The Ring

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THE RING

That was the hardest ultra I've ever experienced. I wanted to quit from around 9 pm Saturday night on. That was only 14 hours and 40 miles in to what would eventually become a 28 hour/71 mile long journey.  I've never before seriously considered DNF'ing at an event, but I had never before experienced so much prolonged discomfort.  Not when I gave birth to my children, not when I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail, not when I completed my first 100 mile ultra (which, incidentally, I completed 2-1/2+ hours quicker than “The Ring”).  “The Ring” was an entirely different challenge that truly forced me to put forth all that I had.

Aerial view of the Massanutten Mountain Trail in Central Virginia

The Ring – “A 71 mile traverse of the Massanutten National Recreation Trail in the George Washington National Forest of Central Virginia with many mountain vistas.”  It is put on by the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club.  That makes it sound quite picturesque and bucolic.  Even the sponsoring club sounds all happy and fun-filled.  In reality, the Massanutten Trail is a rugged, rock-filled, technical length of single track that takes you across over 24 thousand feet of climbing and descending.  Many sections are overgrown with sawbriers and stinging nettle.   The rocks are the main killers though.  They seem to come alive beneath your feet, shifting and moving at the most inopportune moments.   (I’ll come back to this details many times.)

50 optimistic little lambs...

Race day was August 30^th and it was a typical hazy, hot and humid kinda day in central VA.  The trails offer very few access points for water.  There were plenty of sections that were exposed to full sunlight and enough flying insects to bite, sting and torment you that many of the runners “in the know” had brought bug netting.

I toed the line on Saturday morning with only one goal – to finish.  For the previous 48 hours, I had intentionally diverted my thoughts away from the task ahead.  Normally, I obsess about events, topos, maps, gear lists, pace charts, etc.  This time around, I knew I really had no frame of reference from which to launch, so I opted to withdraw.  I had done my training, I knew the drill for pre-race checklists and Saturday morning would bring what it would.

Elevation profile for The Ring

I was adequately cowed by the elevation profiles, race reports and personal testimonials I had read of those who had gone before.  Since 2002, only some 122 individuals had officially completed the circuit.  The event typically had a greater than 50% DNF rate (did not finish). 

As is my standard M.O., I hung back at the start and brought up the rear.  I call myself the caboose.  I was always in the ranks of the last 3 to 5 runners.  Between Mark Zimmerman, Leonard Martin and myself, there was some stiff competition for the true claim on last place for a while there. 

My companion for many a mile, Mark Zimmerman, enters Crisman Hollow aid station
followed soon after by "The Caboose"

The first runner casualty came within the first 10 miles before we’d even made it to AS1 (Milford Gap, 13.3 miles).   The Milford Gap Aid Station is a hike in station, meaning every little bit of water, Gatorade, etc had to be hiked up the mountain by some incredibly kind hearted and strong legged volunteers.
 

Crisman Hollow Aid Station, Mile 13.3 (all aid was hiked in)

Getting my sun baked look on

Despite filling my hydration bladder when I left Milford Gap (and taking a sip of an absolutely delicious craft IPA from one absolutely LOVELY volunteer), I ended up running out of water an hour out from AS2 (Camp Roosevelt, mile 24.9).  The trail between Milford and Roosevelt is along the ridgeline of the eastern side of the circuit with occasional views of the north fork of the Shenandoah River.  The temps were definitely rising and the humidity was not to be ignored.  Open stretches of trail left us exposed to the sun’s rays with only an occasional breeze to offer relief.

I was so relieved to finally see the aid station tent and hear the haloos of the volunteers.

 

Camp Roosevelt, a very welcome sight (Aid Station 2, mile 24.9)

I spent a good bit of time at Roosevelt being tended to by the fabulous volunteers.  It was my first time getting access to my drop bag and food resupplies.  I consumed a couple of cups of ice water, another cup of cold Gatorade, doused my face in cold water, munched on some potato chips and pretzels, and loaded up my bandana with ice before heading back out. 

16 more runners would drop between Camp Roosevelt (AS2) and Crisman Hollow (AS3).  The heat was brutal leaving Camp Roo and making our way up Duncan Hollow.  Many would succumb to heat exhaustion, cramping and GI distress. Once you complete Duncan Hollow, you have one more obstacle between you and the oasis of the Crisman Hollow aid station.  The climb up Waterfall Mountain is infamous for good reason.  Roughly 800’ of ascent in just over half a mile.  I found myself taking 10 steps and stopping to breathe. 10 steps and stop to breathe.  Repeat ad infinitum until the bad dream ends. 

