Race Reports

Longer than Mike’s race report and twice as stupid

Prologue
The hallucinations and pain continued. They weren’t real hallucinations, of course – nothing that would get you three squares in a State Hospital – but rather lots of conversations with myself that led to laughing. And anger. And a dismal feeling of this will never end.
“Pain, tired, cold, distance,” I repeated to myself, the mantra sounding increasingly demotivating. The agony was in both legs, radiating from the hips to the knees to the calves as constants. Sinusoidal waves of pain would have been more welcomed, for it would have allowed some respite during the “off-cycles” that would come between paroxysms of discomfort. “Run, you SOB,” I muttered. “RUN, YOU SONUVABITCH,” I yelled. “RUN.”
It would be another eight miles of pain, fatigue, chills and knowledge of the distance yet to cover before things would change.

Four months earlier
“Holiday Lake is the one you want. Fast and flat. Sort of like the Battlefield,” Jimmy said. “Yep, if you can do Battlefield, you can run Holiday Lake,” Phil echoed.
I mused this over. Never a particularly fast runner, my best 5K being 21 minutes and my best marathon a 3:47, it seemed doable in the eight hours (EIGHT HOURS!!) allotted to finish Holiday Lake – billed as a “50K++.” Besides the daily Crossfit workouts, the training regimen most often repeated to me was “get time on your feet.”
“You need to have time on your feet,” Phil was saying. This was something I heard often – from Phil, from Ryan, from Adam. Get Time On Your Feet – and not said was “Or You’ll Be Like Those Losers Who Drop Out At Some Point Whining Because They Blowed Up Real Good.” Phil continued: “Don’t worry about distance or pace. Just go out for hours at a time. You need to get comfortable with being alone and the sheer distance.” I was half listening. How could I not worry about pace and distance? Weren’t they also part of the equation? I had not run distance in 10 or 11 years – would I be able to maintain the pace necessary to cross the line and get that all important, 100 percent polyester, finisher’s tee shirt? The distance intrinsically didn’t seem daunting – in fact, mentally it sounded relatively easy. There was only one potential problem – I had injured my Achilles badly, and dislocated a toe, too, on the box’s 5 mile (yeah, right – five miles my ….) trail run over the summer. But I’d felt good during the trail run. My pace had been okay, considering I had not run in a year, and had only recently returned to Crossfit after a seven month hiatus. Holiday Lake was around 34 miles. Five times and change more than the trail run – but it was a much flatter course. And there would be something like four times the runners….and lots of support. Hmmmm. And I had the mental part down – the “mentally it sounded relatively easy” mental part.
It was balmy but not steamy the first day I hit the Battlefield trail to begin training. Perfect running weather, I thought – but don’t go out too far or too fast. The first training run was a pathetic 30 minutes on trail – 15 out and 15 back. I was breathing easy, but my legs were tired. Thousand mile journey, single step, yeah, yeah, yeah – I got it. Okay, I thought: let’s do a few more of these 30 minute runs, and then step it up a bit.
Thirty minutes led to forty led to an hour. Which led to two and three hour runs. Battlefield, quarry, Battlefield, quarry. Stick to the trails; eschew roads from now on. Pay attention – trip hazards abound. Mentally prepare. Crossfit harder.
“You want to run this weekend?” my buddy Lou said over the phone. “I need a good, long run.” “Yeah, I want to show you up,” I said. Lou is 43, retired Navy, and was halfway through the California Highway Patrol academy last year when some overeager recruit tossed him during hand-to-hand training and tore a ligament in his shoulder. He’s working in NoVa and waiting to hear from the Virginia State Police now. “You’ll have to work pretty hard to do that,” he said.
That first of many runs we did together was all mine. He had never run trails. I pulled him up the Battlefield’s minor foothills and dragged him down inclines. We were running 9:30-10:00 pace and I was feeling good. We ran every weekend – six milers, a few 12’s and once an eight in the quarry. Lou got better. Me, I traded sideways – no pain, but no improvement, either. During the 8 miler in the quarry, I felt hip pain the first time. What generated that pain was a mystery, since my previous nemesis – years before – always had been shinsplints. No more shinsplints. But the hip pain was troubling.
I remembered something from the box – and took it aboard. (NOTE TO PROSPECTIVE ULTRA RUNNERS….YOU MUST DO THIS, TOO!!) Those mobility WODs we always do at the box; well, maybe…just maybe. So I went to the MWOD site, and Kelly Starrett had a few tricks to alleviate the hip issue, and I tried them. Huh….Crossfit WODs became less painful, and I hit a few PRs (I have my excellent coaches to thank here), and on six milers there was no pain. But every time I’d run 12, at about mile seven or eight, my left hip felt like someone was forcing the hip away from the socket with a (rusty and sharp) tire iron. Enter my long-time friend, Vitamin A….aka Aleve. Took away the pain, without loss of performance. How good was that?
Training continued along a general path of two to three sixes a week, and a 12 or 14 on weekends. The day after the long run, I’d run half of that, so I was getting somewhere between 18-20 miles over two days a week. Wind was great, legs felt great. My hip, on the inside, probably looked like one of the cars from Final Destination, but it pained me only on longer runs.
I started to focus on race nutrition about a month before Holiday Lake, and, in hindsight, this was The Big Mistake. Had I thought about nutrition and hydration sooner, I would have put in more Time On My Feet and thus better prepared myself. I used my Crossfit workouts as a way to rationalize having enough race training, but everyone is different, and I was someone who needed more Time On My Feet. My basic nutrition – I say again for possible penetration…BASIC – was great. I was eating 90 percent Paleo / Primal and taking fish oil. I also took Glucosamine / Condroitin supplements…and, with no knee pain at all – EVER – felt that my anecdotal evidence was sufficient to continue with that. But…I had never eaten much during previous marathons or relay races – a couple of gels here and there (maybe!) and grab a banana or orange or some jelly beans and move on. So on these training runs, I didn’t eat. If you don’t train the way you intend to race, you are setting yourself up for trouble, as I would see. (Of course, I knew this already, but ignored this, probably because I’d been dropped on my head as a child.)
The weather had been cooling off as race day approached, and so I didn’t really give much thought to hydration, either – a slug of H2O before the run, a non-BPA bucket of water after, and that was that. I figured I drank enough during the day. I focused on how I felt real-time, instead of planning for uncertainty. And, man, Uncertainty was coming to get me – and bringing Hell with him.

