Hogpen Hill Climb 17K 1/29/11 (Race Report)

On January 29, 2011, I completed the Hogpen Hill Climb 17K with a finish time of 2:03:37.

Photo courtesy of Stefan Eady

The Hogpen Hill Climb 17K takes place in Helen, a small town in the north Georgia mountains that changed into a replica of a German Alps village to attract tourists after its local logging industry went into decline many years ago.  The race starts in downtown Helen and ends at the Appalachian Trail crossing on Hogpen Gap for an elevation gain of roughly 2,500 feet.  Hogpen Hill Climb normally happens in the middle of January, but was postponed this year due to extreme conditions in the wake of a snow storm that swept through Georgia three weeks ago.

I was going into this race at a disadvantage, because, during the past three weeks, I had allowed the same snowy weather that shut the city of Atlanta down to shut my fitness routine down as well.  After completing the Atlanta Fat Ass 50K just hours before the snow blizzard hit the city, I made the mistake of being sedentary for several days and taking too much advantage of the decidedly less-than-healthy food selection at the Target store that is located within walking distance of where I live.  I enjoyed productive long runs over the two subsequent weekends, but had still not fallen into the habit of intensifying my mid-week workouts, and, as a result, I reversed some of the major fitness gains that I had made over the past several months.  I fortunately returned to my weight loss fitness routine during the week before Hogpen Hill Climb, but this was too little, too late, and I correctly anticipated that I would be struggling on the mountain hills of this course.

On the day of this race, runners were treated to abnormally warm 60+ degree temperatures and beautiful clear skies.  I arrived in Helen just before noon to find the temperature pleasantly chilly, but I knew that I would heat up quickly when the race began.  I opted to wear a long-sleeved shirt under a short-sleeved shirt, just in case I needed to ditch the long sleeves at some point on the route, but I was happy to be wearing running shorts in January.  I ran into several friendly faces as I picked up my race number and joined the crowd at the start line in front of the Helen Fest Hall. When I asked a couple of veteran Hogpen runners if most people ran the entire race course, they laughed and replied that very few people actually ran the entire time without walking.  Although the Hogpen Hill Climb is only 10.5 miles, I was told to expect my finish time to match my normal half marathon times.

I started the race next to Sarah, a fellow GUTS runner who assured me that I would not have any trouble deciding when to slow my pace on this race route.  To conserve my energy before the massive climbs later in the race, I decided to run with a leisurely 10-minute/mile pace from the very beginning.  This pace enabled me to converse comfortably with other runners as we wove through the Bavarian-style buildings of downtown Helen before starting a mild ascent that took us out of the main town area and over the Chattahoochee River.

The first mile of the race ended with a 200-foot hill climb as we proceeded beside the rustic houses on Ridge Road.  Many runners slowed to a walk early on for this climb, but I had resolved to maintain a running pace, however slow, for as long as I could.  I encountered another GUTS runner, Wes, along this stretch and he advised me that it was a good idea to power-walk when I got to a point on the course where I felt like I was just jogging in place.  Fortunately, Ridge Road seemed to have as many downhill slopes as uphill, although I knew that we were getting higher and higher.  I kept forcibly slowing my pace, but still managed to pass quite a few runners as we exited Ridge Road and ran through beautiful farms along Georgia 75.

Peer pressure during a race can be good or bad, depending on the circumstances.  As I ran up each hill during the first few miles, I noticed that several runners were walking these hills.  I wanted to see how far I could run before changing over to a power-walk, but I increasingly wondered if I would be serving myself just as well by power-walking with long strides with the same charging power-walk pace with which I tackle steep climbs during ultramarathons.  I passed by a handful of runners who wore triathlon shirts and sported the trademark Ironman Triathlon tattoos on their lower shins.  If I was passing Ironman finishers, then I needed to take caution. Still, I kept running, even when my running pace was just a plodding jog.

The pastoral farmland surroundings of Georgia 75 came to an abrupt end as we turned onto Richard B. Russell Scenic Highway for the steep climb up to the finish.  For the remainder of the race, the scenery consisted of one steep road as far up as I could see with shady trees on either side.  Since the roads were not closed off to traffic, I joined other runners along the right side of the road, as instructed, so that cars could pass by both ways.  I obeyed my hill running instincts and jogged up the steepening road with baby steps to save energy.

The advice that Wes had given me resounded in my head. “If you spot a tree ahead of you while you're running and that tree doesn't seem to be getting any closer, then it's okay to start walking.”  So far, the trees in the distance got a little closer with each step, so I ran.

I passed the Mile 5 marker, drank a cup of water from the aid station and ate a Crank e-Gel while still running.  I noticed that every single person on the road ahead of me was walking as the hill turned up at a sharply steep angle.  At mile 5.3, I started walking.

Fortunately, I could move along at the trademark Jason Power-Walk, with long strides that benefited from months of anaerobic heart rate treadmill workouts at a 10% incline.  I caught up with others one by one and picked them off as I charged up the hill.  My decision to walk was no excuse to take a vacation, so I made sure to quicken my steps and make the most of my stride.  I resumed running when I reached a crest and enjoyed a mostly downhill run during the sixth mile. 

Photo courtesy of Sally Brooking

Halfway through the sixth mile, the road turned up again at a steep angle. I passed a veteran runner who told me, “The party's over now. It's all steep from now on.”

The wheels on the Jason Bus fell off between Mile 7.5 and Mile 8.5.  The hill climb was at its steepest along this stretch and I slowed my power-walk down to a slow baby step walk.  Miraculously, I still managed to pass a handful of runners.  We all gave thumbs-up signs to one another and enjoyed conversations to pass the time.  As I talked with another veteran Hogpen runner, I expressed regret at not being able to run the entire distance, he told me that I was doing just fine and that I was going pretty fast.

I started running again just before Mile 9, when the road crested again to reward me with a fun downhill stretch. I took advantage and ran at a fast pace, even when small hill climbs interjected over the next half mile.  The Garmin was getting closer to the two-hour mark and my pace seemed to skyrocket.  Even when I resumed walking at the Mile 9 marker, my enthusiasm was carrying me along to the finish and I was moving faster than before.

I caught up with two runners just in time to overhear one of them tell the other that the proper technique was to run until fatigue, then start walking.  I took the “run until fatigue” to heart and started to run again up the hill.  This did not last long, though, and I was soon power-walking up the steepest incline yet.  When that incline turned out to be a false summit and I was greeted by more road at a temporary descent instead of the finish, I ran again.  I was beginning to see huge icicles on the cliffs next to the road that indicated colder temperature of the high elevation.

During the last half mile, I walked quickly until one volunteer informed me that the finish was just around the corner.  I started running just in time to have my picture taken by Sally, another GUTS runner who had finished earlier, and I grabbed a cup of Gatorade on the run from a uniquely-located aid station beside the road just 500 years or so away from the finish.  I turned the corner at a slow pace, but then ran faster as I saw the finish line materialize over the horizon of the hill summit.

I crossed the finish line of Hogpen Hill Climb as the overhead clock read 2:03:37.  I was just happy to be finished with this insane race, so I was all smiles when I joined other runners on the shuttle bus that took us back to the start area.

I barely missed the sub-2-hour finish time that I was hoping for, but I am happy that I was able to finish Hogpen Hill Climb 17K with a time not far removed from my half marathon pace, as dictated by conventional wisdom.  I would like to run the entire course without walking in the future, so this gives me incentive to train harder.

As I walked back to my truck, I briefly spoke with another runner who congratulated me and told me that this was his second Hogpen race in a row.  He said, “There are two types of runners at Hogpen Hill Climb. There are the first-timers and then there are the crazy people.” I smiled and promised him that I would be back next year.  It's now time to push my training to the next level.

See you on the trails.

Jason

GUTS Atlanta Fat Ass 50K 1/9/11 (Race Report)

On January 9, 2011, I completed the GUTS Atlanta Fat Ass 50K with a finish time of 7:38:30.

Photo courtesy of GUTS

The Atlanta Fat Ass 50K, a low-key event for members of GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society), takes place every January and is advertised as a fun way for trail runners to burn off Christmas indulgences. This year's unofficial 50K was held on the trails of Sweetwater Creek and consisted of a 5.4-mile loop that would be completed six times in a clockwise direction to total 32.4 miles, giving runners some bonus distance for the free price.

The 2006 film, Casino Royale, is the only one of the 22 James Bond movies to include a scene in the rain. Since I began running four years ago, all of my races have miraculously taken place in dry weather and I have been comforted in the hope that my running life will resemble a James Bond movie by featuring action-packed adventure under clear skies. My good luck weather streak came to an unfortunate end on January 1, 2011, when I ran the Atlanta Track Club Resolution Run 10K in the pouring rain. When early weather forecasts predicted a “wintry mix” of rain, sleet, and snow on the day of the Atlanta Fat Ass 50K, I wondered if the new year had summoned a black cloud to drench me during each of my 2011 races. Fortunately, the last-minute weather forecast improved to show that precipitation would hold off until late in the evening of January 9 and I was reassured that my tradition of dry weather races was restored. Dry weather does not necessarily equal comfortable weather, though, and, when I woke up to 18-degree temperatures on the morning of this ultramarathon, I knew that I was in for a physically and mentally challenging day on the trails.