This was where I came upon my friend Larry. Three quarters of the way through the climb, a voice from above calls out a “Helloooo, Rachel.”  I lift my eyes for the first time in quite a while (it’s too painful and demoralizing to look up at the trail rising endlessly before you), and there’s my dear friend, Larry, calmly seated at the side of the trail, legs stretched out in front of him, another runner standing at his side.  My immediate thought was that he had taken a spill and twisted an ankle or torqued something, but within the first few words of greeting, Larry calmly tilted over to the side and a copious stream of clear liquid was ejected from his mouth.  He nonchalantly wiped his mouth and picked up the conversation right where we had left off.  This “ritual” was repeated every couple of sentences.   

Larry was “out”.  He was suffering from heat exhaustion, nausea, dehydration, dizziness, etc, etc and he was willing to admit that it probably would not be safe for him to continue.  Larry had bigger fish to fry on the horizon with the Grindstone 100 just 5 weeks away and he didn’t want to do anything stupid that would impact his upcoming 100 miler.  Larry had lucked upon the assistance of another runner’s crew member who had kept him company and kept him safe the last few tortuous miles.  So our little entourage of 3 made our way up to the crest of Waterfall Mtn.  I tried to keep up a bit of mindless chatter to distract and we safely made it into the Crisman Hollow aid station at mile 34.4.

I LOVED this little aid station.  I downed one of the all time BEST grilled cheese sandwiches I have ever eaten and was delighted when one of the volunteers offered me a beautiful, white, clean, wet face cloth to do with what I would…HEAVEN!!!  It was hard to leave, but I knew that if I wanted to make the first cutoff, I needed to boogie.  So I changed socks and shoes (the uppers on my Hoka Stinsons had been torn open by a few too many encounters with rocks), grabbed my headlamp and headed on down the trail.

Sunset approaches. View from the western ridge line at dusk.

This is where things start to get blurry in my recollection.  Night was falling. The next aid station, Moreland Gap at mile 40.7, was the first hard cutoff of 9:30 pm.  I thought I was doing ok on time, but I knew I needed to stay focused and on track to get there.  Rocks, rocks and more rocks.  It wasn’t so much the bottoms of my feet that were taking the punishment as my Hokas provided more than enough protection in that direction, but it was the sides and front of my feet that were being pummeled.  Crossing some of the more challenging sections (and there were lots of them) was like having the sides of your feet randomly struck with a ball peen hammer.  The rocks weren’t always stationary and they took every opportunity to shift under foot, smashing the sides of my feet into rocks with all of my body weight every couple of steps.  It was brutal.

 

I made Moreland Gap by around 9:10.  To be exact to the letter of the race rules, you had to DEPART the aid station by 9:30.  I refilled water, dilly dallied with some food and repacking of my pack and was back on my way following Leonard Martin on down the trail by headlamp with just 2 minutes to spare for the 9:30 cutoff.  Leonard’s help through so many sections was invaluable.  He had covered this course (whether it was during The Ring or The Massanutten 100) dozens of time.  He gave me updates on what lay ahead, pep talks ensuring me that some of the more onerous rock section would indeed come to an end, and all around great advice.  We flip flopped back and forth quite a bit during the night and it was very comforting to see his headlamp ahead or behind from time to time. 

Like I said, my memory of specifics gets foggy around here.  Somewhere during the night, Leonard had left the trail briefly (potty break or phone call, I’m not sure which), and when he came back to the trail, he turned in the wrong direction.  Luckily, I had been several minutes behind him when he left the trail.  You can imagine our surprise when we walked into each other traveling in opposite directions in the dark.  When he saw my headlamp, he thought it might be somebody from one of the aid stations walking back down the trail to make sure folks were safe, but when he realized it was me and that he had indeed become turned around, he was a bit surprised to say the least. 