Race day minus a week
The sun was more than mid-way and I’d finished some work for a client. I knew I needed one more run before Holiday Lake. I had wanted to do a long run for some time, and had not found the time to get it in. Today was the day. Battlefield – from Lansdowne to Old Mine Road and back…three times. Eighteen miles. I’d done 12 on the Battlefield many times already. This run, however, would be my longest distance since Marine Corps some 11 years prior.
I felt great, and wore a brand new hydration vest my wife (thanks, Carly – you know I couldn’t have done this without you) had gotten for me. It worked like a champ, my legs felt great, the sky grayed, the air was oxygenated, I downed a couple of gels, the run went fine. Eighteen miles in about 3:15. That’s a 6-6:30 finish, I thought. And added parenthetically, “piece of cake.” Yeah, a honkin’ big piece of chocolate-unwarranted-confidence cake.

Race day
I did one more run after that 18 miler – an recovery six on the battlefield with my wife. No hydration and no supplements/gels/food. So, here I find myself at 12:30 in the am on the morning of race day, packing for the drive down to Holiday Lake, dithering about what to take. In the end, the vest contained three gels, a couple of Clif bars, seven salt tabs (wrapped in foil) and four Aleve (also individually wrapped). The plan was to take gels or the Clif bar when I felt peckish, pop a salt tab every hour and drop an Aleve every two hours. Drink water throughout, but fill the bag half way at first in case I needed to stuff a jacket or gloves into the backpack where the bladder was stowed (Phil’s admonition, but with our great crew, this turned out to have been over-preparation). I stuff a post-race change of clothes into a duffel bag, made a thermos of coffee, layered on some running gear, and jumped in our communal transportation with three other Crossfitters and Adam, our coach, driver, and crew.
The conversation on the way down was lively, profane and unrelenting (thanks, Ben, Robby and Adam – I think) – especially given the oh-dark-thirty time of our departure. We made it down there in about two and a half hours, and stretched out and used the 4H facilities (and the woods) and just relaxed the pre-race jitters while waiting for the 6:30 start.
The 4-H center was an active place, and Dave Horton, the race director, was there, dispensing advice and insults and checking people in. The breakfast items put out for the runners were bad juju…sugary stuff and bad coffee. I downed the dregs of Peet’s French roast from my thermos, wolfed a Lara bar, and moseyed down to the start line, with the other RARE guys and the other million runners. As usual, no one looked tired, despite the time – the hype was on, the testosterone was flowing, the F was soon about to equal MA.
A few pre-race photos later, the clock counted down to start, and we were off. I was about mid-pack, and moving fine up the half-mile hill to the trail head. But there was danger ahead, and I had caused that danger to occur.
BUT FIRST!…time for a pop quiz: Q: What’s the number one rule in any race? A: Don’t do anything new on race day. Don’t run with a new hat, or a new watch, or new shoes, or a new pack, or new food or supplements…don’t do ANYTHING new. You are already hyper-hyped up, and anything new will likely cause your system to yell “Abort! Abort! Abort!” into your reptilian brain, leading to a grocery geyser as you growl at the gravel….or, ahem, worse. You already have a system….apply it. Then…learn from it. Take that lesson learned, train hard on the new thing, and put your new whatever into the next race. Any 13-year-old knows this.
So, then, here is my key insight: I must be…12. I wore a pair of compression socks (Zensah, but I swear they were made by Al Qaeda operatives), and they felt okay at first. Nice little massage-y squeeze on the drive down. Another warm layer under my Lillehammer trou. I’m such a clothing guru.