I was recovering from a severe cold that had knocked me about earlier in the week and forced me to work from home just a few days before this race, so I had to be cautious when planning the proper insulation from the winter chill. I doubled up on my socks, as I have during past ultramarathons for purposes of blister protection, but I used a pair of wool socks as my second layer this time around. I wore a pair of comfortable technical running pants over a pair of compression shorts and compression leg sleeves. For my upper body, I wore two long-sleeved running shirts over a short-sleeved technical shirt and a Saucony Epic Run Vest that I had purchased the day before. Running gloves and a warm running hat completed the outfit. Since I would be able to leave clothing in my drop bag at the end of each 5.4-mile loop, I had no reservations about starting the race with multiple layers.

I decided against running with my Camelbak hydration pack, because I was concerned that the water would freeze inside the non-insulated drinking tube. Instead, I brought one handheld water bottle along for the race.  I love Nathan handheld bottles, with their 22 ounce capacity and their key loops inside the bottle pouches, but the lids of the Ultimate Direction bottles are better, because of the finger loop where I can rest my thumb for a relaxed running form. As I prepared for this race the night before, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the Ultimate Direction bottle lids fit perfectly on the Nathan handheld bottles, so the Atlanta Fat Ass 50K would be my first race with my new makeshift hybrid bottle that featured the best of both worlds.

I picked up a friend, Jenn, on the way to the race and we arrived at Sweetwater Creek in the dark just before 7:00 in the morning. As Jenn and I sat in my truck and procrastinated going out into the weather to the start area group shelter, I joked with her that this was the most intimidating moment of a winter ultramarathon, because I knew that I would soon have to leave my heated vehicle and spend an entire day out in the brutal cold. After we saw more runners arrive, we finally went into the group shelter, where I enjoyed saying hello to the familiar faces of several GUTS friends. After congregating around a fireplace and a warm kitchen area for a short while, we were all herded out into the cold for the start of the run. This year's Fat Ass 50K Race Director, Kena, gave a brief summary of the multiple-loop course and wished us well on our way.

I always start in the back of the pack for ultramarathon races and this event was no exception.  I ran with a friend, Amanda, and her dog, Roxie, as we made our way down a short paved road section before entering trails that would take us along the banks of Sweetwater Creek for a couple of miles. We soon found ourselves running with Susan and Rob, two accomplished ultrarunners and great friends who have encouraged me through many a tough race, and I brought them up to date on some recent IT band troubles in my left knee that had led to my withdrawal from the Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile that I had planned as my first 100-mile attempt on February 5. In the weeks following my most recent ultramarathon, the Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run in December, I had experienced IT band pains that reduced me to a hobble after running distances over ten miles or so. After weeks of daily foam roller workouts and a recent deep tissue massage, I had finally enjoyed a pain-free 14-mile run on the first weekend in January, but I still opted to withdraw from Rocky Raccoon 100 and give myself longer than a month to recover completely from the IT band symptoms. When Susan and Rob voiced their support for my decision, I was reassured that I had done the right thing by backing out of the February race and postponing my initial 100-mile for later in the year.

Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

The initial trail section of the loop, marked by blue tree blazes, consisted of several switchbacks that repeatedly took us to the creek banks and then back into the woods away from the creek. For the most part, this was an easy single-track trail, but occasional tricky terrain demanded situational awareness. I had to work my way up several wooden erosion control steps on the hills and then descend carved gully trails by running along one edge or the other. The blue-blaze trail took a sharp downhill on its final return to the creek by way of crooked railroad crossties and I occasionally grabbed a tree to balance myself. When Amanda and I reached the creek, we caught up with Scott, a friend with whom I had run a handful of races at Pine Mountain. Scott's humorous demeanor brought a smile to my face as he immediately began commenting on my lack of a love life and asking every female runner along our way to help me find a girlfriend.

As Scott and I ran along the sandy trails beside Sweetwater Creek, followed by Amanda and Roxie, we encountered Jennifer, a friend from Alabama with whom I had run several previous ultras. Jennifer had made a wrong turn and doubled back on the trail to look for me so that she could run with a familiar person. Scott and I immediately noticed that Jennifer had icicles hanging from her hair and her iPod wire. This interesting visual set the tone for this event in the harsh freezing temperatures that we were all toughing our way through.

The four of us, along with Roxie, followed the trail loop markers to a white-blazed trail section that continued along Sweetwater Creek to a boulder area where we took turns descending a steep near-vertical rock face. This boulder descent would increasingly grate on my nerves with each subsequent lap on this loop trail, as my feet felt greater fatigue under the miles that I had racked up. When I heard after the race that another runner had fallen and bloodied her head on a rock, I correctly suspected that the injury had taken place along this section of the trail.

The white-blazed trail finally took us away from Sweetwater Creek and proceeded down a relatively flat section beside a small stream before climbing up to a jeep road that passed by a lake. The infamous “Jack's Hill”, a long gradual jeep road climb that seemed to get steeper with each lap, greeted us and Scott and I talked about our upcoming race schedules to take our minds off the climb. Since this was just past the mid-point of the loop and I ascertained that we had run for just over a half hour, I ate the first of my Crank e-Gels. I regretted a decision that I had made earlier in the morning to run without my Garmin watch, because my normal ultramarathon strategy of taking in nutrition each half hour on the half hour would be adversely affected and I would have to take in my nutrition on an estimated schedule.

When we reached the top of Jack's Hill, we were rewarded by a series of rolling dirt road hills that took us back to park campsite areas near the race start. Cold wind hit us as we ran out into open meadows along the road, but the freeze was offset by the ease of the terrain. After a mile of near-effortless running, we reached the final section of the loop, an easy twisting single-track cushioned by pine needles that took us back to the short paved section to the start area group shelter.

Everyone in the group went separate ways at the group shelter aid station and restroom.  I said hello to some volunteers at the lap timing aid station tent beside the shelter while I refilled my handheld water bottle and grabbed some food to take with me for my second lap. I almost cracked a tooth when I placed a handful of Skittles into my mouth, only to realize that they were frozen. I then took a couple of wrapped caramel candies with white sugar in the middle and stuffed them into one pocket of my running pants to eat later into my second lap. I am not sure what these candies are called, but these caramels with the white sugar in the middle proved to be a lifesaver throughout the rest of this ultramarathon, because I would take two or three of them for each lap to eat at various intervals for quick energy.

I talked a reluctant Scott into joining me for a second lap. Jennifer told us that she would wait for Amanda, who was inside getting water for Roxie, so Scott and I began our second lap by ourselves. Shortly after we left the paved area and hit the single-track blue-blazed trail, Scott fell behind and told me to keep going without him. I kept my pace and decided to follow Sarah, an veteran ultrarunner and GUTS race director.  I did not keep up as well as I would have liked, but I did finish my second loop significantly faster than I finished my first. During this second lap, I sharpened the strategy that would carry me for the remainder of the six loops by walking the uphills and cautiously descending the tricky sections of the technical blue-blazed trail, then running most of the final two miles of the loop without stopping after I reached the top of Jack's Hill.

The temperatures remained below freezing, but I was soon sweating inside my multiple layers. When I reached the group shelter at the start, I removed one long-sleeved shirt and the short-sleeved shirt to place in my drop bag, leaving one long-sleeved shirt on under my vest. When I took off for the third loop, I immediately realized that my decision to remove the layers had been a wise one. I was running lighter without sacrificing warmth, since I could still move at a decent speed. My enthusiasm was short-lived, though.

Fatigue and mental desolation hit me early during the third loop. I was completely alone at this point and regretful of my decision to leave Scott, Amanda, and Jennifer behind, because the familiar settings of the loop trail were etched into my memory by now and I could have used some company to elevate my spirits. My feet had started to hurt in my Montrail Hardrock trail shoes and I decided that, after several subsequent ultramarathons, that these shoes were worn out. I was also losing energy fast and I blamed the cold that had kept me ill earlier in the week. Since the Atlanta Fat Ass 50K is not an official race, a great many of the runners drop out halfway and leave with the “Atlanta Half Ass” distinction of having completed just over a half marathon distance. The debate whether or not to drop out of the race plagued me throughout this third venture around the trail route.

My resolve was further diminished when I returned to the group shelter after my third lap and saw several runners who were sitting around a warm fireplace after stopping their race at three loops. I decided not to waste time and immediately went to my drop bag to change out of my Montrail Hardrocks into a pair of Montrail Sabino shoes that I had fortunately brought as a back-up. When I went back outside to the aid station tent, Kena and a few other aid station volunteers encouraged me to go along on my fourth lap as I grabbed more caramel candies for the trip.