Other events during the night – Getting to spend several miles with Helen McDermott was truly a pleasure.  We’d met briefly at some other ultras, but never had the time to visit.  Helen is usually a MUCH faster runner than me.  The only reason she and I were able to travel together this night was because she had decided to call it quits and was just moseying along feeling no pressure for speed.  She was super tired and just wasn’t feeling the joy out there.  Like Larry, she had Grindstone 100 looming on the horizon and didn’t want to overextend herself at The Ring.  She dropped back from my side somewhere between Edinburg AS (#5, mile 48.7) and Woodstock AS (#6, mile 56.9) and rumor had it that she actually took a nap on the side of the trail for a while ;-) 

Other late night events – I believe it was at Edinburg Gap (AS5, mile 48.7) that I asked for some help putting fresh batteries in my headlamp as my fingers and hands weren’t working so well.  Various volunteers jumped to my assistance, replaced the batteries and I was on my way.  Unfortunately, somehow during the battery replacement maneuver, some little plastic ratchet piece in my trusty Fenix snapped and it could no longer hold the beam at any intermediate angles other than straight up, or straight down. 

In hindsight, I have to laugh at the rather comical picture I became as I tried to smoothly, ever so smoothly, make my way down the trail holding my head just so.  If I dared to jostle myself, the lamp immediately dropped to the downward position and illuminated nothing but my feet.  It sucked.  There was no way I could travel this rock infested trail without the lamp being jostled from my constant missteps and jarring impacts with rocks.  I thought about strapping my hiking poles to my pack and holding the light in my hand, but I NEEDED those sticks to keep me upright and felt like if I gave them up, I would cause myself some serious injury with a rolled ankle or worse.  This situation persisted from mile 48.7 to 56.9, which at the rate I was traveling was a solid 4 hours.  My neck spasms and aching shoulders reached all new levels.

Woodstock Tower Aid Station.  Amazing how beautiful a couple of camp chairs and a folding table loaded with food can seem in the middle of the woods.

When I arrived at Woodstock (AS6, mile 56.9), I explained the situation to the volunteers there and they rigged up a brilliant McGiver fix.  They jammed some filler materials between the lamp and the holder to angle it “just so” and taped the whole thing in place with some first aid tape.  I had less than 2 hours to go until sunrise, but it was such a relief to have a functioning light source again.  They also helped to tape up my blistered right hand, which was looking rather nasty from my death grip on my sticks.  I left that aid station with such a sense of relief and knew I could indeed face the next 14 miles.

The last sections were not easy, but I kept a steady pace and just kept moving forward.  I was still able to run when the trail was level enough and not a bed of rocks, but that wasn’t very often.  My shoulders and hands were killing me.  I was constantly raising my arms straight up overhead and holding them there for a few deep breaths to try and relieve some of the tension.

Dawn is a beautiful time on the mountain.  As the woods awoke around me, I took special pleasure from hearing those first bird calls and seeing the canopy come to life around me.  Only a few more hours to go and my suffering would be over.  I really did just want it to end. 

Quick stop at Powell’s Fort Camp (AS7, mile 62.4) and I pressed on in the company of Leonard Martin once again.  I really didn’t think the climb up Signal Knob was all that bad.  Except for a bit of single track around the reservoir, it’s mostly on a wide forest service road and my feet greatly enjoyed the break from the rock assaults. 

View of Strasburg from atop Signal Knob.

Yup, that's a trail.

The view from the top was decent enough, but the haze of a summer day was already setting in.  Soon after the summit, Leonard kicked his pace up a notch and I wouldn’t see him again until the finish.  My legs were good to go and wanted to fly, but my feet were so battered and tender that each time a shifting rock would slam into the sides of my feet, I was just about brought to tears, and believe me, there are PLENTY of rocky sections on that descent down to the finish.

 

 The one nice part of that descent was all the clean smelling day hikers that were making their cheerful way up the mountain to the overlook.  Many of them knew about the event (I think they must have been coached by some of the folks down at the finish line) and were applauding me and cheering me on.  It really did lift my spirits.  The first time it happened, the leader of one of these processions saw me hobbling down the trail and called out “Runner!” so his party would step to the side.  I looked behind me to see who the “runner” was that must be coming up behind me and then realized he was talking about me.  I laughed out loud and joked with him that I was hardly a runner at this stage of the game.  He assured me that if I had covered 70+ miles in a day, I was indeed a “runner”.  I liked that perspective.

I finished.  It wasn’t pretty.  There wasn’t a triumphant sprint to the finish line.  No cheering crowds or medals.  As I entered the Signal Knob parking lot, there were perhaps ten or twelve folks gathered there (other runners who had just finished, the RDs and some volunteers).  I thrust my arms up into the air, but not in a celebration of victory.  It was my futile effort to relieve the back and shoulder spasms that had been tormenting me for the last 16 hours.

