So you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it’s sinking; racing around to come up behind you again. The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older, shorter of breath and one day closer to death… The wise words of Mr. Pink Floyd (or Roger Watters, most likely) were running in a loop through my head as I raced towards the finish line, in an effort to finish before the first rays of daylight. But that’s much later in the story.
First, the adventure of getting to the starting line. As far as potential last meals go, Maggie’s in Elkins, WV is not highly recommended. Running a tight schedule, we arrived at the restaurant around 7 p.m., giving us roughly half an hour to eat and then head to the race check-in for the mandatory 8 p.m. meeting. Who knew that grilled chicken salad and bruschetta would take over half an hour to make? I anxiously eyed the clock and picked up a to-go container, figuring I’d eat on the ride to the race. Our server finally came around (two tables in our area arrived after us and were already eating their food – I am convinced they don’t like Asians in West Virginia, and discriminated against Sai), and told us to just leave, not worrying about paying. No sh!t Sherlock, why would we pay if we didn’t get our food? But the problem was that I wanted to eat, which is kind of why we went there in the first place. My last supper was not working out too well.
Finally, with a doggie box in hand, we headed south 10 miles to the burg of Beverly, WV, home to the world famous Cheat Mountain Moonshine Madness 50 Mile Run. World famous may be a bit of a stretch, but it is a qualifying race for Western States, and had solid representation from ~15 different states. There’s not much else there though, which is why we were (trying to eat in and) staying in Elkins, in a lovely Days Inn that was a half-@ssed conversion of an old hospital. I believe they changed the beds and removed the nurses’ stations, and put up a different sign out front. Sai drove, so I could eat the unhealthiest salad imaginable on the way (I couldn’t find the lettuce underneath all of the French fries), and selectively ignored the GPS directions. Instead of arriving at the 4-H Camp Headquarters, we ended up driving down a one lane road that ended at a small creek. There was a dirt road that continued on the other side, so I seriously considered having her throw us into 4-wheel drive and ford it, thinking the dirt road must be a short cut to where we were trying to be, but apparently Dukes of Hazzard wasn’t as popular in Thailand, so Sai preferred to not drive over the stream.
Ten minutes after 8 we arrived at the nearly concluded mandatory pre-race conference, with me looking a bit out of place in jeans while everyone else was ready to run. They gave me odd stares and my race number, and I played hooky on the lecture to go and change. Main takeaway from what I overheard was the race director saying that he and all of the other volunteers would be p!ssed if we pussed out and quit, unless we were seriously injured. So much for that plan.
Promptly at 9 p.m., I chased around a hundred other lunatics down the desolate streets of Beverly. It was a cool evening (temps in lower 50s), with about half a moon shining overhead. My pockets were packed with energy gels, a power bar, and an extra flashlight (separate from my headlamp, just in case the lights went out). I always thought the fanny pack looked lame, but my weighted shorts were probably worse. I had to cinch the drawstring extra tight to make sure the extra load didn’t pull my pants down. There was enough moonlight already, so I didn’t think people needed my white @ss to shine in their headlamps.
The first 12.9 miles was basically uphill, mostly on gravel access road into the midst of the Monongahela Forest. My strategy was to start off slow for once, since this was newfound territory for me (technical trail running, night race, 50 miles, mountain course, etc.). However, I felt relaxed enough that I steadily passed people during the two-hour climb. Most exciting part was the only real wildlife I witnessed on the course, when a girl in front of me yelled out “Skunk!!” a few times, as we passed it. I saw it, but didn’t respond with the same emotion, as I preferred to quietly evade the stinker. Say it, don’t spray it, biatch! Fortunately, Monsieur Lepew did not frighten as easily as this runner, and kept his cool and cologne. Some dogs barked at us at other points in the early miles, but none gave chase.
After the second aid station at the 12.9 mark, we embarked into the woods. I was under my target pace of two hours by about 4 minutes, and still feeling plenty strong, ready to hit the trails. Except the definition of trails in West VA is a lot different from the weak dirt tracks I run in Fairfax. Wild and wonderful my a$$! Instead of cruising downhill, I had to carefully pick each step, looking like an old lady lollygagging along the “path”. Four or five guys flew past me like I was standing still; I actually stepped to the side and was standing still to let them pass, but nonetheless, they knew how to run real trails, and I clearly did not. The next five miles took over an hour, as I hiked more than ran. The technical terrain included sections of mud that would pull you in up to your ankle, equally deep stream crossings, rocky and rooty runs, occasional trees to hop over (or in my case, to slowly step over), as well as parts where I couldn’t tell if we were really on a path, or following a flowing rivulet. In short, this trail section completely kicked the cr#p out of me. Luckily, it dumped us back onto the service road for a mile +/- to the next aid station, somewhere around mile 18. I ran much more comfortably on the roads, leading me to the conclusion that maybe I should stick to the roads and forego forested trails forever.