The fourth loop of this six-loop ultramarathon was the toughest. I was just over the halfway point, but still many miles from the light at the end of the tunnel. I enjoyed negotiating the easy stretches of the trail and saying hello to a handful of runners that passed me, but I was cold and exhausted. I decided that I would walk the vast majority of the trail for the fourth lap to save energy.

This decision to walk most of my fourth lap was thankfully short-lived, as a friend, Ronnie, caught up with me and started a conversation. Ronnie was on his fifth lap and enjoying an easy pace. I encouraged him to pass me whenever he wanted to, but he stayed beside me for a long while as we made our way down the tricky vertical rock face section and along the sandy creekside sections that were marked by sporadic tree roots. When we left the creek along the short section of flat trail that led to the lake, I started running again. I found that I had more energy than I realized and that I was happy to pick up the pace. I lost my footing just before the lake and fell as I tripped on a tree root. After Ronnie helped me up, I realized that I was completely unhurt, save for some battered dignity. We resumed running until we reached Jack's Hill and power-walked to the top. Ronnie asked if I wanted to run the rest of the loop in and I agreed. We ran at a good pace while we talked about nutrition and I listened to Ronnie explain the benefits of his vegan diet.

My mood and my energy had improved noticeably when we got back to the start area tent. I knew that Ronnie wanted to run a fast sixth lap, so I wished him luck as I walked easily for the start of my fifth circle around the 5.4-mile trail. I enjoyed a brief conversation with Jon, the winner of this Fat Ass 50K, as he walked along the paved section for a couple of minutes with me before going back to the shelter to celebrate his finish. Buoyant on the good wishes and company of friends, I negotiated the technical trails of the first half of my fifth loop at my slowest pace yet, but with a smile and a newfound enjoyment of my day.  I found the energy to run for longer stretches when I reached the top of Jack's Hill, but made time for some increased walk breaks to save energy for my final loop. Two friends, Woolery and Matthew, caught up with me along the dirt road stretch as they were finishing their final lap. I enjoyed talking briefly with them and wished them luck on their upcoming Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile race, telling them that my only regret about withdrawing from that race was that I would not be there to see them both finish the distance with flying colors.

I reached the end of my fifth loop and noticed that the number of vehicles in the parking area had noticeably decreased. I asked a volunteer, Kim, if I would be holding anybody up by going out for my final lap and she reassured me that there were still several runners behind me on the course. The clock timer read around 6:20:00 and I knew that I needed to put a fast final lap in to finish before the eight-hour mark. Another friend, Perry, encouraged me and said that I would have no trouble running my last lap in an hour and half.

I started my sixth loop with a run just after three other runners, Brad, Cameron, and Bruce, had started their final loop as well. I caught up with Brad shortly after I started the technical blue trail hills, but I never did see Cameron and Bruce again until they reached the finish area shortly before me. Knowing that I only had five miles left, I ran with increased momentum, stopping only to walk some of the tricky technical areas where I knew that I was too tired to watch my footing as I needed to.

I power-walked quickly up Jack's Hill, popping a couple of the caramel candies during my climb. When I reached the top of the hill, I started running and continued to run nonstop all the way to the finish. Just as I had run the final miles of the Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run without stopping in December, I enjoyed a similar second wind this time around and noted my improvements as a runner that allowed me to dig deep and push myself to a run in the final miles of a long race. I was still one of the finishers in the back of the pack for this ultra, although most participants had dropped out of the race early, but I was given a fresh shot in the arm of motivation by knowing that I was fortunate to be able to run nonstop for a couple of miles at the end of a 32.4-mile trek.

I reached the finish line of the GUTS Atlanta Fat Ass 50K (54K?) in 7:38:30. I had missed beating my personal 50K record of 7:23:23 at last year's Fat Ass 50K by 15 minutes, but this year's course was tougher and at least a mile longer. I was overjoyed to have finished this year's run in less than eight hours.

I went into the warmth of the group shelter and enjoyed hanging out with others around the fireplace.  I congratulated a new friend, Aaron, who had just finished his first ultramarathon with an impressive sub-7-hour time. I talked strategy with a handful of runners who were planning to join me for Pinhoti 100 Mile at the end of 2011 and I told them of my plans for a handful of night runs on the Pinhoti trail, although those hot summer runs seemed a long way away on this afternoon while we sat at a warm fireplace as the below-freezing temperatures dipped outside on the eve of Atlanta's worst snowstorm in years. In the end, I was happy to have escaped rainy wet weather once again on the day of an ultramarathon, even if storms were following on my heels for the drive home.

Thanks to GUTS for putting on yet another challenging and exciting race. Thanks to the volunteers who stood around a cold tent outside a shelter to time runners and provide encouragement. Thanks to several friends who ran with me or had kind words of motivation as they passed by. Thanks to my IT band on my left leg, for not hurting during this entire ultramarathon run. I am grateful that my recovery is well under way.

There may be nothing more daunting than sitting inside a heated vehicle in a parking lot just before a winter ultramarathon and knowing that I am about to step out into unforgiving frost-laced temperatures for an entire day, but that uncertain moment is more than worth it later when I am sitting around a warm fire after the finish and sharing stories with friends. The 2011 GUTS Atlanta Fat Ass 50K one such story and it's another one for the books.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run 12/5/10 (Race Report)

On December 5, 2010, I completed the Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run with a finish time of 10:01:50.

Photo courtesy of Susan Donnelly

The Pine Mountain Trail at F.D. Roosevelt State Park is a deceptively rugged location for an ultramarathon. From a runner's initial perspective, the trail weaves through an idyllic setting of hardwood trees, meandering streams, and boulder outcroppings, where the sense of uncanny isolation is only occasionally breached by the sound of cars traveling down Georgia Highway 190, a road that seems to be miles away, although it is often hidden from sight just over a hilltop. In the windy chill of early December, however, when the leaves have fallen from the trees to obscure rocks along the trail, the experience of running at Pine Mountain can be a mental and physical assault.  After miles of trail running with intense concentration to avoid a stumble, the fatigued runner can easily succumb to a split second distraction by the sight of distant landscapes and fail to lift the feet high enough off the ground.  One foot catches the point of a hidden rock or slides on a leaf along the sloped trail surface and the runner falls to the ground to find that the thick leaf cover over the trail provides no cushion against the rocks that instantly bloody the hands and forearms.  The fortunate runner will stand up, wipe the leaves and blood off, and keep going.  The unlucky runner will stand up on a turned ankle that was caught in the leaves between two adjacent hidden rocks or wipe blood from a head wound.  In the last days of fall, the Pine Mountain trail can literally pound the exhausted runner into surrender or into serious injury.

In 2009, I completed the Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run as my first ultramarathon.  I experienced dehydration when I ran out of water, I encountered the mental wall in the form of the rocky trail, I stayed one step ahead of aid station cutoff points, and I learned my first lesson about the importance of relentless forward motion when I kept moving and somehow reached the finish line with a dazed sense of amazement.  On the morning of December 5, 2010, I stood at the start area of this race eager to celebrate my one-year anniversary of ultrarunning, but the Pine Mountain trails did not welcome my return and their angular rocky surfaces gave me as much apprehension on this morning that they did a year ago.  The fact that I had completed this brutal race once before was no guarantee that I would finish it on this day.  Fortunately, I did have the lessons learned from a year of trail running mistakes under my belt and I intended to put those lessons to use on this trail.

After benefiting from a good night's sleep at a Marriott hotel in Columbus, courtesy of Tracy, a friend and fellow ultrarunner who had secured a free room from airline miles, I made preparations for the race to prevent the mistakes that had almost wrecked me last year.  Instead of the single handheld water bottle that I had carried in 2009, I would now be running with my 70-ounce Camelbak Rogue hydration pack.  I filled the bottom compartment of the Camelbak with as many Crank e-Gels as I could, so that I would be able to take in 300 to 400 calories each hour from the very beginning of the race.

When I arrived at the Pine Mountain group shelter, I enjoyed meeting with several friends from GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society) before we all went outside into the cold air to gather at the start line.  The Under Armour compression shorts and Zensah compression sleeves that had helped the blood flow in my legs for past ultramarathons now served the second purpose of keeping my legs warmer in the 35-degree start line temperature.  I was also wearing a running beanie and a pair of disposable gloves to ward off the wind that would sweep across the mountain ridges that day.

After a few words from the race director, Sarah, we took off from a road beside Lake Delano to loop around a campsite into the forest.  I started the race with Scott, a friend with whom I had run on these same trails during previous races, but I soon found myself alone as I settled into a comfortable running pace, using a small handheld flashlight to spot obstacles on the trail in the early morning darkness.  The cold and wind felt relentless at first, but my body warmed up quickly from the running.  I soon befriended another runner, Brett, and enjoyed several minutes of conversation as we finished the first three miles of pleasant terrain and crossed over Highway 190 onto trails where the rocky terrain immediately presented itself.  We ran on top of a ledge with beautiful views of the morning landscape to our right, but the demand of the trail terrain on our concentration did not give us much of an opportunity for sightseeing.  Even this early into the race, I noticed that the leaf cover over the trail was much thicker than during last year's race.  I would be cursing these leaves to no avail later on, but I initially responded by casually slowing my running pace along the stretches where the leaf-hidden rocks posed a threat.  Joel, a GUTS friend who had finished the Pinhoti 100 mile trail race a month before, trailed behind me for a short distance and finally passed me just before the first aid station six miles into the race.

