"What a Drag it is Getting Older."

A few weeks ago I went for a 24 mile run in Umstead.  It was the first time I had been back since I volunteered at the Umstead 100 this year as an aid station worker and then as a pacer for two friends. 

My running had been going well and I had been injury free for a while now, which was encouraging.  I really enjoyed my day in the park.  I got started around 10am, when it was still nice and cool.  I ran conservatively, knowing I was going 24 and still had 10 scheduled for Sunday.  About halfway through my first lap I met a group of runners coming toward me on the trail.  There were probably 10-12 of them and I'm guessing they were part of a high school or college cross country team.  I say that because between the whole lot of them they probably had about 3% body fat.  They ran fast and effortlessly.  They laughed and joked with one another as their feet struggled to reach down and touch the ground just long enough to propel them forward, sending little puffs of dust into the air with each footfall.  As they ran passed, fast, happy and young I found myself facing a conflicting response.

On one hand, I could not help but appreciate the sheer aesthetic beauty of who they were, and the grace and ease of their blistering pace.  On the other hand, it brought back memories of my own youth.  When I too had 3% body fat and could do things that now seem absurd, if not impossible.  I plodded slowly along at a 9 minute pace and realized how I had never really appreciated the ease with which so many things come when you're in your late teens and early 20's.  I then began to realize, as I passed many other runners, both young and old, that while I am now a little older, heavier and slower than I used to be, I am still able to do things that many can't and that I won't be able to do at some point.  This epiphany helped to put my running into perspective and made the remainder of my run much more enjoyable, even when the temperature rose and I began to struggle.  The struggle itself became a wonderful thing.  The fact that I am so very fortunate enough to have the ability to get out in the woods and run is not something I plan on taking for granted again anytime soon. 

So, while the Stones seem to think that getting older is a drag, I tend to recognize it for what it is, an evolution.  I have exchanged speed and beauty for wisdom and a sense of perspective.  I'll take that trade any day. 

The fine line between hobby and insanity

I am two months out from the Leadville Trail 100.  Before I signed up for it I knew that acclimatization to altitude would be my biggest challenge.  (Running 100 miles is no sweat, right?)  After all, my home in Raleigh sits at about 330 feet above sea level. The town of Leadville is at 10,200 feet.  The highest point on the course is 12,600 feet, which I will have to cross twice.

Because I have an amazing wife, she didn't even blink when I told her that I wanted to run Leadville and that, in order to do so, I would need to get my hands on a hypoxic chamber in which to sleep.  She said that if we were going to do it, we might as well do it right.  After quite a bit of research I came up with Hypoxico Altitude Training System.  They will rent or sell you a compressor and tent that you can use to simulate sleeping at altitude. The only other option was to spend a month in Colorado prior to the race.  As I am not independently wealthy and have a job that requires regular attendance, this was not an option.

It was decided way back in November when I registered that I would get the tent, so it was just a matter of when I wanted it.  Well, that day has arrived.  When I got home from work on Thursday I had two large boxes waiting for me in the driveway.

The child in me wanted to open it and set it up that night.  The adult realized that it would be too much, too late by the time the kids went to bed.  So I compromised and got out the compressor and mask and just watched a little TV at 12,000 feet.

Last night I finally had enough spare time to assemble the tent.  It is designed to fit over a mattress, allowing me to sleep at the desired altitude for the next 7 weeks or so. This will, in theory, force my body to produce more red blood cells so that I won't feel terrible and/or die during the race.

I have to say that putting up the tent was not easy.  If we had a smaller mattress it would have been much easier.  While Hypoxico says the tent will fit a king size mattress, that was not my experience.  It took forever to get the mattress into the tent, and it is not a good fit.  However, it is up and functioning.

Wendy and I slept at 6,000 feet last night and didn't suffocate.

I woke up feeling fine. No headache or other symptoms.  I will gradually increase the altitude over the next several nights until we are comfortable sleeping at between 9,000 and 10,000 feet.

So far the pros far outweigh the cons.
Pro - The kids think it's awesome
Con - The kids think it's awesome so they want to play/sleep in it
Pro - I think it's awesome
Con - Most people think I have crossed some sort of invisible line and am now completely insane
Pro - See the Con listed immediately above.  (Perception of insanity can be a bonus sometimes.)
Pro - It is WAY cheaper than a month in Colorado.
Con - It's hot inside the tent. I don't mean "hot" in a vapid, Paris Hilton sort of way.  I mean HOT.

I have heard it said over and over by many different people that at the end of life we don't regret the things we did as much as the things we didn't do.  This whole adventure will not go down on the regret list.  No matter how it shakes out.

Happy Running.

Bel Monte Endurance "Run", An Exercise in Humility

Saturday before last I "ran" the Bel Monte 50 Mile Endurance Run.  It almost broke me.  I mean really broke me.  Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.  This race pushed me farther than I have ever been pushed during any sort of endurance event. Ever.

