Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon 5/15/10 (Race Report)

On May 15, 2010, I completed the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon with a finish time of 7:26:32.

This race was my second Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon experience. The 2009 trail marathon was my first trail race and it was a incredible event that led to my current fascination with trail running. During last year's race, I met several new friends who convinced me to join the Georgia Ultrarunning And Trailrunning Society (GUTS) and I was introduced to the trail running community. I finished last year's Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon in 5:41:59 with a self-assured pace that gave me the confidence of knowing that anything is possible in endurance sports if I run a smart race and push myself.

The 2010 Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon was a different experience altogether, where I crossed the finish line roughly an hour and forty-five minutes slower than I did last year and faced some potentially deadly struggles with 88-degree afternoon temperatures and brutal humidity. This year's event was the closest that I've ever come to voluntarily dropping out of a race and, one day later, as I'm typing this report, I still can't decide if my resolve to finish was an example of bravery or an example of stupidity. Still, through it all, I had a fun day on the trails with some old friends and new friends alike. One of my favorite running quotes, “It doesn't have to be fun to be fun.”, perfectly sums up the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon 2010.

Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon takes place in Summerville, Georgia at the James H. (Sloppy) Floyd State Park in a beautiful area of the Chattahoochee National Forest. The race starts with an easy trek around a campground lake before runners ascend an exhaustingly steep incline and are rewarded by some beautiful single-track trails and forest roads along a mountain ridge. The harsh climb in the third mile of the race, named “Becky's Bluff” after the race director, is the main attraction of the race, but a handful of other strenuous stretches await the runner after that ascent. While the trails of this race lack the exhaustingly technical leaf-covered rocky terrain of the Pine Mountain 40-Mile Trail Run or the never-ending assault of three-mile hill climbs of Mystery Mountain Marathon, the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon presents its own unique challenges by way of a 9:00 AM race start in May temperatures, an early steep ascent that runners spend the rest of the race recovering from, and a few insidious stretches where relaxed runners fall prey to tree roots, loose rocks, or small stumps.

I arrived at James H. (Sloppy) Floyd State Park almost two hours before the start in my usual compulsively early fashion, although I had already picked up my race number the night before at a pre-race dinner in Summerville. I spent time catching up with friends at the start area up until the final minutes before the start, when Becky, the race director, stood on top of a picnic table to address the crowd and send us on our way.

As always, I started slowly in the back of the crowd and ran at an easy pace around the lake and down a paved road through the park campground before entering the woods. My expectations were low for this race, because my legs have a beating from recent ultramarathons, because I was heavier than I was at last year's race, and, finally, because I had recently bounced back from a recurrence of shin splints that had kept me out of running shoes for two weeks. These low expectations climbed down a few more notches when the effect of the humidity in the air became apparent even during these first two miles around the park. Still, I soldiered on and was happy to start the big climb to Becky's Bluff after a half-hour. I knew that, if I could finish this initial climb within the first hour, I would be in good shape for the race. For much of these beginning miles, I ran with two friends, Tom, an experienced runner known for his constant volunteer work with our trail running group, and Dan, who would stop every so often with his camera to take a pictures of the rest of us in action.

Photo courtesy of Dan Burstein

The climb in the third mile began with a tiresome trek up hills that are very much runnable, although most of us wisely decided to save our energy and walk, because we knew that the true Becky's Bluff climb hadn't even started yet. After a seemingly endless hill climb, the trail veered to the left, where runners were greeted with a sign that read, “Caution: Steep Grades” sign. The Becky's Bluff climb is a slow one, where the trick is just to take small steps and keep putting one foot ahead of the other. I was dismayed at how quickly I was running out of breath until I spotted several runners ahead of me who had stopped halfway through the climb to rest against trees. After hiking on, I finally reached flat ground and the first aid station on the top of the ridge. At this point, those of us running the full marathon turned to the right, while the half-marathoners turned to the left. I was happy to have reached this first aid station in 53 minutes. I was only slightly off schedule from the previous year, where I had reached the same point in 45 minutes.

The next few miles of the race took place on gravel roads that the rock-plate sole protection of my Montrail Sabino trail shoes handled quite well. I felt my running mojo return while I power-walked the modest uphills and ran some fun downhills. Still, I was relieved when I left the gravel road to resume running along a single-track trail that descended two miles down to the Mile 8 aid station. I was already fatigued from the heat at this point, but I still ran at a good pace along this downhill trail. All the while, I was trying to ignore the fact that I would soon have to climb back up this same trail.

One of my favorite aspects of the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon is that there are two points on the course where participants double back on the trails. I enjoyed seeing the fast front pack of runners speed along the trail in the opposite direction and I did my best to greet everyone. After I grabbed a handful of food at the Mile 8 aid station and turned back to begin the climb down the trail I had just run down, I enjoyed saying hello to the runners behind me who were still making their descent.

Fatigue soon replaced the joy, as I found the two-mile ascent to be rougher this year than I remembered and I could feel the heat working against me even in the early day. I also realized that, although I had brought several electrolyte S-caps along for this run, I had neglected to take some during the first 9 miles of this race. This was a novice mistake that would prove disastrous for me later in the race. I should have remembered to take S-caps early on in the day, because the stifling humidity was making me lose all of my sodium through sweat. Instead of my normal GU energy gels, I had brought some Power Gels that had four times the amount of sodium in each serving. Since I am still experimenting with the timing of my nutrition for these long races, I was hoping that the sodium and electrolytes in these gels would allow me to go on without taking as many S-caps, but I had not anticipated the extent of this day's heat and humidity.

By the time I completed the ascent 10 miles into the race, I was almost completely sapped of energy. When Lara, a friend whom I had met at Sweet H20 50K, ran by and asked me how I was doing, I told her that I was tired and that I was thinking about dropping out of the race when I got to the halfway point aid station. I continued alone on the trail after that, somewhat relieved that I looked back along the extensive trail view and didn't see any other runners closing in behind me. I would later find out that I was not the only person who had suffered an energy drop during this stretch and that many of the other runners had, in fact, dropped out at this point.

I crossed the halfway point aid station in 3:10. I was disappointed, because I remembered reaching this same aid station in 2:45 last year. Because of the 3:10 halfway split, I knew that my chances of finishing this year's Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon in less than six hours had completely evaporated. Since I was well under the recommended cutoff of four hours, though, I continued along. I was already wondering if I had made a mistake by not dropping out, but I knew that I would be able to pull out of the race at the Mile 18 aid station if I did not have a second wind by then.

I didn't realize that the damage was already done. The temperature was really picking up in the early afternoon and I had simply failed to replenish the electrolytes in my body that I had lost during the first several miles of the race. I slowly ran the downhills along the ridge, but found that my uphill power-walks were slower with each subsequent climb.

Fortunately, I was invigorated briefly at the sight of the faster runners who were returning from the Mile 18 aid station. These runners would pass by in the opposite direction, we would briefly congratulate each other, and I would be inspired enough to pick up my pace each time. I also saw runners pass who were clearly struggling and it was helpful to know that I wasn't the only person who was having a rough day on the trails. 

Photo courtesy of Dan Burstein

I knew that I was done for when I reached the gravel road downhill that led to the Mile 18 aid station. This gravel road descent is normally an easy way for runners to make time, so I was deflated to find that I was too exhausted and overheated to even run downhill for long periods of time. I would run for a few hundred feet, but then have to stop to resume walking. The fact that these gravel roads were unshaded in the afternoon heat didn't help my situation. A few runners ahead of me who were climbing up in the opposite direction asked me how I was doing and, when I told them that I was probably going to drop out at the Mile 18 aid station, they assured me that the watermelon at this aid station would energize me.

In all of my marathons and ultramarathons up to this point, I have established a personal rule that I will never pull myself from a race unless I feel that my health is at risk. If I'm pulled at an aid station for my own safety, then I will go along with a decision that a race official has made for me, but I don't want to be the person to make that decision. I simply keep moving, however slowly, until I finish or until someone else pulls me from the race. While I was descending this hot gravel road on the way to the Mile 18 aid station, though, I made peace with the idea that it would be okay for me to voluntarily drop out of this marathon after 18 miles. I kicked the idea back and forth inside my head. Several trail running friends of mine had dropped out of races and ended with a DNF over the past year. Some of them had dropped out because of injuries, some had dropped out because of food poisoning, and some had been pulled for not making cutoff. For this race, I would be dropping out simply because I was too fatigued and overweight to keep going. Could I live with this decision? As I neared the Mile 18 aid station, I decided that I would not regret dropping out.

I walked slowly into the Mile 18 aid station and, when the volunteer asked me how I was feeling, I told her that I was done. She pointed to a folding chair under the shade of trees and invited me to sit down while I ate watermelon. I grabbed a few slices of watermelon from an ice bucket, sat down in the chair, and relaxed. It felt great to sit down and I was eating the best watermelon that I had ever tasted. Some forest rangers drove up in a truck, got out, and asked me how I was doing. When I just looked at the rangers and shook my head, one of them told me that they could get me a ride back to the starting point if I needed it. I thanked him and told him that I needed to sit for a while longer and think about it. Fortunately, sitting on the chair longer meant that I could eat more watermelon.

Finally, after sitting in the chair for almost ten minutes, I stood up and told them that I would keep going. As I exited the aid station, a friend of mine, Paul, arrived and told me that he was going to drop out of the race. I left the aid station and waved at another friend, Cindy, who was just arriving as well.