We finished the asphalt climb, and then I turned right and climbed a short hill onto the trail, single-tracking behind about 200 of my best friends. No problems. We were jogging, with the occasional opportunity to pass and run a bit, but all in all, it was a gentle beginning in the pack. The leaders, of course, were a mile and a half away. I’d see them again on their return. (Along with about 370 of the other runners.) At mile two the pain in my left calf started. I mean real pain — like someone had kicked me repeatedly with a pointy shoe. I limped for about two miles or so, and then said to myself — well, bucko, you’d better just try to run through it. It was like trying to explain to a chicken that it had to just try to get used to the idea it was going to be eaten. Running through it was a mental thing I’d done before, but the pain was so sharp, that I just limped-ran to stay in the race. I favored it hard for another five or six miles, and then the consequences of that caught up to me. I started to get knee pain, then hip pain, for having favored the leg for an hour. Then the right leg started to bother me (sympathetic pain?).
It hit me: those compression socks were doing a number on my calves. I had caused this.
I approached aid station one at about the 4.5 mile point and saw friendly faces – the RARE crew were there with cheers and smiles. Stripped off my polartech jacket and gloves (thanks Mel, Heather, and Adam), popped an Aleve and salt, grabbed some fruit and drank a cup of water. The rest of my Crossfit running pals had long gone from this AS. I told the RARE crew I was in pain, but could run through it.
The limping continued. I was passed by everyone, including people in power chairs and an escaped three-toed sloth. The pain became exquisite, and because I’d favored the left calf, the pain went into the knee and hip and then down into the right hip. We crossed a small stream – my intent was to clamber across some rocks upstream a foot or so, but some runners in front of me just powered through the middle and I thought – “why not?” That water was cold. My feet welded together and stayed that way until about mile 29, so I would advise taking the rocks, sports fans.
You must take time, during a race, to take stock of where you are. The course is a fine one. The scenery changes every few minutes, from single track to technical areas, to small rock jeep trail to a power line road that is mind numbing, but all downhill on the out leg. This power line road occurs after AS2. It is all uphill on the way to AS2 on the return leg. This becomes important later on.
I stopped at AS2, knowing that the RARE crew would not be there; the pre-race info said crew would be allowed at AS 1 and 3 only. Nevertheless, the usual suspects manned the AS – friendly, quick to get a befogged runner what he needed, and as happy to see you as if you were the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes delivery guy. I ran the next five miles or so to AS3 in something like a 13 minute pace. Downhills hurt as much as uphills, which was not a good sign. There were plusses: the weather was fine, and I didn’t feel thirsty or hungry. My wind was great, too. But by the time I reached AS 3, I was disoriented with pain. Adam looked at me like I had the bends. “How’re you doing, buddy?” he said, maybe a little too loudly. “Fine, just fine. Never better,” I said, wondering where the beered-up stretch limo was that would whisk me to the finish.
I arrived at the turn around at 3:30 (around 10 am)….Race Director Horton was there, looking calm and golf-togged dapper. He gave me a “hey, man, you’re looking good and you have four and a half hours to finish — NO SWEAT!” Adam got the volunteers to fill my hydration pack and told me to “just run your race.” I believed Adam’s advice to be more precise than Horton’s “no sweat.”
The next five miles were like the previous five leading to the turn around except going the other way – there are some pretty good hills (they were downhill earlier, Al, but not now), some technical rocky trail along a slope adjacent to the river (be careful, Al), a quaint concrete bridge across the lake, and a few tiers of wooden steps. But no other runners to go around, or step aside for, except for a couple of people I saw entering the turn around as I was leaving it. Maybe I’ll be able to come in before them, I thought.
There are two good things about being tail end Charlie on a turn around race: a) you are alone and can get immersed in the beauty of the forest and lake without any distractions, and b) you can pee anywhere you damn well please, thank you. And I was tail end Charlie — well almost.
. . .