I woke up Saturday morning to gray skies and a steady rain that didn't seem to be in any hurry to move along.  I was able to get a parking spot about 20 yards from the finish line and take a shuttle to the race start, where I huddled under tents with other runners waiting for the race briefing and start.  I was feeling foolishly optimistic because my hip had been feeling pretty good for the last couple of weeks and I was well rested.  (I chose to ignore my general lack of conditioning and the fact that I was at least 10 lbs heavier than my desired race weight.) Shortly after 7:30 I took my spot 3/4 of the way back in a group of runners who were there for either the 50 mile or 50 kilometer race.  When the race director said go, we headed out a short but wet and muddy driveway and out onto the road.  We stayed on the road for the first 3.4 miles, which allowed the field to spread out and avoid a bottleneck on the single track. I skipped the first aid station and headed straight for the trail, still feeling good.  This section of trail had several shorter climbs but nothing too long or difficult.  However, there were lots of sections along this route that were pretty technical and slowed me down.  We stayed on this trail until the next aid station at mile 12.6. I ran with a group for a while but soon realized that they were lighter on their feet than I was and let them pull away.  I began to run out of motivation. I kept getting passed and just couldn't go any faster.  I felt like I was falling apart and began to seriously wonder if this race would be my first DNF.  I wasn't even a quarter of the way in, and I was already in bad shape.  I began to rationalize quitting and how it would be okay.  I told myself I didn't have to prove anything to anyone.  I told myself I had already finished this race before, and there was no need to do it again.  After all, why the hell was I out here in the woods, hundreds of miles away from my family?  Just quit, I told myself.  Sadly I began to listen to myself, and the more I listened, the more I could feel the motivation draining out of me.  I even began to question why I run at all.  I contemplated how I would write this race report, trying to explain and justify why I had given up.  All along, there was still a part of me that saw what was happening and was screaming, "Stop being negative!  If you give yourself a reason to quit, it will be easy to quit!"  I knew this was a dangerous and slippery slope, but I couldn't break the cycle.  If there had been a place to drop during this section, I probably would have, but there wasn't, so I had to keep going.  I ran when I could and walked as fast as possible when I had to until I finally made it to the aid station at mile 12.6 in about 2 hours and 45 minutes. (After the race there was much discussion about the actual length of the course.  Most runners calculated the race at somewhere over 53 miles.)

The course this year was different from 2010 when I finished in 12 hours 30 minutes.  Up to this point, it was all new.  As I splashed across the shin deep stream into the aid station, I finally knew where I was.  For some reason this helped a little.  I got some coke, gummy bears, and a handful of pretzels and started walking.  From that point, we were to run down a "dirt" road for 1.3 miles, turn around, and head back to the aid station.  I'm sure at one point it its life it had been a dirt road, but on this morning, after a full evening and morning of steady rain, it was a road consisting entirely of mud and pond sized puddles.  The good news is that the rain had finally stopped.  I walked most of this section, telling myself to just keep going, at least back to the aid station.  I figured I would save as much energy as I could and see how I felt.  I was still ahead of the time cut offs and in no danger of being pulled from the race at this point.  When I got back to the aid station, I saw a man sitting down on a big rock, utterly and completely defeated.  He was leaning over, shoulders hunched forward, pale face staring blankly into the distance.  I could see the exhaustion and hopelessness in his eyes.  I saw the moment it happened,  the moment he said uncle and threw in the towel.  This was the first of several people that I would see that day pull the pin and drop.  For whatever reason, it stirred something in me.  I knew right then that I wasn't going to quit.  I also knew that there was a very real possiblity that I might miss a cut off and get pulled, but I wasn't going to quit, not voluntarily.

Starting around mile 15, the trail goes up to mile 20 (or 22, according to GPS) at the top of Bald Mountain.  I grabbed an orange and started walking.  I was still not feeling good.  I wasn't going to quit, but I wasn't motivated to push myself either.  The first 4 miles or so is a gradual uphill that sapped my strength and, frankly, pissed me off.  There were sections where it was so muddy that you couldn't walk without slipping and sliding across the trail.  I missed a turn and got lost for a minute.  Then I backtracked and found my mistake.  I crossed about half a dozen streams during this section, which was cool and refreshing since I had long since given up any hope of keeping my feet dry.  As I crossed the last stream before the climb to the top of Bald Mountain, I was caught by a woman named Jen.  She had done one of the training runs and was familiar with this climb.  We began to commiserate about how much the climb was going to suck as we started up.  We also talked about running in general.  As it turns out she did the Beach 2 Battleship Iron distance triathlon last year, as did Wendy and I.  In fact, she finished about 10 minutes ahead of us.  She also attempted Leadville last year but missed a cut off by 3 minutes and is going back this year to try again.  I was very excited to hear this as she is the first live person I've met who has run any part of Leadville. That made for excellent conversation as we made slow and steady progress up to the top.  As we got closer to the summit, the trail got steeper and steeper. It was still walkable, but it was one step at a time, pant for breath, walkable.  The clouds were starting to gather and we could feel a light sprinkle coming down, which was nice and refreshing.  As we reached the aid station at the summit, the bottom dropped out and it began to pour.  I spent about 3 minutes at the aid station, eating some pretzels and gummy bears and drinking some chicken broth as Jen refueled and took some advil.  I usually try to avoid advil on longer runs but had finally broken down and taken some about an hour before the summit of the climb.  There were a couple of other runners there, one of whom was wearing a pair of Vibram Five Fingers.  I complimented his courage to wear those on such a tough course.  He responded that he didn't know about courage and that a lot of stupid things were done and agreed to over beer.  I don't seem to need the beer to do stupid things.

As Jen and I headed out and down to the next aid station at Kennedy Ridge, which was 5.6 miles away, I felt strong.  I felt rejuvenated and was able to run easily.  This section is largely downhill but has one section that climbs a fair amount.  This is where Jen and I got separated.  I have long legs and am able to walk uphill at a good pace, and she was having trouble keeping up and told me to go on.  (You can check out Jen's excellent race report here.)  Feeling good, and like I wasn't out of it yet, I began to run.  I made up some time and actually caught and passed a couple of runners.  I had a couple of scary moments on the way down. I was trying to make up time and run as fast as I thought I could safely down the mountain.  More than once I misjudged foot placement and tripped on a rock.  One of these times left me shaky.  I had just passed a runner and was really striding when the toe of my right shoe slammed into a rock. I lurched forward, trying to get my other foot underneath me before I slammed, face first, into the rocky ground.  I  experienced a strange sensation during this moment.  On one hand, time began to slow down, as it does when something really bad is happening or about to happen.  I could see the downhill slope, scattered with large rocks, and began to calculate how badly I would be hurt if I didn't stop the fall.  I could envision broken teeth, a broken nose, maybe even worse.  I got a mental image of my limp, unconscious body sliding face first down the mountain like a sack of flour.  On the other hand, I could sense my head accelerating an an amazing speed, almost like it had been shot out of a cannon, toward the ground. I could feel my eyeballs being pushed back into my skull by the rapid acceleration.  This probably lasted less than a second but was very intense.  I was able to catch myself before hitting the ground and keep going.  I was more careful after that.