When I reached the first aid station, I had plenty of water in my Camelbak, but I stopped anyway to grab a handful of food and to say hello to another GUTS friend, Amanda.  Since the daylight had arrived, I placed my flashlight into my pack and continued along.  I crossed over the highway again and made my way along a series of trail switchbacks that gradually increased in difficulty from pleasant leaf-covered singletrack to short rocky ledge trails that demanded sure footing.  My sweating had increased and, despite the wind chills, I made sure to follow my plan of taking an S-Cap every hour from the ziplock bag that I kept in one pocket of my shorts.  I also removed my gloves to place into the top compartment of my pack.  I briefly spoke with a friend, Lee, as we power-walked a couple of short hills and then began to follow a woman with a pink shirt as I sped up on the downhills that lead from the rocky ledges to a flat marsh trail covered with ferns.  I made the first of many audible sighs of frustration after one muddy water crossing and, when the woman in front of me asked if I were okay, I laughed and told her that I had not wanted to get my feet wet this early on a cold race day.  When I realized that I was power-walking up a hill faster than the woman was running, I passed her, but she soon caught up with me.  The two of us would continue to pass each other for the remainder of this 40 mile race.  I soon caught up with another GUTS friend, Amy, and we encouraged each other as we made our way to the next aid station together.

After crossing back over the highway just before Mile 11, I arrived at the second aid station, refilled my Camelbak with water, and thanked the volunteers for being there.  I grabbed a greedy handful of Oreo cookies, and took off down the trail, knowing that the harshly treacherous rocks of the Dowdell Knob trail section might very well shatter my good spirits as they had during my first Pine Mountain 40 experience.  After crossing another road and enjoying a series of easy flat trails alongside a creek bed, I made a sharp turn across a creek ravine and started the first of several punishing rock-strewn uphill climbs near the Dowdell Knob parking area.

As I made my way to Dowdell Knob, the hills became steeper and the boulders became larger. I had enjoyed a 14 minute-per-mile pace so far, but that pace soon slowed as the trails became less runnable and more challenging with the fallen leaves.  The insidious nature of the Pine Mountain 40 first became evident along this section of hill climbs and ever-present granite outcroppings, so I was soon concentrating on each foot strike to safely negotiate the trail.  I arrived at the Mile 14 aid station and was glad to see two friends, Scott and Len, helping to work the station before beginning their trail sweeper duties.  When Scott asked how I was doing, I told him only half-jokingly that I was already worn out and cynical.

The most difficult section of this race awaited as I left the cheerful company of the Mile 14 aid station and proceeded into a brutally rocky area of the trail system. Being careful not to slide on the dry leaves that made the sloping trail camber even more slippery, I stepped from one rock to another.  My ankles were soon crying out in pain.  Every technical trail race presents a challenge to unprepared ankles, but the ankle discomfort that I experienced on this day was far worse than anything that I have been through in my ultrarunning life.  I began to wonder if my concentration on weight loss during the past few months had taken too much time away from my ankle-strengthening practice runs along local trails.  On the other hand, my residual fatigue from my recent races may have been the culprit.  At any rate, my ankles began to shout at me that they had been through enough during the year of 2010.

I was happy to catch up to Jo Lena, an ultrarunner with whom I had run at Mount Cheaha 50K and Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run.  We were both struggling and, although I tried my best to joke and keep up the good cheer, I soon found myself whining about how much my ankles were hurting.  Since the only thing ahead of me was more trail, though, I had to rub some dirt on the ankle pain and keep moving along.  I kept running along a scenic flat area before descending a series of potentially tragically dangerous stretches of trail switchback to the bottom of the hill.

My longtime ultramarathon strategy of walking the uphill inclines and running the downhills and flats was soon altered for this particular race.  On these Pine Mountain trails, where several inches of leaves concealed rock outcroppings and occasional tree roots, I decided that I needed to run on any area where I could actually see the trail surface, regardless of whether I was climbing a steep hill or making a sharp descent.  Fortunately, my recent treadmill incline workouts and Sunday morning runs up the steep Kennesaw Mountain Road had paid off, so I was often able to jog up the hills with relative ease.  Of course, at Mile 17 of the Pine Mountain 40, I considered the mere ability to remain upright to be a state of “relative ease”.

Photo courtesy of Andy Bruner

I arrived at the Rocky Point aid station, a section that I would cross twice along the route, and was encouraged by two good friends, Kirsten and Paul, as I loaded up on Gatorade, topped off my Camelbak with water, and grabbed some animal crackers.  I was now on temporary reprieve from the dangerous rocky trails and I could run at a steady pace along the a pleasantly flat non-technical trail section for a couple of miles before hitting a snail pace on the multiple creek crossings later on.

I ran as much as possible along the flat terrain to make the best time that I could along this lollipop loop trail that marked the farthest point away from the race start. With every blessing comes a curse, though, and I remembered how my nonstop running along this section had given way to shin pain at last year's race. As if my thoughts of injury had summoned it, a dull ache began in my right knee.  Since the overuse injury pain my right knee had been one factor that led to my DNF on the same trails at The North Face Endurance Challenge 50 Mile in October, I knew that this ache was not to be taken lightly.  Still, I was keeping track of the time on my Garmin wristwatch and knew that the minutes were whittling away toward the 6-hour cutoff time at the next aid station.  I needed to run along these flat trails while the running was good.

The wide open spaces of the flat non-technical trail soon ended and I descended into a darker fern-covered area on the way to the first of several creek crossings. The opportunity for nonstop carefree running was gone and my good spirits had departed with it.  The stepping stones over the water of the creek ravine made pain erupt in my ankles each time I stepped at an uneven angle.  The ankle pain, along with my rediscovered aches in the right knee, contributed to my downcast mood while I struggled to keep ahead of other runners as I heard their voices close behind on the trail.  I tried to cheer myself up by replaying Leslie Nielsen movie scenes in my head and singing lyrics to favorite songs, but the mental barricades that I had built to keep the rioting of physical pain at bay were being slowly battered down.  I soon began cursing under my breath with each uneven step along the boulders, because my ankles were dying slowly with each angled impact.

I descended into a ravine by a waterfall and was greeted once again by Amy, who was back on the trail after making a wrong turn.  She seemed relieved to see me, because she knew that she was on the right path again, and I was relieved in turn to see a familiar face.  I tried to be on my best behavior around Amy and refrain from cursing with each uneven rock step on my ankles, but I visibly winced a few times when the pain was at its worst.   Still, I resorted to to a few lame joking comments as we power-walked and occasionally ran along the ravine beds.  Whenever Amy and I would climb out of the creek ravine, I would reassure her that I thought that we were finally out of the creek crossings, but the trail kept descending back down into the creek a seemingly infinite number of times.   Finally, the unsure footing of the creek crossings disappeared as we ran a gradual uphill to the Mile 23 aid station.

As I repeatedly looked down at my watch and saw the cutoff time creep closer, despair kicked through my mental wall and settled into my psyche.  I had experience of multiple ultra races under my belt.  I had lost 60 pounds this year.  I had timed my nutrition well and the loopy dehydration that had slowed me along this stretch last year was not a factor.  I still was not any faster, though.  Why not?  I was well-hydrated, I was well-fed, and I was walking less on this course than I had walked last year, but I was so tired. My ankles were killing me and my knee was aching again, but, more than anything, I was just exhausted.

I thought about the Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile trail race that I had scheduled for February 2011 and I made a decision that, if my aching knee did not allow me to finish this Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run, then I would withdraw my entry to that 100 mile race in order to start from the very beginning and slowly build my long distance running base up from scratch.  If I were unable to complete a 40 mile trail race, then I had no business even attempting a 100 mile race in a couple of months.  I had no plans to drop myself from Pine Mountain 40 Mile, of course, but I was certain that I would be pulled for failing to make the cutoff times.

I reached the TV Tower aid station at Mile 23 to see the friendly faces of Jaydene and Tom.   Tom is the guardian angel of GUTS races and so many ultrarunners have made their way to the finish line thanks to his presence.  When Tom and Jaydene asked how I was doing, I told them that my knee was bothering me and that I was close to the cutoff time.  Tom poured me some Gatorade and told me that I was okay to keep going.  When Tom tells you that you can keep going, you keep going.  The runners whose voices I had heard behind me all along the creek crossing stretches appeared at the aid station right on my heels and I smiled to myself when I realized that two ultrarunning inspirations, Susan and Rob, were a part of the group.  All this time, I had been struggling to stay ahead of a group of runners without knowing that two of them were friends who always encourage me by the very sight of them steadily plowing along the trail.  One of the runners asked how close they were to cutoffs and, when Tom told them that we all had 15 minutes to cutoff, Rob smiled and said, “15 minutes is a lot of time! Right, Jason?”.  I sheepishly nodded my head and joined Rob, Susan, and their friends, Liza and Tracy, for a short stretch of invitingly flat trails to our second stop at the Rocky Point aid station.