“Are you sure you don’t want to borrow my ipod?” my wife asked.
“Well….I-“
“Look, I got you this cool armband from The Aid Station – you can pull together some songs, and—“
“Well, I was thinking…I like to listen to the trail and think my own thoughts on a long run. No, I don’t think I’ll use it, but thanks, honey.”
. . .

The return leg started to get to me and my leg…or legs. The pain grew in intensity and frequency. It was now all the time and all the way up and down both of them. I felt like my limbs were corrugated iron…and twisted into Salvador Dali shapes. I would stumble up inclines and mince down the hills. It was awful. I was taking my Aleve and saltstick on time. I had grabbed oranges and bananas at the AS, and water. The steady uphill on the power line road to AS2 went weird, and the hallucinations began. “Pain, tired, cold, distance,” I said over and over, at least until the charlie horse came out of the brush and clamped onto my right thigh like a vise. I invoked the Lord’s name. I said “no, no, no, no, no…NO!!!” a million times, as if it would protect me from pain, danger and evil like a car horn in Naples, for those of you who might have driven in Naples.
“Hey, here I am on the Holiday Lake trail and boy, do I like to think my own thoughts!!! Where’s that &*$%#@ ipod now????” I laughed, maybe a little hysterically. The cramp finally subsided, and I went from limping to a slow jog. Then, in front of me, maybe 300 yards or so, in the tree line, I saw something white – moving? Flapping? Nah, some kind of sign or streamer. Just a race marker. Or maybe I really was hallucinating. I ran-stumbled closer. No, the white object was moving…and in an irregular pattern…it was a human being! I picked up the pace, and looked beyond the person and saw the orange tent of AS2. My head clearing a bit, I brought it in to the aid station, and asked for water.
“Good JOB!” a young woman said, as I came in, as if I were nine years old (we’ve already established I am 12). “Water, please,” I said, in reply. “You did great, man,” said a male voice. I turned and saw him breaking down The Aid Station (good store – in Forest VA and online) signature orange tent. “But you missed the cut off, you know.”
I bristled. “No, I didn’t – I was there in three-thirty, and the cut off was three-forty-five.”
“Wellll,” the Aid Station taker-downer said, “you needed to be here at noon.”
“Huh? Wha—no, I just needed to be at the turnaround by…” my voice faded and I got very cold. I looked at my watch. 12:19.
“…yeah, there at 3 and a half, but you needed to be here at noon. It’s in the race packet.”
“I’m sure it was. I just don’t remember seeing that.” I frowned. The girl looked up and said “well, you won’t make the finish by 2:30.” I did a quick calculation. From the turnaround to AS 2, my pace had been 15.5 (no, that’s not a typo). I stopped a few times with bad charlie horses on the power line road, and sort of got mentally down and that took a lot out of my non-cramped running. Continually thinking, as I ran up the boring stretch that was the power line road: After I hit AS 2, I still have 8 miles to go….sigh.
“I won’t?”
“No, not at your pace. You’re not going to finish in time.” It was said with finality.
“Well, I’ll just run faster.”
“But at your pace –“
The guy broke in. “You are supposed to leave the course.” Pause. “Look, I can give you a ride back, if that will help you out.”
I looked at the guy. He had stopped dismantling the tent. “Well, so, what now?” It was a standoff, as we stared each other down. “Do you have a radio?” More of a demand than a question.
“Uh, uhhh, no. I don’t have a radio. I…”
“Are you going to tell anyone?” Sounded like something a 12-year-old would say.
“Well, no…and I’m not going to tackle you.”
“Look, I didn’t come this far to QUIT! I’ll just run faster.”
“Well,” the guy said, seemingly sincere in his willingness to believe in my cause, “you’d better get going…because I’m chasing you!”
I took off. There were eight miles to go. I had a little over two hours to make it.
I stopped a couple hundred yards down the path and downed three Shotblocks, two gels, a saltstick, half a Clif bar. I took a huge slug of water from the tube and stretched for 5 seconds. Then hauled.
Over the next four miles I ran a 10.6 pace. At AS 1, at the end of the stretch, I drank two nuuns, a ginger ale, and two cups of water. I was finishing the water when Adam came up behind me.
“How do you feel? What are you doing here?”
“Yeah, I had to move,” I said, and took him aside from the volunteers to tell him what had happened at AS2.