Shortly after I left the aid station, I realized that my decision to keep going had probably been a mistake. The next 8 miles of this race stretched ahead of me like an endless tomb. The sun was beating down on me and I was beginning to feel a mild nausea after eating the watermelon. I ambled up the gravel road hills in a daze, sometimes stopping momentarily from fatigue. When I reached an intersection in the gravel roads, I began another uphill, but was so tired that I decided to rest for a few seconds by leaning against a metal gate. I saw Cindy climbing the road behind me and waited for her. Just as Cindy arrived, a truck pulled up at the gate and a forest ranger asked us if we were okay. He said that he had received a call that two runners needed to be picked up and that he had wondered if we were those runners. I looked longingly at the truck, looked at Cindy, and then finally told the ranger that I was alright. The truck left for the Mile 18 aid station as I watched it depart and decided that I was probably putting myself in danger for not accepting a ride. Cindy and I talked about how exhausted we both were as we climbed up the hill and I was grateful for her company. When we reached the ridge trail at the top, I told her that I was unable to run, but that I would keep walking. A few seconds later, a volunteer in an all-terrain vehicle appeared on the trail and asked us if we needed a ride. After a second or two of internal debate, I told him that I was okay to keep going. I resumed my dazed amble along the trail, knowing that I'd probably accept a ride if I saw just one more vehicle on the way back.

Why did I continue along the trail when I knew that I could be possibly setting myself up for heat exhaustion? Aside from my obsessive policies that I've followed so far to not pull myself voluntarily from a race, I also felt the need to push the envelope of my comfort zone, because I am signed up for a 100-mile ultramarathon in 2011 that will surely place me well outside my comfort zone for a very long time. I felt like I needed to become accustomed to continuing when I wanted nothing more in the world than to drop out.

When I reached the Mile 20 aid station, I had to sit down again. A volunteer gave me a bag of ice, which I stuffed underneath my runner's cap to bring my body temperature down. After a few minutes of talking with the volunteers, I thanked them and went on my way. I looked down at my Garmin and realized that I had been on the trail for almost six hours and that my finish time of 5:41:59 from last year was an unattainable dream for this race.

With 6 miles left to go, I realized that my Garmin wristband on my left arm and my Road ID wristband on my right arm were feeling incredibly constrictive. I looked at my hands and was surprised to see that both of them were hideously swollen, as if I had turned into the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from the movie, Ghostbusters. I loosened the wristbands on both arms as I became alarmed at my situation. As a Galloway pace group leader, I've long been aware of a condition known as hyponatremia, where the sodium levels in the blood are diluted with too much water and a water intoxication state is the result. Aside from the swelling and occasional mild nausea, though, I wasn't feeling any other the more serious symptoms (confusion, extreme faintness, etc.) and I didn't feel that I was suffering from hyponatremia just yet, but I knew that my condition was a cause for concern. I took a couple more S-caps as the swelling remained and my compression shorts felt increasingly uncomfortable.

I was thirsty and had plenty of Gatorade in one of my handheld water bottles and water in the other handheld, but I felt that I needed to limit and closely monitor my hydration for the time being. I found that I was more relieved by squirting the water over my running cap onto my head than I was by drinking it. I was disappointed at my inability to run the beautiful single-track along the ridge that I have enjoyed running in the past. I occasionally broke out into a run, but would have to resume walking when I felt my body temperature going up.

After an eternity, I reached the Mile 23 aid station before the ridge descent. Instead of loading up on water and Gatorade, I simply let one of the volunteers soak a cloth in cold water and place it over my head. After a few minutes, I stood up and began running the downhill mile to the campground. I was pleased to finally run for an extended period of time, but I had to resume walking after a while when my leg began to cramp. I ate a Power Gel and began alternately running and walking to the Marble Falls waterfall area. When I reached the Marble Falls, I put my runner's cap into the cool water, placed the wet cap on my head, and continued the downhill run.

Photo courtesy of Dan Burstein

The final two miles around the campground seemed to go on forever. A pleasant flat stretch along a lake dam that I normally love to run was now a sadistic ordeal where I was completely unshaded and out in the open in the afternoon heat. I amused myself by remembering how, before the race, I had dreaded the water prediction of scattered thunderstorms. At this point, I would have given anything for a thunderstorm to rain down on me. Instead, I was finishing this race under a relentless sunny sky.

In the final half mile, I was extremely thankful to see my trail running friend, Tom, who had returned to the start/finish area earlier in the race and was waiting on the trail to accompany me to the finish line. I asked him how how the other GUTS runners had done at this race as I continued to move, tortoise-like, to the end. Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon has the greatest finish line stretch that I've ever seen in a race. Runners cross over a lake on a wooden boardwalk to cheers before reaching the finish line clock on the other side. I couldn't help but laugh when I found way across the boardwalk slowed by a family who was standing halfway along the walk and taking pictures of the lake. I thanked them as they saw my approach and moved over for me. I crossed the finish line and turned off my Garmin to an unofficial time readout of 7:26:32.

I spent a long time sitting with Tom and some other friends at the finish area while I waited for the swelling in my hands to go down. A friend of mine, Jenn, whom I had run Twisted Ankle with last year, was still at the finish area after running a very fast race and offered me a chocolate milk, which I gratefully accepted. Jim, a new friend of mine from the Runango running forum that I occasionally post at, gave me a Twisted Ankle race medal that had been made for the group of runners from the forum that meet at the race every year. Amanda, a GUTS trail running friend hung out with us and had some Mint Crunch MoonPies, my favorite cookie in the entire world, that I consumed as the swelling in my hands and forearms finally went down.

A forest ranger and EMT person stopped by to say hello and, when I told them about my swollen hands, they mentioned that several runners had been given medical attention for the same problem during this race. Thankfully, everyone was now safe.

Most of the crowd departed, but I wanted to stay to cheer in the the remaining runners. I was overjoyed to see Paul cross the finish line, because both of us had initially resolved to drop out at the Mile 18 aid station. Paul told me that he had stayed at the Mile 18 station for a half hour to recharge before soldering on. After cheering for a handful of final runners to reach the finish, I felt good enough to drive home. To give myself some additional recovery time before leaving the country roads to drive on the interstate highway, I stopped at a Zaxby's restaurant and enjoyed a large dinner of chicken fingers and toast.

My second Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon was not a time improvement for me by any remote stretch, but I consider it a personal victory for the simple fact that I made my way through such a humid 88-degree day on the trails. If life begins where our comfort zone ends, then I experienced life at its fullest on this day.

Thanks to Becky, the volunteers, and everyone else involved for putting on another incredible Twisted Ankle race.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Sweet H2O 50K 4/3/10 (Race Report)

On April 3, 2010, I completed my fourth ultramarathon, Sweet H2O 50K, with a finish time of 9:47:40.

Photo courtesy of Sally Brooking

The Sweet H2O 50K takes place at Sweetwater Creek State Park in Lithia Springs, Georgia, one of my favorite places to run on summer weekends. Due to the massive flooding that besieged the Atlanta area in September of last year, the Sweet H20 course had to be altered for 2010, mainly because a steel bridge that connected two trail sections had been swept away by the floodwaters. To see Sweetwater Creek State Park today is to see a completely different landscape than the park that existed before the flood. Many of the beautiful single-track trails that invited easy running in the past are now replaced by sand-covered stretches that slow down even the most accomplished trail runners. Even now, several months after those floods, the devastation is still evident alongside the creek. I sincerely applaud the efforts of the Douglas County Rogue Runners and the other volunteer groups that made this ultramarathon possible.

Despite being sidetracked by a persistent spring cold over the previous two weeks in the wake of completing the ING Georgia Marathon on a rainy day on March 21, I woke up on the morning of the race feeling healthy and enthusiastic about spending a day on the trails of Sweetwater. I knew beforehand that I would be in for a rough ride at Sweet H2O 50K, because of my residual fatigue from the ultramarathons and marathons that I've participated in so far in 2010, because of the fact that I'm heavier than the average ultrarunner, and, most of all, because, after training for months in cold winter weather, I would be running in 80-degree spring temperatures for the first time in months. Still, on the morning of this race, I rubbed dirt on my concerns and went out the door ready for the challenge. A quote that I had read the previous day, “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”, was in my head as I drove to Sweetwater Creek State Park in the pre-daylight hours.

On the way to the park, I realized that I had forgotten to buy sunscreen for this race. Fortunately, I remembered that I still had a couple of free sample tubes of sunscreen that had been given to me by a fellow trail runner a few months ago. I parked at Sweetwater and rummaged through a big plastic container that I keep under the seat of my truck until I found the sunscreen. In an ultramarathon, one small mistake can really wreck a runner's day and I was relieved that I had prevented a potentially disastrous situation by remembering the sunscreen in my truck. I knew that I would be on this trail course for much longer than the faster ultrarunners and that, for much of the afternoon, I would be climbing hills with no shade cover, since the most of the trees were still without leaves on this early spring day.

Like the three previous ultramarathons that I've participated in, Sweet H2O 50K was a reunion of friends from my local trailrunning group and of friends that I had met from my marathons in the past. As daylight emerged, I spent a while catching up with others before we were all herded to the starting area beside the Sweetwater Creek group shelter. The race director gave a few words of advice, before turning the microphone over to a park ranger who jokingly warned us to cover our ears before the Civil War cannon fired to signal the start of the race. As always with these ultra races, I started in the back of the pack out of respect for the faster runners.

The first mile of Sweet H2O 50K took place on paved roads as we ran to the park entrance, then along a road over next to lakes and picnic areas. We were all relieved when we exited the main road into a picnic area where the trails began. After a short stretch along easy runnable single-track trails, runners arrived at the first water crossing of the day, a concrete spillway bordered by steep cement embankments. Ropes had been provided for most runners to make the steep descent into the spillway, but I decided to save time by simply sliding down the cement bank as if it were a playground slide. A couple of surprised and concerned runners asked me if my method of sliding down cement had hurt, but I assured them that I was wearing compression shorts underneath my regular running shorts and that I had not felt the cement at all. I crossed the spillway over six-inch deep water that drenched my trail shoes and then used a rope to climb up the opposite concrete bank. Thankfully, my Montrail Hardrock shoes drained quickly. I was also wearing two pairs of Balega quick-dry running socks over feet coated with Vasoline to minimize blisters.