The cushioned section of trails alongside a marsh leading away from the TV Tower aid station temporarily assuaged the discomfort in my ankles and I kept up with Rob and Susan for a mile or two to enjoy talking with them.  I am sure that I was quite the downer, though, as I told them that I was worried about my knee and that, if I did not make the cutoffs for this race, I would bow out of my entry to the Rock Raccoon 100.  Rob assured me that I was definitely going to finish this Pine Mountain race and that I would be surprised at how much easier the trails were at Rocky Raccoon.  Once again, I was helped by angels on the trail and, even after Susan and Rob began to outpace me, I found myself smiling with the realization that I only had just over 15 miles left in this race and that I would be able to keep going without being pulled at an aid station.  I decided with absolute conviction that I could not let my final race of 2010 result in a DNF.

I refilled my Camelbak with water at the Rocky Point aid station as Kirsten, Paul, and some other volunteers encouraged me.  I am always reluctant to take any ibuprofen during long trail races, but I inquired at this aid station and gratefully accepted two ibuprofen tablets from a volunteer.  Had this been a longer ultra race, I would never have considered such a strategy for fear of the effect on kidneys and I still took care to accept only two tablets, but I knew that I only had a few hours of trail running ahead of me.  I was happy to hear that I was now 20 minutes ahead of cutoff and that I had managed to make up good time as I had run with Susan and Rob from the last station.

A old ultrarunning saying, “It's always darkest before it gets pitch black.”, surfaced in my head as I soon passed a rocky stretch that taxed my ankles again and found myself on a tricky leaf-covered trail along the side of a hill.  I passed a friendly couple and gave them some brief encouragement, but I immediately slipped on some dry leaves aside the hill and fell on my side on top of some pointed rocks.  The couple asked me if I were okay as I stood up, inspected a patch of blood on my hand, and brushed the leaves off. I smiled, told them that I was alright, and kept running.

I ran for another fifty feet before falling a second time.  I cursed under my breath and threw a handful of leaves down the hill in anger before laughing wearily at the couple behind me.  I told them, “I'll be alright as long as I stop falling."  I stood up and kept running.

A few seconds later, I slipped on the dry leaves again and fell for the third time.  I pounded a fist on the ground and made a loud yell of frustration as I stood up and brushed the leaves away.  Pine Mountain Trail had scored three points while I was still at zero.

I stood up and nodded at the couple behind me.  Both of them smiled back at me with that same gracefully accepting, yet wary smile that people have when they encounter homeless drunks staggering along alleys with liquor bottles in hand.  Knowing that they were both watching me from behind and hoping that I would not fall again, I sped up my running pace on an uphill when I saw that the path was clear of leaves.

The leaves and rocks of the Pine Mountain trail had given me three reality checks in short succession, but I was uninjured and able to keep moving.  I ran when I could see a trail without leaf cover and then slowed to a leisurely jog or walk when the trail morphed into rocky terrain obscured by the leaves.  Despite the embarrassing falls, my mood was brightening as I realized that I had a chance of not only finishing this race, but securing a faster time than I did the year before.  The weather was heating up and, when the next hour hit on the hour, I took two S-Caps instead of one to ward off cramps.

As I negotiated the uneasy footing and cleared leaves out of my path on the climbs up to Dowdell Knob, I decided that I never wanted to look at a leaf ever again.  I hated leaves.  As soon as I returned home, I intended to delete the scenic fall leaf-change hiking photos from my Facebook wall forever.  The thought of a leafless world put a smile to my face.

I realized that my knee was feeling better.  This relief was too soon after the ibuprofen at the previous aid station, so I wondered if the improved knee was a result of warming up along the run in the afternoon temperatures or if it was a result of my change in attitude.  My ankles were still crying out in pain with the more treacherous angled steps, but I just told myself to push through this pain.  My good humor was returning, I was getting a second wind, and I wanted to ride the wave.

I saw a runner ahead of me stumble and take a scary fall on the rocks, but he smiled and told me that he was okay when I expressed concern.  I told him not to feel bad, because I had recently fallen three times just a short while ago.

I arrived at the Dowdell Knob aid station with a smile and joked with the volunteers as I filled my Camelbak, despite a brief irritating moment when I failed to properly secure the external fill Camelbak lid and spilled water all over myself in the cold wind.  I grabbed a handful of Fig Newtons and quickly left to make the most of my expanded time window away from the cutoffs.  The large boulders along this section of trail reduced me to a fast walk, but I stayed positive with a steady pace and was soon rewarded when I descended into the creek ravine to start running with vigor on a flat section of trail that I had enjoyed several hours before.

I crossed a road and followed the white ribbon trail markers up a hill, remembering to follow the trail correctly to prevent turning in a circle and having a meltdown like I did last year at this same spot.  With my improved disposition, my progress along this trail stretch was nearly effortless.  I was surprised and uplifted to see Joel at the next aid station, because I had assumed that he was far ahead on the trail.  He taunted me with some friendly competition and told me to catch him as he left the aid station for the trees.  I drank a cup of Gatorade and took a bag of watermelon GU Chomps with me as I returned to the trail.  Catching up to Joel seemed like the right thing to do and I soon ran up behind him on the trail, seriously impressed that he was making good time despite suffering from tendonitis after his Pinhoti 100 finish a month earlier.  We wished each other well and I hurried along to the next aid station, enjoying the easier trail on this marked route that took us to the final aid stop.

I arrived at the final aid station and was greeted by cheerful volunteers.  As I had before along every stop, I thanked the volunteers for being out there and helping us.  At this early December ultra race where the wind whistled loudly and made cold stabs at the skin on top of the ridges where most of these aid stations were situated, the volunteers were the real stars of this show for standing around without a chance to elevate their body temperatures by running.  I remembered my stretch of volunteer work at the Pinhoti 100 the month before and realized once again that these people were showing some real gracious fortitude for my sake and for the sake of the other runners.

I had 5.9 miles left to run and I felt better than I ever had this late into an ultramarathon.  My weight loss, my recent uphill exercises, and my unwavering commitment to consume 300 to 400 calories every hour from the beginning of this trail run had come together and I knew that I had learned well from the mistakes that I had made at last year's Pine Mountain race, even if my finish time might not quite show it.  I knew that I would not be beating last year's time by much, if at all, but I felt that I was running a better race this time around.

I made my way along a series of switchbacks by running the downhills and even tackling some of the uphills with a run to take advantage when leaves were not on the trail.  I made a sharp turn after a road crossing and quickly climbed uphill to the ridge trail with view of a crisp cold December afternoon landscape spread out below me.  I saw Amy for the third time along the trail and congratulated her on being so close to the finish for her first 40 mile ultra.  After quickly power-walking through one perilous boulder stretch along the ridge, I broke out into a run when the trail veered to the right away from the rocks.  I had four miles to go and I was exhausted, but the finish line was getting closer with each step.

I did something that I had never done during an ultramarathon before when I ran past the final aid station, a water stop at Buzzard's Roost by the final road crossing, without stopping for water or food.  I had enough water in my Camelbak to keep going and I was going to run while I had the energy to run.

I ran across the road and was overjoyed to see Susan, Rob, and their two friends just ahead of me. I caught up to them and thanked them warmly for encouraging me during my earlier low point, because I would have certainly failed to finish if I had not encountered them at the right place and the right time.  I talked with Susan for several minutes as we ran together down the final hill before the trail flattened by a creek on the way back to the finish line shelter.  She cheered me along before waiting for her friends.

I had never run the final four miles of an ultramarathon without stopping for a walk break before and I wanted to test myself.  Exhaustion was creeping in and the wheels on my bus were about to fall off, but still I ran.  I passed by another GUTS friend, Kim, as we rounded a creek turn less than a mile and half from the finish.  I remembered the mantra of a running friend who always told himself, “The faster I run, the faster I'm done! The faster I run, the faster I'm done!”

The trail crossed over small creek bridges and dipped into a few ravines. I knew that I was on my last mile, but that last mile seemed never to end.  My legs were ready to fall off and I knew that several days of painful soreness awaited me, but I did not stop my continuous run. I picked up my speed as I sensed the finish area just ahead.  The faster I run, the faster I'm done! The faster I run, the faster I'm done!

I ran even faster when I saw cars through the trees and I rounded out one sadistically cruel final turn that veered deeper into the woods again before running over a small wooden bridge to emerge into the open space of the finish area.  I crossed the finish line of the 2010 Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run in 10:01:50, six minutes faster than my previous time at this race.