Although I finished (and am thrilled about that), another part of me came away feeling rather disheartened with my running abilities. I felt like I was out there with an entirely different class of ultra runners and that I didn't belong. Everybody else that finished looked so strong and capable.  They were so very much faster than me. I came in 24th out of 25 finishers. Number 25 finished at an all out run looking so strong. She'd been sidelined for a few hours by stomach issues but once that settled down, she flew.  I, on the other hand, hobbled into the parking lot looking and feeling 90 years old. I know, not exactly a healthy attitude to come away with.   My finish time was 27:51 (just a bit more than an hour ahead of the 29 hour cutoff).  Putting my speed in perspective, the winner’s time this year was 16:10.   First female was in 18:31.

The Sugar Knob Cafe

After finishing and absolutely gorging myself on some of the incredible fare they made available at the “Signal Knob Café” (i.e. – bacon, sausage, French toast, biscuits, made to order eggs, real fruit popsicles, grilled shrimp, sweet potato latkes, scones, croissants, cake, pie, etc, etc), I texted my husband, Paul, about how painful it had all been and how I had finally discovered what my limits were.  I even wrote to him that "The Ring" may have cured me of some of my more ambitious ultra running dreams. Honestly, it was so painful. I really didn't enjoy it. I was proud that I had finished (more proud of this single event than any other to date), but it hadn't been "fun".  I hurt.  Not my legs, they were in good shape throughout and I think my training was solid, but my shoulders were spasming horribly from the weight of my pack, my palms were blistered, and my hands were painfully cramped from the death grip I had on my sticks for 28 hours.  My toes and feet were so banged up from the endless crashing into rocks, that I would later lose 3 toenails to the Massanutten Mountain gods.

It took me until 9 am Monday morning to finally arrive home (lots of stops to sleep along the way). I had finished the race at around 11 am Sunday.  The drive home should have only taken 6 hours.  Much of my drive home was spent in a mental funk lamenting my abilities and dwelling on the sheer stupidity of ultras that last longer than 12 hours.  

I pulled into the driveway and our 6 year old, Maddie, was at the door of the RV in her fuzzy pajamas before I'd even put it in park. We hugged and held each other for a few minutes of pure bliss and then headed inside. As I walked into the kitchen, Paul, turned from the sink to greet me with a smile on his face and quietly said "So, you finished in the top half of the participants. Nicely done."
With that single sentence, my whole attitude turned around. Paul's words changed my frame of reference.  He had taken my negative spin on my finishing position and totally turned it on end to be a celebration. Yes! I had finished in the top half of the participants!  There were 50 people at that starting line.  Only 25 finished, and I was one of them.
Now I find myself sitting here wondering how I could solve my "issues" so that the next time I'm on a trail like that, I can actually enjoy it. My mind is spinning with the possibilities already...  You know, there’s a “Reverse Ring” held in February each year…

Garmin data: http://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/580399538

71 miles with 12,167’ of gain and same of descent.  Min elevation 738’. Max elevation 2802’.

What did I do right –

• ·      Good pacing in the early stages (by heart rate)
• ·      Kept an eye on cutoffs and paced myself accordingly.  Very focused, no dilly dallying.  (Made the first cutoff by only 2 minutes, but I made it.)
• ·      Asking for route tips from the veterans at each aid station and specifics on how to get to each aid station from trail.
• ·      Carrying Keith Knipling’s route cards (I printed and laminated them)
• ·      Hiking sticks were invaluable
• ·      Nutrition – shot blocks, nutter butters, apple sauce squeezers, electrolytes, grilled cheese, coco loco bars.
• ·      Cool bandana filled with ice was the bomb leaving AS2.
• ·      Pretaping my back with kinesio tape to head off any chafing under the sports bra.

Things to do better:

• ·      Different shoes that will better protect my toes and feet (is there such a thing?).
• ·      Wear gloves or figure out some kind of protection for my hands.
• ·      More training miles with a loaded pack and hiking sticks to better condition my shoulders and hands.
• ·      Watch water more diligently.  Tank up at the aid stations in addition to refilling bladder.
• ·      Wear my visor from the start for more sun protection.
• ·      Use some type of bug netting for the Duncan Hollow section.