I got to the Kennedy Ridge aid station, just before mile 26, in good time and was well ahead of the cut off.  I sat down, had some ginger ale, a few snacks, and then headed off.  From there to the Stony Run Trail aid station was 3.1 miles on a well-maintained gravel road that rolled up and down.  I set a goal of making that aid station in 36 minutes, a 12 minute pace, and got there one minute off my goal time.  I was 45 minutes ahead of the cut offs and feeling good.  It was mid afternoon and the clouds had finally disappeared from the sky, which was now a vibrant blue.  I stripped off a layer of clothing, refilled my hydration pack and headed up.  The volunteers at this aid station were amazing - friendly and supportive.  They helped me figure out how much time I had to get to the next aid station and the 8 miles back to the top of Bald Mountain before the cut off.  I knew I was not going to be able to run this section, but I felt strong enough to hike as fast as I could.  However, the trail is covered in rocks, sand, and puddles.  Over time, they began to take their toll on my motivation and energy.  I was tired and couldn't think very well.  I kept looking at my watch and trying to figure out how long I had been on this section of trail and how long I had to go.  Every time I tried I came up with a different number, a different result.  I finally gave up and told myself to just keep moving forward. After all, the only control I had over the situation was to move forward as fast as I could.

It was during this part of the race that I achieved a sort of temporary inner peace.  As I plodded ever upward under the warming sun, I suddenly realized that my mind was quiet.  I wasn't thinking about anything.  Normally I have a very busy head, with lots of thoughts and ideas and inner monologues going on.  Not this day.  I was just moving forward, breathing and walking.  I have meditated on and off for years and this sensation was exactly the same.  It allowed me to simply become absorbed in where I was and what I was doing and lose all sense of time and space.  I have no idea how long I kept this up or how much ground I covered, but it was an extremely powerful realization and is one of the  reasons I run.  Ironically, after I got home, I read an article on  www.irunfar.com about achieving "flow"during a run.   It does a much better job of explaining the experience than I can.

I finally reached the aid station at the summit of Bald Mountain again.  Depending on who you asked, this was either at 36.9 or 40 miles.  No matter who you asked, there was still a long way to go.  I caught another runner as I entered the aid station.  He seemed haggard and tired, and I headed out before he did in an effort to make up some time.  Although I had pushed as hard as I could on this climb, I was losing time and close to getting pulled from the race.  I didn't stay long before heading down to White Rock Gap, which was 3.8 miles downhill to the Blue Ridge Parkway.  I was familiar with part of this trail and knew that it has some very runable sections of soft pine needles along a ridge line.  I also knew that it had a large section of rocks, rocks, and more rocks. I told myself to run as hard as I could.  I was not going to quit.  I knew I could still make the cut off at the next aid station.  All I had to do was average about 5 mph for 3.8 miles, downhill.  I ran as hard as I could.  There were sections that were so technical that I had to basically walk them, even though they were flat.  I caught 3 more runners along this section of the trail.  The trail never seemed to end.  I should see the aid station by now, I kept telling myself.  I thought I was moving well.  I felt good and thought for sure I was running at about a 10 minute pace when I was running.  That had to average out to 5mph, didn't it?  I told myself that I might as well give it everything I had, because if I didn't make the cut off, I'd be riding back to Wintergreen in a stranger's car.  Earlier I had wanted to quit.  Now I was fighting as hard as I could to not get pulled from the race.  I thought a lot about my son and daughter during this section and what type of example I want to set for them.  I don't want them to grow up thinking that if things get hard it's okay to quit.  It's when things are hardest, when you work the most and suffer the greatest, that you have the best outcome, no matter what it is.  I didn't want to go home to them and say, "Daddy got tired, so he quit."

When I finally saw the tent, I knew I hadn't been fast enough. I was outside the cut off.  This 3.8 miles had taken me over an hour. I had thrown my very best at the trail, and it had laughed at me.  Thinking my race was over, I walked up to the volunteer and asked him if I was out.  He said no, and even if I was, he didn't have a way to get me back.  I couldn't believe it. They were going to let me finish.  I got some more food and prepared myself for the next section.  I was all done with single track.  The next 5 miles were on the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The clouds were starting to gather, and I felt a few drops of rain on my arm.  A man arrived in a van and said the national weather service had just issued a thunderstorm warning for the other side of the ridge line.  It was nice to be on the road for a change.  The only thing keeping me from running at a fast pace was me.  As was my routine, I walked uphill as fast as I could and ran downhill and on flats.  As I progressed, the rain began to fall in earnest.  I dug my headlamp out of my pack and turned it on.  I could still see fine, but it was dark and rainy enough that I was worried about being visible to oncoming cars.  As I rounded a corner, I saw a headlamp and tent and heard a man yelling encouragement.  I made it to the last aid station as the rain started to pick up and the last hint of daylight disappeared behind the mountains.  There was one lone volunteer there who offered to refill my water, got me some gatorade, and was full of kind words.  He explained to me that it was 4.9 miles from there to the finish and that I was to run down the mountain to the entrance to Wintergreen.  There would be a trail to take me out to the top, where I would finish on the ski slope.  I knew he was speaking English, but I was so tired I had a very hard time keeping anything he said straight.  I thanked him and headed off.

The next mile was straight down.  I read it was a 15% grade, but I have no idea.  I just know it was steep, and I was able to run.  My legs felt decent, but my feet were a different story.  I had developed hot spots on the balls of both feet and on several toes.  I knew there was nothing I could do about it, so I just decided that I would ignore anything my feet told me for the next 4.9 miles.