Weariness hit me like a metal wrecking ball the second that I stopped.   The volunteers guided me to a chair as I explained that I had just run the last four miles without walking.  I probably lacked the dazed amusement that I had at last year's finish and I was more coherent this time around, but it still felt great to sit down.  I soon stood up again to cheer Rob, Susan, Liza, Tracy, Kim, and a few others to the finish and we all walked into the group shelter building.

I made short work out of some beef stew as I congratulated fellow runners and shared stories.  My final race of 2010 was the first race of the year where I had managed to improve on a previous distance record and I felt for sure that this was my best race to date.  One does not really finish an ultramarathon alone, though, and I was grateful for friends that pulled me out of a mental abyss when I most needed it.  I hope that I can do the same thing for somebody else during a future run.  I am now very much looking forward to my first 100-mile attempt in February of 2011.

One of my favorite running quotes states, “It doesn't have to be fun to be fun.”  The low moments of an ultramarathon are not fun in themselves, but the enjoyment comes with finding the ability to climb out of those rough spots and persevere.  When you finish 40 miles of a treacherously rocky trail in just over ten hours, you can then drive back home on an interstate highway, note the mile markers, and smile to yourself after you've driven 40 miles now that you know that you have the ability to run that distance.  That kind of experience is the most pure fun that there is, because it is the fun that comes with a sense of accomplishment and a small bit of insanity. 

Thanks to the race director, Sarah, and to the GUTS crowd for sponsoring another excellent race.  The 2010 Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run was the best way for me to close the door on a year of races that I will never forget. 

See you on the trails.

Jason

Atlanta Half Marathon 11/25/10 (Race Report)

On November 25, 2010, I completed the Atlanta Half Marathon with a finish time of 2:02:47.

The half marathon is a perfect race distance.  Ultramarathons and marathons are more fun for me, because of the epic scale adventure of each experience, but I am just happy to complete those races in one piece.  When it comes to competitively racing against others, the 13.1-mile half marathon distance appeals to my skill level. Unlike the local 5K and 10K events, where the races are over before I hit my stride, the half marathon distance allows me an opportunity to ease into my comfort zone speed before intensifying my focus and pushing myself to run faster.  Although I was recovering from the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon that I had completed less than two weeks prior, I still welcomed the opportunity to test myself against others at the Atlanta Half Marathon.

The Atlanta Half Marathon, an annual Thanksgiving morning event sponsored by the Atlanta Track Club, lives up to its slogan by inviting the runner to “Earn your turkey!”  The 2010 race would be utilizing an out-and-back loop course that differed from the traditional point-to-point route in previous years, but the goals would be much the same for most of us who wanted to enjoy a run with few friends among the thousands of participants and to burn a few calories preemptively before joining our families in front of a massive table spread of turkey, dressing, and pumpkin pie.

I arrived at the Turner Field start area of this event just after 6:00 in the morning dressed appropriately for the uncommonly warm 50-degree temperature and I welcomed the rare opportunity to run a Thanksgiving race in shorts and a short-sleeve running shirt.  The start area was crowded, but I encountered a few friends as I waited in the bathroom lines and then found a place in my specified race corral section.  In the minutes before the race start, I talked with a friend, Lee, about the possibility of beating my previous half marathon time record (1:55:45 from the easier Atlanta Half course of 2008) and we both agreed that this race was probably too crowded and hilly to have any finish line expectations.  Visions of a new personal record for the half marathon distance were still dancing around in my head, though, and I made a silent promise to adhere to a pacing strategy that would allow me to beat my previous record.  For the first seven miles of this course, I planned for an average minute-per-mile pace of just under 9:30 before accelerating to a significantly faster speed to benefit from the momentum of passing the halfway point after the crowds had hopefully thinned.

For the first few miles, I enjoyed a 9:20 average pace and utilized Galloway intervals of running for four minutes and walking for one minute.  I have run a half marathon in the past without using the intervals, but I decided to err on the side of caution this time around, since I was was still recovering from the full marathon a week and half ago and since I was preparing for the Pine Mountain 40 Mile Trail Run in early December.  I have learned to appreciate the Galloway intervals as a forced pace strategy to keep myself from going out too fast early in a long distance race and I knew that this half marathon would probably not be an exception.   I had unfortunately neglected to program my Garmin watch for the run/walk intervals before this race, so I had no beeping interval alerts.   I was still able to follow the interval plan by watching my time, although I accidentally ran through a few walk intervals during the race when my thoughts were distracted.

The new course for the Atlanta Half Marathon was invitingly scenic as the race took us through the downtown area beside Centennial Olympic Park, behind the athletic center at the Georgia Tech campus, and through the recently-constructed Atlantic Station area, where families waved at the runners from their condominium windows.  My first encounter with the Millennium Gate, a classical Roman-style monument arch within the Atlantic Station area, was an unexpected highlight of the race.

The first noticeable hill climb of the course greeted me on the sixth mile of the course on 14^th Street and I enjoyed the subsequent downhill run into Piedmont Park.  I was carrying an Ultimate Direction handheld water bottle with a couple of Crank e-Gels, but I took advantage of the Powerade offered at a race aid station as I entered the park.  Piedmont Park is one of my favorite places to run with my training group on weekends and I took in the fall leaf change scenery of the park as I proceeded along the narrow paved path with 10,000 close friends.  I passed by a small group of runners in Thanksgiving costumes.  A few of the runners wore Native American headdresses, but I wondered why one of the runners in their crowd was dressed like a penguin.  I then realized that my fatigue had gotten the better of me, because I had mistaken a turkey costume for a penguin costume.

After exiting the park, runners received a painful dose of reality with some insidious hill climbs on Juniper Street as we made our way back into the downtown Atlanta area.  The eighth mile of a half marathon is always a tricky part of the race for me, because I know that I still have five miles to cover as fatigue is starting to set in.  I took some Jelly Belly Sport Beans from an aid station volunteer, rubbed dirt on my worries, and soldiered on.

When I run a half marathon race, I am certain that I will complete the distance, but there is always the question of whether or not I will embarrass myself with a slow finish time.  As I encountered hill after hill along the eighth and ninth miles of this course through downtown Atlanta and through the historic Martin Luther King, Jr. neighborhood, the temptation to slow to a permanent walk for the final miles of the course seeped into my psyche, but I knew that sticking to my run interval plan would get me to the food and friends at the finish line faster and that it was best to keep pushing through with my 9:20 pace through the increasingly warm and humid morning.

My initial goals for the race had called for pushing myself to run a sub-9:00 pace during the last four miles of the course, but each new hill along the final miles of this half marathon stole a small piece of my ambition.  As poet Robert Burns would say, the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.  The hills of the course sapped energy and the race was still too crowded even in the final miles to really open up my run. As it was, I still had to be careful for runners behind me when I started each Galloway walk interval, because I did not want anybody running at my heels to be taken off guard when I abruptly started walking.

When I realized for certain that my hopes for a finish time of less than two hours had evaporated, I decided to dispense with the Galloway run/walk intervals for the final 1.5 miles of the course and push myself through the pain by running nonstop to the finish.  This was easier said than done, because I soon found myself running up the toughest hill of the course with minimum energy in reserve.  I put one foot in front of the other for the uphill and looked down at my feet as I ran, oblivious to the view of the State Capitol building next to me.  When I rounded the final turn of the course and made my way down Hank Aaron Drive to the finish, I tried to run myself into exhaustion so that my finish time would not crawl too far over the two-hour mark.  I saw Wayne, a friend from the GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society) group, cheering me on beside the Olympic rings as I accelerated on the downhill to the finish line.

I crossed the finish line of the Atlanta Half Marathon with an official time of 2:02:47.  During the final mile and half of the course, I had lowered my average pace time from 9:20 to 9:13.

I received my race medal, grabbed a bagel and some cookies at the food lines, and spotted a handful of friends before making my way to my truck.  A pleasant afternoon with my family awaited me, along with the familiar joy of negating the health benefits of a long run with delicious food.  I looked forward to ending the day with an excuse to run again.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon 11/13/10 (Race Report)

On November 13, 2010, I completed the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon with a finish time of 4:30:03.

The Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon takes place in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia along the roads of the Chickamauga Battlefield Park, the oldest military park in the country.  The park commemorates the Battle of Chickamauga, an 1863 Civil War campaign that resulted in the second highest casualty count of the war.  I have long held an interest in the history of Chickamauga, because an ancestor of mine survived there after more than half of his regiment was lost, and because one of my favorite short stories, “Chickamauga” by Ambrose Bierce, describes a harrowing scenario of the battle.  In present day, the pastoral landscapes of this area belie the carnage that once took place there, and a recent issue of Runner's World magazine named this race as one of the most scenic marathons in the country.  The double-loop course of the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon circles through the park to provide views of elaborate war monuments, idyllic meadows, rolling hills, and trees with fall leaf change colors.