Gear I used:

Hoka Stinsons

Dirty Girl Gaiters

Injinji socks for the first 40 miles as sock liners

Wright socks double layered (went through 3 pair)

Black Diamond Women’s Pro Shock hiking poles

Patagonia shorts

Road Runner All Sports Modern Sleeveless Tank

Under Armour Heat  Gear Sport Bra

Ultimate Direction AK vest with a bladder

Garmin 310 XT (brought a battery charger that I wore during the middle of the night for a couple of hours to recharge my Garmin so it would last the whole race)

Fenix HP11 headlamp (270 lumens)

Leatherwood Mountain 50 Mile Ultra

Awesomeness!  Along with some insanity, agility, humility, intensity and a good bit of  profanity thrown in for good measure.  This was the inaugural running of the Leatherwood Mountain Ultra in Ferguson, NC.  The RD’s promised us a challenging course and they more than delivered.  The event offered a 10 mile, 50K and 50 mile option.  I opted for the 50 miler, just so I could get a full dose of mountain magic.

The day before the event the skies had opened up with a deluge, high winds and tornado warnings.  When I arrived at the race venue for the pre-race pasta dinner Friday night, it was still raining.  The pastures and pathways surrounding the Leatherwood Resort were a mess.  Obviously just a little advance warning on what the trails were going to be like.

A muddy start/finish line the day before. (Photo courtesy of Allison T)

I soon found some familiar faces and made new acquaintances.  The highlight of the evening for me was the guest speaker – Jennifer Pharr Davis.  This incredible young woman had set the Appalachian Trail speed record in 2011 having traversed the entire length of the AT in just 46 days.  That’s an average of 47 miles a day!  I got to visit with her and her 6 month old daughter, Charly, prior to the dinner and had a lovely, easy going conversation with her about hiking and running, motherhood and life.  What a personable young woman she is.  Her talk during dinner was hugely entertaining, humorous and inspiring.

That's Jennifer in the background looking on as Daddy and Charly share a special moment.

Most of the dinner conversation seemed to have everybody speculating on their finish times, what the trails would be like, how this course would compare to previous runs, etc, etc.  I was content to just sit back and listen.  I didn’t see much point in expending energy on the unknown.  The morning would bring what it would.  No amount of pre-race strategizing was going to change the trail.  All I wanted to get out of this was to run within my means, pace myself to endure the full 50 miles and have a good time while doing it.  I had no specific time goals other than making it through the first 40 miles in under 12 hours, as that was the single cutoff that the RD’s had put in place.  The one item my ears did perk up about as the RD’s reviewed the course briefly was the mention of several creek crossings that were sure to soak our feet.  I guess I’d put a couple of extra pair of socks and a spare pair of shoes in my drop bags.

As all good ultrarunners do, we all went our separate ways soon after the race briefing to try and get a good night’s sleep.  I slept pretty darn well and drifted off to the sounds of the nearby creek and a light rain hitting the top of the RV.

View from my campsite.

 There were 77 starters for the 50 miler.  We milled about by the stables trying to stay warm and wishing each other well.  We observed a moment of silence for Boston, there was a playing of the national anthem (which always makes me tear up) and then the sound of the starting gun sounded as “Highway to Hell” blared in the background and we set off!  We had a nice easy 1 mile road warmup that allowed everybody to spread out.   

Our first mile looked like this.

This was quickly followed by a challenging climb on gravel roads that netted us 500’+ of gain in mile 2.  That was just the beginning of all the fun.  Over the next several miles as we transitioned to single track we began the roller coaster ride that would seem to last forever. We’d been forewarned that the first 7.5 miles would be the hardest of the course.  I’m so glad we got them over with early on.

I'm a Georgia Tech numbers kinda gal at heart. For all the rest of you geeks out there, take a look at these numbers for the 50 mile course:

1 mile had 800' of gain+descent (remember mile 5?)
2 course miles had greater than 700' of gain+descent
A total of 8 course miles had greater than 600' of gain+descent
A whopping 21 course miles had at least 500' of gain+descent!!
And 30 course miles gifted us with 400' or more of gain+descent

Total elevation gain for the course 10,680’; Total descent 10,680’.

The previous day’s rains left some of the descents as eroded, mud-lined gullies covered in inches of snot slick mud.  At points, I was literally laughing out loud at myself as my arms windmilled frantically and my body twisted and turned this way and that as I tried desperately to keep my balance.  I still don’t know how I came through this entire race without a single spill.  Many runners had lovely mud covered butt patterns adorning the backs of their shorts before the day was too far gone. Periodically interspersed throughout the 50 mile course were a few easier road sections thrown in here and there just so we wouldn’t completely give up.

