Scenic City Trail Marathon 5/21/11 (Race Report)

On May 21, 2011, I completed the Scenic City Trail Marathon with a finish time of 5:50:23.

Photo courtesy of Sam Silvey Photography

The Scenic City Trail Marathon, part of the Rock/Creek Trail Series, takes place at the Raccoon Mountain Reservoir in Chattanooga, Tennessee and features single-track trails that are advertised on the race website as fast and forgiving.  The trail system of rolling hills circles the mountaintop reservoir twice for the full marathon distance and rewards runners with views of the Chattanooga cityscape and the Tennessee River below, an impressive electrical switchyard, and, finally, a massive rockfill dam that spans the western edge of the lake.  With just under 3,000 feet of total elevation gain, the Scenic City Trail Marathon is not easy, but the intensity of the climbs is lessened by multiple switchbacks and every section of the course is runnable.  

Every runner is an experiment of one, however, and even the trail marathons that are described as fast and forgiving can wreak havoc on the body under less than ideal peripheral conditions.  I would be attempting the Scenic City Trail Marathon just one week after my pleasing finish at the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon on May 14 and I knew from past experience that residual fatigue can take its toll even when a runner feels fully recovered and energetic in the early miles of a race.  Assurances from veteran trail runners that the Scenic City was an easier course than that of Twisted Ankle did little to assuage my nervousness about attempting two trail marathons in two weeks.  The weather predictions for Scenic City Trail Marathon also warranted caution, since the race would take place in 88-degree temperatures on the first truly hot day after nearly two weeks of 65 to 70-degree weather that left runners poorly acclimated to the sudden heat.  Since I am a heavyweight runner, I was aware that the summer heat and humidity could stop me in my tracks during the final hours of a trail marathon if I did not plan adequately for my hydration and electrolyte needs.  As I enjoyed a pre-race dinner with friends in Chattanooga the day before Scenic City, I was looking forward to a fun day in the sun on beautiful trails, but I also remembered my slight brushes with heat exhaustion and borderline hyponatremia from my mistakes in past races.

I woke up in my normal compulsively early fashion hours before the race, drove to the starting area via a slightly eerie single-lane road along the top of the Raccoon Mountain dam, and enjoyed immersing myself in the vibe of pre-event excitement as I watched other runners arrive amidst the setup of race exhibits.  Rock/Creek always does an exemplary job with their trail series events and the mere sight of Rock/Creek vehicles, large inflatable finish line markers, outdoor company sponsor booths, and massage tents eased me into enthusiastic trail running mode.  When my friends from GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society) arrived and we relaxed in camp chairs by the road, time passed quickly as I encountered old and new acquaintances.  These events are not unlike family reunions for those of us who participate in multiple races and I was once again thankful for the familiar friendly faces that would keep me going through the trial of miles yet to come.

Photo courtesy of Wilderness Adventure Photography

The sun rose quickly over the mountain, though, and I was already starting to break a sweat as I lined up in the back of the pack at the start line during loudspeaker announcements.  I realized that the second lap of this double-loop course in noonday temperatures was going to be a beatdown and that, even as a veteran ultra-distance runner, I was about to take the first steps on a marathon course with the uncertainty of completion.

The first mile of the course consisted of a gradual uphill on a paved road to thin out the runners before the sold-out capacity race turned into the woods along a narrow single-track trail.  I spotted a group of friends from Marathon Maniacs and tried to keep an easy pace with them as we watched faster runners surge ahead on the pavement.  Even an intentionally relaxed runner can get ahead of himself, though, and I decided to take a couple of Galloway method walk breaks when I noticed that I was passing others on this initial stretch.  When I saw the slight bottleneck of runners as the course turned off the road, I slowed to a longer walk and took my time to get to the trailhead with the same end result.  The early mood was humorous and lighthearted, since we were all thankful to retreat into the tree shade from the open road.

The rolling hills of the Scenic City trail course began rolling out right away and I immediately fell into ultrarunning mode by power-walking the longer climbs while I talked with a handful of new friends who had recognized me from my race reports.  Since we were all running this event for the first time, the main subject of conversation hovered around the question of whether or not the trail terrain would remain as pleasant and unassuming as it was for these early miles.  The trail twisted along easy switchbacks over boulders and tree roots that claimed an occasional runner, but the course was not overly technical at this point and I thought to myself that I could run along sexy single-track trail sections like this all day.  When we briefly emerged out of the trees to cross an open powerline section that overlooked the city of Chattanooga to the east, I departed slightly from my cautionary trail running style to look away and enjoy the view a couple of times.  When I arrived at the first aid station at the East Overlook area, took a cup of HEED electrolyte drink, and moved on, I found myself ahead of most of the runners in the small group with whom I had kept company.  