“You had better get going,” he yelled at me, as I ran away. “This is a great part of the trail.”
“Downhill?” I yelled back.
“No, it’s rolling, but very runnable….”
I ran around the bend. The trail did go downhill for a long period and I started to laugh. “Looks pretty effin’ downhill to me, Adam!” With about 4 and a half miles to go from the aid station, my mental outlook had improved, and I attacked hills and ran declines like it was the first four mile leg.
It was runnable. I realized that I had not, technically, seen this section because it had been dark at the start, and first light for just a little of this part of the out leg. There were some short hills, and then the course opened up into a picnic area, like something out of a vintage paint-by-number scene. I cut through a stand of pine trees, running across the cushion of needles. A barracuda of a cramp attacked viciously and I went down like a sack of hammers. This drill was familiar – asking God for help, denying that I would not finish, swearing at the trees in general. Something made me look up, and there in the distance I saw another runner ahead of me about a hundred yards. I’d seen this guy before – we’d passed each other a few times before and after AS 3 on the out leg. The cramping continued, but now that I saw I had Actually Caught Up To Another Runner, another shot of adrenalin kicked in and I started running to catch him. About a mile and a half prior to the finish, I pulled up alongside him. He was in pain and walking.
“Well, it looks like it’s just us,” I joked with him. Hey, I’d caught up to someone. I was in a great mood! “We gonna make it?”
“Ahhh, well, we’re here….and I’m glad for that, “ he said, smiling back. We exchanged names and locales. Rick, whose girlfriend also had run today, was from Manassas and this was his first ultra. We commiserated and joked about the 200 or so “good job!” exhortations we’d both received. “I thought they were taunts, the first 175 or so,” Rick said. I told Rick I remembered when he had passed me for what I thought was the last time, and he smiled a little ruefully.
“Yeah, well, my knees….oh, man.”
“C’mon, Rick – we’re running all the way from here…what th—did I just see a ‘one mile to go’ sign?”
We ran another couple hundred yards to what we thought was the trail head and the road to the finish, but the trail turned left and continued in the woods for another third of a mile. Finally, we came out to the asphalt and caught up with another guy who was walking.
“You can’t walk in,” Rick and I said.
“No, I can’t – wait up!”
In the Holiday Lake pre-race material, Horton had said the course was very well marked, and had been double checked by he and his staff. “In fact, it’s so well marked, that if you get lost, I wouldn’t tell anyone,” he wrote. Not only that, but the course is scenic, the weather mostly accommodated (we did get flurries…well, that is, I got flurries…at about 1:30 pm, and the wind picked up several times), and the volunteers and aid stations were well-stocked and spaced just right.
Rick and I ran in under the start banner arm in arm and gave each other a guy hug afterward. Charles came in a few seconds later. The RARE team had waited for me to come in (no mean feat!) and came over to give me salutations.
“Thanks for giving me that advice, Jimmy,” I said.
“What advice did he give you?” Adam asked.
“I met him about a mile from the turn around. He asked me how I was. I told him and he said ‘don’t you f—— quit!!’ I thought it was said in a heartfelt way.”
Adam asked me what I wanted to do now. Go home, was all I could think. But everyone suggested a shower. Okay, if you guys don’t mind waiting, I said to them. I might be awhile, I warned, as I limped toward the showers.
That 4-H bunkhouse shower was MONEY, man. I don’t remember a shower feeling so good.
That night, following Adam’s advice, I took an ice bath, ate a lot of protein, popped a salt tab, and did some mobility. The next day, Sunday, I came in for a workout with Mike. Steady and light, but we felt it. I told Mike how much faster I’d gone after AS2 and the nutrition I’d taken in. “You didn’t eat enough during the rest of the race,” he said. The race gods would agree. And an old dog had learned something: I simply did not take in enough to maintain pace, in spite of the pain. Maybe another race would prove this out.
Oh, yeah – I came in with 21 minutes to spare: 7:39 even. An hour or so longer than I’d thought I’d run. Dunno…maybe I got lost – but as Horton warned, I’m not telling anyone that.
Promised Land? It’s looking that way.
-Al E.