By the time I got to the bottom of the descent, it was pitch dark and pouring rain.  I mean pouring.  I might as well have been standing underneath a garden hose.  At the entrance to Wintergreen there was a sign indicating that runners were supposed to turn left while bikers were supposed to go straight.  The way the sign was oriented it seemed to me to say that bikers were supposed to follow the main entrance up to the Wintergreen Resort and that runners were supposed to take a trail off to the left.  I stopped and back tracked and spent several minutes searching the wood line with my headlamp, looking for a trail head.  I became frustrated and annoyed.  Where the hell was the trail?  Why couldn't I find it?  Why wasn't it marked more clearly?  Sure, most folks had come though here in the daylight, but I was still out here.  Finally, after several minutes of splashing around in the ditch in the dark and pouring rain, I decided to hell with it - I would just take the main road up to the top.

Here things got really hard and a little bit scary.  The rain was still coming down in buckets, and the storm that had been off in the distance was now right on top of me.  I had been counting the seconds between lightning flash and thunder crack for the last several miles.  I was able to convince myself that I was fine, as there was usually 5 to 12 seconds lag time between the two.  Now I was down to a second or two.  The lighting was so bright that it lit up the entire mountain as if it was broad daylight.   This was followed by a very loud and very close clap of thunder.  This happened over and over again as I trudged ever upward.  The road twists and turns around the mountain, and I was able to see the headlights from oncoming cars well in advance.  Whenever one would come down the mountain toward me, I would stop and get as far off onto the shoulder as I could.  Often times this meant standing in or straddling the ditch.  Lots of cars passed and a few slowed to offer encouragement, but no one offered a ride.  Finally the volunteer from the last aid station pulled up next to me in his very warm, very dry looking car and asked how I was doing.  I told him I was fine, but I had missed the turn off for the single track.  He said I hadn't and that he was on his way up to that point now to make sure it was still marked.  I was astounded.  I was sure I was way off course.

In the darkness and the rain I could look up at the sky and see lights at the top of the mountain.  At times they seemed so far away they might as well have been stars.  I knew that's where I was going, so I decided to stop looking up because it was too overwhelming to see the lights so far over my head.  When I finally got to the turn for the single track, word had just come down that, due to the storm all the remaining runners were going to have to follow the mountain road all the way to the resort.  I have to admit I was secretly relieved not to have to run a section of unfamiliar single track on a dark rainy night during an electrical storm.

I finally saw the resort and knew I was almost there.  I've never been so happy to see civilization.  I topped out on the ridge line and made my way out onto the ski slope for the final few hundred yards.  Confirming my suspicion that race directors are closeted sadists, this section was covered in several inches of snow that had melted and refrozen so many times, it was basically a giant sheet of ice.  Somehow I managed to make it down the slope without falling and ran the final few yards across the finish line.  I had completed the race in 13 hours and 15 minutes.  After crossing the line I realized the only other person still outside was the race photographer.   I stood there in the parking lot, soaked to the bone, cold, exhausted, and a little overwhelmed.  The photographer directed me to a nearby building and said there was food and heat inside.  I wandered in and got a drink and realized my hands were too numb to unhook the straps on my pack. I asked a volunteer to help me, fished out my car key, and started to head for the car.  It was on my way out that Francesca, one of the race directors, came up to me and put a medal around my neck.  It meant a lot that she realized I had finished and came to find me to make sure I got a medal. It was a nice touch.

Epilogue:


By Tuesday all soreness had vanished, as had many of the vivid memories of the worst parts of the event.  I mentioned to Wendy tonight that I have found myself thinking that I would like to go back and try the course next year.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is called a flat learning curve.

Photos:

A typical section of trail between White Rock Gap and Turkey Pen aid stations.  

Same section of trail as above.  Did I mention there were a few rocks on the course?

One of about half a dozen stream crossings between Turkey Pen and Bald Mountain

Halfway up Bald Mountain (the first time)

On the way down from Bald Mountain to Kennedy Ridge

From Stony Run Trail back to the top of Bald Mountain - 8 miles, most of which looked a lot like this.

Another shot of the trail up from Stony Run to Bald Mountain

A nice blue sky on the second ascent to the top of Bald Mountain

Leaving Bald Mountain on the way to White Rock Gap.  The storm clouds begin to gather.

A section of trail between Bald Mountain and White Rock Gap aid stations (yes, there's a trail somewhere in there).  

Last shot before the skies opened up and the sun set.  This one was taken shortly after leaving White Rock Gap on the way to Reeds Gap.

GEAR:
Shoes:        Brooks Cascadia- 6
Socks:        Smartwool
Shorts:        Nike
Shirt:          Nike (Courtesy of Raleigh Running Outfitters); 2XU long sleeve compression
Pack:          Salomon S Lab Advanced Skin 12S Lab 12
Hat:            Headsweats -RRO
Light:         Princeton Tec Fuel
Nutrition:   Stinger Waffles, PowerBar Energy Blasts, Endurolytes, PB&J, chips, gummy bears,            orange, Mountain Dew, Coke, Ginger Ale, chicken broth, pretzels, Heed and Gatorade

Bel Monte Looms Large

I have set the Bel Monte 50 Mile Endurance Run as a major goal for 2012 (second only to Leadville).  I ran it in 2010, and, not to sound overly dramatic, it changed my life.  It was the first time I had ever run 50 miles and was by far the most difficult course I had ever run.  I managed to get past all the cut off times (barely) and make it to the finish in 12 hours and 30 minutes, a whopping half hour before they packed everything up and stopped handing out medals.  During that race, I swore at least half a dozen times that I would never run a step again.  Then things would get better, and I would be on cloud nine.  I basically spent 12 and a half hours running through the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia like an improperly medicated bi-polar lunatic.  I loved it.  When I finally finished I experienced a profound sense of accomplishment, one I have not truly felt again.  While I was proud and excited to finish the Umstead 100 last year, it wasn't the same.

They have changed the course for 2012, but it still stands to be an exceptionally challenging race, as you can see by this elevation profile.




It boasts 12,141.9 feet of elevation gain and 11,767 feet of elevation loss.  Over the course of the 49.7 mile course, there are 25.2 miles of climbing and 24.9 miles of descending. Do the math, boys and girls, and it is painfully clear that there isn't a single flat moment on the course.