One of the lovely, but all too infrequent, valley sections.

Some of my most enjoyable miles were in the company of 68 year old ultra runner, Bill Keane.  He doggedly took the lead for our little posse.  At times I felt like there was an invisible rope between the two of us and Bill was hauling my tired butt up those steep climbs.  At one point we turned a corner to see a section of trail ahead that seemed to literally climb to the sky at a ridiculous grade.  I literally stopped in my tracks, started giggling a bit hysterically and exclaimed “Oh My God!”  Bill matter of factly instructed me “Don’t look up” and we forged ahead step by step, one foot in front of the other until the climb was complete.  Thanks, Bill.

One of the many lovely views to inspire.

This course had so many breathtaking vistas.  Many of the hardest climbs afforded us spectacular views of the valleys below.  We’d be deep in the woods climbing up the single track only to break out onto a road beside a picture perfect mountain top meadow populated with gorgeous, curious, and friendly horses happy to come over and say hello if you’d just pause for a moment.  Many of the runners had taken advantage of the cabin rentals Leatherwood Resort offered.  We ran by many of these picturesque mountain top cabins and each one looked more beautiful than the last.  Next time around, we might have to give one of them a try!

Beautiful course shot turns into....

...a friendly hello!

I fared well through the majority of the race.  I gave up counting all of the foot soaking stream crossings when I reached #8.  I’m so glad I put all those extra pairs of socks in my drop bags.  Changing into a dry pair of shoes 24 miles in put new life in my feet (at least for a little while).

Photo by awesome Amy Connolly of Pink Crow Photo

Pacing, fueling, hydrating, etc, etc.  I think I played it all quite well, but there was no way around it that by mile 34 my spirits and my legs were flagging.  The aid stations had been awesome but by then I’d been on my feet for some 9 hours and I was just flat out STARVING.  There were plenty of snacks available and PB and Js galore, but I really wanted something more substantial. 

While stopping in at the Rawhide Aid Station (we visited this particular aid station 5 times throughout the race) I took out my phone (which I’d been using to take pics) and checked to see if I had a signal.  YES!  I immediately thought to text Allison, who had run the 10 miler earlier that day, and see if I could implore her to have mercy on me.  My message went something along the lines of “I’ll pay you a $1M and love you forever if you can have a cheeseburger waiting for me at the 40 mile checkpoint.”  She immediately texted me back requesting details on condiments.  HURRAY!!!  Gotta love having a friend come through for you in a pinch.  With spirits revived and the thought of a lovely, warm, pickle and ketchup-laden cheeseburger waiting for me below, I hopped back out on the trails and felt like I was figuratively flying those 5.5 miles.

I pulled in to the stables right at 6 pm.  40 miles down in 11 hours and a big fat burger and a hug from Allison.  

Life was good once again.  I gave myself a half hour break at this aid station.  I needed it.  I had one final 10 mile loop ahead of me to complete the course and I was whooped.  Some real food, a change of socks, refill my water and snacks and I was off once again with headlamp and flashlight in my pack.  It was right at 6:30 pm as I left the stables.

Upon my return, these beautiful luminaries would be my beacons in the darkness.

My final loop, while definitely my slowest and the one where I felt most fatigued and beaten, was also my favorite. I was mostly alone for this loop.  There were several points where I saw oncoming runners heading down the mountain to either complete their race or check in and head back out for the final loop.  All of them looked tired, some relieved to be close to finishing, some in obvious discomfort, some preparing to call it quits and take the DNF.  I was moving slowly, but steadily and I knew that was all I needed to ask of myself.  As the sun set behind the encircling mountains and dusk began to fall, the woodlands came alive with the sounds of birds and the rustlings of various creatures.  Whipporwill males called out emphatically from trailside limbs.  How many years had it been since I’d heard that call?  Pure magic.

Aerial view of the course

Darkness settled in full by around 8 pm.  I donned my headlamp, warmer clothing and continuously reminded myself to pay attention for markers.  The RD’s had a brilliant idea when they decided to tag each runner with a color coded bracelet indicating which loop they were on and which trail ribbons they should be following.  After being out there for 12+ hours, it was easy for me to forget that I was supposed to be following the orange ribbons this loop, but all I had to do was look down at my color-coded bracelet to remind myself.  I did so no less than 5 times on this final loop.  I was tired, I was yawning, my body was aching and my brain was a bit fuzzy.  That little attention to detail probably saved my butt from wandering on to one of the yellow or pink trails that crisscrossed my path so frequently.