Section 3 to 4 was back on the trails again, though it wasn’t quite as extreme, or maybe I was getting more accustomed to it. Regardless, my bunion caused bursts of pain every time I pushed off a root or rock with my left forefoot, which was approximately every half mile. The rest of the time, I ran as flat footed as possible, or hobbled along after the most recent bunion blowup. I also managed to kick several rocks and roots with each toe in turn, as well as one soccer-like punt of a larger rock that I thought had broken the top of my foot at first. Even with a headlamp on, the ferny undergrowth hid all kinds of tripping hazards. I hit aid station #4 at 4 hours, 16 minutes (or 1:16 a.m.), for 23 miles. So much for my plan of breaking 8 hours. Sai had predicted 9 hours, and I was barely on track to pull that off. One of the aid station volunteers told me that I was in 12th place at this point, and that 10 & 11 were approximately 7 minutes up on me. I didn’t particularly care. Even though I hoped to crack top 10, at this point I was more concerned about surviving the wilderness without losing more toenails or taking a headfirst tumble.
Section 4 to 5 started out up another access road for a mile before turning back into the woods. Somewhere along the way after the turnoff, I lost the trail, and found myself running through an overgrown meadow along the edge of the forest. It kind of looked like a trail, but I didn’t see any of the reflective markers that would tell me if I was going the right way. I decided to give it a few more minutes to see if any markers came into view before backtracking (the spacing of the trail signals was not very consistent, so it was possible I was still going the right way). Right before I gave up, I saw a marker through the trees, and headed for it. Two runners approached the same marker coming from the other direction, which really confused me. I asked them which aid station they were heading for, fearing that they were way in front of me and looping back, but they were going the same way to Aid Station #5. I guess I was back on course, but I have no idea how far out of the way I went. One of the runners led me for a few minutes, before apparently knocking his head on a low-lying branch and coming to a stop. I asked if he was okay, and he said that he just needed to regroup, so I continued on. I was still #12 according to the volunteers at the next aid station, so I figure that though I wasted little time going off course (allowing the other two guys to catch up to me), no harm no foul overall. The helpful food-staff also informed me that there were two girls ahead of me, but I was feeling gentlemanly enough to not go charging off like a madman in the name of foolish testosterone-fueled man-pride. I was 27 miles and change into the run, having gone past five hours already, and I only wanted to not end up walking the majority of the time still in front of me.
However, shortly after leaving the aid station, another uphill road run spotlighted a distant runner. The hunt was on! Right at the top of the road, before we entered the woods again, I caught up to girl #2. My road running prominence worked again! Of course, once on the trails, I could not shake her. It sucks running a lengthy trail race when you suck at running trails. A few miles later, we hit the road again, and I ran away from her, moving me solidly into position #11 (but who was counting?).
At aid station #6, I learned that the rest of the race was on the roads, much to my relief. All downhill from here, right? I figured I could fly through the next 17 miles. I clocked out of this aid station at somewhere around 6 hours (3 a.m.). Section 6 to 7 was another steady uphill climb. No fair that almost all of the downhills to this point were on rough trails, where I ran even slower than on the uphill roads. At least it was a short stretch, running approximately four miles before again, I was assured that it was all downhill from there. I think maybe the volunteers were instructed to just agree with the stupid runners, rather than shattering our illusions. Generally, we were losing more elevation than gaining, but there were still a lot of uphills along the way. At least the gravel road did not require my granny trail gait.
Aid Station #8 was five and a half miles from the finish. I arrived there at four minutes to five in the morning, with a big smile and a hearty good morning to the people working there. I thought I was in good shape to beat the six a.m. sunrise. Then, someone told me sunrise was at 5:55, which meant I had five minutes less to finish, so I took my handful of Swedish fish, and dashed for the end of this long night.