Ever since 2010, this race has held a special place in my heart.  When they opened the registration for 2012 I quickly signed up.  By this point in my training, I planned that I would have been running 60-70 miles a week, with several long runs under my belt.  Unfortunately, I started experiencing a lot of pain in my left hip in late January.  It has been sporadic and unpredictable.  There were times when it hurt so much that I felt I couldn't walk.  Then there are days when it doesn't hurt at all.  Stretching and rolling it seem to have little to no effect on the pain.  As a result, I have dialed back my mileage to a much lower level than I had wanted.  In fact, today was the first day I have run since the Umstead Trail Marathon last weekend. Things went very well at Umstead, and I had little to no hip pain, so my plan was to run a few days during the week and then hit as much single track on Sunday as I could stand/schedule.   I attempted a short 45 minute run on Tuesday night but was forced to abandon 30 seconds in when my recurring hip pain loudly announced its presence.  Bummer.

I was forced to step back and reevaluate my plan.  A reasonable man would recognize his situation,  acknowledge his pain/injury,  and accept that his lack of training would be a problem.  However, it has been said that "you won't find reasonable men on top of tall mountains."  I believe the same can be said for ultra runners.  After 30 or 40 seconds of careful consideration I decided on the following course of action:  run Sunday morning, as far as I could (at least 30 miles and hopefully closer to 40), at Umstead, with as much single track as possible, rest copiously for two weeks, travel to Virginia and run 50 miles of trails in the mountains.  Genius!  How could this plan fail?  Yes, I told Wendy I was sure this was the thing to do.  She replied that it sounded like something I would do.

My motivation to get out and run was further fueled by a recent purchase.  For several months now I have had my eye on a Salomon XT Advanced Skin S-Lab hydration pack.  I have read several reviews, and everyone has rave things to say about it.  There were a couple of things holding me back.  Number 1, it's very pricey.  Number 2, I couldn't find anyone who carried it locally.  On Monday, I happened to find it on REI's website.  I have been a member there for years and love the fact that there is no risk with anything you buy.  You can always return it if you aren't completely satisfied with it.  That was enough for me.  I showed it to Wendy and her response was that I probably need it, and I should get it.  A matter of seconds later I had submitted my credit card number, and it was on its way to my local REI.  It arrived on Wednesday, but my work/family schedule didn't let me get there until Friday.  I was super excited to open it and try it on and very much looking forward to putting it through its paces on the trail.  Hip be damned.  I plan on using it for Bel Monte and will write a thorough review of it as a part of that race report.

The alarm went off at 4:45 Sunday morning, which was really 3:45 (thank you very much daylight savings time), and I met Tim on the outskirts of the park at 5:30.  He wanted to get in a short run, so we ran together for the first 3 hours.  We started off nice and slow in the pre-dawn cold, giving our bodies a chance to adapt to the cold temperature and early morning activity.  The night sky was crystal clear, and the moon was almost full and brilliantly bright - so bright, in fact, that we didn't even need our headlamps.  As we continued to run we gained momentum and were moving along at a decent clip by the time the sun finally broke over the horizon. After covering about 18 miles of bike/bridle trail and some single track we stopped back by the cars and Tim headed home.  I downed a granola bar and headed back out for another 2-3 hours.  Around the fourth hour I could really feel the fatigue setting in. I had run Umstead last weekend and Black Mountain the week before that.  My legs were heavy, and I was out of gas.  I ended up covering right around 30 miles in just over 5 hours.  I was whipped when I got back to the car.  I hadn't gone as far as I wanted, but I had suffered on the trail.  I am a strong believer that a run  in which you suffer helps to prepare you - physically, mentally, and emotionally - for a long difficult race. It is important to remind yourself that while it may really suck right now, as long as you keep going, it will get better. It can't and won't stay that bad for the rest of the race.  (This is a lesson I do my best to apply to life as well as running.)

So now I'm home, showered, and changed, with a full stomach and a little ibuprofen in my system.  I am looking forward to Bel Monte in two weeks.  I'm also scared of it.  Really scared.  I know it is a tough race, even when you are properly trained and injury free.  I will get as much rest as I can for the next two weeks and go in to the race a little undertrained, but hopefully not too injured.  Even if it's awful, it should be awesome.

Umstead Trail Marathon Race Report

The Ninth Annual

Umstead Trail Marathon

March 3, 2012

William B. Umstead State Park

This past Saturday Wendy and I ran the 9th Annual Umstead Trail Marathon.  This was the 7th time I've run this race, and I plan on returning every year as long as I am able and they will have me.

THE COURSE

The UTM, which is put on by the Carolina Godiva Track Club, takes place entirely within the borders of Umstead State Park, in Raleigh NC.  It starts out at Camp Lapihio, deep inside the park.  The race is capped at 200 runners and quickly fills up each year.  Runners start out at the lodge and follow the bike and bridle trail for the first couple of miles before turning onto some single track.  The bike and bridle trails are wide and smooth, made up of finely crushed rock and hard packed dirt.  The single track varies greatly depending on where you are.  Some sections are soft and relatively easy, while others are extremely technical with lots of rocks and roots.  This year we had the added bonus of water and mud, but more on that later.

All of the single track is at the front 1/3 of the race, finishing up between mile 8 and 9.  You can see the course map here.  After that runners will stick to the bridle trail (mostly).  However, there are still lots and lots of hills with which to contend.  After finishing the single track, the course runs up a short, but steep hill and turns left onto Reedy Creek trail.  This section of trail rolls downhill for about a mile, crosses a beautiful wooden bridge, and then goes up for about 3/4 of a mile.  At the top it turns left onto Turkey Creek Trail.  This section of the trail has been compared to the profile of a house key.  It is constantly rolling up and down for several miles.  At the end of Turkey Creek, there is a short out and back to the turn around and then back down Turkey Creek in the opposite direction.  In spite of its hills, Turkey Creek is a fun section because you get to see so many other runners.

Just past mile 21, as runners are headed back toward the camp, there is a detour down Cedar Ridge trail.  This section of trail, which is about 1.3 miles, drops down to Crabtree Creek before turning around and heading back up.  This is a tough section of the course mentally as well as physically.  The trail is rockier than the rest of the bridle trial and you know running down you have to turn around and come back up.  The good news is that at the top you have less than two miles to go.