In 2009, I achieved a personal record at the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon with my finish time of 4:20:10, so I was eager to revisit this race and put my current fitness to the test.  When asked by fellow runners about the chances of beating my record from the previous year, however, I replied honestly that I had no idea how I would perform this time around.  My recent 60-pound weight loss would work to my advantage, but I would also be approaching this year's Chickamauga race on legs fatigued from a series of challenging trail ultramarathons over the previous two months.  The pain in my right knee that had resulted in my first DNF (Did Not Finish) experience at The North Face Endurance Challenge 50 Mile on October 16 had lessened after weeks of recovery, but I still felt a dull ache in the knee going into this marathon almost a month later.  My decision to concentrate on weight loss over the past five months in lieu of speed work would also fall against my favor for this event.  After months of mid-week anaerobic heart rate weight loss workouts and weekend endurance long runs, I had literally forgotten how to pace myself for speed at pavement races.  A wise man once said that, if you fail to plan, then you plan to fail.  I certainly did not feel that failure was a possibility, but I knew that I was going into this road marathon blindly without a clear strategy.

Strategy or no strategy, I was happily excited to run the 2010 Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon and I felt no real nervousness going into the event, aside from a few prayers that my recovering knee would make it through the race.  I was looking forward to spending time with friends, I was looking forward to a well-organized event on a cool sunny November morning, and, although I am not one to obsess over race medals, I looked forward to earning another one of the amazing Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon race medals that are based on different state monuments each year.  On Friday afternoon, I drove two hours north to Fort Oglethorpe with loud music blasting in my truck and with joyous anticipation of a fun race the following morning.

After picking up my race number, a race hat, and an impressive long-sleeve technical race shirt from the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon Race Expo, I joined some local friends for dinner at Carrabba's Italian Grill in nearby Chattanooga.  I have never been a fan of traditional heavy carbohydrate loading pasta meals on the evening before a race and I normally do not eat a large meal after noon on the day before a race, but I threw my standard routine to the wind on this night by ordering pork chops, garlic mashed potatoes, and Italian bread.  Over dinner, I enjoyed the company of some fellow GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society) runners, Beth, Stacey, and Ami, and made a few new friends as we all discussed our plans for the race.  I told everyone that, while I hoped to approach my personal marathon record from the previous year, I really did not have a plan, other than to finish the race and to enjoy myself on the course.  For the first time ever, I slept soundly in my hotel room on the night before a race, and, when I woke up seven hours later, I was assured that my decision to eat a large evening meal was the right decision.

On the morning of the race, I was enthusiastic as I dressed in my road marathon running gear.  Since I knew that the cold early morning temperatures in the mid-40's would warm up to a mid-day temperature in the mid-70's, I dressed in a short sleeve running shirt with compression shorts underneath my normal running shorts.  As with my trail ultramarathons, I wore double pairs of Balega socks to minimize blisters after first putting baby powder on my feet.  I also wore Zensah compression leg sleeves to enhance blood flow through my shins.  Since this road marathon featured aid stations every couple of miles along the course, I opted not to wear my 70-ounce Camelbak Rogue hydration pack and, instead, I would be carrying a 20-ounce Ultimate Direction handheld water bottle.  I wore my favorite brand of road shoes, New Balance 850, because they are the ideal shoe for my low-arch overpronator running gait.  My standard NikeFit running shorts have deep pockets and, for this race, I stuffed each pocket with Crank e-Gels, with the intention of eating a gel every 20 or 30 minutes during the marathon to utilize the same strategy of taking in 300-400 calories every hour as I did during longer trail races.  I would find out later that these gel-filled pockets would swing out of the legs of my loose running shorts and flop around as I ran, resulting in a comical appearance, but I do not try to look suave while running anyway, so this was of no consequence.

The only undesired side effect of my 60-pound weight loss is that cold weather now wreaks havoc on me and chills me to the bone.  When I arrived at the start area behind the 6^th Cavalry Museum, I remained inside my truck for a half hour before taking refuge in a heated tent to wait for the 7:30 morning start time.  Ten minutes before the start of the race, I emerged from the tent into the uncomfortable chill to line up near the back of the crowd at the race start.  I was happy to see Paul, another GUTS runner, waiting nearby and we wished each other luck while doing our best to stay warm.

The Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon really does start with a bang by way of a deafeningly loud cannon blast from the field behind the museum.  Since I knew what to expect from having run this race the previous year, I watched the cannon preparations and took secretly malevolent amusement from the startled jumps of nearby runners as the cannon was fired.  I wished Paul the best of luck one final time and then turned on my Garmin Forerunner GPS watch just before crossing over the timed start line.  As I picked up an easy running speed, I encountered yet another GUTS runner, Cindy, with whom I had enjoyed running at the recent StumpJump 50K race. As always, I was inspired to see Cindy's enthusiasm for another great race adventure. After wishing luck to Cindy and her friend, Alex, I increased my speed to take advantage of a low-key first mile around the Cavalry Museum field and to warm myself up in the cold temperatures.

As I always do for road marathon races, I was utilizing Galloway run/walk intervals of four minutes running, followed by one minute of walking, from the very beginning of the race.  The Galloway run/walk intervals are a constant subject of debate among marathon runners and the idea of taking walk breaks as strategy can stab at my male ego, but I found years ago that the Galloway training program appealed to me as a way to regulate my pace and energy expenditure from the beginning of a long run.  In early 2008, I ran my first half marathon without stopping for a finish time of 2:02. In the fall of 2008, I joined a Galloway Marathon Training program and soon completed my second half marathon with a finish time of 1:55.  Since then, I have been sold on the idea of the Galloway walk breaks as a solid strategy to vary the use of muscles during a long run and to keep some energy in the bank for the final miles of an endurance event.

My readiness for a race is normally a gradual affair as I casually walk or jog from a starting area before settling into a rhythm, so my fast-paced start to this Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon came as a surprise. I instantly kicked into a sub-10:00 running pace and felt comfortable in my skin at this speed.  As the runners thinned out on a brief wide trail road portion on the way to the main loop of the course in the second mile, I realized that I was able to comfortably hold on to a 9:30 average pace even with my Galloway walk breaks.

At this point, early in the race, I needed to make a decision about my pace strategy.  I knew that, if I could finish the race with an average pace of less than 9:59 minutes per mile, I would be able to beat my previous marathon record finish time of 4:20:10.  If I maintained a 9:30 average pace, I would also be able to push the envelope of my ability and complete a marathon close to the four-hour mark.  I had enjoyed a similar average pace of around 9:30 during the first half of the 2009 Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon before I succumbed to severe leg cramps during the last half of the race. Since I had planned ahead for the possibility of cramping at this second Chickamauga experience and brought S-Caps to consume along with my increased gel intake, I decided to follow the same pace strategy and go for broke to keep a 9:30 average pace as long as I could do so.  I knew that my decision to keep a fast pace above my comfort zone for the first half of this marathon would likely result in a breakdown during the final miles once again, but I rolled the dice as I found myself overestimating my post-weight loss running fitness.

The Jeff Galloway run/walk interval strategy is a strategy that allows the conservative runner to benefit from a negative split race, where the last half of the race is completed at a faster pace than the first half.  A runner employing the negative split strategy might decide that, if he does not have to ask himself whether or not he is running too slow during the first half of a marathon, then he is running that first half too fast.  On the other hand, a runner who decides to go for broke and employ a positive split strategy of running the first half of the race at a faster pace than the second half might convince himself that faster speeds in the first 13 miles will make up for any time lost due to fatigue over the final 13 miles.  By running at a speed beyond my comfort zone while simultaneously using the Galloway run/walk intervals, I was taking a gamble that my endurance training and weight loss would come together to keep me from breaking down in the final miles of the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon as I had in 2009.  A voice of reason in the back of my mind kept telling me to slow down so that history would not repeat itself, but I was enjoying my 9:30 average pace on the rolling hills of this first course loop and I wanted to see how far I could ride the wave.

I would later realize that I should have listened to the voice in the back of my mind telling me to slow down. The back of the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon race shirt describes this race as “26.2 Miles of History”, and I was willfully ignoring history to satisfy my ego.  I had broken down in the final miles of the 2009 Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon by following the same fast pace strategy that I was now using a second time around, but I kept convincing myself that history would not be repeated.  I would look down at my Garmin to see an average pace of 9:24 or so as I started a one-minute walk break, then confidently race out faster in the four-minute running interval when my Garmin would show an average pace of less than 9:30 at the end of the walk break.  With each subsequent run/walk interval, my average pace became more constant and I soon began holding onto a pace of around 9:27 even through my walk intervals.

During the ninth mile of the course, I started down a one-mile out-and-back segment down a side road that veered off of the main loop and was happy to see my friend, Beth, and a few other runners coming back along the same road.  Since I knew that Beth had a history of winning age group awards for her road races, the voice of reason in the back of my head yelled at me to slow down, because I had no business being this close behind Beth on the ninth mile of a marathon.  I temporarily smothered the voice of reason with my bloated ego and soldiered on, happy to see the 9:27 average pace display on my Garmin that might very well lead me to a new personal record.  I used my walk breaks to consume a Crank e-Gel every 20 to 30 minutes, as I had planned, while downing water from my handheld bottle, and I took advantage of the Powerade offered at each aid station to supply additional electrolytes.