On the way to the first aid station, as runners enjoyed more easy single-track trails that were occasionally interrupted by scary treacherous rocky descents, I fell in behind two veteran ultrarunners. Rob, who has run over 500 ultra races, was a friendly face that I remembered from previous ultramarathons. Michael, who was running Sweet H20 as his 100th ultramarathon and was running alongside Rob, was another friendly runner who I immediately enjoyed the company of.

At this point, so early in the race, I made my most intelligent decision of the day. Although I was initially running at slightly faster pace than Rob and Michael, I decided to hang back and run behind both of them for the entire time. I knew that these two veteran runners both had a brilliant style of pacing and that I'd be served well to conserve energy by running with them for as long as I could. I also knew that I have a tendency to experience abrupt energy drops later on in races, so I'd be doing myself a favor to proceed at an even more casual pace early on. I remained behind Rob and Michael for the first 17 miles of the race and took note of their easy, but efficient pace strategy of power-walking even the slightest uphills and running effortlessly along the downhills and flats. Every so often, I would go out ahead of these two runners, but I always slowed until they were both running just in front of me again. I enjoyed joking with them, but was mostly content to simply run behind them and listen to their conversations.

The first aid station of the race was located along the sand-covered trails alongside Sweetwater Creek. The sand trails continued for a while until we emerged onto a wide trail beside the old mill ruins that are the major attraction of the park. Eventually, the trail became more challenging with some rocky stretches beside the creek, but I was enjoying keeping the nearly-effortless constant pace behind Rob and Michael. After crossing a bridge where volunteers refilled our bottles with water, the trail became more treacherous through alternating sand paths and muddy flood-damaged areas. There were a couple of times where we negotiated our way over fallen trees into mud-covered trails that threatened to turn the ankle of the unaware trail runner. Without the frequent orange flags that marked the course, I would have been uncertain about where to run along various stretches. We were approaching the famous Top Of The World trail system, a demanding and long run through extremely steep hills that never seem to end.

Before reaching Top Of The World, though, we had to make our way through a deceptively challenging section of this ultra course that consisted of miles of mostly flat single-track trails where we were able to look to our right and see the hills of Top Of The World most of the time. Although these trails were pleasantly runnable and scenic, the mental challenge of believing again and again that I was about to emerge onto the hills, only to find myself running farther down the same flat single-track, just made me all the more nervous about the hill sections that awaited.

We all have to be careful what we wish for and I am no exception. I finally arrived on the hilly terrain approaching Top Of The World and, after a few minutes, I found myself fondly reminiscing about the boring flat trails that I had been so eager to depart.

The hills approaching Top Of The World were exhausting beyond belief. The hills exact a mental toil on trail runners, because you can look out to the horizon and see one hill crest after another in your path. I've seen photos of these hills, but the photos don't do justice to the true agonizing nature of the actual experience. The worst trail of the entire ultra is a sharply steep climb up a rocky leaf-covered ravine that I took small baby-steps all the way up, all the while hoping that the “prime Timber Rattlesnake habitat” wasn't yet crawling with the snakes so early in the spring. I climbed hill after hill, slowly power-walking the steep ascents and then speeding down the tricky scree-covered downhills by leaning forward with my ankles and running with short stride. All the while, I knew that I'd have to run this loop a second time later in the course.

The actual “Top Of The World” summit was worth the effort, as it provided a broad view of the surrounding wilderness and of the city in the distance. After these hills, we arrived behind a school and were treated to an aid station of extremely knowledgeable and helpful volunteers. I refilled my two handheld water bottles, drank two cups of Gatorade, then took a half banana and some chocolate chip cookies before continuing along. I carried watermelon-flavored sport jelly beans and S-caps with me in the pockets of my shorts, but the real food at these aid stations was always a welcome relief.

Photo courtesy of Sarah Tynes

Rob, Michael, and I ran and power-walked together out of the aid station area and through a harsh stretch of bulldozer tracks over one steep powerline hill after another. At this point, fatigue was setting in, but I continued happily running behind these two veteran ultrarunners. It became apparent to me that the ultrarunning skills of Rob and Michael were presently out of my reach, because they were both happily conversing with the same effortless appearance, while I was increasingly having to struggle on my feet. I thought about the insane hills at Top Of The World and realized, without regret, that there was no way that I would be able to finish a second loop of those hills later in the afternoon.

After 15 miles, we arrived back at the start area to begin our second loop. As we started along the paved road that took us back to the park entrance, I asked Rob how long we had been running, since I had decided not to wear my own Garmin for this race. When he told me that we had been running for 3 hours and 50 minutes, I realized that my chances of making it to the 4.5-hour cutoff point at Mile 17 were slim. The temperatures has risen drastically over the past couple of hours and running that 15th mile on the paved road was taking its toil on me. Michael informed us that we would be just fine if we pushed ourselves a bit harder just to get to the 4.5 -hour cutoff point in a couple of miles to avoid getting pulled from the race, because we could then walk at an easier pace for the rest of the ultra.

The three of us saw another runner walking in the other direction back to the shelter at the start. He grinned wearily at us and told us that he had given up on the race. Rob and Michael ran the paved area across the Sweetwater dam without stopping and, before long, I told them to simply run ahead, because I was having trouble keeping up.

This was the moment when I knew for sure that I was throwing away the Sweet H2O 50K ultramarathon.

Since I was unable to keep up the pace necessary to arrive at the 4.5-hour cutoff, I accepted that I was going to be pulled from the race when I got to the Mile 17 aid station. I kept running and walking at a comfortable pace, exhausted, but happy that the race was about to be over for me. Most ultrarunners have at least one DNF (Did Not Finish) and I was about to have my own first DNF. In my mind, I was running through the scenario in my head and thinking of how I would put a positive spin on my DNF when I updated my Facebook status later on. “Jason had his first DNF (Did Nothing Fatal...haha) at Sweet H2O 50K. Better luck next time.” I was overweight, badly out of shape, residually fatigued from my previous races over the past six months, and I was running in 80-degree weather after enjoying cold temperatures for so long. I had not taken the best care of myself and today's DNF would be a motivator for me to get in better shape to finish future ultramarathons. I thought about the Mile 17 aid station on the sand beside Sweetwater Creek and I envisioned the relief that I would have as I sat down on one of those comfortable camp chairs after being told that I had not made cutoff and that, for my own safety, I would not be allowed to continue running on along the course.

As I left the picnic area to emerge from the road back onto trails to the spillway crossing again, I walked by a group of four runners who told me that they were done for the day. I told them that I was ready to throw in the towel as well, because I was just walking without any run left in me. I made it to the spillway and saw Rob and Michael climbing the embankment on the other side. I continued to fall behind, although I was able to keep the two runners in sight.

I reached the Mile 17 cutoff area, where Rob and Michael were beginning the first of two creek crossings across the deceptively fast currents of Sweetwater Creek by holding onto a rope for dear life and negotiating the slippery rocks beneath the water. A volunteer approached me, taking note of my race number and writing it down in his clipboard. When I asked him about the time, he told me that I had made the cutoff in exactly 4.5 hours and that I was safe to continue.

Photo courtesy of Beth Blackwell

With my dreams of sitting in a camp chair on the creek bank with the other DNF runners suddenly shattered, I stepped into Sweetwater Creek, slid my two handheld water bottles down my wrists, grabbed the rope with both hands, and began to cross. I gained a new enthusiasm as I saw other runners going back across the creek on the other rope and I was refreshed into the present by the cold rushing water on my legs. At one point, the rope buckled from where the girl behind me had slipped on a rock and fallen into the water. She apologized, but I just laughed and told her that I would probably do the same thing. Sure enough, I slipped and fell into the water so that my hands on the rope were the only dry parts of my body. After a couple of comical failed attempts, I finally used the rope to pull myself back to my feet and finished the first stream crossing.

I then began the extremely hilly two-mile loop on the other side of the creek. I was too tired to run, so I let the two girls behind me pass and continued up a harsh gradual hill by myself.

I realized, gloomily, that I was on my own for the remainder of the race. Rob and Michael had gained distance ahead of me to the point where I could never catch up and I was walking along a trail with no other runners in sight. Since I knew that I was one of the final runners, because, save for a handful of runners, everyone behind me had surely been pulled from the course, I braced myself for a lonely 14 remaining miles. I wondered if I would be pulled from the course again after I crossed back over the creek for making such slow time.

When I finally emerged from the trails, I began the second creek crossing. This time, the water was well over my waist as I waded across, watching my footing along the creek bed. I was exhausted when I walked onto the sandy bank to the Mile 19 aid station. John, an accomplished ultrarunner, was manning the aid station and told me that I had been running for five hours and twenty minutes, leaving me with almost four hours to complete the rest of the course. I thanked him, took a generous handful of food (because I was one of the final runners and there was plenty of food left), and continued to power-walk along the creekside trail.  I was now committed to finishing the second loop of the course, with the Top Of The World hills, in all of their unshaded glory, waiting for me.

Graham, a veteran runner who always wears his yellow Marathon Maniacs singlet to every race, was in sight behind me. I continued power-walking for a couple of miles as he gradually closed the distance. When he caught up with me, we talked for a while and I told him that I was still in the game, although I was too tired to run. He congratulated me on my recent Marathon Maniacs upgrade to silver-level (six marathons/ultras within six months) that I had earned after my ING Georgia Marathon two weeks ago. I was sincerely impressed when I asked Graham how many marathons and ultras he had completed and he told me that he had completed 81. I knew that I was in the company of another great ultrarunner who could pace himself well to get to the finish line. My upmost respect goes to the runners like Graham, who may not win the races, but who continue to push through with a constant pace to keep themselves injury-free to complete one ultra after another with style.