The final challenge at around mile 25 is Cemetery Hill, which is a short, but very steep rise.  (It seems a lot steeper after 25 miles than when you are fresh.)  After that the course rolls gently back down to the start finish area, where runners are greeted enthusiastically and presented with a pint glass, a chance to win a door prize, and lots of excellent food.

The organization, aid stations, and volunteers for this race are all incredible.  I can't say enough positive things about it.

THE RACE

Friday night Wendy and I dropped the kids off with her parents, ordered a pizza and a movie, and relaxed at home.  The 9am race start, along with the fact that we live 5 minutes from the park entrance, meant that we got to sleep until about 7am, which is an incredible luxury on race day.

We drifted off to sleep Friday evening with the sound of the rain POURING down outside.  The forecast for Saturday morning called for temperatures in the low 60s with 100% chance of rain through 10am. After that the temperature was supposed to drop slightly throughout the day.

Sure enough when we got up Saturday everything was soaked, and it was still raining.  Our friend Tim, who frequently appears in this blog, stopped by and picked us up a little after 7:30 and we headed to the park.

Because of its size, the logistics of this race are incredibly simple.  There is a lodge with a fireplace, where runners can hang out and keep warm right up until the race start.  The lines for the porta-johns aren't even that long.

By the time the race director said "GO" it had stopped raining, but the clouds were still low and heavy. My plan for this race was to run in full support of Wendy.  She had been training well and running strong.  This was her 10th marathon and the first one she had ever run where she wasn't somewhat injured or sick, or both.  She ran it last year in 4:22 and was hoping to beat that time.  I, on the other hand, ran the Black Mountain Marathon last weekend and have been nursing a hip injury.  So I told her to run her own race and that I would try to keep up with her as long as I could.  I figured, if I had a great day, I could hang with her through the first half.  The first quarter mile of the race is a gradual incline up to the main section of the bridle trail.  I just followed her and tried to keep my heart from exploding.  As she glided effortlessly up the hill, I thought I was in serious trouble.  Thankfully, I managed to hang on until the grade leveled out and was able to recover on the flat and downhill sections.  This process repeated itself over and over again for the first 10 miles or so.  Each time I thought I was redlined and about to lose her, two things happened.  I put my head down and said just hang on a little bit longer, and then, either the grade would level out, or we would get behind a slightly slower runner on the single track, forcing her to slow down just long enough that I didn't throw up.

The rain had turned large portions of the course into a soupy, muddy mess.  Lots of people slowed way down or tried to jump over or around the puddles and mud.  I knew that there was no way to keep my feet dry on that course, and I was trying to save as much energy as I could, so I just took the most direct line every chance I could.  That often meant running straight through the mud and water.  After all, what's the point of a trail race if you can't splash through the puddles?  I mean, really!?!  The rain came back around 10:30 and really came down for a while.  It was perfect timing and served to cool me off, as I was starting to feel warm from the exertion.  Plus, I love to run in the rain.  It's almost like I can feel the water absorbing into my body and giving me energy.  It is by far my favorite running weather.

We were averaging right around a 9 minute pace for the first 6 miles or so, and Wendy was running well.   Just before mile seven, one of the volunteers told Wendy that she was the 9th female overall.  Although she didn't admit it at the time, that lit a real fire under her.  She knew she was running well and wanted to keep it up.  The first 15 men and women each get a plaque.  She finished as the 16th woman a few years ago and has really wanted that plaque for a while.

We had the number 8 and 7 female in our sight for a while after that.  At the second turn around just before mile 15 we finally got a chance to see how close the next woman was behind us.  The answer, close.  There was a whole herd of them, just behind us.  Shortly after this Wendy started to run out of gas.  She had only brought 3 gels with her and had already eaten two.  We quickly discussed strategy about how to keep up her energy level.  As we were formulating a strategy and deciding what would be best to eat at the aid stations, she slipped a couple of places, down to 12th overall.  We played leap frog with a couple of other women coming back on Turkey Creek, yo-yoing between 10th and 12th place.  We passed a woman who had been several minutes in front of us for a long time as we were coming back up Cedar Ridge Trail and then it was a race for 10th place with Carrie Bertolozzi, who still had the ability run uphill.  Wendy would pass her on the flat, only to have her pass us again on the uphill sections, over and over again.  Finally, after watching her run up Cemetery Hill ahead of us, we were able to pick up the pace for the last mile to pass her.  She was a fantastic rabbit and a good sport the whole time.

As we crossed the finish line they announced our names and said that Wendy was the 9th female overall.  Two seconds later, they corrected that to 10th overall, in 4hrs 10 minutes and 38 seconds.  This was her second fastest marathon and a truly amazing experience.

It was a great race for me as well.  I loved that we got to do it together and that I got to experience her high placing vicariously.  (In order for me to have placed in the top 10 for the men, I would have had to have run a 3:32, and that is not going to happen.)  I also had an amazing race.  I love the course and the race, the runners and the volunteers.  On top of that I went in with very low expectations and ended up running my fastest time for the UTM by 11 minutes.

Tim, who ran the Mount Mitchell Challenge last weekend also had an amazing day.  He ran it in 4:24, which was within a minute of his time last year.  He said after the race that this was the first time he had ever run tired from start to finish.  Pretty impressive performance for someone who ran to the top of the highest mountain east of the Mississippi and back down only a week ago.

EPILOGUE

No major injuries.  My hip hurts like the dickens, but it has for a while now, so I can't blame the race for that.  We have a couple of pairs of VERY muddy shoes, and I have one spot of nasty chafe where my shorts rubbed my thigh raw.  Other than that, we're both in good shape and ready for the next adventure.  Thanks to Carolina Godiva Track Club for an amazing race, Umstead State Park for hosting us, and to Raleigh Running Outfitters for their continued support.

PHOTOS

Wendy on the way to the race

Tim trying to concentrate while flashbulbs pop in the car.