My favorite part of the course, a long gradual downhill beside vast fenced pastures of cannon monuments and stone towers, gave me the chance to speed up and maintain the average pace beyond my pre-race expectations.  I passed an aid station next to a railroad track and enjoyed a brief departure from park grounds on the other side of the tracks before returning across the tracks in another half mile.  A race photographer was situated on the other side of railroad tracks on the return route and I briefly mourned the goofy appearance of my gel-filled running pockets that were swinging back and fourth under the raised legs of my running shorts.  I knew that the best deterrent to an unfavorable running photo was to run faster, so I picked up my pace yet again before hitting a walk break interval cycle after I passed the photographer.

I finished the first 13.1 miles of the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon and reached the halfway point of the course in just over two hours.  I was pleased that, despite my lack of speed work, my pace was still yielding the possibility of a sub-2-hour stand alone half marathon time.  I let that confidence rocket me along for another mile.

The second half of the Chickamauga course was insidiously exhausting as the same rolling hills that seemed easy on the first loop somehow increased in steepness the next time around and the temperatures that caused shivers during my first few walk breaks picked up in the late morning hours while the ball of sunshine edged overhead above the trees of fallen leaves.  As I finished Mile 14, the realization hit home that I would not be able to finish this marathon in one piece if I tried to continue at a sub-9:30 average pace.  I slightly slowed down my pace and assuaged my ego that I could still achieve a personal record even if my average pace crept up to 9:40 and, eventually, to 9:50.

My confident and happy frame of mind stayed intact as I began to talk to some of the runners that I had been leapfrogging for hours with my Galloway intervals.  I talked for an extended time with one runner who told me that he had traveled from Canada for the race.  He asked me how I was doing and I told him that I had paced out too fast for the first half of the race.  He laughed and reassured me, “I think that we all did that.” I had also leapfrogged two female runners who were running side by side and talking for the entire time.  As I passed by again during one of my running intervals, I overheard one of the women tell the other one that walk breaks were bad during marathons, because it was impossible to start running again after you mentally allowed yourself to walk.  I smiled to myself as I started another of my Galloway walk intervals.  These walk intervals had served me well so far and, even as I edged closer to fatigue and collapse, I stuck to the plan and kept up my four-minute running intervals, regardless of speed.

Photo courtesy of Beth McCurdy

After I passed Mile 19, I remembered that this was the point of the race last year when severe cramps had kicked in.  During that 2009 race, I had run by a large crowd of people by the crossroads of the park and alarmed them when a sudden shooting cramp in my leg caused me to stop running and double over in pain. Fortunately, I experienced no cramps this year and I smiled to the crowd as I ran by, waving at different bystanders and joking around.  I waved to one girl who was sitting on a bank and felt a brief pang of envy that I was not resting on the grassy hill as well.  I thanked the police officers for holding back traffic as I emerged onto the main park road and made my way to Mile 20.

The bloodthirsty hounds of fatigue and self-defeat were unleashed upon me at Mile 20.  When I asked myself what I had been thinking by running a sub-9:30 minute per mile pace along the first half of the course, I immediately followed that by laughing at my own stupidity, because I clearly remembered asking myself the same question at this same stretch of the marathon last year. 

I did not see Beth during my second trip down the one-mile out-and-back, but I did see another friend, Daniel, and the sight of a familiar face picked up my spirits.  I also enjoyed seeing another friend, Don, a group leader for a faster pace group in the Atlanta Galloway Marathon Training program.  I left the out-and-back and enjoyed my last extended running stretch alongside the beautiful pastures of the gradual downhill leading to the railroad tracks.  Before I reached those tracks, however, energy disappeared from my legs.  I swayed uneasily on my feet at the railroad aid station and a volunteer assured me that I was just four miles from the end.

My pace had slowed to over 9:50 minutes per mile and I was watching the possibility of a new marathon record fall from my view.  Still, I stuck to the plan and kept up my running intervals until I edged closer to the final railroad crossing and exhaustion took over.  I heard a train whistle and saw a train turn the corner just 500 feet from where I was going to cross over.  I started walking in resignation, because I realized that I would be held up by the train at the crossing anyway and that I could take advantage of the unscheduled walk break to conserve energy.  Unfortunately, this turned out to be a very short train with just five cars, so I laughed again at my stupidity as I tried to resume running through the cleared railroad crossing.

As I started running again, a fresh ache surfaced in my right knee.  I was relieved that shooting pains were not erupting in the knee, as they had during The North Face Endurance 50 Mile attempt in October, but this was still a pain that could not be ignored.  I fell into another walk break and continued walking for another minute after the scheduled one-minute walk interval ended.  When I resumed running, my running form was a mere failed imitation of my self-assured stride from the first half of the race.  As I approached a steep hill next to a majestic tree overlooking a pasture, I passed a girl who told me that she was going to walk the hill.  I decided to stick to my scheduled running interval plan and run the hill.  When I reached the top, however, my knees and ankles sounded their frustration in waves of pain.

My running pace slowed yet again and I was now edging out of the possibility of a marathon finish personal record.  I was still convinced that I could finish faster than my 4:20:10 record, though, so I attempted to pick up my cadence on an extended gradual downhill.  I could see several runners ahead of me who were walking in exhaustion and I knew that I needed to adhere to my running interval plan to pick these runners off.  My plan proved futile as my running became increasingly labored and staggering.  I entered Mile 24 by taking more frequent walk breaks that I needed simply to be able to stand upright.

My feet were hurting at this point from the tightness of my shoes.  The flow of blood down my legs through my compression socks had caused my feet to swell. I tried to ignore this pain, but reluctantly realized that I needed to stop and loosen my shoelaces.  I stood still on the road and leaned over to untie my shoes, but I was too exhausted and loopy to untie the laces with any semblance of coordination.  I tugged at the laces randomly over and over again until they finally came untied. I then tied the shoes again, being careful to leave some slack in the lacing.  My feet instantly felt better, but I had lost more than a minute standing still in on the side of the road.  When I tried to resume running again, my legs locked up in pain.  I finished Mile 24 marker with 20 minutes to go in order to beat my record.  For a short while, I tried to pick up my running cadence to get a sub-10-miles, but the pain in my right knee was quick in protest, along with the heavy fatigue in my legs and ankles.  The moment in a race when one senses the impossibility of increased speed is always a crestfallen moment, but I tried to lighten my mood with the realization that I was still going to finish the marathon with a presentable time.

I reached an aid station just before the Mile 25 marker and found some comic relief in the form of a volunteer who yelled, “Man, you're a big guy! You're tearing up this marathon! How much do you weigh?”  I replied, “226”.  The volunteer gasped, “Awesome! Look at you, outrunning all these skinny people.”  I laughed and broke into a labored run again.  Big marathoners represent!

I could not keep up my four-minute running intervals as I returned to the final wide road trail that took me off of the main loop back to the Cavalry Museum finish line.  I encountered a few runners who looked just as exhausted as I did, though.  I emerged from the trail road and, while I knew that it was too little, too late, I broke into a nonstop run during the final half mile of the course.

When I emerged onto the loop road around the Cavalry Museum field, I saw that the noontime Chickamauga Battlefield Junior Marathon mile was underway and that I would be sharing the finish line with a great many kids.  The timing of this kids' race is a grievance of several Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon participants, as I remembered from the reviews of the race on the Marathon Guide website.  I was personally uplifted to be sharing this final turn of the course with the kids, though.  After all, I am just a kid myself, except that I happen to be 38 years old.  I increased my pace when I saw the Finish banner and smiled for the cameras as I ran across the time markers and turned my Garmin off.  I finished the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon in 4:30:03.

I graciously accepted my Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon finisher's medal, which was designed from the Tennessee Monument for the 2010 race, and made my way to the food tent of the finish area.  After grabbing a couple of Powerade bottles and a couple of pizza slices, I found some friends, Ami, Beth, Ashley, Daniel, Leta, Dena, Paul, and Stacey, and sat with them under the sun as we compared our race experiences.  My disappointment at not being able to top my personal record was quickly overcome by my gratitude at being blessed with the ability to complete the 26.2 distance in one piece yet again and then spend time with friends at the finish.

The 2010 Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon was a race that I approached without a plan and without proper speed work.  The end result of falling short of my record comes as no surprise, but I enjoyed pushing myself in denial and discovering that I can maintain a solid sub-9:30 pace for the first half of a marathon, even with Galloway walk breaks.  Could I have maintained a slower 9:45-minute pace throughout the 26.2 miles and kept energy in the bank to stave off exhaustion at the end?  I do not know.  All that I do know is that I reached the finish line of a marathon with a smile on my face once again and that I had a fun morning at the park.

See you on the trails.

Jason