Rawhide aid station

The course brought you through the Rawhide Aid Station twice on this final 10 mile loop.  Gosh how I loved the sight of that lovely blue and white striped tent.  The volunteers were down to a skeleton crew by this point, but they were still incredibly friendly and eager to help.  On my final pass through, I was treated to a cup of warm chicken broth and it was absolutely perfect!

As I headed out from Rawhide one last time with just a little over two miles to go, my overwhelming emotion was one of gratitude for so many things.  I stopped a few times on trail here to turn off my headlamp and just stand in the darkness for a few moments. A half moon had been visible since late afternoon and now it was high up above shining brightly through the tree limbs on a cloudless night and the sky was filled with stars.  It was spectacular and I felt recharged.

My final mile was the quickest I’d covered in many an hour.  I had the good fortune to catch up with a small pack of other runners and between the 5 or 6 of us, we were able to scout out the trail ahead at a confusing intersection and help one another to find the right path, our calls echoing back and forth through the woods.  Our relief at finally breaking out onto the gravel road that would lead us to the finish was palpable.   In the last half mile or so, you could hear the strains of the band that was playing near the stables.  As lights came into view and we transitioned onto pavement, I gave it one final push just for the fun of it to try and come in under 15 hours.  There were hardly any spectators left, but the few hardy souls scattered about here and there offered cheers and applause as we came down the home stretch.  The finish line had been taken down hours ago and our finish consisted of basically stumbling into the stable area and calling out our race number to the two volunteers left at the nearby picnic table.  It’s all good ;-)

Here it is some 3 days later and I’m still not able to walk quite right and stairs are a nightmare.  If my legs were willing though, I’d run this course again tomorrow.

Boring stats:

77 starters, 63 finishers (22% dropout rate)

My place – 54^th finisher, 8^th female

Finish time: 15:00:22
Garmin data can be found here:
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/301683408

The Promise Land 50K+ - Part 1

The meadow begins to fill.

The “Promise Land Youth Camp” had a bit of a “Field of Dreams” feel to it.  An empty meadow surrounded by mountains in a remote area of VA is transformed into a field of colorful tents, cars and excited runners within a matter of hours.  The Promise Land 50K+ (and the + is a critical detail here) is billed as “Not Your Average 50K” and it certainly lives up to its name.  I had been studying the trail map and elevation profile for weeks.  I had memorized the exact location of every aid station, the special instructions regarding cutoffs, the aid station checkpoints that required us to turn briefly onto side trails…all these details and images were swirling around in my head for days and days leading up to the event, but as soon as I drove onto that meadow and looked up at the beautiful cloud topped mountains, I felt the stress and anxiety fall away.

Aerial view of the course (courtesy of Keith Knipling)

I set up my camp (which consisted of finding a fairly level spot for my RV and doing a little bit of leveling) and then headed to the picnic shelter for some pizza and to pick up my race t-shirt.  I saw several familiar faces and had fun talking trails and running with folks.  I was especially excited to see Angela there.  She and I had met a couple of times previously and we had a mutual friend in Linda Banks.  We’d never really had the chance to spend much time in each other’s company, so it was fun getting to have more lengthy conversations and get to know one another a bit more.  Angela’s been running for quite some time but began running ultras roughly 3 years ago.  She had completed her first 50 miler at the Umstead Ultra just the month prior.  This was to be her first time at The Promise Land as well.

The coolest race shirt I own!

Dr. David Horton has been putting on this particular event for 12 years now.  “King Horton” or "Hortie" as he’s very affectionately known in this particular community, is a running legend.  He has set speed records on the Appalachian Trail and The Pacific Crest Trail, he’s run across America (2900+ miles), won the Hardrock 100, and possibly most impressive of all within the ultra running community, he’s one of only a handful of finishers of the Barkley Marathons.  The Barkley is billed as “The Race That Eats Its Young”.  There have been many, many years where not a single participant was able to successfully complete the course.  Total finishers to date over the races 25 year history - 13.  I listened to an interview with Dr. Horton some weeks ago and in that interview, he said that finishing the Barkley was probably the single running achievement he is most proud of.

"King Horton" on his throne.