Inside the lodge-Pre-race (hello, reflective clothing)

Preparing the Start/Finish banner

More race prep

The crowd mingles and waits for the start

Inside the lodge, moments before the start

Racers head outside for the start (That's Tim in the center)

Runners line up

Just moments to go

A very blurry shot of Wendy on the single track

Turkey Creek

Typical of my view of Wendy for most of the race

Wendy right after crossing the line, with her 10th place award

Happy and Tired

Each year of the race has a different shirt and a different mascot

Carolyn gets her picture taken for a change

Tim Crosses the line

Great Run.

Post race chow

Chips and salsa hit the spot for some

while others opt for a burrito

That's right.  She ran the whole race in a tutu

Just the way trail shoes are supposed to look

GEAR

Wendy:

Shoes-Adidas Supernova Glide 4

Bottle- Nathan  Hand held sprint

Belt-Nathan-Shadow Pack

Nutrition - Powerbar Gel

Ashby:

Shoes- La Sportiva Crosslite

Bottle-Ultimate Direction Handheld fastdraw-extreme

Belt- Nathan 5k-runners-pak

Camera- Kodak Easy Share Sport

Socks - Smartwool

Nutrition - Powerbar Gel Blasts

Bandaids - Sponge Bob Square Pants

Black Mountain Marathon and Mount Mitchell Challenge

I just got back from Black Mountain, NC, which is one of my favorite places.  It is a small town, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, just outside of Asheville.  The streets are filled with unique stores offering organic food and lots of original art.  This past Saturday was the the Mount Mitchell Challenge and Black Mountain Marathon.  Both races start in downtown Black Mountain at an elevation of 2,360 feet and follow the road until the runners reach Montreat.  Once there, the course turns onto the trails and heads uphill.  Marathon and Challenge runners stay together until the course reaches the Blue Ridge Parkway, just outside Mount Mitchell State Park at 5,340 feet.  (That's a 2,800 foot elevation gain in 13.1 miles.)  Here the marathoners turn around and head back down into town.  Those fortunate enough to have gotten a slot for the Challenge continue on to the summit of Mount Mitchell, which is the highest point east of the Mississippi River at 6,684 feet.  Once there they turn around and head back down to the finish line for a total of just under 40 miles.  The race website does its best to prepare entrants for what to expect on the course.  Potential runners are greeted with the following disclaimer:

DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE DANGERS OR THE DIFFICULTIES INHERENT IN THIS EVENT!

This will be an extremely demanding course run over rugged mountain terrain under potentially life-threatening weather conditions. Participants must understand that their safety is paramount in the minds of the organizers and that while all reasonable precautions have been taken, it will be the competitor's ultimate responsibility to insure his or her own safety.

 

I ran the Challenge in 2010 when they had a first come first serve approach to registration. That year the race filled up in less than 20 minutes. The Challenge has become so popular that the Race Director instituted a lottery for entry this year.  Those who wanted to run to the summit put their names in a hat, crossed their fingers, and waited to hear.   I had hoped to run the Challenge this year but was not selected.  So I signed up for the Marathon, still excited to run a great race in a great setting.  My friend and long time training partner, Tim, managed to get a slot for the Challenge, his first.  Our plan was to start out together and see how we felt.  More on that later.  

I took of Friday afternoon and arrived in Black Mountain right after 5 and headed for packet pick up at the Monte Vista Hotel.  I asked the Race Director if there was any chance of getting a spot in the race to the summit.  Unfortunately, he said there had not been many cancellations and my fate was sealed.  26.2 it would be.  I spent the weekend with an old friend and her family.  We had dinner at a friend's house. As I have the palate of a 12 year old, I was able to eat enough to be polite, but not enough to store enough calories for the next day.  So with a quick phone call, I got my hands on a pizza from My Father's Pizza and Pasta. As I headed upstairs to bed, the wind was howling through the trees at what sounded like gale force.  I gathered my gear and settled in for a decent night's sleep . . . after setting 5 different alarms, between two cell phones and a watch.  I am always afraid that I'll oversleep and miss a race start.  

Special Thanks to Raleigh Running Outfittes for their continued support.

I woke up after the second alarm to a cold, windy morning.  I quietly got dressed and headed out in the dark.  I had decided to park at the race start in downtown and walk back to my car from the race finish instead of the other way around.  I figured I could enjoy the warmth of the car until the last minute this way and could use the walk back to the car after the race to help loosen up the legs.  I got a text from Tim who was at The Dripolator Coffee House for a dose of caffeine.  He soon met me in my car, where we waited until about 6:50 or so before venturing out into the cold morning.  The sun was starting to rise, and the temperature was about 30 degrees.  The crowd was milling around trying to stay warm and handle their nervous energy. The race started at 7:00 with a run through the streets of downtown and then on into Montreat.  The rabbits took off at a pace that prohibited me from seeing them until after they had turned around and were heading back. 

Moments before the start.

There are several things that make this race challenging beyond the elevation change.  One of them is the weather.  I was cold when I got up so I layered up with a pair of 2XU compression tights and top, a pair of running pants, a t-shirt, a running jacket, a skull cap and some thick fleece gloves.  I knew the weather could be challenging from my run in 2010.  About 45 minutes into the run I thought I had overdressed.  I unzipped my jacket and took off my gloves.  As we gained elevation, the temperature dropped.  The cold temperatures were compounded by the wind, which was still howling.  The drinks at the aid stations were freezing on the tables.  Needless to say, the jacket was zipped up and the gloves went back on.  Tim and I started off together at a comfortable 10 minute pace.  We slowed as the trail turned up, walking the steeper sections.  The final aspect of this race that makes it challenging is the terrain.  Running uphil in the cold would be a piece of cake on smooth, even ground.  That is not the case.  The course if full of rocks.  Big rocks, small rocks, medium sized rocks, loose rocks, wet rocks, slippery rocks, rocks with ice.  What I'm saying is that there are a lot of rocks on the course.  While the race leaders seemed to float effortlessly over them, I had forgotten to fill up with helium and found floating difficult.  On the way up I spoke with a woman who had a friend from Florida who had trained for the Challenge in a parking garage a couple of years ago.  No one told him about the rocks.  He made it into the Challenge, but missed the cut off for the summit and finished the marathon in seven hours.  At the finish he said he hadn't prepared for the rocks and they really slowed him down. 