Mike’s Stupid Long Holiday Lake Race Report

Going into 2012 my primary goal in regards to CrossFit was very un-CrossFit, no max snatch or Fran, but rather completing the Lynchburg Ultra Series (LUS). The LUS is comprised of 3-50Ks and 1-50 Mile trail run, sounds easy enough… Even though my main goal was not CrossFit related, my training for these races would be provided through the same classes everyone attends at RARE, 3-5 times a week. The only training outside of RARE that I will plan to work in are weekend trail runs at the Quarry and Fredericksburg Battlefield (leisure fun runs), along with a few longer training runs 2 weeks out before each event, with mileage never exceeding 20 miles. Outside of the LUS I hope to find time to run a 50 mile trail race this summer, just incase a moment of insanity pops up and I get the proper blessings to run the Grindstone 100 in October as you need a 50 mile run completed within the specified time as a qualifier for that race.

Back on track, the first step in achieving my LUS goal was the first race in the series, Holiday Lake 50K++, the ++ being it is a few miles longer than a 50K. Holiday Lake is advertised as great first ultra, fairly flat, lots of running, plenty of aid stations, etc. Runners have 8 hours to complete the distance with two aid station cutoff points, mile 16 (3:45) and mile 25 (5:45).

For those who have aspirations to compete in one of the Ultras held in VA, you are in luck. RARE is filled with folks that have run these events multiple times and are great sources of info. Even with all the experience we have I was very anxious in the weeks leading up to the race. I knew that I was physically prepared, but was unsure if I could make the cutoff points at mile 16 and 25, how fast do I need to run to make it there, should I go out slow, fast, follow someone???? What the hell is wrong with me?

To help ease some of my anxiety, my wife and I drove to Lynchburg the day prior to the race instead of leaving Fredericksburg at 0130 with everyone else. We checked into our hotel, went to the Aid Station, picked up everyone’s race bibs, and drove out to Holiday Lake. I wanted to do this out of paranoia that we would get lost the next morning. Found the start /finish area, and drove back to Lynchburg. Had my traditional pre-race bacon cheeseburger and fries (Have to carb up you know…), back to the hotel, a glass or two of wine, lights out. Sleep came quick and probably got a good 6 hours of sleep.

Wake up at 0345, shower, dress, and we are off. I ate a Builder bar on the 45 minute ride from Lynchburg to Appomattox but it just did not cut it. Not too many options this time of the day but we both wanted coffee and would you believe it there was a McDonalds open. Against better judgment I inhaled a bacon egg and cheese biscuit. Who am I kidding I wanted that damn biscuit and it tasted like heaven!

Finally we are here, time to lube up and find everyone else. Around 0600 we found the other RARE runners and crew. A few words of encouragement, kiss the wife, National Anthem, holy crap, GO!

With my headlamp and about 400 close friends leading the way I start the beginning of the day’s journey, a .6 mile jog uphill, on a paved road. This was one of my worries before the race, how fast to go out. I did not want to get caught up in a log jam of runners but also did not want to waste too much energy on this initial section. My worries went away quick as there was very little delay getting off the road and hitting the single track into the woods. From this point you are more or less faced with either keeping up the pace with the person in front of you or falling behind and slowing everyone else. Thankfully the pace was steady and inline with where I wanted to run. Before I knew it we had run 4 miles and were already at aid station one. It came so fast that I almost forgot to give my headlamp to my wife. As I gracefully threw it at her, I kept on pushing as I needed nothing at mile 4.