After a short while, Graham told me that he was going to resume running and I watched him go ahead. I continued my power walk along the endless flat stretch of trails approaching Top Of The World and was surprised that I was able to keep Graham within sight the entire time. With the two of us proceeding exhaustedly along a long exposed stretch of meadow trail under the sun just before the real hills began, I thought of one of Stephen King's writings, “The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed.”

The impossibly steep rocky ravine incline that led the way to Top Of The World was the low point of the race for me. I tripped over a loose rock as I slowly climbed and, for a second, was too exhausted to continue. During every ultramarathon, I consider quitting the race. This time, as I stood there on the rocky hill, I though not only about dropping from this ultramarathon, but of dropping out of the running community altogether. Before I became a serious runner a couple of years ago, I spent much of my spare time immersed in the music scene around Atlanta, attending punk/alternative concerts, writing concert and album reviews for friends who ran music websites, and collecting a massive number of CDs. When I reached my late 30's, though, I became burned out on all of the music and decided that I was tired of writing reviews of other people's achievements and that I wanted to have achievements of my own. I joined a local Galloway marathon training group and dived headfirst into the Atlanta running community. As I stood still on that steep ravine for a few seconds, I realized that I could give it all up. I wasn't achieving anything. I was only struggling along a course and inconveniencing volunteers who couldn't go home until all of us runners had crossed the finish line accounted for. I decided that I should just stop this running thing and go back to my former life.

I started moving again when I thought about the inspiring runners that I've met over the past year. Christian, who had just finished a loop of the unimaginably difficult Barkley course and was still running fast here at Sweet H2O, Sean, who films himself careening down trail hills, and countless others in my trail group. When I reached the top of the rocky hill, I realized that I didn't want to give up running after all.

I was still too tired to actually run, of course. When I reached the crest of each subsequent hill on the way to Top Of The World, I would pick up a slow jog down the other side of the hill, then wearily climb up the next hill. The sun was really bearing down on me and I was running out of water in both of my two handheld bottles. My feet were killing me at this point and I felt several blisters forming. Was I putting myself in danger right now? I decided that, as long as I never felt light-headed, that I was in good shape. If I ever became light-headed, I would simply sit down on one of the hills and wait for a sweeper to come along. Thankfully, that never happened. I chugged another packet of Sport Beans, drank the remaining water, and kept going. I was so close to the next aid station that I was unconcerned at this point. Having learned a difficult lesson about hydration at my first ultra, I had handled my water and food very well for this race and, at no point during this race did I feel like I was dazed or incoherent.

I reached the crest of a hill to see Sarah, a fellow ultrarunner, and a police officer volunteering to give people directions. They offered me some ice water and I gratefully accepted.

I was motivated all the more when I started along the out-and-back trail to Top Of The World and saw several runners ahead of me who were going back in the other direction from the school aid station. Most of them looked just as exhausted as I did. We would nod at each other, each of us telling the other that he was looking strong, and keep going. I brightened up when I saw Rob and Michael again and they greeted me excitedly, encouraging me to keep going.

When I was by myself again, I made my only navigational mistake of the entire ultra. I saw the roof of the school through the trees and thought that I had walked too far along the dirt road. I doubled back and walked for a hundred yards in the direction that I had just taken until I realized that I had not missed the turn to the aid station after all. I turned around and resumed the proper direction. Graham, who was just leaving the aid station, passed me in the other direction and, when I told him about my mistake, he said, “This isn't the time to be adding more mileage.”

As before, the volunteers at the school aid station were angels. They sat me down in one of the camp chairs and brought Gatorade and food to me while refilling my water bottles. I broke one of my personal rules about ultrarunning by accepting two Advil from a volunteer, although I was careful to drink plenty of fluid simultaneously to prevent any effect on my kidneys. With my feet hurting like they were, I figured that two Advil could only help. After several minutes of sitting in the chair at this aid station and conversing with the volunteers, I remembered that I had an ultra to finish, so I stood up and grabbed some food for the road. One of the volunteers encouraged me to stay as long as I wanted, but I thanked her and told her that I'd better move along. I was surprised to find out that I wasn't the last runner on the course after all and that there were still one or two others behind me. Shortly after I left the aid station and returned to the Top Of The World trail, I saw the last runner, who was accompanied by a trail sweeper that was picking up the orange flags for cleanup.

I had forty minutes to run the final four miles of the finish line if I wanted to make the 9-hour time limit that was specified on the website. Yeah, whatever. I knew that 10-minute miles were impossible for me now and I decided to not worry about the 9-hour time limit. The aid station volunteers had told me that I would have an official finish anyway.

The last four miles went by painfully, but were relatively uneventful. I continued alone with no other runners in sight, warmly thanked all of the volunteers at the last two aid stations along the way, and hobbled down the trail. I was able to run occasionally, but those running moments were short-lived. During the last two miles of the trail, I felt a pebble in my shoe underneath my heel. I was too tired to remove the shoe and get the pebble out, so I just kept going and accepted the increasing discomfort. I was exhausted, but happy and proud of myself for managing to complete the second loop of this ultra after I had really believed that I would be going home at the Mile 17 cutoff.

When I returned to the camp area along the final stretch and made my way through the altered route to the finish line below the group shelter, the sight of Kate and Philip, two friends and fellow ultrarunners, cheered me up. I started running with them as they accompanied me up the last paved hill to the finish area. I couldn't help but laugh when Philip informed me that, because of the course changes, this year's Sweet H2O “50K” was actually 33 miles in distance. The fact that I had completed 33 miles instead of just 31.5 made me feel much better about my slow time.

I crossed the finish line in 9:47:40 and was greeted by several friends from the GUTS group. I was touched that so many people had remained to see the rest of us finish. I shook hands with the race director at the finish line and then sat down with my Sweet H2O finisher's hat. I later found out that the original 9-hour cutoff had been dispensed with, due to the additional mileage on the altered course.

It felt great to sit down, although I did stand up eagerly to cheer when the final runner passed through the finish line. I decided that, for future ultramarathons, I'll try my best to stay near the finish line until the last runners cross, because it meant so much to me to see friends waiting when I finished. Of course, if I keep finishing in the back of the pack, this shouldn't be too difficult to do!

Sweet H2O 50K (and then some) was a tough cookie to crumble, but I enjoyed the race and continued to learn new lessons about myself, as I have during each ultramarathon race. I can't thank the volunteers and the race director enough for making this a special day.

See you on the trails.

Jason

ING Georgia Marathon 3/21/10 (Race Report)

Today, March 21, 2010, I completed my sixth full marathon, the ING Georgia Marathon, here in Atlanta. My official finish time for the race was 4:58:48, the slowest finish time of the four pavement marathons that I've completed so far.

Garmin Elevation Chart of ING Georgia Marathon.
Elevation change of +1,652/-1,683

 Was this a failure or a low point? I don't think of it that way.

Some people have bad days on a golf course, some people have bad days on the basketball court, and some people have bad days on a marathon course. I've improved my personal records with each subsequent road marathon up to this point, but it was inevitable that I'd participate in a race that didn't result in a PR. If I participate in enough races, I won't achieve a personal best each and every time. It's all in the fun, though, and a rough marathon day is still much more fun than a good day at the office. I showed up at ING Georgia Marathon to enjoy myself and that's what I did.

I knew beforehand that I wouldn't be in my best condition for this particular marathon, because of the demands of the two marathons and three ultramarathons that I've completed over the past five months and because of my current goal right now to lose the unnecessary weight that I've put on since I completed the ING Georgia Marathon for the first time last year. For these reasons, I briefly considered dropping out of this race last week, but I changed my mind when I thought about the pleasant memories from last year's race. It's a gift for me to even be able to complete a marathon distance and I wanted to take advantage of that gift, even if my performance didn't measure up to my previous races. A runner who wants to improve his or her fitness can only do so by the “trial of miles” and that commitment entails showing up on the tough days as well as on the good days. I made the preemptive decision to use this marathon race as a long training “fun run” for the Sweet H20 50K ultra that I'll be participating in on April 3. I resolved to simply have as much fun as I could and complete the distance. Earlier this week, I told a friend that, although I completed the 2009 ING Georgia Marathon in 4:33:56, I'd be a happy man if I completed this year's event in five hours. Mission accomplished.

During the past three weeks since the rugged Mount Cheaha 50K ultra that I finished in Alabama, I focused on my recovery and on continuing my gradual weight loss that I had started a few weeks prior in order to get myself in peak running shape in months to come. After enjoying a fast 6-mile run with my Galloway marathon training group last Saturday and a muddy 11-mile trail run the next day, I settled into a taper week of shorter workouts to allow my body to rest for this marathon. I was derailed two days ago by stomach ailments that started when I returned from the ING Georgia Marathon Race Expo and continued into that evening. I'll use this experience as a Public Service Announcement to marathon runners; it's not always a good idea to accept a taste sample of each and every sports electrolyte drink while walking through the booth exhibits of a race expo! I spent yesterday resting and drinking plenty of water to hydrate myself after the stomach difficulties.

I woke up three hours before the race this morning, because I wanted to secure my favorite parking area for this marathon. The ING Georgia Marathon starts and finishes at Centennial Olympic Park and there's a parking lot directly across from the Coke Museum that I've used in the past, because it's only a short walk from the finish line. After arriving at the race site, I spent the next hour looking for friends and finding my race corral area near the start line. An unexpected encounter put a smile on my face. As I was walking through a building on the way to my race corral, I recognized Kevin, an old college friend that I hadn't seen since we had both graduated from Georgia Tech in the mid 1990's. Kevin was running the ING Half Marathon this year. We spent a few minutes catching up on old times and, after wishing him luck, I found my corral area and waited for the race to begin.

Although I've completed three ultramarathons over the past three months, including a 40-mile trail race, I knew better than to take this marathon lightly. Even if I progress in my ultra distances as I hope to do, the marathon distance of 26.2 miles will always retain its mystique and respect in my mind. After all, 26 miles is the distance that Phidippides ran to inform Athens of the victory at the Battle Of Marathon before dying shortly thereafter. I remembered back to March 7, 2009, when I completed my very first full marathon in Albany, Georgia. At the time, I had simply planned to complete just one marathon, mark it off of my “List Of Things To Do Before I Die”, and move on. I was barely even aware that there was any such thing as an “ultramarathon” (any distance longer than 26.2 miles) and I would shake my head at the insane people who completed multiple marathons in a short time, let alone the crazies who ran ultramarathons in the woods. One thing has led to another over the past year, though, and, as I've met new friends who participate in these activities on a routine basis, the impossible and the insane have now become normal in my fun new life. Still, the 26.2 distance of a road marathon holds its unique challenging allure. As I waited in my race corral, I joked around with other runners, but felt the familiar nervous butterflies in my stomach and the dead weight of my upcoming task sinking down from my head to my feet. The 50-degree temperatures were an improvement over the harsh unusual winter climates that Georgia has experienced this year, but I was still shivering at the starting area and trying to shake off my nerves in the same way that a racehorse trembles before the gun goes off.

The ING Georgia Marathon began with the gradual subtlety common to all large road races where the first race corral starts to run and each subsequent corral walks to the starting line point to follow. I turned my Garmin and interval timer on just a couple of seconds before crossing the official timed start line and began a slow, easy-paced run with the crowd in the first mile of the race that proceeded through Georgia State University to Piedmont Road.

The first 14 miles of this marathon were heaven on Earth for me. My personal mantra for marathons and longer distances is that, if I never have to ask myself during the first half if I'm running too slow, then that means that I'm running too fast. My most fun road marathons have been the ones when I paced out slowly in the first half and then using that conserved energy to achieve a negative split by running the second half of my race faster than the first half. From the very beginning of the race, I utilized my Galloway Method intervals of running for four minutes, walking for one minute, and repeating these intervals to minimize distance fatigue. During my running intervals, I used short strides with increased cadence for the downhills and ran with short baby steps on the uphills to keep from wearing myself out. Despite my weight gain over the past year, as I've eaten excessively while training for long distance races, I felt light and buoyant for most of these first 14 miles. My good humor reflected this and I enjoyed meeting different runners along the route and talking with each one as we ran alongside each other until one of us increased our pace or fell behind. The cloudy sky opened up in a few spots and rain sprinkled down, but the bottom never fell out of the sky as I feared it would. When I noticed myself starting to sweat heavily after the first half hour, I took the first of a few S-caps that I had brought with me. I also committed to eating one of my mint chocolate GU energy gels every 45 minutes.

When I felt like I was pacing out too fast during the first half of this race, I would slow down and take in the sights of this crowded, big event marathon. Although my heart now mostly belongs to the trail races where I sometimes don't encounter any runners for long periods of time, I was impressed and amused at many sights of the ING Georgia Marathon. As I ran by the Martin Luther King, Jr. historic sites, I was touched to see members of a church choir singing to all of us running the race. A couple of miles later, as I ran around the corner to Edgewood, a cheering section led by a loud guy dressed as a caveman, complete with a giant club, greeted me. When I ran up the hill on Euclid Avenue through Little Five Points, it felt strange to be on that street in the early morning without plans to go CD shopping at my favorite Atlanta music store, Criminal Records, or to see a concert at Variety Playhouse.

Every so often, I would pass by volunteers who greeted me by name and I was troubled that I couldn't remember who they were. While I'm not as adept at remembering names, I've always been good at remembering faces and I didn't remember seeing any of these people before. At one point, I passed by a house where the entire family was on the front lawn cheering for the runners. Three young children started shouting, “Go, Jason, go!” I wondered to myself how in the world those children knew who I was. As I ran through the aid station at Agnes Scott College and was greeted by a couple of college girls who knew my name, I was grateful, but likewise puzzled. Later on in the race, though, it occurred to me that my first and last name were printed on my race number that I had pinned to the front of my shirt!

I have to push the pause button on this race report now to acknowledge the volunteers and bystanders along this ING Georgia Marathon course. It may be tough for us runners to keep going on a rainy morning, but it also takes a degree of stamina to stand by the road for hours cheering as runners go by or pouring drinks at aid stations for runners. I've volunteered for a number of races, although not as often as I need to, and can attest that it's work, although the work is fun in itself. I was grateful for every single person who cheered alongside the road and, for the most part, I made a real effort to thank these people for being there for us. I took special care to thank the police officers who were standing at each intersection to divert traffic from the marathon course.

Along the 12^th mile, a young woman stopped to walk alongside me after hearing my interval timer beep alerting me to a walk break. She said that her husband had run ahead in the race and asked if I minded if she did the run/walk intervals alongside me, because her legs were fatigued at that point. I welcomed her and enjoyed conversing with her for a couple of miles.

At mile 13.1 in downtown Decatur, I looked down at my Garmin and noted the 2:20 time. This readout was uplifting to me, because I remembered crossing the 13.1 halfway point in 2:30 at last year's race, before achieving a massive negative split and running the second half in just over two hours to achieve my 4:33:56 finish time. With the 2:20 first half behind me, I briefly envisioned myself not only being able to beat my previous year's race time, but also being able to possibly close the bridge on my personal marathon record of 4:20:10 (Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon, November 2009). Unfortunately, this course had other plans for me today.

As I approached the 14 mile mark, Mike, a friend from my GUTS trail running group, rode by on his bicycle and asked me how I was doing. I told him that I felt great and then congratulated him on his Oak Mountain 50K finish the day before. I was incredibly thankful to see him along the race supporting us and let him know it. As he rode on, I told the woman that I had been running alongside that Mike was a “superstar” who had completed multiple ultramarathons and Ironman triathlons.

I started feeling sluggish around mile 14, but stayed true to my run/walk intervals and kept going strong on an extensive gradual downhill. As I've participated in more of these races, I've paid increasing notice to the running form of other people around me and developed a idea of who is able to proceed in a seemingly effortless fashion through an entire distance. I noticed a tall slim guy with red hair running a few feet in front of me. He ran with a casual light-footed pace and his feet seemed to float along the road. I found myself envying his easy stride and wishing that I could be lighter and have the same effortless motion that he had. By contrast, I was beginning to feel the adverse affects of my own heavy weight and I felt like I was pounding on the pavement with elephant feet.

The woman who had run with me for the past couple of miles continued on as I stopped at an aid station just before mile 15 to refill my handheld water bottle. A few yards past the aid station, I stopped briefly at a portable toilet, then emerged to continue my run.

At that point, I experienced a sudden energy drop. I'm not sure if it was the act of stopping motion to wait for a few seconds in line at the portable toilet or something else, but I went from feeling slightly sluggish to feeling almost completely drained in a matter of seconds. The energy drop is difficult to explain, but I was reminded of a villain from the Superman comic books that I used to read in my childhood. The Parasite was a character who could drain a superhero's power simply by touching that superhero. As I began running again at mile 15, I suddenly felt like the Parasite had just touched me and drained my energy away for himself.

I ate another energy gel and soldiered on. I briefly caught up with the woman that I had talked with earlier and we both commented on how beautiful Emory campus was as we turned off of North Decatur onto the campus. After a comforting downhill leading away from Emory, the challenge of Druid Hills began with a vengeance as I ascended a climb on Lullwater. I kept to my 4/1 run/walk intervals, but my pace had slowed considerably. I picked up momentum again on a long downhill before turning on Ponce De Leon Road for a short while before another comfortable downhill on Oakdale. I was spotted by another GUTS runner, Len, just after a hill climb and said hello to him before continuing on another downhill.

Shortly before entering the beautiful Virginia Highlands neighborhoods, the ING Georgia Marathon course took a different course route from the previous year to challenge us with some steep uphills on Stillwood Road. These hills got the best of me and, for the first time, I dispensed with my 4/1 run/walk intervals and proceeded to simply walk the uphills along this road. My legs felt like lead bricks at this point and, although I knew that I had less than 7 miles left, my body was telling me that it had been through enough. I guess, after taking on the task of racing six marathon/ultramarathon distances over the past six months, my unprepared physique was finally yelling, “Mercy!”, and giving in. Self-doubt kicked in and I thought about the concern about my running that had been voiced to me by my family and by various friends. “They're right. I am trying to run too much.”

At this point, though, I realized that I loved these moments and that these times when I'm doubting myself and staring over the edge of the abyss are part of the reason why I'm drawn to the allure of long distances. I agree with something that Dean Karnazes wrote about the simplicity of the task.  As adults, our major life decisions (Rent or buy? Stay in Atlanta or find a job in a more affordable place?, etc.) are complicated and the outcomes are uncertain. During a long distance race, though, I'm never uncertain about what needs to be done or how I must do it. I always know that I must keep moving forward and, even during my lowest points, I'm drawn to that simplicity that I don't have in any other aspects of my life.

Thankfully, I stayed fairly true to my “no whining” rule for this race and remained in good humor. As I passed one struggling runner at mile 20, I told him that this would have been much easier if Phidippides had died after running just 20 miles and we both started laughing.

As I entered Piedmont Park and began a short out-and-back around the park perimeter by the Botanical Gardens, I was happy to see another GUTS runner, Kim, who was standing by the route with some friends to cheer the other runners. At that point, I was temporarily reduced to a walk and I told them that I was doing just fine, although my legs were not cooperating.

When I reached the turnaround of the out-and-back stretch at Piedmont Park and was running in the opposite direction of those runners still behind me, I had another encounter that put a smile to my face and gave me new energy. I looked over at the runners struggling behind me in the opposite direction and saw the tall slim guy with red hair whose “perfect effortless floating stride” I had envied at mile 14. I have no idea when or how it happened, but I had passed this “perfect stride” runner at some point over the past few miles and he was now a considerable distance behind me. Score one for me and my heavy overweight elephant foot stride! I broke out into a wide grin and started to run again.

A long uphill descent up 12^th Street from Piedmont Park was excruciating and reduced me to a walk again. Thankfully, I found myself walking between two groups of beautiful Atlanta Falcons cheerleaders on each side of the road and I decided that I was in no big hurry to pass by them.

At this point, I ran the downhills, but the uphills owned me. At mile 23, I looked down at my Garmin and saw a time of 4:25. My shipment of Fail had arrived and I would not be beating my time from last year's race.

I continued on through Georgia Tech campus, breaking into a run as I waved to some fraternity guys who were cheering me on. As with last year's marathon, the route through Georgia Tech was one of my favorite stretches for personal reasons. During the early 1990's, I was a poor student at Georgia Tech and my priorities were never in the right place. I somehow managed to graduate from Georgia Tech with a mediocre average GPA in 1995, but I've often regretted my immature lack of focus during those years. The symbolism of running through the Georgia Tech campus in the final miles of a marathon and having a personal victory now associated with that campus gave me a newfound peace of mind last year and I felt the same way during this year's race.

After one last uphill beside the Georgia Tech Student Center, I began the final mile of the ING Georgia Marathon along a deceptively difficult flat road leading to the finish. I looked down at my Garmin and realized that I only had twelve minutes left to finish the marathon before the 5-hour mark. I've never been on a road marathon course for 5 hours and I had no intention of going over the 5-hour mark today. With my legs sending railroad spikes of pain with each step, I did my best to hurry to the finish. I was happy to see yet another GUTS runner, Scott, who had accompanied me at the Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run, along this stretch. I made the final turn and took off my cap to run through the Finish Line, where I picked up my medal and quickly downed a bottle of water and some yogurt from a volunteer food stand.

My Garmin registered my finish time at 4:59:00. My official finish time was posted at 4:58:48. This was my slowest road marathon time, but it was also my sixth marathon/ultra distance within six months and, therefore, qualifies me for double-star status with Marathon Maniacs, a group that I joined last year after completing my first three marathons with in three months. Most people don't understand, but I'm proud of this. I guess there's a reason why we're referred to as maniacs.

Thanks to the race directors, volunteers, and friends who made this “bad day” such a fun experience for me.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Mount Cheaha 50K 2/27/10 (Race Report)

On February 27, 2010, I successfully completed my third ultramarathon, Mount Cheaha 50K, with a finish time of 8:32:58.

The Mount Cheaha 50K takes place on the beautiful mountain trails of Cheaha State Park in Alabama and concludes with an incredibly steep climb up Mount Cheaha, the highest point in the state. I had reserved a bunk at Bald Rock Lodge, where this ultra race finishes, and, as I drove up and down the steep roads through Cheaha State Park, scenic views of the wilderness below me gave me a taste of what I would be in for the next day.

I was excited about competing at Mount Cheaha, but my personal expectations for this race were dismal, due to some setbacks with my level of fitness approaching the event.
- During a training run at Kennesaw Mountain a week before this event, I had slipped on gravel while descending some stone steps and twisted my right knee at a strange angle during the fall. I had limped about on the knee for the past week and, while the knee had improved significantly with rest, ice, compression, and elevation, my right leg was still not functioning at its best.
- Over the past year, as I have trained for and competed in multiple marathons and ultras, I've gained almost 40 pounds due to “rewarding myself” too much after the physical demands of long distance training runs and races. Three weeks ago, I regained control of my weight by reverting back to a strict low-sugar diet that had served me well for my 185-pound weight loss four years ago. I also scaled back on my weekly running mileage in favor of StairMaster workouts with a heartrate monitor. As a result, I had lost 10 pounds during the past three weeks. Although this rapid weight loss was an immense psychological boost, the drop in weight left me feeling weaker during my runs. After a few recent 5-mile runs, I had been feeling the same fatigue that I would normally feel after a 10-mile run. The best thing that I can possibly do for my overall running in the future is to lose more weight and be lighter on my feet, but the short term disadvantage is that training for ultramarathons while losing weight is like trying to ride two horses that are moving in different directions. Going into this Mount Cheaha 50K, I was aware that my race performance would suffer and, as I continue to lose weight over the next few months, I'm expecting my finish times for future races to suffer as well, but the reward will be an improved running fitness for the long term.
- Since March of 2009, I had completed my first five marathons and two ultras, so the dreaded “Runner Burnout” was probably inevitable. After my previous ultra, the Atlanta Fat Ass 50K in January, this burnout hit me in full force. I made the sensible choice to use this as an opportunity to achieve my above-mentioned weight loss by scaling back on running mileage in favor of StairMaster workouts that help me lose body fat in a shorter time. Despite the success with the weight loss, my confidence in my long distance running was still suffering.

With all of this in mind, I told anyone who would care to listen that my one and only goal for Mount Cheaha was to simply go as far as I could go during the race before being pulled at an aid station for failing to make the time cutoffs. When people asked me if I had a time goal for Mount Cheaha, I simply laughed and told them that I just wanted to finish in 9 hours (the cutoff limit for the race) and that I would consider myself extremely fortunate to be able to accomplish that.

I established two rules for myself regarding this ultramarathon. The first rule was that my primary mission was to have fun. I was going to treat this as the vacation day in the woods that it was and nothing more. My second rule was that, if I was to be pulled at an aid station for failing to make cutoff, I would have no regrets and I would use the DNF (Did Not Finish) as a lesson to prepare myself better for future ultras.

The person who inspired me the most to begin competing in ultramarathons is a runner named David Ray, whom I met at the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon last year and quickly befriended. David Ray's race reports, which are often comedic, show the real joy that can be experienced by participating in these races. A few months ago, while we were discussing an ultra race on Facebook, David Ray gave me the most valuable advice that I've ever received with respect to this sport: “The only pressure is the pressure that you put on yourself.” This advice resounded in my mind in the days before Mount Cheaha 50K. For this race, I resolved to have fun without putting pressure on myself.

I'm not normally a fan of big “carbo load” pre-race dinners, but I decided to take advantage this time, with the hopes that a pasta meal after weeks of low-sugar dieting would give me a spike in energy for the following day. My shaky confidence in my own running abilities prior to this race was compounded somewhat when I first stepped into the Bald Rock Lodge dining area for the pre-race dinner on Friday night. I sized up the other runners and observed that everybody else was in near-perfect physical shape. Since the Mount Cheaha 50K is part of the 2010 Montrail Ultra Cup series, the room was full of the best of the the best, many of whom were wearing finisher shirts from previous 100-mile ultras and such. I felt out of place in this room full of ripped, confident runners and I just knew that I was going to get completely owned at the race the next day.

Thankfully, my unease quickly turned into excitement as I sat to eat dinner with a couple of friends and listened to a veteran Mount Cheaha runner, Wayne, as he described the trail. I remembered Wayne from months before, when I volunteered at the 75th mile of the Pinhoti 100 along these same Cheaha mountains back in November and saw him as the third runner to pass through the aid station. Wayne is a strong runner, but he's also incredibly modest and friendly in the way that many of the greatest ultrarunners are. I also enjoyed catching up with friends from the local trail running group (GUTS – Georgia Ultrarunning And Trailrunning Society) that I'm part of.

The Race Director Todd, also put me at ease with his pre-race address to all of us at the dinner. Todd had taken all steps to make this race a fun, family-atmosphere experience and his enjoyment of the sport resonated.

After the pre-race dinner, I returned to my room at Bald Rock Lodge, where I would be sharing four bunks with complete strangers. Two runners, Rob and his girlfriend, Misty, had already arrived and, within minutes, the three of us were talking about trail running as if we had known each other for years. The other runners sharing the bunk had been delayed in their flights and would arrive in the middle of the night after we had gone to sleep.

On the morning of the race, I woke up before everyone else in the room and quickly went into the bathroom to get ready. As always before my ultra races and long trail runs, I covered my feet in baby powder to prevent blisters. Anticipating the wet water from stream crossings, I also applied Vasoline to my toes and heel before putting on double-socks (two pairs of quick-dry Balega socks). I wore a pair of compression shorts to prevent chafing and put on a pair of regular shorts over these, since it's against Guy Code to wear compression shorts by themselves. A long-sleeve compression shirt with a short-sleeve technical shirt completed the outfit.

One of my debates with myself, up until the very morning of the race, was whether or not to wear long running pants to keep myself warm in the early hours of the morning, when the temperatures were still in the 20's. I ultimately decided to go with shorts, because I knew that the temperatures would quickly warm up into the 50's later on. My decision proved to be a wise one and it may have well been the factor that led to my successful completion of the race. I had brought a ragged sweatshirt and an old useless pair of gym pants to wear for the bus ride to the start that I would simply throw away after we arrived at the trail head.

For this race, I had decided to carry two Nathan handheld water bottles so that I would have plenty of water between aid stations and not be plagued with the dehydration problems that I had experienced during the Pine Mountain 40-Mile Trail Run in December. I also wore my Nathan HPL 028 Running Vest, which always invites comments of ridicule since it looks like I'm wearing a bra. The comfort and convenience of this running vest, which has two front compartments to store my energy gels, Sport Beans, and Succeed S-Caps (electrolyte caps to prevent cramping) and a back compartment for my two knee straps (just in case) and a small pouch full of Band-Aids and toilet paper (also just in case), make the comments worth enduring.

At 6:00 AM, all of the runners boarded two buses that transported us on a 40-minute drive to the starting point of the race. Most of the fellow GUTS runners and I boarded the second bus, a local prison bus! I immediately felt like Harrison Ford in The Fugitive. The ride though the mountains in a prison bus compounded the rugged aesthetic of this race. Instead of participating in an out-and-back loop race, as I had done with my previous ultras and trail marathons, I was aboard a prison bus that was taking me to an unfamiliar spot 31 miles away from the Lodge and it would be up to me to find my way back. Secure in the knowledge that, if I ever have children, I'll be able to tell them that I rode in a prison bus, I happily enjoyed this trip to the race start.

At the race start, I quickly got rid of my throwaway warm sweatshirt and gym pants to be hit full force with the freezing temperatures. Misery loves company, though, and I was surrounded by fellow runners who were antsy to get moving and warm up in this cold weather. Thankfully, the sky was almost clear at that point and we knew that we were all in for a beautiful day of running. In recent years, the Mount Cheaha 50K had been besieged by rain, flooded streams, and even snow, so I knew that I was fortunate to experience this race in friendly weather.

Most races start with a gunshot into the air or with a Race Director saying, “Go!”, over a microphone. Mount Cheaha 50K wasn't like most races. The “starting gun” for this race was the music of Lynyrd Skynyrd's “Sweet Home Alabama” being played over loudspeakers. When “Sweet Home Alabama” started to play, the runners went through the start line banner into a single-track trail in the woods.

Since the first mile of Mount Cheaha 50K consists of a narrow single-track trail along hillside ledges, the faster runners are frantic to hit the trail first to prevent being stuck behind slower runners. Respectful of this dilemma and in possession of no illusions about my place among my fellow runners, I started in the very back of the crowd and, along with the more casual ultrarunners, I spent the first several minutes of this race simply walking the trail behind a crowded line of participants.

After the first mile, we began the first major ascent of the ultra, climbing 400 feet in less than a mile. Since I'm not able to run as fast on trails as most of the Cheaha runners, I tend to enjoy the simplicity of the uphill climbs. On a steep uphill, the pressure to run is non-existent and I simply get to turn off my brain and power-walk, one step after another, up the mountain. It was on these ascents that I felt the benefit of my repeated StairMaster workouts over the past few weeks. At the top of this ascent, I was greeted by grand mountain boulders and views of the surrounding landscapes. At this point, I started running behind Jo Lena, a runner whom I had remembered from the Pine Mountain 40-Mile run two months earlier and who proved to be an excellent pacer for the first half of this ultra.

The descent on the other side of this first climb was a fast, exhilarating downhill run on some of the most accommodating single track that I've ever run on. I felt like I was running on a bed of pine straw and, although mindful of potential objects to trip over, I threw most of my caution to the wind and took advantage of the trail to put some distance behind me early on. This was exactly the type of trail that I love to run on and I felt my insecurities about this race evaporate. This easy downhill ended on a road that took us to the first aid station just after mile 3. I talked with a girl who had raced just behind me on the downhill and we joked about getting the fast downhills while we could as we reached the aid station. All of my fellow ultrarunners repeatedly advise me to eat at each aid station, even when I don't feel like eating. Since I always feel like eating, this comes easy to me. I refilled my water bottles and downed a chocolate GU gel from the aid station table.

Although I had followed my strict low sugar diet for three weeks to great success, I had made the pre-race resolution to eat whatever I wanted at these Mount Cheaha aid stations, because I would need every bit of the energy from the sugary foods. The result was a glorious day on the trails where I felt like I had a Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory every single time I arrived at an aid station. M&M's, chocolate GU gels, gummi bears, chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal cookies (which I avoided for the most part, for fear of the effect on my stomach), bananas, orange slices, and salted pretzels. The next day after this ultra, I would return to business as usual with my low-sugar lifestyle, but I was going to fuel up at this ultra and I was going to fuel up well.

After the first aid station, I fell in with a small group of runners as we left the jeep road to make the second severe ascent, a 900-foot ascent over the next 3 miles that was complete with false summits where I would believe that I had reached the top of a mountain only to turn the a corner and see more climbing ahead of me. I took it in stride with my customary power-walking of small steps that I've gotten to down to a science.

Some other runners and I soon arrived at a jeep road that made an uphill ascent around a corner. Although the temptation was there to break out into a run, the consensus with everyone present was that an uphill was still an uphill and that it would be more economical in energy terms to power-walk. Just because I was walking didn't mean that I couldn't walk fast, though, so I picked up the pace to a fast 4 mph power-walk pace and managed to catch up with a few other runners along this stretch. When the jeep road began to turn downhill, I broke into one of my fastest running stretches of the entire race, caught up with two other runners, Charlene and Jay, and talked with them as we sped down the easy road to the second aid station.

After the second aid station, as I began the next uphill ascent with food in my hand, a small group of other runners, Jo Lena, Luke, Jay, and a few others, walked behind me and we quickly established a rapport as we joked about the hills. As we rounded the top of one ascent, a picturesque view unfolded in front of us and we all commented on how beautiful the wilderness looked from our height. We made our way up a small stretch of boulders that reminded me of the cover of Led Zeppelin's Houses Of The Holy before finding an easier single-track where we were able to speed up to a run.

The next few miles of running were some of my favorite moments of this race. The four of us, Jo Lena, Luke, Jay, and I, were able to run at a comfortable pace along a ridge where we could look down to either side to see the trees far below. When I had started trail running during the previous year, this ideal stretch of trail was exactly the sort of mental image that attracted me to the sport and to be able to run in a scenic area like this was rewarding and rejuvenating. I commented to the other runners that I felt like one of the characters in The Lord Of The Rings films as we ran atop this ridge surrounded by never-ending wilderness. This was a moment that will stay with me for a long time and bring a smile to my face.

The terrain soon became rocky and more technical, so I wasn't surprised to hear runners behind me take tumbles as they tripped over rocks and tree roots. Each time, we would all stop to ask the fallen runner if assistance was needed and, when the runner jumped back up unhurt, we resumed our comfortable run pace. As one runs farther on technical trails, the onset of fatigue can be insidious and, as I've learned from my past, a continued propensity to trip over rocks is best remedied by slowing down. I slowed to a power-walk and told the runners behind me that they were welcome to pass me and keep running. All three runners seemed perfectly content to stay behind me and follow my pace, though, so we continued along walking over the “rock garden” stretches of the trail and occasionally running when the terrain permitted. Charlene, with whom I had run earlier on the fire road, remained a couple of hundred feet ahead of us and I joked to the other runners that I was persistence-hunting her by keeping her in sight the entire time. Jay, who was from this area and who had assisted in marking the trail with the orange sprinkler flags that were planted to the right of the trail along the whole ultra, assured us that this tricky rocky terrain would not last forever.

We arrived at the third aid station, where I was happy to see Philip, a local GUTS runner who had completed the Pinhoti 100 months earlier, and Joel, a local GUTS runner who had run with me for the first two laps of the Atlanta Fat Ass 50K ultra in January. After this third aid station stop, I parted ways with the three runners who had accompanied me earlier and we all settled into our own paces. I soon caught up with Joel, who informed me that he was having trouble with a blister. We ran together for a stretch and then I outpaced him as I found some other runners to accompany.

The stream crossings began along this stretch. I intended to cross the first stream by jumping from one rock to another, but my foot slipped into the water on the very first rock and I threw caution aside as I simply bounded through the water to the opposite bank. My feet were drenched, but the Montrail Hardrocks that I was wearing are quick-draining trail shoes and, within minutes, my feet felt completely dry again. I did feel blisters start to develop at this point, but there was nothing I could do at the moment, but keep moving. I fell in with a couple of runners who had passed me earlier in the race and, when one of them told me that this was his very first ultra race, I showed my respect. It took some courage for him to sign up for Mount Cheaha 50K as his first ultra.

After the fourth aid station, Joel caught with me again and I slowed down to let him get some Band Aids out of the emergency pack in my race vest so that he could treat his blister. At this point, I was also reunited with Luke, who had run with me earlier on the trail ridge. I asked if he remembered Joel, who we had both just passed, and, when he said yes, I told him that Joel was going to catch up with us again before the race was over.

Luke and I stayed together for the next several miles, as the trail alternated between stream crossings and ongoing hillside ledge trail sections. I had my one and only fall at one stream crossing along this stretch, as I slipped on mud at the stream bank and landed on a large rock that pierced the small of my back. Luke expressed concern, but I assured him that I was fine and we kept going across the stream. At this point, I had been running and walking on hillside ledges for most of the race where my left leg facing the hill drop was always lower than my right leg, which was constantly elevated by the camber of the the ledge trail. As a result, the fatigue in my right calf was becoming increasingly unbearable. Luke and I soon reunited with Jay, another runner from our close-knit running crowd along the ridge, and we benefited from his descriptions of the trails ahead that he was experienced with.

In order to offset cramping, I resumed taking S-Caps every hour. Tony, an accomplished trail runner from the GUTS group, had advised me months earlier to bite down on the S-Cap tablets before swallowing them to break the capsule if I felt like I needed to feel the effect of the S-Caps sooner rather than later. I followed this strategy of biting the S-Caps apart and, when the terrible taste of the contents within the tablets hit me, I would take several sips from my handheld water bottles to wash the tablets down. More often than not, I would then eat some of my watermelon Sport Beans to counter the taste of the S-Caps.

We came upon the largest stream crossing yet, where a photographer stood on the other side to document the various exploits of runners in their attempts to cross. Jay and Luke went to a rocky area 20 feet upstream where they could cross without getting wet, while I simply walked through the water and made heavy splashes to get from point A to point B with a minimum of distance. I said hello to the photographer and we all continued along our way.

When Luke, Jay, and I reached the fifth aid station, we were relieved to be temporarily free of the increasingly oppressive camber of the ledge trails. Joel caught up with me again at this point and soldiered on ahead. I spotted some baked potato slices at this aid station and gobbled them up, as the starch appealed to me at this point. I've learned from my previous trail experiences that, if something looks particularly appetizing at a trail race aid station, then it's probably because my body is craving that very thing and that it's what I really need to eat. After this aid station, Luke and I proceeded up a very pretty stretch of trails with boardwalk crossings next to overlooks above some amazing waterfalls. Even at this point in the ultra, when we were over the 20-mile mark, tired, and both joking about how we needed divine intervention to transport us to the finish, we were still able to appreciate the beauty of this creekside trail.

We reached the last of the big stream crossings and, as I was wading across, I slipped between an underwater rock crevice and started to fall, but caught myself with both hands in the water. Unfortunately, I had a handheld water bottle in each hand and these bottles had both been completely submerged in the stream water. I arrived on the other side and joked to Luke that I was probably going to come down with Giardia poisoning, since I now had two handhelds with the nipples both covered in stream water. I made a quick effort to dry the bottle nipples off with my shirt, but then resumed running. After a short stretch, I took a drink from both water bottles, Giardia be damned. The temperatures were warming up at this point and I needed to hydrate more often. Having learned from my mistakes at Pine Mountain 40, I was relieved that I was suffering none of the effects of thirst or hunger that I had experienced at that race. I had finally gotten my hydration and fuel intervals down to where I needed them.

Luke and I passed by a large group of hikers, most likely a troop of boy scouts. I cheerfully said hello to them and told them that they were hiking well as I ran past, even giving one kid a high-five. As an ultrarunner, I wanted to set a good example and look like I was having the time of my life on this trail so that these kids might someday be inspired to start running ultras on their own. I grinned on the outside, while feeling tortured and tired on the inside, but the mission was accomplished. Luke and I caught up with another runner, who told us that his friend whom he had been running with had recently dropped out of the race. This runner stayed with us for the next several miles.

After a long stretch of running along tricky technical ledge trails, Luke, Jay, and I emerged onto a dirt road at mile 25 where we could see runners in the distance ahead of us. Since this was a relatively flat road that went on for the next mile and half, I had anticipated that I would be able to easily run this stretch and make up for lost time spent power-walking uphills. My body had different plans, though. Soon after I started running with the small group of others around me, I slowed down with the rest of them and we all resumed our power-walks. My body had sent me a clear message: it was finished running for the day. Once again, though, I sped up my power-walk to a 4 mph pace, outdistancing the group I was with so they would occasionally break out into a run to catch up with me.

At this point, I was concerned about cutoff times. A volunteer at the previous aid station had assured me that I was 25 minutes ahead of cutoff time and that I was doing fine, but I knew that I was not doing myself any favors with my inability to run along the dirt road and I didn't want to be pulled at the last aid station before the climb up Mount Cheaha.

As we proceeded down the dirt road, we were just a mile or two away from the famed “Blue Hell”, the 900 foot/0.5-mile steep elevation that would take us up the side of Mount Cheaha to the top of the mountain close to the race finish. I was apprehensive about the climb, but I was also excited to try it and I was terrified about the possibility of being pulled at the aid station just below the Blue Hell ascent for failure to make the cutoff time. Blue Hell was the defining characteristic of Mount Cheaha 50K and I knew that I needed to at least give this daunting elevation a try in order to get my money's worth for the ultra.

The only thing between me and Blue Hell was another mile or so of roads that I was having trouble running on. I reached the top of the small ascent of the endless dirt road stretch and, with Luke and some other runners close behind me, I turned onto a paved road that lead to Lake Cheaha, where the last aid station would greet me. This paved road had several downhill stretches where I was finally able to run, at long last. As I turned one corner, an expansive view of Mount Cheaha greeted me. I looked up at the boulders near a metal tower at the mountain top and knew that I was going to have to make my climb along that steep ascent.

With other runners close behind, I ambled into the last aid station in a pavilion alongside the lake. After filling up both handheld water bottles and eating a couple of cookies, I asked if I had made the cutoff time. The volunteers told me that I was doing great and that there was no stopping me now. I went on ahead and, temporarily, left the other runners at the aid station as I followed the orange sprinkler flags to the foot of the mountain.

Knowing that I would need the use of both of my hands to make this climb, I took advantage of two straps along the top of my Nathan race vest (“man bra”) by unbuckling the holder straps of my two water bottles, running them through the straps of the race vest, and re-buckling them. My two water bottles were now securely attached to the front of my race vest, where they hung just below my face so that I was able to take a sip of water whenever needed, but still have free use of my hands. Just as I was finishing this adjustment, Luke, Jay, and a couple of other runners caught up with me and we began our Blue Hell ascent together.

Blue Hell gets its name from the blue trail blazes that mark the sharp ascent of this mountain. There are no switchbacks and there are no flat stretches. The blue blazes take the runner up 900 feet through tree roots, boulders, and potentially dangerous technical rocky stretches while a vast landscape of trees opens up below.

Our Blue Hell adventure began with a steep, but not insurmountable, climb up a trail covered with thick tree roots that we had to step up onto with giant strides. In previous weeks, I had taken to exercising two-foot step-ups after long distance runs to get the feel of how such a stride would affect me after I had already run a long way. The benefit of these workouts was now fully realized. Jay caught up and climbed slightly ahead of me, but we both passed a couple of other runners and kept climbing, and climbing, and climbing, and climbing...

After a very brief respite where Jay and I were only walking a slight uphill, the real oppressiveness of Blue Hell took hold as we entered what can best be described as a boulder field. The blue trail blazes and scattered orange sprinkler flags led us up massive rock and between elevated crevices where we had to use both hands to grab trees or other rocks to pull ourselves up the mountain.

Strange as it may seem, I found myself enjoying this steep stretch of Blue Hell. I'm not as fast as the other trail runners and I'm not agile on downhill technical stretches that smaller trail runners can bound down like fleet-footed deer, but I can climb when I put my mind to it. The climb is uncomplicated, because I am never uncertain about how I need to run or at what speed I need to be pacing myself. Running was completely out of the picture on Blue Hell and the simplicity of my task appealed to me. I climbed and enjoyed the satisfaction of looking down at the view behind me to know that every long step up to the top of a boulder brought me closer to the finish.

I knew at this point that I only had 2.5 miles or so left to go and that I had one hour to complete those 2.5 miles before the 9-hour cutoff time for the race finish. With a newfound confidence, I picked up my pace on Blue Hell and, when Jay saw my energy rush, he let me pass him on the rocks. I said hello to a small group of hikers who were rappelling down a huge boulder and they all complimented me on looking strong.

I reached the top of Blue Hell, but the climbing was not over. As I unbuckled my water bottles from my race vest and once again strapped them to my hands, the orange sprinkler flag markers led me to a paved road that made a sharp ascent to the top of the mountain where a metal tower awaited. I walked intently up this road to the top, where I could hear the loudspeakers from the finish line a couple of miles away. When the paved road turned back into trail, I broke out into a brief run along a flat easy trail before slowing to a walk again as the trail became more technical. I was excited to be close to the finish, but I knew that the rocks along this area of trail would be unforgiving if I tripped and fell in my tired state of mind.

I kept power-walking along several switchbacks of relatively flat technical trail as the sound from the loudspeakers rose in volume. Another runner caught up with me and passed me just before we both reached the final pavement run to the finish line. I walked down a small hill to the pavement and, after some onlookers beside the road told me I was close, I broke into a run all the way to the finish line. In past trail races, I've removed my race vest (“man bra”) before the finish line, because I don't like the way that it looks in photos. I kept my race vest on this time, though. It had served me well.

I crossed the finish line at 8:32:58, just 27 minutes ahead of the 9-hour cutoff. I picked up my finisher's technical shirt, then went inside, where I was greeted by cheers from the fellow GUTS runners in the dining area. I was hungry beyond belief, but I wanted a shower first. I retreated to my lodge bunk room, took a quick five-minute shower, dressed in comfortable street clothes, and returned to the company of the other runners, where pizza and cake were waiting for me. I sat down with them and waited as other runners continued to reach the finish line behind me.

Most of the GUTS runners had finished an hour or two ahead of me and most of them were dressed, showered, and getting ready to go. I'm always astounded by my fellow runners in this group and am constantly looking to them for helpful advice and motivation. Of all of the GUTS runners who completed Mount Cheaha 50K, I was the last one in the group to finish. Somebody needed to have the “in the rear with the gear” representation with GUTS and, on this day, that person was me. Still, I was happy to have risen above my insecurities and lack of conditioning to exceed my expectations at Mount Cheaha 50K.

I was worried that I was going to have an embarrassingly painful time at this ultra and that I would probably not finish. Instead, Mount Cheaha 50K proved to be the most fun race that I've ever competed in in my life. I've got my scratches, scars, and soreness today, but I feel better than I ever have on the day after an ultramarathon and that's a good sign. I suppose that the best cure for "Runner Burnout" is to have a fun race like this to remind me of the joy of the sport.

See you on the trails.

Jason