I quickly realized that I was not going to have a great day, or set any sort of PR so I decided to enjoy the scenery and the experience.  The photograph below is an example of the trail.  This is actually one of the less rocky sections of the trail.  Here is a link to an awesome video by Tim Weed, who placed third overall in the challenge.  RACE VIDEO  This video does a good job of capturning some of the course conditions. 

Another video is available here that actually does a better job of showing off the rocky sections of the trail that both the marathoners and the Challenge runners faced. 

Tim and I continued to run together for the first one hour and forty three minutes of the race.  I know exactly how long it was because I remember looking at my watch when I stopped to walk on a steep section, and he kept going.  I then played catch up with him at the aid stations until we hit the turn around for the marathon.  In order for Challenge runners to be allowed to continue to the summit they had to reach that point in three hours or less.  Tim got there with about 10 minutes to spare, and I was a couple of minutes behind him.  By this point we were at 5,340 feet, and it was cold.  I don't know what the temperature was, but here is some evidence of the cold not far from the turn around. 

Let me just take a minute to say how incredible the volunteers are in this race.  They were standing out there in the freezing cold for hours.  (I heard later that the temperature at the summit was 9, with 30+ mph winds.)  All of them had smiles and words of encouragement for every one of the runners, even the back of the packers like me. 

Typical view along the trail. Looking out over Old Fort.

The fun thing about an out and back course is that you get to see people coming and going.  The bad thing about an out and back course is you get to see people coming and going.  Not only did I get confirmation that I was getting my ass handed to me in the marathon, I was even passed by the two lead challenge runners on the way back down the mountain.  Although I didn't have a great day on Saturday (I was 30 minutes slower to the turn around point than in 2010), I did get the chance to run a negative split.  If you want to run a marathon where you can be almost guaranteed to run the second half faster than the first, this is the one.  It took me about 2:53 for the first half and 2:26 for the second half.  The run down is fairly gradual until the 5 mile mark.  Right after the last aid station on the mountain the altitude plummets.  Imagine a hill as steep as a flight of stairs that keeps going down for 3/4 of a mile.  Now, run down that after you have already run either 21 or 35 miles.  That's good stuff.  My quads are still not happy with me.  Once runners make it off the mountain they find themselves in Montreat, where they run for a mile or so on a nice level trail that follows a beautiful mountain stream.  The last two miles run through some residential neighborhoods back into Black Mountain to the finish area at Lake Tomahawk.  Finishers approach the lake and can see the finish line but are told they have to run around the lake clockwise before crossing the finish line. 

Lake Tomahawk

After crossing the line, runners are sent inside to get their finisher's fleece and then upstairs for a meal. Hot dogs, chili, chips, cookies, water, coffee, and soda, are handed out to hungry runners by enthusiastic volunteers.  I crossed the line in a little under 5:20 and tried not to throw up, having pushed too hard across the line.  I got my fleece, ate a hot dog and some chips, chatted with a few runners, and then headed back to the car.  I had time to head back to the house, shower, change and make it back to the finish in plenty of time to see Tim finish the Challenge.  His wife and kids were there and he got to run across the line with his son, Lucas.  A great moment for any father.

Tim and Lucas crossing the finish line of the Challenge in 7:50

Here are the podium finishers:

Mount Mitchell Challenge:
Male:

1. 1-  Scott Williams, 4:58:37, Jefferson, NC
   
2. 2-  Paul Scouten, 5:03:05, Black Mountain, NC
   
3. 3-  Timothy Weed, 5:30:27, Fletcher, NC
   
4. 4-  Andrew Krueger, 5:45:11, Charlottesville, VA
   
5. 5-  Drew Shelfer, 5:53:16, Asheville, NC
   

Female:

1. 1-  Rory Bosio, 5:55:24, Soda Springs, CA
   
2. 2-  Allie Hustead, 6:25:42, Fairview, NC
   
3. 3-  Elizabeth Minnick, 7:01:05, Abingdon, VA
   
4. 4-  Amanda Morris, 7:15:04, Tega Cay, SC
   
5. 5-  Kathleen Cusick, 7:21:25, Knoxville, TN
   

Masters:
Male:

1. 1-  Robert Taylor, 5:50:45, Cary, NC
   
2. 2-  Mark Ledyard, 5:51:22, Asheville, NC
   
3. 3-  Cid Cardoso, 5:51:55, Cary, NC
   

Female:

1. 1-  Diana Widdowson, 7:28:18, Conestoga, PA
   
2. 2-  Julie Corey, 7:31:16, Asheville, NC
   
3. 3-  Nicole Crane, 7:37:29, Asheville, NC 
   

Black Mountain Marathon:

Male:

1. 1-  Jerad Crave, 3:09:26, Asheville, NC
   
2. 2-  Kevin Lisska, 3:13:21, Tega Cay, SC
   
3. 3-  Matt Manning, 3:25:58, Dayton, OH
   

Female:

1. 1-  Keelin Schneider, 3:40:53, Black Mountain, NC
   
2. 2-  Karen Ostergaard, 3:53:37, Asheville, NC
   
3. 3-  Diane Wilson, 4:00:46, Asheville, NC
   

Masters:
Male:
          1- David Workman, 3:18:43, Hendersonville, NC
Female:
          1- Annette Bednosky, 3:55:59, Boone, NC 

I won't lie, I was a little disappointed that I didn't run faster than I did.  It's been a few days and the disappointment has faded.  All that remains are the positive memories.  This is a fantastic race, in a beautiful setting, with amazing volunteers.  Registration for the 2013 race opens on September 1, 2012.  I've already got it on my calendar.  I'll be back. 

Finisher's Fleece