking. They put a ton of effort into finishing their
races and it doesn’t mean run/walking is slow.
I run/walked the Dublin
So because someone ahead of me had dropped at mile 86, I
ended up finishing in 9th place overall. Only 50% of the 64 runners that started the
100-miler finished the race. The rain
and cold weather really messed people up that went out unprepared. I saw many people at night or before night
without rain gear on. They must have
been freezing. I also believe the
trekking poles saved me out there. Aside
from balance and not gong off the side of a cliff or slipping and breaking
something, it really took a ton of pressure off my legs on the downhills and
made it possible to safely navigate on muddy and steep terrain. For those that were able to do the race
without using a trekking poles at all, wow!
But I’m sure not having trekking poles is another huge reason other
people dropped. This race was one tough
SOB. The motto of the race is “not for
sissies”. I completely agree.
And here's the Garmin data on the race:
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/226468448#.UGGv9ryX1aQ.email
Epilogue:
I really wasn’t sure what the pain below my knee and inside
my leg was. I figured, either a stress
fracture or big time tendinitis. So I
made a doctor appointment to get it checked out. He was pretty certain it was just tendinitis
of the Pes tendons but to rule out a stress fracture, I got an MRI. Still awaiting the results. But it feels much better now, 5 days after
finishing, that I’m sure it’s just the tendinitis.
Both of my forearms about two inches above my wrist were
killing me beginning Monday from using the trekking poles for over 20 hours to
stabilize myself, and never using trekking poles for more than 20 minutes
before. So it is a clear overuse injury.
5 days later, my left arm is good, but my right hurts just as bad as
ever. I’ve been taking Aleve and icing
as the doctor recommended and now putting Arnica gel on it. I can also feel a rubber band type stretching
and grinding when I move my hand (thereby activating the forearm and tendons)
which is just how irritated and inflamed the tendon is.
I had a really nice chafe mark and now scab on my lower back
from the hydration pack. My ankles were also chafed from rubbing on the shoe
when I had to quickly save myself many times from slipping near the edge of a
trail. One toenail is about to come
off.
Aside from all that, everything is great. I can’t run until I get the results of the
MRI on Monday, just over a week after finishing the race. I don’t’ really feel
the need to run though and am ok with that right now. I am thinking of what to do next year. I still have the NYC marathon to do and then
maybe the Knickerbocker 60K a few weeks later to see if I can break 5
hours. But for next year, I’ll put my
name in for the Western States Lottery, but maybe I’ll also apply for UTMB
(Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc) http://www.ultratrailmb.com/ since I have enough points now (10 out of 7
needed) to qualify for it (4 from Old Dominion, 4 from Virgil Crest, and 2 from
Bear Mt.). Whatever I decide, I love
trail running much more than road. But,
man, 50-milers, 100K’s or less sounds like so much more reasonable races to
train for and race than 100s.
What a great blog! I'm an old retired woodsman, and this race would have killed me 50 years ago. Well done and very interesting, and I'm not even a racer.
ReplyDeleteThanks Andy!
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