Mile markers were placed along the trail on this initial stretch and the prominent psychological predicament of this race revealed itself almost immediately.  My fellow runners and I were all registering noticeably shorter distances on our Garmin wristwatches than the mile markers were indicating.  I was surprised to see my Garmin registering four miles when I ran by the Mile 5 marker.  I decided that the multiple switchbacks were causing the Garmin to register shorter distances with its point-to-point satellite measurements, so I decided to ignore the device as best I could.  Ignoring the Garmin on my wrist was not a difficult task as I continued to enjoy the scenery on the fun downhills of the course.  When the trail markers directed me onto a leisurely descending gravel road on the way to a large electrical switchyard that resembled a science fiction movie setting, I fell into my ideal trail running pace dictated by the mantra, “If it feels like working, then you are working too hard.”

The trail running did not feel like work at all on these gradual downhills and, even when I turned off the gravel road back into the woods for the trail switchbacks, the distance moved past effortlessly and I was surprised at how good I felt on the trails even on this warm morning.  I smiled and thought to myself that I was born to do this.

I then tripped over a rock and fell hard on the trail.  As I made a quick roll, stood up, and resumed running, another person behind me asked if I was okay.  I laughed and reassured him that I was fine.  I certainly needed to be more careful doing what I was born to do, though.

The terrain increased in difficulty as I made my way around the reservoir near the Raccoon Mountain Visitor Center.  Fortunately, the frequency of scenic views also increased.  While another runner and I made our way down a stretch that overlooked the beautiful Tennessee River, we agreed that we wanted to take longer looks down at the river, but the rocky trail would not allow for casual sightseeing.  

The toughest elevation of this trail marathon soon appeared in the form of multiple switchbacks where I could see several runners high above me.  Since I had recently realized that I was doing more nonstop running than usual this early in a long trail race, I was thankful for the opportunity to hike up these switchbacks and recharge.  My long-established trail race plan of eating a gel every half hour and an S-Cap once an hour was serving me well and I took advantage of the hill to down another gel.  When I reached the Mile 8.3 aid station shortly after, I refilled my Camelbak Rogue 70-ounce hydration pack for the first time, took another HEED drink, and started a mostly-downhill series of trails made more challenging by the increasingly technical terrain of rocks.  The trails were winding closer and closer to the large rockfill dam while, off to my right, I could still see occasional views of the Tennessee River valley.

Photo courtesy of Kim Purcell Pike

I soon reached one of the most fun sections of the course as the trail left the trees into an open meadow area at the foot of the rockfill dam.  I thought about the rumored end-of-the-world scenarios of May 21, 2011 and briefly hoped that these scenarios did not include disastrous floods from bursting dams.  I continued to leapfrog the same runners over and over as many of them raced ahead of me on the technical descents where my running style is more timid and alternately power-walked ahead of them on the switchback climbs with my deliberate uphill strategy.  I departed momentarily from my hill strategy by breaking into an easy run while a photographer snapped a picture of me from the end of a rock trail at the foot of the dam, then resumed power-walking when the trail climb turned into the woods.

Mental blocks can appear in puzzling ways and I experienced my psychological low point of the race after passing the third aid station.  By comparing trail markers and Garmin data, I had ascertained that my actual mileage was roughly two miles over the mileage displayed on my Garmin.  When my Garmin read 10 miles at this third aid station and I was informed by the volunteers that I was 11 miles into the race instead of the assumed 12 miles, the reality that I still had 14 miles left to run in quickly rising temperatures dampened my easygoing pace.  Although I had finished the first loop and was now returning to the easy trail terrain that I had traversed early in the race, this trail race now appeared tiresomely difficult. 

I rubbed dirt on my concerns and maintained my running pace on the downhills and flats of the trail.  I was invigorated by my realization that I was going to complete the first 14 miles of this race in less than three hours, and visions of a comfortable sub-6-hour race time danced in my head.  Still, the midday heat was really starting to bear down on me.  I remembered my overhydrated state from the 2010 Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon and decided to limit my drinking from the Camelbak to reasonably compensate for the temperature, instead of drinking too much and putting my sodium levels down below the danger zone.  With the temperatures climbing, I stayed true to taking one S-Cap an hour with adequate hydration of no more than 30 ounces per hour.  

I ran on the trails alone until I reached the East Overlook aid station.  I asked one of the volunteers to put three cups of ice into my Camelbak before refilling it with water and then hit the trails again with a handful of Gummi Bears for quick sugar.  As I ran, I could hear the ice water rattling around inside the Camelbak to cool the water.  Each time I took a sip from the hydration pack, I would blow the warm water inside the plastic tube back into the main bladder so that my first sip would be of the ice-cold water.  The small luxury of cold water from the Camelbak kept me moving for the next few miles, even as fatigue dimmed my bright disposition.  My black shirt, while not immediately apparent as a wise choice of summer running gear, felt pretty good with its loose fit and vented mesh.  

I smiled to myself again as I enjoyed running the gravel road descent on the way to the switchyard and remembered my comical fall on the trail at that point on the first loop.  The smiling did not come as easy the second time around, though.  I passed one couple of fellow runners and asked them how they were doing as I noticed one of them stop to catch breath.  When they replied that they were okay and then asked me how I was, I replied, “I’ll be okay when I reach the finish line.”  I was immediately ashamed of my wearied response and followed it up by reassuring the couple, “I’m feeling pretty good right now, though!”

My pace was slowing and my walk breaks were increasing, so I reached into my bag of mental tricks to pull me along the trail.  Fortunately, the view to my right soon opened up to reveal the Tennessee River once again and I remembered how fortunate I was to have the ability to run not just one, but two trail marathons in the month of May.  I thought back to early 2009, when I was training with my local Galloway group to run my first marathon, and remembered how none of the runners in my group believed me when I told them that I planned only to run one full marathon and then go back to running the more manageable distances of 10K races.  The Scenic City Trail Marathon would be my 24^th race of a marathon-or-greater distance since March of 2009 and the realization that the impossible had now become routine gave my motivation the necessary shot in the arm to keep running when I could.  I was extremely lucky to be spending a beautiful Saturday on the trails with friends and my irritations about the heat and rocks suddenly seemed insignificant.

Spirit does not always translate to speed and I knew that I was in for a longer time on my second loop, but putting one foot in front of the other still felt good.  I arrived at the Mile 20.1 aid station to once again fill my Camelbak with ice water, but I rejected the Gummi Bears in favor of a handful of large orange slices this time around and turned down the HEED in favor of a cup of icy Mountain Dew.  I continued along on the rolling trail hills with my increasing walk intervals. When I drew closer to one runner who asked me the time, we were both overjoyed when we realized that we had a chance of a decent sub-6-hour finish time.  The idea of beating my finish time from the previous week’s Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon, despite the 20-degree rise in temperatures, shifted into my main goal.  

I was starting to pass runners with my steady pace, especially on the hill climbs.  One woman had passed by me before the Mile 20.1 aid station, but, other than that, nobody else passed me during the second loop of this marathon and I was managing to pass more people that I expected.  Each encounter with another runner gave me increased motivation as I would exchange pleasantries and then move along.  I ran down the trails by the rocky vistas of the dam, power-walked the hills, and finally made my way to the last aid station.  A volunteer informed me that I only had 2.4 miles left to go to the finish.

I was quickly winding down and the final 2.4 miles seemed like quite the task.  My legs were almost drained of their running ability, so I walked through most of the switchbacks.  There was certainly not a shortage of switchbacks at this point in the race and I grimaced each time a trail turn took me farther away from the general direction of the finish.  I could soon hear cheering voices from the finish area and the fact that I still had to zigzag back and forth over and over for another couple of miles just made me laugh at the insanity of it all.  The trail turned close to the clearing where I could see the huge inflatable finish line marker through the trees and hear voices from the cars where my GUTS friends were waiting.  I yelled, “GUTS!”, in that direction, but was not sure if anyone heard me.  The trail then took me farther away into the woods once again.  

I drew closer and closer to one runner with a white shirt, but was unable to completely close the distance.  We were both reduced to a fast awkward walk that made me think of Butch (Bruce Willis) and Marsellus (Ving Rhames) limping after each other with guns after the vehicle collision in the movie, Pulp Fiction.  We both passed two other runners and I complimented each of them on finishing a great race on a hot day.  I was pleased that I had managed my hydration and electrolytes in the high temperatures so that I could finish the race with no unhealthy consequences.  This race would go down in my history as a good training run for longer distances in warm weather.

After the eternity of trail switchbacks, I followed the runner in the white shirt out into the open for the final paved loop to the finish.  I caught up with this runner and high-fived him as I passed.  I was grateful to see my GUTS friends cheering from their tailgate camp chairs by the road as they snapped photos.  Kim, Amanda, and Aaron had all finished their half marathons and Leah had finished her full marathon, while John and Janice had both won age group awards for their marathons.  I waved, but increased my running speed as I noticed the white shirt runner catching up with me again.  I kept the distance and ran through the finish line.  I had finished the Scenic City Trail Marathon in 5:50:23 and placed 141 out of 175 runners.  

I accepted a cold electrolyte drink at the finish and comically searched for a trash can before someone took the cup from me to throw away.  A Chattanooga friend, Wendy, grabbed a pair of Smartwool socks for me as I congratulated two runners from my Atlanta Galloway group, Katie and Marlene, on completing their first trail marathon.  The runner in the white shirt that I had trailed in the final miles introduced himself as Dave and we congratulated each other once again.  I was happy to see Sarah, who had set a new female course record at this race, as she waited at the finish area with kind words for everyone.  A hamburger and Powerade both provided some good post-race calories as I returned to the cars where my GUTS friends waited.  I asked if any of them had heard me yell, “GUTS!”, from the trails and laughed when John told me that he had heard it, but thought that it was somebody yelling a curse word.

Two trail marathons in two weeks are now in the books for May 2011.  I enjoyed spending time with the GUTS crowd at Big River Grill after the race and then returned home to join friends for a 6-mile recovery run the following morning.  Sometimes, I feel as if I were born to go for long distances, but I am thankful that I can now rest for a couple of weeks to hit the trails again in June, including a return to Raccoon Mountain for the Chattanooga Mountains Stage Race.

Thanks to the Rock/Creek race organizers and volunteers for another fun event that captures the love of the outdoors in one of my favorite cities.  Thanks to my GUTS friends for the company and congratulations to all of the runners who braved summer temperatures to enjoy some amazing trail views.  

See you on the trails.

Jason

Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon 5/14/11 (Race Report)

On May 14, 2011, I completed my third Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon with a finish time of 6:19:15 and improved on my previous year's finish by over an hour.

The Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon can serve as a well-earned celebration of fitness for the prepared runner or as a harsh punishment to the poorly trained participant.  My previous two experiences at this race have landed on both ends of the spectrum.  When I ran the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon as my first trail race and third marathon in 2009, I was well-recovered from my previous races and I ran on fresh legs to finish in 5:41:59 by using the Galloway run/walk interval method.  I crossed the finish line with a buoyant enthusiasm for trail running and with a belief that I was ready to take on the world.  The following year, I arrived at Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon with residual fatigue from a multitude of recent races and with a weight gain from undisciplined training.  These setbacks, combined with high May temperatures and my overconfidence that this race was “just a marathon” that I had already completed, resulted in a 7:26:31 finish time where I walked for two-thirds of the distance and arrived at the end bloated from borderline hyponatremia symptoms.  After sitting at the finish area for almost two hours with shaking hands and a shaken confidence while I replenished with electrolytes, I returned home, withdrew my entry for a 50K race a few weeks later, and took a few months off of long-distance races to put pieces back together.

With no small amount of apprehension, I drove to the start area at James H. (Sloppy) Floyd State Park in Summerville, Georgia on Saturday morning and prepared for my third trek on this course that ascends a ridge along the Pinhoti Trail section of the Chattahoochee National Forest.  As always with my races, I was looking forward to a fun day on the trail with friends, but I was also uncertain about whether or not this course would administer another physical and psychological beatdown.  I am pleased with my multiple long distance race finishes, but I still think of myself as a below-average runner.  I struggle daily with my heavy weight that can fluctuate erratically from month to month, I often make poor choices with nutrition before and during a race, I have a tendency to allow negativity to overcome my outlook when my body is fatigued, and I routinely finish in the back of the pack.  Fortunately, the fun aspects of long distance running outnumber the unfavorable moments even on my worst days and, in the same way that a mathematician enjoys puzzling over a theorem, I enjoy experimenting with different ways to maximize my running effectiveness.  The transition from a below-average runner to a good runner is a challenge that I continue to seek a solution to and I knew that my latest Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon would be no easy test.

A cool overcast morning greeted me when I arrived at the park and I enjoyed spending time with several acquaintances before Race Directors Becky and Jenn stood on top of a picnic table to announce the race start.  When I spotted Samantha and Lara, two runners who always seem to catch up to me halfway through ultramarathon races and finish ahead, I decided that it would be a wise strategy for me to run with them for the early miles and conserve my energy.  Never let it be said that I do not learn a lesson every now and then.  I was in good humor as I started in the back of the pack and leisurely ran rolling hills around a lake and through campground roads that thinned out the runners in the first couple of miles before we entered the trails.  Shortly after entering the forest, we would be climbing the infamous “Becky’s Bluff” that ascended 700 feet in a half mile to a ridge, so I enjoyed the “calm before the storm” effect of the initial easy miles.  The weather was noticeably cooler on this morning than the previous year and I hoped that the cloudy skies and occasional breezes would continue through the day.

During the first major uphill climb to the Marble Falls on the third mile, I heard an eerie pulsating sound that gradually increased in volume as I made the climb.  I immediately thought about the flying saucer sound effects from 1950’s science fiction movies, such as Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers or The Day The Earth Stood Still.  I had no idea what this day would bring, but I knew that an alien abduction would not help my chances of beating my finish time from last year.  I mentioned the pulsating sound to Samantha, who told me that cicadas were the likely culprits.  I remembered that 2011 was when a brood of cicadas in Georgia would emerge during their 13-year cycle.  

There is nothing like a steep trail climb to take a runner’s mind off other surroundings and the sci-fi pulsating sounds of the cicadas were briefly forgotten as we began to make our way up to the ridge.  The climb began with a seemingly endless trail hill that steadily increased in difficulty and, while this hill was still runnable, many of us in the back of the pack decided to conserve energy by power-walking.  We knew that the real Becky’s Bluff would soon greet us and, sure enough, we soon made a sharp left turn to see a sign warning us that steep hills were ahead.  Becky’s Bluff, in all its relentless glory, welcomed us with a nearly vertical view of the trail up the ridge ahead of us.  I have always joked that I know that a hill is truly steep when I can reach out in front of me and touch the hill that I am climbing.  Becky’s Bluff is that hill and it is a demanding exercise in tenacity that requires hands-on-knees-uphill strength, with the help of an occasional tree truck to grab for assistance.  Several runners were briefly resting against large trees, but I have found that the best way to make it up this hill is simply to keep moving, however slowly.  I was thankful for the torturous training of the Hogpen Hill Climb 17K race and the Mount Cheaha 50K race that I had completed earlier in the year.

At the top of the ridge, Lara turned to the left to complete her half marathon route, since she was preparing for a tough 50-mile race the following week, so Samantha and I continued to the right on our own to the Pinhoti Trail intersection of jeep roads covered with sharp gravel.  I was wearing the Montrail Mountain Masochist trail shoes after finding them much to my liking during my previous race, and I was thankful that they shielded my feet from the terrain.  We continued along this gravel road for the next couple of miles at a good pace by taking occasional walk breaks on some of the hills, and I stayed true to my habit of eating a gel every half hour and taking an S-Cap once an hour.  The flying saucer noises of the cicadas reached top volume from the trees along this stretch and I would not have been surprised to hear the robot from Lost In Space sound out the warning, “Danger, Will Robinson, danger!”   

We soon reached one of the most fun sections of Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon, a long technical downhill trail where I enjoyed greeting all of the faster runners on their way back up from the aid station (and there were a lot of faster runners ahead of us).  The temperature was steadily increasing, but the weather predictions of a 70-degree high reassured me that this race would not turn into the trial of sun and heat that I had struggled through a year before.  It is easy to get caught in the moment during the fast descent to the eighth mile aid station and fall on the loose rocks, but my footing held true and I made it down to the roadside aid station in one piece.  After refilling my Camelbak Rogue hydration pack with water, drinking a couple of cups of Gatorade, and grabbing a handful of Gummi Bears, I turned around and started  to climb back the way that I had come with Samantha following closely behind.  

The steady 1.5-mile hill climb on the way back to the jeep roads along the ridge demands patience, since it can drain the energy from an eager runner who reaches the top to realize that there are still 16 miles left in this marathon.  Samantha and I talked with a few other runners on our way to the top and, when we finally arrived at the gate marking the return to the ridge trail, I was relieved that I still had some energy left in the bank.  At this point of the race a year ago, I had made the mistake of waiting through the first nine miles without taking any S-Caps and had reached a point where I could only walk, so I was glad to have taken the necessary precautions to ensure adequate electrolytes this time around.  Samantha and I continued our comfortable pace along the roads and I commented that, as long as I was able to keep running, a faster finish time was a sure bet.

Photo courtesy of Robert Lewellen

We reached the 13.1-mile halfway point in just over three hours shortly after we left the jeep roads for the idyllic single-track trail along the top of the ridge.  A few minutes after we passed the halfway point aid station, I let my enjoyment of the picturesque ridge trail take my mind off my feet and I tripped over a small tree stump to take a rough fall to the side of the trail.  I stood up, brushed the dirt off my arms, apologized for Samantha for using the F-word in front of her when I hit the ground, and continued running.  I reminded Samantha that, when we saw a large Jason-shaped hole in the ground to the side of the trail on the way back, we would know that we were almost at the final aid station.

Samantha and I continued talking as we made our way through a few uneventful miles by walking the short uphills and running the downhills and flats.  I was starting to feel tired and, whenever I commented to Samantha that I was winding down, she assured me that I was running well.  I reminded myself to stay positive and I searched for ways to take my mind off my weary legs.  The well-wishes of other runners who passed in the opposite direction on their way to the finish were a big help.  We passed another aid station where I downed three cups of Gatorade and grabbed more Gummi Bears.  Since I was wary of overhydrating myself with water as I had during the previous Twisted Ankle race, I was careful not to drink too much from my Camelbak and I only had to refill the pack twice during the entire race.  I relied instead on the electrolytes in the Gatorade at each aid station.  

We soon emerged from the trees onto another gravel jeep road that would take us to the final turnaround at the mile 18 aid station.  Samantha and I caught up with Lynne, with whom I had run several miles of Sweet H2O 50K a month before.  On the series of rolling jeep road hills, we passed by a downed tree caused by the recent widespread tornado damage and I was thankful that the storms had not destroyed more of this area.  We reached the mile 18 aid station, excited to find slices of watermelon waiting for us.  I remembered my exhausted condition when I had rested in a chair for several minutes at this aid station last year and consumed too much water and watermelon to drive my body into a sodium shortage, so I refilled my Camelbak, took three watermelon slices, and immediately continued along the course.  

When Samantha and I reached the crest of the first hill after the aid station and resumed running, I sensed that she was picking up energy, so I told her that I would stay behind at my own pace.  I ran the downhill stretches at a good pace and kept her in sight until we both reached the top of the gravel roads and returned to the single-track trail for the final seven miles.  Samantha then ran ahead and would later finish the race almost ten minutes ahead of me.  

I was now on my own as I traversed the hilly single-track trail, although I would occasionally spot Lynne ahead of me when I turned a corner or crested a hill.  I was tiring and I felt overweight and heavy, but I was also grateful to have the energy to run the downhills and flat trails at this point in the race where I was barely able to walk a year before.  I soldiered on, with the Earth Vs. The Flying Saucers sound effects of the cicadas once again increasing in volume, and congratulated myself whenever I reached mileage goals on my Garmin drawing me closer to the 26.2-mile mark.  

The Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon is considerably less technical than many of the other trail races that I have completed, but it still has its share of insidious dangers and the pleasant ridge trails can be deceptive, as I had learned from my tumble earlier in the race.  Another hidden lesson presented itself when I stepped on an excruciatingly pointed tree stump and cried out in pain.  I limped for a few steps before continuing to run with a watchful eye on the trails.  The bottom of my forefoot was throbbing in pain, but I remembered a passage from Marshall Ulrich’s book, Running On Empty, where he overcame leg pain during his trans-America run by telling himself that his ailing legs were not his legs and that they belonged to someone else.  I told myself that my hurting foot was not my foot and that the pain did not belong to me.  This mental game, as comical as it seems, provided a small amount of reassurance that enabled me to remain moving at a decent pace.  I reached the final aid station, downed a couple of Gatorade cups, and started the long downhill to the campground below.

Photo courtesy of Robert Lewellen

I ran nonstop down the 1.5-mile trail back to the campground road, being careful not to let the race live up to its name by blowing out one of my ankles on the tricky rocky sections near the Marble Falls.  I was definitely reaching the end of my endurance chain for the day, but I realized that I had a good chance of taking an hour off of my previous Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon time and I was pleased to be in better condition this year.  My hands were not swollen to Stay Puft Marshmallow Man size as they were as a result of my unbalanced hydration and sodium intake a year ago, I had not had to loosen my Garmin wrist strap, and I was still able to run for long stretches with occasional walk breaks.  In all fairness, though, I give full credit to the cooler temperatures and I do not doubt that this race may have eaten me alive once again had the temperatures been in the high 80’s as they were during the previous race.  

My happiness with my race performance reached a new high when I passed a couple of runners just before reaching the campground.  The satisfaction of passing thinner “runner types” during races, despite my weight, may be childish at this point, but it still brings a smile to my face every time.  I ran around a campground road, taking short walk breaks on the small hills, and enjoyed the cheers of a couple of camper volunteers as I turned one corner.  When I emerged from the trees by the campground lake and saw Lynne on the trail not far ahead, I tried my best to work through my fatigue to close the distance between us.  

I remembered the concern of other runners and volunteers at my exhausted appearance at the finish a year ago and knew that I needed to run strong and put everyone’s mind at ease this time.  I ran across the wooden lake bridge with a smile on my face and, high-fived a friend, Sean, as I reached the end of the bridge, and accelerated to a near-sprint in the final yards to cross the finish line in 6:19:15 with a placement of 100 out of 122 finishers.  I had beaten my previous Twisted Ankle time, 7:26:31, by more than an hour and, more importantly, I crossed the finish line healthy and happy.  

I grabbed a couple of Powerade bottles and a banana while walking around the finish area to congratulate other runners who had finished and remained at the park.  I thanked Samantha for helping me achieve a smarter pace this time around and thanked Race Directors Becky and Jenn for putting another fun Twisted Ankle race together.  

A year ago, I had finished the Twisted Ankle Marathon almost in tears, I was unable to run for several days, and I had questioned my ability to run future long distances races.  This year, I woke up at 5:00 A.M. on the day after Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon, dressed in my running clothes, drove two hours to north Georgia with The Replacements blaring from my truck stereo, and completed the 3-mile Warrior Dash race through muddy water, under barbed wire, over a 20-foot wall, over cargo nets, and over two fire pits, as a post-marathon recovery run.  I am still striving to make that transition from a below-average long distance runner to a good long distance runner, but, in the general scheme of things, I am happy with my weekend.

See you on the trails.  

Jason 

Sweet H2O 50K 4/16/11 (Race Report)

On April 16, 2011, I completed Sweet H2O 50K with a finish time of 8:43:51 and took over an hour off my time from the previous year.

Photo courtesy of Johnny Buice

Most of my earlier ultramarathon race reports have featured dramatic story arcs where I suffered from extreme mental and physical low points, but was able rely on relentless forward motion to push through the hardship and finally cross the finish line with a smile on my face.  This year's Sweet H2O 50K was a different experience for me, because I did not have any low moments during the event.  For the entire 32.6 miles of this course, I enjoyed the company of friends, I moved forward with a deliberate pace of walking the hills while running the downhills and flat stretches, I timed my hydration and food intake consistently, and I benefited from perfect race weather where the temperatures were ten degrees cooler than the previous year.  With my final placement at 193 out of 209 finishers, I will not be confused with an elite ultrarunner, but I still feel that everything came together for me this time around.  This outcome may result in a boring race report, but it was a positive experience on my road to becoming a better runner.

The Sweet H2O 50K takes place at Sweetwater Creek State Park in Lithia Springs, Georgia and is an annual event put together by Race Director Johnny Buice and the Douglas County Rogue Runners.  The race course combines technical single-track trails, pavement, water crossings, dirt road sections, and multiple daunting hills for an experience that provides a war of attrition against runners as cool morning hours under waterside leaf cover give way to the open terrain of continuous hills under the afternoon sun.  Just before reaching the pinnacle of the course, a hilltop section called the Top Of The World, runners ascend a brutal ravine climb only to be rewarded by the view of multiple steep hills and descents ahead, and the realization that this is only the first of two loops along this route threatens to collapse any confidence that the runners had going into this race.

Photo courtesy of  Robert Lewellen

The understanding that this race is at the mercy of Mother Nature became all too apparent in the hours just before the start, when severe thunderstorms caused the creek waters to rise to threatening levels and race officials realized that the trademark creek crossing section of Sweet H20 50K, where runners use a rope to make their way through waist-deep waters to a two-mile trail loop and then cross once again by rope to the main trail route, would have to be eliminated from the course this year.  Thanks to some quick thinking by the race officials, the course was altered to replace the creek crossing trail loop with an additional pavement stretch where the initial section of the race was repeated to replace the mileage. Runners would still cross the spillway twice on the new course and, since a few sections of the trail beside the creek were submerged as waters rose, the legendary difficulty of Sweet H20 50K was not diminished.  With a final distance of almost 33 miles, we still benefited from free mileage for our money on the quickly-altered route.

Days before the race, several friends and I motivated one another with a series of trash talk emails where we each called out our goal finish times.  I enjoyed calling out arbitrary goals, but I remembered my struggles at the 2010 race all too well.  Last year, I was heavier in weight and suffering the residual fatigue from a marathon two weeks prior, so I crumbled under the 80-degree afternoon sun and walked the entire 17-mile final loop to finish second-to-last in the race.  My only real goal for this 2011 race was to enjoy the day and have the ability to run at a decent pace in the final miles, instead of merely surviving the event as I had last year.  I was not in ideal condition this year either, since my recent weight loss had stalled after regaining some pounds over Christmas, but I knew that I had become a more efficient runner and that I could improve well over my previous finish time by making intelligent pace decisions and not losing the plot.

Photo courtesy of Naresh Kumar

For this race, I would be using a Camelbak Rogue 70-ounce hydration pack instead of the two handheld water bottles that I had carried the previous year.  I stashed several gels into the Camelbak compartments with the intention of eating these gels throughout the race instead of eating cookies and candy at each aid station.

My choice of trail shoe for this race proved to be a wise decision.  For my past trail ultramarathons, I had worn the Montrail Hardrocks, because these heavier shoes catered to overpronating runners like me who need added stability.  After I used up my last pair of Hardrocks, I wore the Hardrock replacement line, the Montrail Badrocks, to Mount Cheaha 50K in February. While the Montrail Badrocks felt great on non-technical trail surfaces, I found that they were not handling as well on rocky technical terrain.  I have owned a pair of Montrail Mountain Masochist shoes for almost a year now and have found them to have a better fit than any other trail shoe that I have tried, but I have been hesitant to attempt wearing them for long distance runs due to the relatively low profile heel.  For Sweet H2O 50K, however, I gave in to my curiosity and wore the Mountain Masochist shoes.  I am pleased to report that the Montrail Mountain Masochists gave a stellar performance during this 50K.  I had a better feel for every type of terrain along the trail and the shoes drained so well that my feet felt completely dry mere seconds after each water crossing.