I had known of Dr. Horton ever since my own thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail back in 1997, but this was my first chance to meet him in person. My first impression was one of energy, warmth and an absolute passion for what he was doing.  He loves humor (and laughter at his own expense is absolutely fine), he loves trail running, he loves runners and he loves people who are passionate about what they do in life.  His pre-race briefing was a hoot.  He spent a good bit of time introducing various people from the crowd and going on about their most recent achievements, or lack thereof.  One young man had just completed a run across America.  Another older gentleman was here for his 12^th running of the Promise Land and this while in the middle of attempting a thru-hike of the AT and sustaining a bit of an ankle injury that could be a possible stress fracture.  Another young man who was standing off to the side in the dark was announced as making an attempt to "run a double".  That is, as soon as Horton finished the race briefing, this young man was going to run the course through the night (34 miles) and time it so he could return to the starting line before dawn and join us for the official start at 5:30 a.m. and run it all again!  Another woman was called to the front for Happy Birthday wishes.  She was celebrating her 60^th birthday by running The Promise Land! 

Another story from the crowd was not so happy.  A young man who looked to be in his 20s was standing towards the rear of the crowd.  He was called to the front to announce that he was selling raffle tickets for a brand new Giant mountain bike to raise funds for a local cancer center.  The reason?  His young wife, who was an ultra-runner, she’d run The Promise Land several times before, she was an avid soccer player and incredibly healthy and vibrant young woman, had died from a rare form of cancer just last year.  From initial onset, it only took 10 weeks for the disease to claim her life.  The bike was hers.  Given to her by friends while she was in the hospital.  She never got to ride it. 

All of these stories and all of these lives, Hortie gathers in around him.  He remembers all the faces and names, he knows the details of their stories, he touches their lives with generosity and compassion and then kicks you in the butt and challenges you to do more than you think you are capable of.

Somehow, after that bike raffle announcement, Hortie was able to turn things back around and get us all laughing again.  The end of the race briefing is the freebie giveaway.  Hortie doles out various gifts via a raffle system (all while comfortably ensconced in his camp chair perched atop a picnic table above all the crowd around him).  His lottery system is all his own.  If he pulls out a name and doesn’t like who the winner is, he tears it up and tosses it to the side.  Gifts (and they are quite exceptional gifts at that) are given out with much slapstick humor and laughter. Hydration packs, gift certificates for Patagonia gear, sunglasses, etc, etc.  Dozens of pairs of running socks were tossed around the pavilion to runners’ outstretched arms, some pairs having been broken in as nose hankies by Dr. Horton himself.

The basic advice doled out at the race briefing: This course is well marked.  If you get lost during this race, you’re stupid.  DON’T be stupid.

We would all be called to action at 4:30 a.m. via bull horn alarm system that Hortie gleefully demonstrated time and time again at the briefing.  He sent us off with the final advice that sleeping the night before the race was overrated.  It was the two nights prior to that which were important and that we shouldn’t worry overmuch about sleeping.  Go off and have a good time at the bonfire.

Once the main briefing was over, a bonfire was started in a nearby clearing and Hortie invited any first timers who wanted words of wisdom from King Horton to come back to the pavilion for a more informal Q&A and general advice.  I, of course, knew that I wanted to hear whatever he had to say, so after warming up at the bonfire for a few minutes, Angela and I joined the small cluster of runners gathered around Hortie.  Most of his advice seemed to center around GI issues, keeping your butt clean and how to avoid diarrhea.  No joke.  That’s what he mostly talked about.  Not exactly the profound words of wisdom that I might have been expecting, but he felt very strongly that these mundane details could make or break your experience. I’m pretty sure the man knows what he’s talking about.  Other advice - Run within your means, don’t go out too fast, etc, etc.  He did warn us about the technical sections of trail and stressed that deciding you had to drop once you crossed over Apple Orchard Mtn and descended into “the dark side” was probably not the best locale for sustaining an injury or dropping as getting you out could present a problem.  That’s it.

I’m not a late night person and I really like the feeling of being as prepared as I can heading into a race.  It may be an illusion, but it works for me.  I only hung around the fire for a little while before calling it a night and heading back to camp to organize my gear.  The meadow was absolutely packed with wall to wall cars and tents and folks were still pulling in after dark.  As I looked up at the sky one last time, I could still see plenty of stars in the night sky above.  It was going to be a cold, clear night.

Here's a graphic that shows what I would be facing in the morning: