StumpJump 50K 10/1/11 (Race Report)

On October 1, 2011, I completed my second StumpJump 50K with a finish time of 7:46:14 and improved on my previous year’s finish by over an hour.

Photo courtesy of StumpJump 50K

The StumpJump 50K, part of the Rock/Creek Trail Series in Chattanooga, Tennessee, takes place on the Signal Mountain portion of the scenic Cumberland Trail.  The lollipop-shaped out-and-back course runs along a bluff overlooking the Tennessee River for several miles and combines rocky technical trail terrain with several challenging climbs.  The Rock Garden, a brutal section near the end of the lollipop loop of the course where runners step from one large rock to another for almost a mile, can punish the unprepared with bloody bruises or broken bones.  Despite the challenges, StumpJump 50K still attracts ultrarunners from across the country by serving as a celebration of what the Southeastern U.S. can offer to adventure-seekers.  The sold-out race field ranges from nationally-recognized runners to novices participating in their first ultramarathon.

I fell in love with the StumpJump 50K experience last year when I completed the race in 8:49:14 and made several new friends along the way.  After a series of disappointing trail race performances throughout the summer where I had moved sluggishly in the record temperatures and even dropped out four hours into a 24-hour race event on Labor Day weekend due to heat sickness, my running mojo had returned in recent weeks as the weather cooled, and I was looking forward to falling in love with this epic race course all over again.  The pre-race atmosphere in the Signal Mountain High School parking lot, where sponsor booths stretched down a long paved corridor beside the massive inflatable start/finish marker, was a motivation in itself and I was glad to be part of the fun for another year.

Conventional wisdom states that runners should not try anything different on the day of a race.  For this race, I was defying that wisdom by doing almost everything differently.  I was wearing a brand-new never-worn pair of shoes along with new compression shorts underneath new running shorts.  I had worn Montrail Mountain Masochist shoes for several previous races, of course, but my new pair had not even been through the customary short test run.  I was running without compression leg sleeves, which had been a constant during my cooler weather races in previous years.  I had left my Crank e-Gels on the shelf this time to test a new nutrition strategy of alternating Honey Stinger Gold gels with chocolate Accel gels.  Instead of eating lightly in the days before the race as I had always done in the past to benefit psychologically from a lower weight at the race start, I had indulged in several carb-heavy meals starting three days before this event in an attempt to avoid the familiar loss of energy a few miles into the course.  Most importantly, though, I would be running an ultramarathon without S-Caps for the first time.  I had always routinely taken an S-Cap once an hour for sodium and electrolytes, but I had recently started to question whether or not my S-Cap routine was helping or hurting my performances.  My body always seemed to swell almost instantly in recent races when I took the first S-Cap and inevitably drank more water in response to the increased thirst.  The fatigue from added weight and my concern for the swelling always took my mind out of the race and into an escalating negativity.  I remembered my still-unmatched finish times from my first five marathons in 2009, when I had not yet started taking the S-Caps, and I decided to revert to uncomplicated basics again for this year’s StumpJump, since the cold temperatures would be a good initial test.  I carried a couple of packets of Hammer Endurolytes in my Camelbak, just in case I felt the need for electrolytes, but I never used them during this race. 

Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Gelinas

As the race started, with a helicopter filming the runners from overhead, I was ready to put my new strategies to the test.  After standing in sub-40-degree temperatures, I felt energetic as I warmed up in back of the crowd during a short paved loop around the side of the high school before entering the woods.  The terrain of the first four miles of StumpJump 50K is deceptively pleasant, with its mixture of soft single track and wide jeep roads, and I joked with a fellow runner that things would get pretty intense pretty quickly as soon as we passed a unique boulder structure known as Mushroom Rock.  Sure enough, the trail turned into a steep descent at that point and took us to a swinging bridge that hovered above a valley strewn with large rocks.  I followed other runners on this bridge of doubtful construction, where the boards looked older than me, and took short baby steps to save energy on a sharp incline up the other side of the valley.  At the top of this section, I was rewarded by a pleasant straight single-track that encouraged several minutes of non-stop running.

I had programmed my watch to beep every 30 minutes as a reminder to me to eat a gel, and the watch sounded off for the second time during my slow descent on a rocky trail down to the Suck Creek Road crossing just over six miles into the course.  As I climbed a series of wooden steps back into the woods above the road crossing, I heard some familiar voices behind me and was surprised to see several friends from the Get Fit Atlanta training group.  Since John, Sandy, Mike, and Philip normally finish ultramarathons much faster than I, I wondered briefly if I were pacing myself too quickly from the start to have them running behind me.  At the moment, though, the pace felt great, and I maintained a comfortable sub-15:00/mile speed by running the easier sections and power-walking the small rolling hills underneath cliff faces as the view of the Tennessee River spread out below.  As I alternately talked with the Get Fit Atlanta crowd about ultrarunning and zoned out while they talked about Ironman triathlons, the rolling terrain increasingly traversed small boulder ravines that my Mountain Masochist shoes seemed to handle with ease.  I ate a Honey Stinger Gold gel at the watch interval beep, enjoying the instant flavor spike of honey, and hoped that my energy would carry me into the middle lollipop loop section of the course.  During my first StumpJump race, I had experienced a sudden fatigue after starting the loop just over ten miles into the course and had walked most of that loop before getting a second wind for the final return.  I was determined to continue running through the lollipop loop this time around.  The Get Fit Atlanta crowd eventually passed me, as I knew that they would, just before we reached the Indian Rock House aid station that ended the lollipop stick portion of the trail to begin the middle loop trail.

Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Gelinas

The Indian Rock House aid station, a table setup stationed underneath a giant boulder, finally revealed itself, and I refilled my 70-ounce Camelbak with water for the first time.  Remembering that I had always performed better in races when I avoided solid food, I stayed away from the plethora of M&M’s, potato chips, and pretzels at this station, and continued along the trail, eager to see if my energy would last into Mile 11 and beyond.  Fortunately, the trail terrain became more yielding at this point as the frequency of rock-strewn areas diminished.  I played leapfrog with a couple of runners who were using trekking poles and struggled to stay close behind another runner who had passed me just after leaving the aid station.

The first few miles of the lollipop loop were pleasingly uneventful and I was happy to be running the entire time, save for a handful of moderate hills.  I remembered that the temperatures had risen into the 70’s this time last year, and I was certain that my improvements this year were due to the temperatures being a good 15-20 degrees cooler throughout the day.  Just the same, my confidence was rising and that felt good.  At the next aid station, three miles into the loop, I took a handful of Gummi Bears for added sugar, and continued without refilling my Camelbak.  The cold weather and my avoidance of S-Caps had resulted in more efficient hydration for this event, so that I only had to refill the Camelback three times during the race.

Inevitable tiredness set in around the halfway point of the race, but I did not experience any sudden energy drops or mental low points.  I made my way along the steeper hill climbs by singing favorite songs to myself and by reminding myself that every single step after the halfway point brought me closer to the free hamburger that would be waiting for me at the finish line.  I wanted that hamburger and I wanted it soon.  The midway point of the loop featured more hills, but there were also a few fun downhills.  When I jumped some rocks at a dry creek crossing, I had to briefly wonder where the trail was until I saw the yellow Rock/Creek flags marking the way.  The trail had veered away from the Tennessee River by this time, so the luxurious views no longer greeted me during my walk breaks as I climbed the occasional hill.  Fortunately, the walk breaks were less frequent this year and I was making better time.

Photo courtesy of Wendy Grant Oates

The second aid station of the loop rests at the end of a massive jeep road hill.  A woman waited at the top of the hill to cheer runners along to the aid station, but when I finally reached her and made a small turn, I saw that the aid station was still a couple hundred yards up the hill.  One foot after another got me there and I refilled my Camelbak for the second time while drinking a cup of Mountain Dew for an energy jolt.  I was struggling to stay positive and to avoid the negativity pitfalls that plagued me during previous races, so I kept smiling and telling volunteers that I was “living the dream” when they asked how I was doing.  It’s worth noting that the volunteers at the StumpJump aid stations were extremely well-prepared to refill hydration packs and had pitchers on hand to speed the process.  We have all been through ultramarathon aid stations where volunteers give a blank stare when we ask to have our packs refilled and we have to stand for an eternity next to a water cooler while water trickles into our pack, but the volunteers with the water pitchers at this race made everything fast and easy.  StumpJump 50K 2011 wins the Academy Award for Best Achievement in Hydration Pack Refills.  

The final three miles of the lollipop loop are the toughest of the race, but I managed to pass a couple of runners on my way up a long climb from the aid station.  The terrain alternately climbed and descended into a variety of ecosystems at this point, ranging from sunny hilltops with plentiful trees to shady ravines covered in ferns.  At each downhill, I expected the Rock Garden that I knew was coming, but the trail would then climb again into the sun.  I was doing fine without S-Caps, although I slowed my pace a couple of times when I felt the early warning signs of slight cramps.  

As I fell in behind a couple of runners, one of whom recognized me from the 2010 race, I finally reached the Rock Garden.  Instead of trying to move ahead, I gladly stayed behind the two runners and let them find the trail markings to lead the way so that I could turn off my brain while I stepped from one angled boulder to another.  The three of us joked about the rock obstacles and I commented that, if I did fall and injure myself on this section, then I would be excused from running Pinhoti 100 in November.  This section went slowly, but uneventfully, as the three of us made it through the Rock Garden without falling.

After finishing the Rock Garden trail, we were “rewarded” by a steep hill climb.  I passed the two runners and continued up the hill, eager to reach the Mullens Cove aid station just past Mile 19 of the race.  I took baby steps up the hill once again to save energy, then picked up my speed to pass a couple of runners as the trail evened out into flatter terrain at the top.  I grabbed a large handful of Gummi Bears at the aid station and broke out into a run when I got to the fun 0.7-mile stretch that led back to the Indian Rock House at the end of the lollipop loop.  This was the section where I found my second wind a year ago and I experienced a similar energy boost this time to pass a few people who were walking this stretch to recover.  I ran down a series of stairs that descended between two close boulders for a “fat man squeeze” effect, then turned right to find myself at Indian Rock House again.

Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Gelinas

I finally remembered to empty my shorts pocket of the multiple empty gel wrappers that I had carried since the beginning of the race, and one of the Montrail representatives at the aid station exclaimed that I ate a lot of gels.  I refilled my Camelbak for the final time, drank some Mountain Dew, and took another handful of Gummi Bears for the four-mile trek back to Suck Creek Road.

I was roughly five hours and 15 minutes into the race, and I realized that I had a decent shot of finishing with a sub-8-hour time if I really pushed myself.  The idea of a sub-8-hour finish at StumpJump 50K, one of the most rugged 50K courses around, excited me and gave me a new momentum.  I ran through the rocky single track next to giant boulder cliffs, disappointed when I had to slow down to cross the rocky ravines or negotiate short climbs.  This goal of finishing in less than eight hours became an obsession, because I knew that I would redeem myself after my disappointing drop from the Woods Ferry 24 Hour a month ago.  I continued to eat a gel at every half hour watch beep and I prayed that I could maintain this energy all the way to the end.  I passed a handful of runners as I planned my steps on the trail and avoided the temptation to stop to enjoy the view of the river below.

There was something amazing about the four-mile stretch back from Indian Rock House to Suck Creek Road on this course that made me grateful to be a trail runner.  The feeling that I was doing something that I was born to do resurfaced for the first time in several months and, as I enjoyed the early fall breezes, I felt a thousand years removed from my frustrated and exhausted state during so many of the hot weather races over the summer.  Even the slow runners like me can reap the rewards of consistent summer training when the fall weather takes hold and makes the running so much easier. 

Photo courtesy of Jeffrey Gelinas

The trip back to Suck Creek Road is still somewhat maddening, because the vehicles from the road can be heard for more than a mile down the trail before reaching it.  The trail went around multiple corners and, at each turn, I expected to see the descent leading to this road that marked the final 10K back to start.  I wanted to reach Suck Creek Road before the six and half hour mark, because I knew that this would allow me plenty of time to climb the final two punishing hills fast enough to finish in less than eight hours if I did not lose the plot. 

I reached the Suck Creek Road with 6:25:00 on my watch and quickly drank a cup of Mountain Dew before climbing the first of the two harsh hill climbs.  I passed more runners with a steady uphill pace, occasionally having to tap runners on the shoulder if they were wearing iPod headphones and could not hear me approach to pass on their left.  I would have loved some music of my own to get me up the hill, but I was happy to talk to other runners briefly as we greeted one another.  The first hill climb ended with a fun straightaway that took me to a series of switchbacks down to the swinging bridge leading to the final steep climb.  Once again, I hoped that the boards of the swinging bridge would not break under my weight to shatter me on the rocks below.  

At the other side of the bridge, the trail turned up for the painful hands-on-my-legs climb to the Mushroom Rock formation at the top.  I enjoyed saying hello to a few runners along the way and putting more competition behind me, hoping that these runners would not catch me again once we got to the top.  I finally reached Mushroom Rock in a bit of a daze and thought that one of the aid station volunteers was asking my name.  When I responded, “Jason Rogers!”, everyone at the aid station laughed and the volunteer specified that he had asked what I needed, instead of asking my name.  I thanked the volunteers for helping and grabbed a final handful of Gummi Bears to quickly walk up a gradual incline before breaking out into a run on the home stretch.

The final four miles are fun and relatively unchallenging, except for the minor frustration of the multiple “false finishes” where the trail appears to turn into the Signal Mountain High School grounds, only to veer back out into the middle of nowhere farther away from the destination.  I passed by one runner who laughed wearily and said, “This trail is a real mother******, isn’t it?”  I nodded to the affirmative and kept going with a smile.  I walked a couple of long gradual hills, but also felt an increasing urgency as my watch time drew closer to the eight-hour mark.  I picked up my pace even more when I realized that I might even have a chance to best my previous time of 8:49:14 by a full hour.  With a new goal of 7:49:00 planted in my head, I raced a couple of long non-technical descents, waving at volunteers who blocked vehicles at the road crossings.  As I passed a couple of runners after the final road crossing, one of them said, “Hey, I remember you from Mount Cheaha 50K.  Man, you’ve lost a lot of weight!”   I thanked him profusely for the encouragement and hurried along, desperate to meet my new goal.  

When I emerged from the trail onto the road loop back to the finish, I looked down at my watch and saw 7:40:00.  A volunteer assured me that I only had a half mile to go, so I worked through the pain and ran non-stop up a final cruel pavement hill before the road turned into the school grounds.  The watch counted down and I sped up as I saw one of the Get Fit Atlanta runners, Mike, a hundred yards ahead.  I heard people cheering my name as I turned the final curve to the finish, ran the final yards, and crossed at 7:46:14 to finish 275 out of 373 runners.

I had beaten my time goal, so my painful hobble after the finish was accompanied by a grin.  I greeted a few fellow GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society) runners as I limped to the Southern Burgers food stand for the hamburger that I had anticipated for so many miles.  The sponsors were beginning to wind down and close their booths for the day, but I was overjoyed at my first experience of finishing a major 50K to find that the sponsors had not yet left.  

A month earlier, when I had dropped out of Woods Ferry 24 at 15.5 miles with embarrassment and dizziness from my heat sickness, a friend had advised me, “Don’t let one single run define you.”  I still took that advice to heart with my StumpJump medal around my neck, but I also realized that the times when I return home with a success make the disappointments more than worthwhile.  I had regained my confidence after a tough summer of training and also rediscovered the sheer joy of trail running.  

Thanks to Rock/Creek, Wild Trails, and the countless volunteers for making this an event that I’ll treasure for a long time and use as mental reinforcement during the tough times to come.  It takes a lot of people to get a big guy like me through 31 miles of hilly trails, so the volunteers get credit for spending a beautiful Saturday at aid stations to help out the runners.  Thanks as well to Mother Nature, for blessing us with sub-70-degree weather for most of this event.  

StumpJump 50K was my best race to date, and this was an ultramarathon where everything came together almost flawlessly considering my current abilities.  The forgiving weather, an improved race nutrition strategy, and the support of friends made this report a pleasure to write. 

See you on the trails.

Jason

Woods Ferry 24 Hour Run 9/3/11 (Race Report)

On September 3, 2011, I completed 15.5 miles at the Woods Ferry 24 Hour Run before dropping out due to heat sickness.

Photo courtesy of Andy Bruner

The Woods Ferry 24 Hour Run, a part of the South Carolina Ultra Trail Series founded by Race Director Terri Hayes, takes place at the Woods Ferry Recreation Area next to the Broad River in the Sumter National Forest.  The 7.75-mile course consists of a 1.3 out-and-back trail connecting with a 5.15-mile trail loop, resulting in a lollipop-shaped trail route from the start area picnic shelter.  Aside from a few challenging sections where the trail is battered by horse traffic, the rolling hills of the loop are runnable, and they cater to an easygoing pace for the runners to repeat the 7.75 miles for the entire 24 hours.

The main challenge of the 2011 Woods Ferry 24 Hour Run was in the timing of the race start. This year's event started at 4:00 P.M. on Saturday and ended at 4:00 P.M. the following day.  The unique start time would give runners the opportunity to continue through the night hours on fresh legs, but it also kicked off the race in the peak temperatures of the day, instead of gradually acclimating runners to the rising heat.

I was confident of my chances to run a good race at Woods Ferry as I woke up early on Saturday morning and drove out of Atlanta with my friend, Julian, for the four-hour trip to the Woods Ferry Recreation Area.  At 235, I was lighter than I had ever been for an ultramarathon race.  I had also recently rediscovered my running enthusiasm after a rough summer of record temperatures.  Finally, I was prepared for this race with an effective nutrition/electrolyte plan and pacing strategy.  I knew that the first hours in the 90-degree weather would be tiresome, but I had a predetermined pace of two hours per loop that would ensure a slow and sensible start pace.

I had no intention of running for the entire 24 hours this time around and, instead, my plan was to use this race for an overnight headlamp training run before Pinhoti 100 in November and stop when I had completed 46.5 miles (six loops on the trail system).  This would give me the overnight training that I needed with a distance that would not slow me down with a long recovery time.  If I could complete the 46.5 miles in roughly 12 hours, this would give me a good confidence booster leading into Pinhoti 100.  I was looking forward to an epic Labor Day Weekend spent on the trail with friends and putting some good quality miles behind me in my training.

After grabbing some Waffle House food before noon, Julian and I arrived at Woods Ferry Recreation Area a couple of hours before the race start and set up camp chairs along the race path beside the start area aid station.  My yellow running shirt was drenched with sweat almost instantly and I knew that I was in for several hot miles to kick off the race.  I drank a bottle of water as I made my race preparations and took an S-Cap 20 minutes before the race start for adequate electrolytes to replenish my sweating.  After pinning my race number to my shorts and taking a few blister prevention precautions, I put on a pair of compression leg sleeves to help the blood flow through my calves. Compression leg sleeves are not the most ideal running accessories for hot weather and, in retrospect, I should have waited until completing a couple of trail loops before wearing them.

After a brief pre-race introduction from Terri, I started our first loop out of the picnic area with a small group. I was planning to stick with a friend, Jason Sullivan, as long as possible for our planned two-hour trail loops until I had completed my distance.  Jason and I were trying out a pace to get us through Pinhoti 100 by power-hiking the uphills and many of the flats, while running the downhills.  The sun was beating down on our group as we moved down horse trails, across dried creek beds, and up a few relatively challenging hills, but we were all having a good time and joking about this brutal race setup of hills on a 24-hour course and a 4:00 P.M. start time.  I started drinking periodically out of my Camelbak, being careful not to take in more than 30 ounces of water each hour during this humid initial loop, and ate my first gel when my watch alarm sounded at the first half hour.  Whenever someone in our group commented on a measured Garmin mileage, Jason and I congratulated ourselves on making good time according to our predetermined pace.  So far, the two-hour per loop strategy seemed almost effortless.

We reached the 4.2-mile aid station in one hour, and I was glad to see that we were slightly ahead of our pace without trying too hard.  I ate my second gel on the hour mark and took an S-Cap.  My arms were slightly swelling, but I was not worried just yet. Over the summer, as I had lost weight quickly by sticking to a low-sugar diet most days, I had noticed that my hands and arms became bloated during long runs as I ate more sugar than normal via gels along with increased water.  I resolved to be careful with my hydration and I took a cup of HEED from the aid station instead of drinking more water.

The second half of the loop seemed like a trail runner's paradise, with several easy downhill stretches on wide single-track or even double-track paths.  Our group of four or five runners stayed together and continued running or power-walking at a conversational pace.  I was sweating profusely, and I remarked to the others that I would be glad when the sun went down during the next loop so that the temperatures would hopefully take a nosedive.  The running was becoming more labored, but I felt safe in the knowledge that this hottest time of the day would not last for much longer.  I ate my third gel an hour and half into the run as we reached the end of the lollipop loop for the out-and-back trail to the start.  This trail back to the start was downhill, so we accelerated our running pace and made it back to the start area aid station in roughly one hour and 50 minutes.

One runner, who appeared to be having trouble with the heat, was sitting at the picnic table.  The rest of us refilled our bottles and Camelbaks to start our second loop.  I showed my slightly swollen hands to another runner and told him that the heat was already doing a number on me.  When I refilled my Camelbak, I was relieved to see that there was still some water left and that I had not gone through the entire 70 ounces on the first loop.  I ate a handful of gumdrops, unhooked my Garmin watch from my Camelbak where I had fastened it to record elevation date for one single loop, and started out my second lap behind the rest of the runners.  I quickly made my way out of the park and reassured myself that I only had to do this lap five more times for my planned training run.

After I had run just a half mile into the second loop, I suddenly felt faint and had to stop on the trail. My body temperature had spiked and I felt as if someone were shining a UV lamp in my face.  I thought about seeing a runner collapse from sudden heat sickness during the Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run during the summer of 2010, and I remembered how fast and unexpected the adverse effects of running in the heat can take over.  I thought about turning around to walk the half mile back to the start area aid station, but ultimately decided against this, reassuring myself that I would be okay if I just walked slowly.

I have dealt with ill effects from heat during several races, but, as I continued along the trail, I realized that I was going through something worse than a mere energy lull.  I felt dizzy at times and thought about lying down on the side of the trail for a while.  When my watch alarm went off, I ate another gel and chased it down with some water to stay consistent with my nutrition schedule, but I felt drained and depleted in a way that I had never felt during a race.  I saw a small group of other runners in the distance behind me and knew that I was about to be passed on the trail, but I was beyond caring as I continued my slow plodding pace and tried not to let negativity get me down.

I reached a trail section out in the open next to some power lines and, since I had a clear downhill section, I broke out into a run.  I felt my body temperature spike again and slowed down, but my loss of concentration made me lose my footing and I fell hard on the trail.  I remained motionless face down on the trail for a few seconds, but then slowly stood up and brushed off the dirt.  My knee was bloodied, but I was more concerned with my increasing lightheaded exhaustion than I was about any trail wounds.  Falling down on the trail is a part of the package for ultra races and it is something that I always expect.  Numerous trail running guide books mention falls, but more attention is given to the technique of how to fall without injury than how to avoid falling, since it is generally acknowledged that runners are going to fall on the trail at one time or another anyway.  This particular hazard is what it is, and I actually enjoy being 39 years old and occasionally showing up to work looking like Edward Norton in Fight Club.  I laughed at my mistake and resumed walking.

When I finally reached the midpoint aid station, I sat down for several minutes to ease my dizziness with two cups of HEED and a quarter of a peanut butter sandwich, hoping that I could remedy the situation with more nutrition.  When I finally realized that my heat sickness was not going to improve anytime soon, I reluctantly stood up and decided to make my way along the rest of the route to the start area, where I would take a long break and rest for a few hours.

Photo courtesy of Viktor Trukov

The trip back to the start area was a misadventure of sickness and slowness.   I would start to run along a luxurious downhill section, only to feel my body temperature spike with that familiar feeling of having a UV lamp turned on in front of my face.  After a couple of attempts to run, followed by the UV lamp sensation, I gave up running altogether and just focused on slow walking back to the start without stopping to sit on a log and put my head in my hands.  As I got closer to the start, I met other runners starting their third lap and, when they asked how I was doing, I just shook my head, laughed in embarrassment, and told them that I was feeling sick.

I finally reached the start area aid station with 4:30 on my stopwatch, meaning that it had taken me two and half hours to finish the second loop.  I told the aid station official that I was checking out of the race for a few hours instead of going back out for my third loop.  I sat down on my camp chair, ate a couple of caramels from the aid station, and put my feet up on my drop bag.  After a few minutes, I felt dizziness hit me with full force again, so I got down my sleeping bag in an attempt to fall asleep.

I decided that my race was over. I struggled with the decision for a while, because I have never dropped out of a race on my own accord before.  I was embarrassed to finish a 24-hour race with only 15.5 miles, but I decided that I would be all right if my only real injury was to my dignity.  I weighed my options and realized that I had nothing to gain from trying to continue this training run when I was feeling sick and lightheaded.  My decision was cemented by overhearing different runners arrive back at the aid station to announce that they were taking breaks to recover from the heat.

Julian returned from his third lap and announced that he was suffering from heat exhaustion and could not continue.  The two of us went through a half-hearted tough guy exchange (“I'll try to go out for more laps later on if you want to stay for the whole 24 hours.” “I'll try to go out for more laps later on if you want to stay for the whole 24 hours.”), but we quickly agreed that it was best to call it a day and drive back to Atlanta to recover in our own homes.  We drove back to Atlanta, stopping along the way for another Waffle House meal that only slightly alleviated our dizzy headaches.

Before I left the Woods Ferry Recreation Area for the drive home, Jason Sullivan reassured me, “Don't let one single run define you.”  I'll leave it at that.  This ill-fated Woods Ferry 24 Hour Run took place on a day that just was not my day.  Some days we have it and some days we do not. I remember feeling as if I were on top of the world after some buoyant long runs the week before this race and I know that I will recapture that feeling in cooler fall weather.  

It took a couple of days after driving home from Woods Ferry 24 Hour Run for me to feel normal again.  The day after the race, even after a long sleep, I still had the lightheaded “not quite there” feeling.  I decided to treat this heat sickness recovery like a flu recovery and rest for a couple more days after I feel better.  I am reminded of how quickly things can go from normal to bad on a hot day.  I would be lying if I said that I am not spooked about my chances at Pinhoti 100, but I am still excited about that race and I know that I am in good running shape to finish some good fall weather ultras.  I missed out on a planned training run and it's not the end of the world.  The rough race experiences like this one will make me enjoy the inevitable good races even more.

Thanks to Terri Hayes for putting together another low-key and fun South Carolina race.  Thanks to the volunteers who kept all of us safe out there on a hot day.  Finally, congratulations to my friends who stuck it out through some brutal temperatures to finish longer distances on the course.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run 8/7/11 (Race Report)

On August 7, 2011, I completed the Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run with a distance of 30.68 miles. 

                                       Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

The Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run, an annual fixed-time event sponsored by GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society), takes place every August on a 1.18-mile loop at Sweetwater Creek State Park in Lithia Springs, Georgia.  August is a brutally hot month here in Georgia, and the weather on this particular day (91-degree temperature high, 101 heat index at the 4:00 P.M. finish, 81% average humidity, 74 F dew point) presented an array of challenges to the 79 finishers for this year’s event.

Fortunately, the local ultrarunning community that embraces this race every year knows what to expect, and we gladly pay money for the satisfaction of staying upright for eight hours in potentially dangerous weather conditions.  The GUTS website description from Race Director Sarah Tynes does not sugarcoat the unique charms of the event.  “At the Hot To Trot 8 Hour Race, our goal is to provide the race as advertised. As the name implies, you can count on it being HOT.  Temps are easily in the 90's this time of year in Georgia, with humidity off the scale.  Hyponatremia and dehydration can be serious.  Runners are expected to use proper electrolytes in order to stay alive!  Ice is provided throughout the race for your use to keep that core body temperature down!  The race director reserves the right to pull anyone whom she feels is putting themselves in danger.  If you do not know how to manage your electrolytes, learn BEFORE this run, not during!”

To be eligible for this race, participants must have previous experience at ultramarathons or comparable endurance events. The 2011 Hot To Trot 8 Hour entry list consisted of accomplished ultrarunners with previous race wins, Ironman triathlon finishers with a talent for pushing themselves in extreme conditions, and expendable runners, like me, who have no spouses or children as dependents.  

This would be my second year participating in the Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run and I knew from my previous experience that these eight hours could not be taken lightly.  In 2010, I had witnessed a collapsed runner who had to be taken to a local hospital by volunteers, and I had also dealt with my own struggles by walking several laps when my body temperature was at risk. 

I was especially apprehensive about this 2011 race, because I have been in a lethargic running lull since completing the Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour Run in early June.  While my training throughout this summer has been consistent and on schedule to prepare for my first 100-mile race attempt in the fall, the record high temperatures and my resolve to continue losing weight have sapped my energy and turned most of my long runs into chores that I have been approaching out of a sense of duty, rather than pure enthusiasm.  The workouts have become easier as my fitness has increased, but I am still impatient for cooler fall temperatures to arrive. 

On the night before the race, I woke up briefly in the middle of the night with a nauseous, lightheaded feeling, but almost immediately went back to sleep. I felt better when the alarm went off a few hours later, and I dismissed the occurrence by deciding that I must have been reacting poorly to the temperatures of the past week or to an early-evening spaghetti dinner that I had eaten the day before.  The thought of running for eight hours made me feel preemptively exhausted, but I looked forward to spending time with friends and to pushing myself past my comfort zone.

I arrived at Sweetwater Creek State Park in my normal compulsively early fashion an hour and half before the race and set up a camp chair beside the race path near the aid station pavilion, so that I would have quick access to my running gels, S-Caps, and other supplies.  Unfortunately, I had not learned from my previous nutrition timing misadventures at Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour Run and I had neglected to wear a stopwatch for this race.  Since the loop was just over one mile, I could maintain greater control of my nutrition intake by following the race clock lap times, but I would have ultimately fared better had I taken a stopwatch to ensure that I ate a gel every half hour on the half hour and to maintain a closer watch on my hydration.  

As I greeted friends and psyched myself up for the next eight hours, I watched rain drizzle on the camp area from overcast skies and took this as a mixed blessing.  Cloudy skies were a welcome addition to this year’s Hot To Trot, but the resultant humidity was going to be stifling from the very beginning of the race.  This time around, we had electronic timers on our race bibs, so the volunteers spent a few extra minutes working out quirks in the system to ensure that the timing device would accurately measure runners at each lap.  Shortly after 8:00 A.M., Sarah corralled the runners to the race start and sent us on our way.  As always, I started near the back of the pack of runners and leisurely advanced as runners bottlenecked into a single-file line at the beginning of the trail.

Photo courtesy of Joseph Nance

The 1.18-mile Hot To Trot lap starts beside the camp area where runners are cheered on by the volunteers before entering a short single-track trail and running over a series of small “tank killer” hills on the way to a brief stretch of paved road.  The route splits from the paved section onto a jeep road filled covered with small pointed rocks that occasionally punish careless footsteps.  When the jeep road ends at Sweetwater Creek, the route veers to the right for my favorite section, a sandy stretch of trail that meanders alongside the creek on the way to a wooden bridge.  Another right trail turn after the wooden bridge climbs a couple of trail hills that somehow miraculously increase in height and incline as the heat of the day takes effect.  The final stretch of the loop consists of a gradual hill that takes runners by a park restroom and into the trees where the timing chute awaits beside the park pavilion shelter and aid station table at the start/finish area.     

The entire loop is runnable, but most of the participants opted to walk the two sharpest inclines along the second half of the course.  I was happy to hit the ground running slowly at a 12-minute/mile pace as I talked with friends.  Scott, a runner with whom I had completed several races, accompanied me for the first three loops before moving ahead.  I also spent much of my first five loops leapfrogging my pace with Daniel, a fellow Marathon Maniac who was running Hot To Trot as his 100^th marathon/ultramarathon event.  The temperature was deceptively cool, but I quickly found myself struggling with humidity that had me covered with sweat that trickled down into my shoes and socks.  I usually prefer to wear black shirts at races, because they have a slimming effect in my race photos, but I was thankful for my white technical mesh shirt this time around.

My energy and good humor came to an abrupt end just an hour and half into the race, when I suddenly felt the same lightheaded, nauseous feeling that I had experienced briefly the night before.  I have pushed through energy lows at most of my long distance races, but this was something different.  The morning temperature still felt relatively mild, so I did not believe that I was suffering from heat-related sickness symptoms, but I was experiencing a headache and energy drain that I would normally associate with running in much hotter temperatures in afternoon daylight hours.  I wondered if I had been pushing myself too hard over the previous week with my intense anaerobic heart rate treadmill workouts or if I had simply eaten something the day before that was not agreeing with me.  I could not put my finger on the cause, but it was clear that things were suddenly not going so well in Mr. Rogers’s neighborhood.  As I ambled along the trail, reduced to a slow walk, a few other runners expressed concern as they passed by on their own loops.  I tried to assure everyone that today just was not my day, but that I would keep moving.  Friends who passed by expressed their own irritation with the oppressive humidity as we all wished one another well.  

I had eaten two gels during the first hour or so and taken an S-Cap as I normally would in such hot conditions, but the nutrition and electrolytes were not helping.  I began filling my handheld water bottle with Powerade instead of water for a more immediate source of sugar and electrolytes as I reached the aid station after each loop.  

As the race clock read two hours, I had already accumulated ten miles, but I knew that my race was over and that it was time to stick a fork in me.  I was lightheaded, sick, and drained of energy to the point where I could only walk along the loop, even on the downhill sections.  Two friends, Samantha and Lia, accompanied me for almost an entire loop when they felt like walking and I told them of my plans to drop out of the race for safety reasons, since I was not feeling well at all.  I was trying to decide whether or not to drop out at the end of the next lap or to continue to the three-hour mark before calling it a day.  I could justify in my head that I was quitting this year’s Hot To Trot because I felt sick and I wanted to return home to let myself recover.

The three of us crossed the wooden bridge and passed a hiker who warned us of yellow jackets that were swarming around their deserted nest a few feet up the hill.  We scanned the trail thoroughly, looking out for yellow jackets, but I did not have to search for long.  I felt a sting on the back of my leg and, when I reached down to remove the yellow jacket, I immediately felt a second sting on my ankle.  Samantha and Lia were both under attack as well, so we picked up our pace to a run to the top of the hill.  I was stung a third time on the back of my leg as I ran up the hill, and I frantically swatted at two other yellow jackets that were circling my head.  Seconds later, we were in the clear, but my left leg was hurting from the three stings.

In the aftermath of the yellow jacket attack, I felt a strange gratitude.  I now had a solid concrete reason to drop out of this race.  I had cause enough to quit when I was feeling lightheaded and strangely weak, but the yellow jacket stings were the final straw.  I would bow out of Hot To Trot with a clear conscience, write down on my Facebook wall that I was the first (and hopefully the last!) casualty of this 2011 race, and be happy to run strong another day.  I notified the volunteers at the finish chute that I had been attacked by yellow jackets and they assured me that they had sent some people down to the trail to spray the nest after several other runners had complained.

I passed by the aid station table, laughing at my misadventure, and decided to continue along when Beth, a friend and talented runner who was suffering from an Achilles injury, offered to accompany me for another slow lap.  As we complained to each other about our bad luck at this race and joked about the situation, I realized that I had some energy to run the downhill stretch to the creek.  I was still in a lull, but my lightheadedness was disappearing.  I assumed that the yellow jacket attack had taken my mind off of my headache for the present, but I was thankful to be feeling slightly better.

As Beth and I climbed hills on the last part of the loop, I decided to keep going for the duration of the eight hours as long as I felt that my health was not at risk.  I was trying to climb out of a low and I was not even halfway through this event, but I knew that I needed some mental toughness training for my upcoming 100-mile race in November.  I decided to pretend that I was finishing the final hours of a 100-mile race and to push myself through pain and sickness to get the distance behind me.  My initial plans of running 35 miles at this event had been shelved, so I decided simply to work toward beating 29.5-mile distance from the previous year.

As the official clock approached the four-hour mark, I continued moving along, taking watermelon slices with me from the aid station table and refilling my bottle alternately with Powerade and water.  I had unfortunately fallen out of my schedule to eat a gel every half hour and to consume S-Caps every hour, so I was now going by feel.  I was not eating enough, but I took S-Caps whenever I remembered and I was downing two-thirds of my 20-ounce bottle of Powderade with each lap.  I would later realize that I was probably consuming well over 40 ounces of Powerade and water each hour.  I was setting myself up for unfavorable repercussions later on in the race, but I was so relieved to be running again without sickness that I did not pay mind to proper precautions about the nutrition/hydration balances.

I briefly ran and walked with two friends, Philip and Joel, who had both finished Pinhoti 100 in previous years, and I enjoyed asking them for advice about what to expect from that race course in November.  I joked with two other friends, Candy and Jenn, as I pushed my pace over comfort zone to run with them for portions of a few laps.  Aaron ran with me for the early part of a loop while his ankle recovered, and he marveled at my tendency to make up new and unfamiliar words when I am feeling fatigued.  A multiple 100-mile participant, Ed, ran with me for a short while as we compared notes about our strategy for Pinhoti 100.  All the while, the eventual top race finishers, Jim, Joe, Matthew, Ryan, Kate, and Kerry would lap me quite often and offer encouragement as they flew by. 

Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

My favorite thing about this Hot To Trot race is the opportunity to see each and every runner multiple times along the loop and to feed off the strength while observing how each individual handles the challenge of the repetitive terrain.  Despite my suffering from the beatdown of humidity and rising temperatures, I was having a blast seeing old friends and meeting new friends along the way.  Sean, an ultrarunner who was sitting out this race in favor of taking race photos with his high-quality camera, was waiting at several points along the trail.  I would start running intensely when I saw him about to take my photo, and then jokingly ask him if I had permission to start walking again after I passed.  Occasional runners complimented me on staying in the race despite my rough day and I assured them that I was now just counting down the clock hours.

The race atmosphere became infinitely harsh as the sun appeared during the final three hours and the heat index passed the 100-degree mark.  My hands and arms were starting to swell, but I had allowed myself to become so out of touch with any real nutrition timing schedule that I was unsure of how to remedy the situation.  I took advantage of energy bursts when I could and was able to run entire laps on occasion, save for the two notable hills.  At other times, I was reduced to a brisk walk pace for entire loops.  I provided some unintentional comic relief at the camp area late in the race when Beth, who had stopped her race to recover, offered to pour cold water on me before I started a lap.  After roasting in the sun and suffering from rising body temperatures, I was unprepared for the sudden icy blast of water and was glad that no children were standing around the camp area to hear the F-word come out of my mouth.  

Since my feet had been soaked with squishy sweat and occasional water from hoses at the volunteer area, I was starting to suffer from blisters.  I am normally strangely immune to foot blisters during ultra races, but the conditions at Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run proved to be an exception.  I sat down at my camp chair for my one and only time during the race to quickly change socks, but the sock change provided only minimal relief.  

As the clock finally drew closer to the eight-hour mark, my hands and arms became increasingly swollen.  As I hobbled down the trail at the beginning of the final hour, I was relieved to see Ray, an accomplished ultrarunner with vast experience, approaching behind me on the trail.  When I asked him about my swelling, he suggested that I lick the skin on my arm and that, if the skin tasted salty, then I was taking in too much sodium.  Sure enough, I tasted salt and I resolved to only take water with me for the remainder of the race and to avoid sodium.  

I smiled through my exhaustion when I realized that I was going to beat my 29.5-mile distance from the 2010 Hot To Trot race.  During my final two laps, one of my running inspirations, Heidi, offered to accompany me while she was working through her own exhaustion.  We talked about our upcoming 100-mile races and joked on the second to last loop, although I had to interrupt a good running pace to limp for a few steps after stepping on an excruciatingly pointed rock along the jeep trail on the way to the creek.  I completed 25 laps and matched my distance from the previous year as the official clock read 7:41:00 and I knew that I would have to keep moving strong to finish my final lap before the deadline.  I ran by the aid station table without refilling my water bottle and hurried the half mile down to the creek and around to the wooden bridge with my fastest running pace of the day.  I was out of breath when Heidi and I caught up with Aaron and Jenn and power-walked with them up the trail hills, but I was also overjoyed that I would be finishing this race with over 30 miles.  The four of us resumed running after the final hill and, after thanking everyone for the company, I crossed the finish line at 7:53 on the clock, amazed that I had run a 12-minute mile for my final lap.  

I completed the 2011 Hot To Trot 8 Hour Trail Run with 26 laps to total 30.68 miles, ranking 52 out of 79 finishers.  I had fallen just short of a 50K distance, but I was pleased to have overcome some harsh obstacles on a hot summer day.  It is fitting that I ended up with 26 laps for my 26^th race of a marathon/ultra distance. 

Thanks to Sarah and the GUTS crowd for another incredible Hot To Trot experience.  Thanks to all of the other 78 runners along the course who, at one point or another, shared encouragement, humor, and kindness.  Thanks and no thanks to three yellow jackets for taking my mind off fatigue and sickness to give me an unexpected blast of adrenaline.

This Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run greeted me with some brutal hurdles in the form of sickness, summer heat, and even stinging yellow jackets, but it has also given me a new confidence in my ability to keep moving through discomfort and to run faster than normal when I am blessed with a second wind late in a long distance race.  I have a long way to go still with my mental and physical preparation for Pinhoti 100 in November, but I know in the back of my mind that I will be ready to face those challenges head on.  

See you on the trails.

Jason

Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour Run 6/4/11-6/5/11 (Race Report)

On June 4 and June 5, 2011, I completed the Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour Run with a distance of 100K (62 miles).

Photo courtesy of Kerry Dycus

The Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour Run is part of the Race for Awesomeness series in Asheville, North Carolina, and, since I could always use more awesomeness in my life, I was looking forward to testing my endurance during an entire day on the trails.  This event takes place on the Montreat College campus in Black Mountain, North Carolina, and consists of a 5K loop that winds back and forth through the campus grounds in a labyrinthine fashion, resulting in a unique course where even the most seemingly remote trail sections are never more than a few hundred yards from the start line.  It is no easy task to create a fixed time course loop that keeps runners interested for the duration of the event, but the race organizers accomplished this task superbly with a route that led runners through soft wood chip trails amidst fern-covered wilderness, up dirt road hills beside sports fields, down a paved pathway parallel to the traffic of Interstate I-40, across creek bridges, rolling single-track trail hills, and long straight grassy paths back to one final hill climb up an open field to the finish.  At one point during the event, I joked with the race director that he must have entered a contest to see how many ecosystems he could squeeze into one 5K loop.  

I had no idea what to expect from my first 24-hour race, so I decided to use this event as my first real training run for the Pinhoti 100 Mile in November.  Since the weather forecasts predicted a warm summer day, my one and only concrete goal for the Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour Run was to manage my body with a proper balance of hydration and nutrition so that I could stay on my feet while avoiding heat exhaustion and the physical problems with digestion and kidney function that can often plague ultrarunners in events of this duration.  When asked about the distance that I was aiming for at this race, I arbitrarily mentioned that I was interested in covering 100K and, therefore, topping my previous distance record at the 2010 Long Cane 55 Mile.  Memories of crossing the finish line of Long Cane 55 Mile in a dazed zombie state with excruciating shin pain and frightening urinary troubles kept surfacing in my mind, though, and I knew that I would be attempting this 24-hour event in worse daytime heat conditions before moving all night through darkness in chilly temperatures.  I am still a beginner in the ultrarunning world and this all-day race would be my first foray into a new level of endurance challenges where my mind would take over after my body had nothing more to give.  

Fortunately, the Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour Run provided this student of ultrarunning with the opportunity to spend time with several masters.  Christian Griffith, an ultrarunning veteran with an enthusiastic surfer persona, has been a longtime inspiration to me and the anecdotes in his Run 100 Miles blog have helped me through many a tough spot on the trails.  Mark Elson, a soft-spoken, but tough-as-nails runner, had impressed me last year by running a fast Umstead 100 Mile race in 2010 and then speeding through a fast Sweet H2O 50K the following weekend.  Wayne Downey, a rowdy energetic runner, was one of my first friends in the trail running world, and I have always admired his refusal to drop from races even when the setbacks have appeared insurmountable.  Jason Sullivan, a fellow husky-sized ultrarunner who has recently lost a lot of weight, kept me moving with good humor and endless encouragement at this year’s Sweet H2O 50K, and his ability to stay positive over the trial of miles has always amazed me.  Joe Fejes, a fit runner whose modest good nature belies his ability to set course records, was a sure bet to win this 24-hour event and I was looking forward to watching him gracefully rip through these trails.  Christian, Mark, Wayne, Joe, and I rode to South Carolina to join Jason for dinner at a Japanese steakhouse, and then crashed at Jason’s home overnight before riding an hour to the race start the following morning.   While the six of us shared jokes, taunting, and good old guy talk, I was not shy about asking for advice on ultrarunning strategies.  The pressure was on for me to run a tough race in the company of these friends.

Photo courtesy of Kim Purcell Pike

Unfortunately, my body was not ready to keep pace with my outward show of enthusiasm.  I had run the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon and the Scenic City Trail Marathon respectively on May 14 and May 21, and then followed those races with a hilly 12-mile training run on the trails at Fort Mountain on May 29.  While my weight loss was resuming at a slow pace after hitting some speed bumps earlier in the year, I was still too heavy and my high weekly mileages over the past month were starting to wear me down.  When my road trip companions cautioned me that I had been signing up for races too frequently, I had to agree.  On the morning of this race, I woke up tired and I felt that I had no business whatsoever attempting my first 24-hour event so soon after my busy May schedule.  Just the same, I rubbed dirt on my worries and I could not stop smiling as the other guys and I fired one other up by calling out distance goals while we ate a hearty breakfast at Waffle House on the way to Black Mountain.  

When we arrived at the Montreat College campus area a couple of hours before the 10:00 A.M. race start and began the slow task of carrying heavy coolers and bags to our tent area beside the course, the rising temperatures immediately greeted us with sadistic glee.  I applied sunscreen as I stood in the open under clear skies while the dew evaporated off the grass around me.  This was shaping up to be a dangerously hot and humid day for long distance runners.  Fortunately, I do eventually learn from my mistakes and, for this event, I had abandoned my standard black shirt race attire in favor of a loose bright yellow running shirt.  My yellow shirt made me look like an overgrown Charlie Brown from the Peanuts comic strip, but the color change suited me well for the temperature conditions in the hours to come.  

Just before the start, Race Director Richard Handy gave instructions and assured us that the trail was flat “unless you live in Florida”.  I began the first lap with a slow jog, intending to run each 5K lap in 45 minutes or over for the duration of the event for conservative pacing.  Psyche, a friend from North Carolina, ran with me for much of this loop and we marveled at the abrupt changes in setting that seemed to greet us at every turn.  I instantly fell in love with one section, a wood chip trail through rows of trees that resembled a painting.  I then instantly fell out of love with one steep paved downhill that increasingly wrecked the quads with each subsequent lap.  For this first lap, though, it was all good and I enjoyed taking in the beauty of the terrain while strategizing about the best sections to employ my run/walk strategies.  I knew from the beginning that this race was going to feature a lot more walking than running, but I would be happy to have the time on my feet in any way possible.  Shortly after the halfway point of the loop, an unmanned aid station next to a portable bathroom, a short series of single-track trails opened into a long grassy path out in the open under the sun.  These open grass paths continued sporadically between short trail sections that zigzagged beside a railroad track.  A wall of tall spruce pines bordered the field around one turn that led back to the start/finish area, where music played from loudspeakers in between short live sets from local musicians.

Photo courtesy of Perry Sebastian

The 5K loop was not “mostly flat” as the race website description had read, but the hills were fairly tame this early in the race.  I ran these hills for the first two laps, but soon returned to my faithful ultramarathon strategy of walking these hills while running the downhills and flats.  Some dust or pollen caught in my throat a couple of times early in the race and forced me to cough forcibly for several seconds as I drank water to counteract the dry throat tickle. 

An unfortunate tactical error on my part became apparent early during the race.  I had purposely left my stopwatch at home, because this was a fixed time race where I had no intention of following a strict speed.  Unfortunately, I realized that my well-tested ultrarunning habit of eating a gel every half hour on the half hour could not be followed if I did not have a way to measure the half hour intervals.  I improvised a plan to eat a gel at the end of every loop and to eat another at the halfway point, but my uncertainty about the timing soon allowed chaos to ensue.  When the temperature rose to an alarming 89 degrees mere hours into the race, I began substituting my gels for oranges, watermelon, and bananas from the race aid stations, but I had no way to gauge whether or not I was meeting my goals for 300-400 calories an hour.  I quickly understood that my ability to control my hydration/nutrition balance on a dangerously hot day would be even more difficult than I had previously imagined.  

I completed my first three 5K laps in two hours and realized that I was going faster than my predetermined 45-minute-per-lap maximum pace.  After my third lap, I called out my race number to the lap counters and asked how many laps they had written down for me.  One of the lap counters told me that she had counted two laps for my number and, when she noticed the surprised expression on my face, she laughed said, “Just kidding!  I’ve counted three laps from you.”  I laughed with relief, thanked the counters, grabbed a handful of fruit from the aid table by the finish line, and continued along.  Each time, I waved at Sarah, a friend from the adjacent tent, who was cheering me along as she waited for her training partner, Tatyana, to complete each lap.  

The temperatures spiked as the clock hit the noon hour and I realized that I was setting myself up for a hard energy crash if I kept my current pace.  I started taking longer walk breaks during the loop as the hot sun beatdown commenced.  During one of my faster running stretches, while I was enjoying the cushion of a wood chip trail, I passed by Christian, who was running down an adjacent path in the opposite direction.  He called out, “Take it easy, J!  It’s gonna be a long day.”   The reality that I had only completed two hours of a 24-hour race event started to sink into my head.  That reality clutched around me even more when I entered the open grass sections directly underneath the unyielding sun.  I was carrying a 12-ounce water bottle for this race, because I had decided beforehand that this was the best way to ensure that I did not overhydrate during the loops, but I soon realized that 12 ounces of water between the two 1.5-mile aid station stops was not enough for me in this heat, especially when I was purposely trying to slow my lap pace.  I decided to drink extra Gatorade at the aid stations before refilling my bottle each time.

Photo courtesy of Kim Purcell Pike

I finished my fourth lap, called out my race number to the lap counters, and, as always, asked them my lap count to make sure that the numbers were being written down.  The same lap counter that had joked with me after the previous lap replied, “You’ve run three laps…  Just kidding!  You’ve run four.”  I gently, but deliberately admonished the woman, “That’s not cool.  This race is going to screw with people’s heads enough as it is without you kidding around with us about our lap counts.  If you say the wrong number as a joke, you might write down the wrong number.”  I laughed as I talked to her to cushion the effect and I immediately thanked her for helping out with the race.  Mark had just completed a lap of his own and he voiced his agreement as he watched me while he refilled his drink from the aid table.  I continued along, with the exchange replaying in my head.  I was only 12 miles into a 24-hour race and I was already becoming irritable from the heat of the day.  This was not a good sign.  

I completed my fifth lap 50 minutes later and crossed the finish line as the countdown clock read 20:30 remaining.  Just as I passed the loudspeakers, the Bon Jovi lyric, “Oooohhhh, we’re halfway there, Ooooh-oh, living on a prayer!”, blared into my ear.  I grimaced and mentally cursed Bon Jovi.  I was nowhere close to being “halfway there” and I was burning up in the rising temperatures.  My ankles were already hurting from the residual fatigue of my past four weeks of trail running, my higher-than-the-average-runner body fat percent was stopping me dead in my tracks in the claustrophobic humidity levels, I was spiraling downward into the fatigued irritable loopy frame of mind that I’ve experienced in past races, and, now, even the 80’s hair metal bands were conspiring against me.  This was definitely going to be a long day.  When Jason and Wayne ran to our tent area a few minutes later and ranted about the George Michael song that was playing at their lap finish, however, I had to laugh.

The right company often comes at the right time during ultra races and I was happy when my friend, Aaron, who was waiting at the GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society) tent next to my drop bag area, voiced interest in walking a lap with me.  Aaron was recovering from a brutal ankle turn, but still managed to crank out a 50K distance at this event by pacing various runners who benefited from his humor and enthusiasm.  Aaron and I joked through the lap and had each other doubled over laughing most of the time.  I talked about how I was glad that the depressing Eddie Vedder song from Into the Wild soundtrack that I had heard on the loudspeakers upon my arrival to the race site was not playing anymore, because the last thing that I needed was another sad hippie song.  At that moment, we passed by an ice cream truck bus in the middle of an open field by the trail and I commented that the bus even looked like the bus that Christopher McCandless stayed at in Alaska in the Into the Wild non-fiction story.  I started improvising Eddie Vedder lyrics with my best voice imitation and this kept Aaron and me cracking up for a while.  

I was thankful for the humor, because I had already realized by this point that I was having a terrible running day.  Summer humidity can wreak havoc on any runner, but it can be especially devastating to those of us with a higher percentage of body fat.  After my two recent trail marathons and my recently increase in weekly mileage for training, I had finally found my limitations on these trails at Black Mountain.  I reached the 26.2-mile distance in almost seven and half hours and, upon my return to my tent area, I joked with some GUTS runners that this was the slowest marathon in history.  The heat was tearing me to pieces and, in the open areas of the trail under the sun, the temperature felt even hotter than the 89 degrees that had been reported to me by another runner.  I reminded myself that I needed to stay slow to keep from succumbing to heat exhaustion.  I was still sweating and, so far, my hydration and electrolyte balance seemed okay, but I knew that things could go south in a very short time.  The dust from the trail, possibly combined with plant pollen or small bugs, caught in my throat a couple more times during these afternoon laps and caused me to cough for several seconds.  Fortunately, misery had company and I enjoyed walking a lap with Shane, a friend who was also trying to avoid the early stages of heat sickness.

Dust caught in my throat once again and, when I started coughing, I suddenly puked on the side of the trail.  Since I did not feel any nausea or other heat sickness symptoms, I dismissed the incident as a case of dust in my throat triggering a gag reflex.  Just the same, I realized that I needed to take additional caution to stay safe in the brutal temperatures.  I arrived at the tent area in an irritable exhausted state and cursed to myself when I was initially unable to find my Accel gels that I had left in an ice cooler.  Mark was resting in a camp chair behind the table under our tent canopy and asked me to get him one of the small half-sized drink cans from the cooler.  I was confused and loopy from the heat, so I fumbled around to no avail looking through the cooler until Mark told me that a normal-sized can of Coke would be fine.  I took a can of Coke as well and decided to chill out for five minutes in one of the camp chairs.

I quickly improvised a way to ensure that my next lap would be a restful one.  I took my iPhone from my duffel bag so that I could use the next 5K to take photographs of the trail.  Ever so often, when the trail around me seemed empty of runners, I would stop to take a picture of the landscape.  With several photos taken, I completed my slowest lap yet to reach the 50K (31 miles) distance in just over nine hours.  I had roughly 14:40 to complete another 50K if I wanted to reach my tentative goal of 100K for this 24 hour ultra.  I smiled to myself, because I knew that I would have no problem whatsoever going at least 100K with the generous amount of time left on the clock.  I was wrong.

For my next lap under the sun, I visited my friends in the adjacent GUTS tent and took a cold towel to place on my head under my running cap.  The cold towel helped immensely and I felt some energy returning that enabled me to run nonstop on the trail for slightly longer stretches.  Parts of the trail were starting to shade at this time and I looked forward to nightfall.  

It always pays to have extra necessities and I was glad that I had brought a backup headlamp for the race.  Joe, who was churning out serious mileage on his way to a new course record, asked me if I had an extra headlamp, so I let him use my old Petzl headlamp while I grabbed my brand new Fenix HP10 headlamp to be ready when darkness settled on the course.  This Fenix headlamp was a champ throughout the night and, although I only used the second-to-lowest lumen setting through the night, I had more than enough light to see the trail even in the most remote stretches.

The daytime heat had really gotten to me, though, and I never recovered.  I had expected that I would be able to run nonstop for increased stretches during the cooler night hours, but I was already drained of energy when nightfall arrived and I was reduced to walking for most of the remainder of the race.  Fortunately, I can walk for a very long time.

The race organizers had ordered pizza in the evening and I indulged in a couple of slices at the end of a lap late in the day.  In terms of race strategy, that was the beginning of the end for me.  One slice would have served me better.  I would continue to eat too much solid food between laps for the remainder of the night when I knew better than to make that mistake.  I ate a McDonald’s hamburger after one lap, more pizza after another lap, a fried egg sandwich after another lap (Thanks, Aaron!  That sandwich ruled.), Oreo cookies at the GUTS tent after another lap, and half a bag of Combos after a lap.  I have always tried to take in 300-400 calories per hour during my ultramarathons, but, during the early night hours of this 24-hour event, I was probably taking in 600-700 calories every hour and fifteen minutes of each lap.  Christian had finished his 12-hour race and was cheering the 24-hour runners from our tent area, so he admonished me later in the night when he noticed that I was eating too much between the laps.  In previous races, I have performed well by avoiding solid foods unless necessary, because too much blood is diverted from the legs into the stomach to digest a large amount of solid food and the fatigue level increases.  Unfortunately, when my fatigue level increased, I misinterpreted the signals and felt that I needed to eat more food.  When I am tired, I am hungry.  This mental block has led to my struggles to control my weight after long ultramarathon events and it was causing me trouble in the middle of this particular event.  I eventually corrected my mistake by taking some Ensure drinks out of my duffel bag and the ice coolers to drink for liquid nutrients, while making sure to limit the calories during my laps. 

As the day transitioned to night, I drank a can of Coke or a half can of Coke at the end of each lap.  This was another strategic mistake, because the soda did not contain sufficient nutrients to help me.  I soon replaced the Cokes with water again after Christian reminded me that I should do so.  Of course, I did make it through the entire night without getting sleepy, so the caffeine may have benefited me to some extent.

The daytime 12-hour runners had completed their race, so I was alone on the trail for long amounts of time at night.  Some of the 24-hour runners were also dropping.  A couple of friends who were ten miles ahead of me in distance informed me that they were going to end their race when they reached 52 miles at the end of their post-midnight lap.  The remaining runners had all slowed their pace, so I often did not see these faster runners for several laps as we respectively continued our laps on opposite ends of the course.  

Darkness, solitude, and heat-induced fatigue are never a good combination and my mental state hit rock bottom after midnight.  I have been down on myself in many races before, but, as I made my way along the Black Mountain trails at night with my path illuminated by my headlamp and the glow sticks along the course, the demons that I created with my fatigue and negativity gathered outside the periphery of the circle of light from my headlamp and began their constant assault on my psyche.  I thought that I was failing miserably at being a runner, because I had been walking for most of this race.  I was often seeing the same runners pass by me on the course at faster speeds and, in my tired state, the scenario weighed down on my mind by bringing back unpleasant memories from childhood, when I was an overweight boy with lazy eye in my right eye, when I was never good at sports, and when I sometimes felt that the entire world had been specifically engineered to humiliate me and exclude me.  I felt fat, slow, and pathetic as I watched the occasional faster runner catch up to me and fly by almost effortlessly on the trail.  I would sometimes pass people on the dark trail, but I reminded myself that I was only passing them because they had already run many more miles than I had.  My self-induced negativity continued to beat down on me during the night just as the sun had beaten down on me during the daylight hours.  When Sarah ran by me on the trail at one point during her night time 12-hour race and we greeted each other, I joked wearily that, if I had been carrying a gun at the moment, I would have shot myself.  I instantly regretted saying this, because I am pretty sure that my attempt at humor did not seem so funny at the moment. 

I would later realize that my worst mental breakdowns were occurring just after the halfway point of the trail loop and that they were probably influenced by the sugar crashes from the cans of Coke that I was drinking roughly 40 minutes earlier at the tent each time.  When I stopped drinking Coke and eating Oreo cookies in the dark early morning hours, my mental outlook seemed to improve.

I remember being at my lowest point when I had six 5K laps left to complete to reach my 100K goal before my time was up.  At the time, another 18 miles seemed like the longest distance challenge that I had ever faced and those miles stretched ahead like an endless catacomb in the dark.  Other runners would occasionally join me for long stretches of the trail as we talked, mostly about how tired we all were.  Brian, a runner from Asheville, was well on his way to ultimately finishing 65 miles and we walked together for the better part of one lap.  Margaret, a friend from here in metro Atlanta, kept me moving beyond my comfort zone with a surprisingly fast power-walk as she rebounded from fatigue and went on to resume running.  Another runner named Allen paced with me for some of the final laps leading into the morning while we were both reduced to limping.  Naresh, a fellow Marathon Maniac who always has a smile for other runners, kept me company for a lap and his pleasant demeanor concealed the fact that he was having stomach problems and unable to take in any food.  Wayne and Jason caught up with me during the night and knew how to fire me up with enthusiasm during a rough time.  Two recently engaged friends from Alabama, Jennifer and Jay, lapped me a few times during their nighttime 12-hour race and I enjoyed sharing jokes with them along the way.  With each encounter, I was inspired by the strength and resilience of these runners on our adventure.  

The company at our tent area at the end of each lap made the exhaustion and solitude of the trail worthwhile.  Christian would yell, “Big Cat!”, when he saw me approach the tent from out of the darkness.  At the end of one lap, I enjoyed the company of several GUTS runners who were recovering from their 12-hour races.  Amanda had run her first ultramarathon distance with an amazing 43 miles.  Laura, a friend from my Galloway training group, had scored a distance record of almost 53 miles.  Kim had recovered from an ankle injury to reach 37 miles.  Matthew, who had completed an amazing 65 miles in second place for his 12-hour, had already departed.  Kerry, who would finish with an impressive 93 miles, stopped by the tent at the end of a lap.  Tatyana and Sarah were alternately running and resting at the tent, so I enjoyed exchanging good wishes with both of them after one lap.  I tend to become extremely talkative when I am exhausted (and I am already a talkative person under normal conditions), so I was happy to have company.  Aaron had completed 50K with his busted ankle and he was all smiles as he made fried egg sandwiches for the runners.  He had changed into a yellow shirt identical to my own and the others did not hesitate to comment on the Yellow Shirt Twins.

The lap counters were as tireless as the runners, of course, and I was always surprised to see the same people behind the table as I crossed the finish line of each lap, called out my number, and verified my lap count.  The Gatorade and water coolers were always stocked for me to continue on the next lap.  

After an eternity of darkness, the sky gradually became brighter on the horizon.  My physical capabilities were diminishing with the night, though, as my deliberate walk became more of a slow limp.  I remembered Marshall Ulrich’s book, Running on Empty, where he quotes, "Keep going, one foot in front of the other, millions of times."  One foot in front of the other, however slowly, would get me to the end of the race.  In retrospect, I probably did myself a disservice by tentatively setting a goal of 100K, instead of merely pacing the 24 for as far as I could go, because my mental and physical capabilities seemed to embrace this distance as the race objective and everything would simultaneously come together and implode at that distance.  I was determined to reach that 100K, but getting there would take everything I had in reserve.

The coldest part of the day is always just after sunrise, and I shivered uncontrollably for a few minutes as I began my second-to-last lap, since I had not taken the time to change my shirt for the entire race.  After a half hour, the temperatures slowly began to rise.  I had noticed my hands swelling at the end of this lap and knew to control my hydration and sodium balance.  For the duration of this event, I had been taking an S-Cap at the end of every lap and making sure not to drink more than 30 ounces of water each hour.  As a result, I was still moving and I was still urinating once every lap or so with lemonade-colored or clear urine.  I had not ventured into the dehydration danger zones with darker-colored urine and, if anything, I was overhydrating myself overnight.  I had remained fairly coherent for the entire race, although I was occasionally irritable and dazed for short times during the extreme heat of the day, so I never took any wrong turns on the trail and I was never confused about where I was during any part of the race.  In future races, I need to experiment with my nutrition to help minimize negativity and irritable moments, but it is always a struggle to stay sane when the body has traveled over 40 miles, especially on a hot summer day.  During this final lap, I made the decision to stop eating any foods so that I could use water to flush the excess sodium.  My plan worked and, over time, my hands became somewhat less bloated.  

I reached the tent area once again in broad daylight and sat on a camp chair in exhaustion.  I had just under three hours left in the race and one more lap would earn me a 100K distance.  Since my 5K laps on the trail were talking well over an hour by now with my slow limp, I knew that I could not stay at the tent for long, but I also felt that time was on my side and I needed to get off of my feet.  Pain was shooting up and down my legs, my hips were aching, my lower back was starting to hurt (probably the aftermath of a pavement fall during a run a few days before this race), my thighs were painfully chafed from earlier in the race when the heat had dispersed the Vaseline that I had applied, and my throat was sore.  The complete breakdown of my body was under way. 

After a few minutes, Christian told me to get back on my feet, because he was going to pace me for my final lap.  I stood up, applied more Vaseline to my thighs, and resumed my snail-paced limp along the trail.  I was grateful for Christian’s company, as we conversed at an eternally slow pace along the trail hills.  I enjoyed taking in the sites of each trail turn, because I was quickly deciding that I would not see these parts of the loop again.  I was completing my 20^th lap on this 5K trail, and the idea of seeing these trees, these bridges, and other specific landmarks inspired a strange sadness, probably in the same way that one feels oddly emotional when changing jobs and seeing annoying co-workers for the very last time.  I suppose that the end of something familiar always conjures similar mixed feelings.  I was in a strange state of being in that I was fully coherent and talkative while my body seemed to be crumbling into broken pieces.  Ever so often, I would wince as a specific pain would shoot across my knees or shins.

Christian and I reached the meadow at the end of the loop and I saw 1:40 left on the finish line clock.  I believed that I had time to finish one final lap, but I was already feeling the sharp rise of morning temperatures and humidity and I knew that things could go wrong in a bad way over the next hour and 40 minutes on the trail when my pace was still slowing.  I was afraid of falling short of the finish clock and putting myself in danger for a lap that might not count in the results, so I decided to call it a day.  I had finished 20 laps of the 5K trail loop and, therefore, completed my goal of the 100K (62 miles) distance.  Once we reached the top of the final hill, Christian urged me to run to the finish.  I broke into a decent run across the grass and down the hill through the finish, calling out my number to the lap counters, who verified that I had completed 20 laps.  

I picked up a couple of watermelon slices and quickly devoured them as I started to make my way back to the tent area.  On the way out of the aid station, though, I noticed that the sports massage booth was finishing with one runner ahead of me, so I decided to take advantage of my very first post-race massage.  Thanks to Cheryl Hanson Massage, I was able to get some blood flow back into some dead legs, but, most of all, I was able to lie down on a flat cushioned table after 62 miles.  I then returned to the tent area and enjoyed congratulating the other GUTS runners before walking up to a park building for a quick shower.  It felt good to change out of running clothes that I had worn for over a full day.

After the shower, I saw the “Black Mountain Monster”, or at least one of them.  Some friends directed me to a nearby cabin, where we saw a medium-sized black bear walking on top of a metal dumpster.  The bear retreated just seconds before I was able to take an iPhone photo.

Photo courtesy of Kerry Dycus

My first 24-hour race was in the books.  I had completed a 100K distance in just under a day.  I had rested on a camp chair several times, but I never fell asleep and I never took extended time off from the race.  I stayed true to an objective and I saw the sun rise after an all-nighter on the trails.  

The other guys and I quickly dismantled our tent area and loaded up Christian’s vehicle for the return trip.  Joe had set a new course record by completing almost 115 miles.  Christian had completed a fast 52.5 for his 12-hour.  Mark had completed 84 miles.  Wayne and Jason had each completed 81 miles.  Six exhausted runners made their way to a Cracker Barrel restaurant and recharged on some good food.  After I returned home, I slept for 12 hours and went for a slow walk/jog for 2 miles to get the blood flowing for recovery.  I now feel fully recovered from my race.  

It has taken me a few days to put this report together, because I am still not sure how I should feel about this race.  It is funny that one of my worst race performances on a day with several amateur mistakes resulted in a new distance record.  It stings me now that I did not attempt one last lap with 1:40 remaining on the clock, although I feel like I made the safe decision.  I have been in more of a self-critical frame of mind after this race than ever before, but I consider this to be a positive sign that I am absorbing more ultrarunning lessons.  I have a lot of work ahead of me to physically prepare myself for Pinhoti 100, but this race has fortunately convinced me that I have the mental fortitude to keep moving through the night hours through a forest.  In the end, I am happy that I have a new distance record and I am happy that I made the choices that enabled me to get through my first 24-hour event safe and sound, despite brutal heat and humidity.  

Thanks to the Asheville, North Carolina running community and to Montreat College of Black Mountain for putting an amazingly fascinating and challenging 24-hour event together.  Thanks to the GUTS crowd and to several new friends who kept me smiling and kept me moving through the day and through the night.

The Black Mountain Monster 24 Hour Run was my greatest endurance challenge to date and I had to climb my way out of the deepest dark spots, but I still had some great laughs and greater company all day long.  Darkness is all around when we are exhausted and we still have miles ahead, but morning eventually comes and sunlight will shine through the trees.  Just keep moving and putting one foot in front of the other, because that is what awesomeness is all about.

See you on the trails.

Jason