As an aside, the aid stations all had bountiful fare to offer. Chicken broth, quesadillas, turkey sandwiches, PB&J, potatoes, etc. However, I ate what appealed to me most at each stop: AS #1 – a cream-filled cookie; AS #2 – a bunch of grapes; AS #3 – watermelon; AS #4 – half a banana; AS #5 – chocolate chip cookies; AS #6 – apple slices; AS #7 – more grapes; AS #8 – Pringles potato chips and Swedish fish. Not the healthiest diet, but I didn’t have the energy to eat real food, and figured fifty miles of exercise justifies any junk food. I also drank lots of mountain dew, as it tasted sweeter than the bland electrolyte drink they had to offer.
Home stretch, this is where the story began, with me reflecting on the lyrics to Pink Floyd’s Time. I wanted to beat 9 hours, 6 a.m., sunrise (even if it was at 5:55). While my legs were plenty beat up, I never really “hit the wall” or bonked, or otherwise fell apart. About two and half miles from the end, I espied another headlamp in front of me. This was the first runner I had seen since the chick I unchicked back at the 28 mile mark, over three hours earlier. During the course of running on the pitch black roads, sometimes you would see phantom headlamps or weird shadows giving the illusion of a runner coming up from behind. However, you would turn around and realize there was no one to be seen. I talked to the #2 runner after the race, and he mentioned how he ran scared, convinced that a devious runner was trying to overtake him with his headlamp off. Paranoia runs deep when you’re sleep deprived, in the dark, and utterly exhausted. Anyway, this next mark represented my opportunity to move into position #10, assuming my math was correct (having passed the aforementioned #2 girl and now this guy, after being told I was 12th). So I surged again, racing through the empty streets of Beverly, where the only sound was the occasional barking dog. The morning fog rolled in thick, making it hard to see. The headlamp only refracted the fog, making it look like a million particles were right in front of me. I thought it was a massive cloud of bugs at first, and when I went to swat them, the light bounced back into my eyes. Good lesson learned. Just look down, and focus on the road directly in front of you. With a mile to go (graciously marked on the road), I did my best to kick it in, coming home in an eight minute effort. Alas, despite this monster sprint, about half a mile before the finish, I heard a rooster cock-a-doodling nearby, signaling the official start of morning. Son of a b!tch!! I swear, it was still dark outside (for at least another half hour), and I rolled through at 5:43 a.m., a solid twelve minutes ahead of the reported time of sunrise. You tell me, did the rooster announce my failure? 8 hours 43 minutes and 20 seconds according to the official results. The race director reported me as 11th, which bugged me a bit since I was so excited to catch what I thought was the 10th place runner, but again, who’s counting? After all, it’s been said that if you’re not first you’re last, and prizes only went three deep, so what’s the difference?
Oh well, I finished, and was plenty satisfied with the effort. Extrapolating the math, I actually negative split. Not sure if this is a sign of a smart race, or just more proof that I can’t run trails. I passed a few people and no one passed me over the last ~30 miles, which was pretty cool. The winner ran a 6:52 to smash his own course record. Dude is good. I asked him how the heck he could run that fast on that terrain, and he said that’s what he does best. More power to him. He also looked completely relaxed and comfortable chilling in a chair by the finish. He had already showered and changed while I was still out running. I on the other hand was a muddy mess, but didn’t have any clothes to change into, since Sai had the car with all my stuff back at the disgusting Elkins Days Inn. Sai arrived around an hour later to take me home.
It’s been said that joggers jog for their health, while runners run even if it kills them. I think ultra-runners take it a level further, and openly challenge death in their foolish exploits. For this overnight affair, I managed to cheat death on Cheat Mountain, with the only casualty being my decimated quads (rigor mortis has set in, and I amble like the walking dead right now). Considering how good I felt in the last five miles of this run, I am already reconsidering my early race decision to simply check this distance off the bucket list and go back to 5 and 10 milers, though I don’t know about the whole trail part of ultra-running. A road fifty miler would pound the joints, but would go a lot quicker for me without the same bunion problems. We’ll see what’s next.
One other amusing side story: Around 10 hours in, a guy came charging to the finish line, followed by a pair of four-legged friends. I thought maybe dogs were giving chase, but it turned out that with a couple miles to go, he picked up a trailing party of two baby goats. First time I’ve ever seen that in a race. One of the race organizers jokingly told him that he had to run them back to where he found them, before another person found a couple of leashes and roped them in (they did have collars). Around this time, Sai and I headed back to the hospital hotel for a long shower and a short nap before heading home, so I can’t say what they did with the goats. But my guess is that they slaughtered the first in ritualistic sacrifice to the running gods, and fed the second one to the victor. Ultra-runners are weird.
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 