After the initial aid station the trail is single track and fire road, the entire section was runable. It also was the section where the water crossings would appear. The first was a tiny stream, small enough to where I jumped right over it. The second, not so much. Pretty wide, knee deep, and unavoidable, I ran through it. My feet would be wet for the rest of the day.

No crew access at aid station 2, but I stopped and grabbed some fruit and replacement drink and hit the trail. Easy section as it was all downhill, but had to remember that I would have to reverse direction and this would be a tough section on the way to the finish. I rolled into aid station 3 feeling great, granted I was only 12ish miles into the run, but my pace was good, and I had no issues. Filled my pack, asked how everyone else was doing and I was off, next aid station would be the halfway point.

No less than 5 minutes after I told everyone how great I felt, something bit me. Had some serious Forrest Gump flash backs when he was shot in the ass. My left calf cramped and it almost knocked me down. At this point a ton of people started passing me and I was not sure if I would be able to continue. So I walked, ran a little, stopped, walked, and finally was able to jog at a very reduced pace. About a mile from the halfway point I stared feeling better, and was able to pick up the pace. This is the part of the course that is really fun and somewhat depressing as the leaders passed me on the way out, they were easily 5 miles ahead of me…

Halfway point, the calf is hurting but it is manageable, I made the cutoff with an hour to spare, another worry to check off, and I am feeling pretty good. At the turnaround I see our favorite Coach/Cheerleader (Adam), he gives me some instructions, cannot remember them, honestly was not paying attention, I can only remember him saying to get moving or everyone else would be catching me. Kiss the wife, and I start to retrace my steps to finish this thing.

On the loop out I pass everyone else that was running the race from RARE. Wish I could have run with them, but from the start of the race I was pretty much by myself, talked with a few people, but never really ran with anyone, and that was ok with me. With the calf felling a little better I hit aid station 5 and see my wife once again. Not in any need for anything other than some Whiskey, I put my head down and start to get up the section that was so easy about 1.5 hours ago.

Finally at aid station 6 I eat my first crap of the day, minus the biscuit earlier, some pretzels and chips, and I am off. At this point I am thinking that my goal of a 6 hour finish was out the window due to the calf slowing my pace. Then came the water crossing, knee deep and cold, ice bath cold. Amazing but that cold water was a miracle on my calf and my pace went from the 13’s to the low 9’s and thoughts of a sub-6 hour finish were insight.

About a mile before the last aid station I saw Adam on the side of the road, he commented on how awesome my form was (not really, pretty sure he has video) and told me to turn it up I was on track to finish in less than 6. So pick it up I did. I started passing people, probably about 7 people in a 1.5 mile section. I was feeling great.

Last aid station, I rip off some of my layers throw them at the wife, grab some food and started walking with her out of the aid station. More words of encouragement and I am off, the last 4 miles to the finish. I really did not remember too much about this part of the course since it was dark earlier in the day, but it is probably my favorite section. Nice rolling single track, lots of running, some walking, just fun. Still running and feeling good I pass some more runners who have blown up and are just trying to get to the finish.

As I am running I see the words 1 mile 2 go in orange spray paint, what a great feeling. I am going to finish this in under 6 no problem, them I hit a root, twisted my back and screamed like a little girl. That was it, I slowed down, made sure everything was where it should be and took it easy the rest of the way.

I cross the finish line, give Dr. Horton a handshake man hug, grab my finisher shirt, hug the wife, 5:51, plenty of time to spare!

Recovery after the race went very very good, cannot believe how well it went. I took an ice bath Saturday night, first one ever. Honestly cannot say it was the main factor to recovering so fast, but I know when I ran 40ish miles last September I was crippled for over a week. Ice Bath + recovery workout the day after might just be the secret to recovering, at least for me.

So that is it, long winded boring recap of one of the most enjoyable activities I have ever been part of. For me this is a huge accomplishment, going from no running a year ago to this is huge, but it is only the beginning.

Thanks to the crewing by Adam and Heather, not the most exciting day but your help was priceless. I also could not forget my awesome wife (first time crewing) for dealing with my anxiety and ramblings, thanks babe, I love you, could not do this without your support — Your turn next year!

The journey towards this year’s goal has only begun, the 1st of 4 races is complete and from what I hear it does not get any easier. I say good, it should get tougher, what fun would life be if things were always easy.

On to Terrapin……
-Mike S.