When I arrived at the race start, I was relieved to find out that the thunderstorms that had wreaked havoc on the area overnight had moved on and that sunny skies were soon on the way.  After a brief announcement from the race director about the course alterations, we started along the paved road that would thin the runners along the first mile and half before we entered the single-track trails.  I was happy to be joined by a friend from South Carolina, Jason Sullivan, with whom I would run the entire race.  I enjoyed the opportunity to run with Jason, because of his wealth of knowledge from the 33 ultramarathons that he had completed to date. Like me, Jason is a “husky size” ultrarunner and, as such, has to overcome similar physical and psychological challenges on these long runs where fuel and hydration balances are so crucial.  Jason is a strong runner who has completed a 100-mile race, but he is also able to maintain a great sense of humor. Jason and I were joined occasionally by other runners along the course and the constant company kept all of us from giving way to the self-doubt that can follow runners in solitude.

Photo courtesy of Samuel Louie

When we left the pavement for the trails, we encountered a few muddy sections, but we were mostly thankful that the sandy soil of the area helped drain the trails.  After a short distance on the single-track, we emerged to the first spillway crossing.  The concrete banks were still slick from the storm rains, so I used a rope to climb down to the bottom, where cold water rose above my ankles.  I became the comic relief of this ultramarathon on the other side of the spillway when I attempted to climb the concrete bank without a rope and quickly slid back down to the water.  Laughing at my mistake, I quickly rejoined the others in line for the ropes to climb out of the bank.

After Jason and I climbed out of the spillway and resumed our run on the trails, we encountered a few wide puddles of water that we simply splashed through. My feet had already been submerged in water once, so it was best to embrace the discomfort and not go out of my way to avoid water on the trail.  We soon arrived at my least favorite part of Sweet H2O 50K, a descent down a steep rock-covered hill where the wet and muddy rocks shifted under each step.  I tried not to visualize myself slipping and falling face-first onto the sharp-edged rocks as I grabbed the occasional tree for balance.  A few similar challenges awaited soon after, as we climbed down steep muddy hills that required careful attention.  I was thankful for a large tree that stood in front of the creek at the bottom of one particular muddy hill, because I was able to slip downhill into the tree instead of continuing to slide into the creek itself.  As we passed the site of the eliminated river crossing section, Jason and I watched the rising flood rapids sweep just below the crossing rope and immediately decided that we were thankful that the race course had been altered.  We arrived at the first aid station to the cheers of Kirsten and other volunteers.  Despite the plethora of M&M's, potato chips and other temptations, I stayed true to my resolve and simply topped off the water in my Camelbak before continuing.

Now that we had finished the treacherous descents of mud and rocks, we were thankfully rewarded by a few miles of relatively easy trails along the side of Sweetwater Creek.  I quickly settled into an easy pace of walking the small hills and running the rest of the trail as I talked with Jason and another runner, David, who had joined us.  Since Jason and I were both veterans of this particular race, we knew that it was best to run comfortably on the trails that led to the Top Of The World hills that would soon greet us.  The occasional makeshift bridges of single wooden boards over small water crossings provided endless amusement for us and we kept joking about hearing these boards crack under our heavy weight.  As we left the waterside trail and continued along a scenic rolling hill trail, I settled into my routine of eating a gel every half hour and taking one S-Cap every hour for adequate sodium.

The second aid station was a welcome addition to the 2011 course, since I was now able to fill my Camelbak with water before tackling the Top Of The World hills. The trail leading out of the aid station, with its straw-covered path in high grass alongside the bottom of a huge rock wall, made me think of scenes from Akira Kurosawa samurai movies.  After a short climb out of the grass ravine, Jason, David, and I enjoyed an extended flat section of trail through a meadow that led to the first series of hills that marked the beginning of the Top Of The World stretch.  All three of us were gung-ho about the harsh terrain to come and that excitement quickly carried us up the gravel road hill that led away from grassy flatlands.

Wet rocks and mud provided a small challenge on a steep descent to a cold stream crossing that gave my feet a welcome ice bath of sorts before climbing the amazingly steep ravine trail.  We reached the top of the leaf-covered ravine trail and quickly made our way on the first downhill in the Top Of The World series so that the sight of neverending hills over the horizon would not intimidate us.  When I occasionally reported the distance and countdown time from my Garmin watch to Jason, he was enthusiastic that we were making great time with our constant pace.  We both primarily wanted to finish the race strongly, but we could not resist projecting possible finish time of eight hours, eight-and-half hours, and so on.  We finally agreed that a sub-nine-hour finish would be great on this day. Jason, who was returning from a brief hiatus from ultramarathons, was overjoyed to be running an ultra again and his excitement was contagious.  Jason, David, and I were soon joined by Lynne, a fellow ultrarunner whom I had met at Mystery Mountain Marathon a couple of years ago.

Impossibly steep hill climbs followed impossibly steep hill climbs until we finally reached the entrance to Top Of The World.  A friend of ours, Wayne, who was way ahead in the race, jokingly taunted Jason and me when he saw us starting the entrance trail just as he was leaving, and we spent the next several minutes talking about how we wanted to chase Wayne down and pass him on the second loop.  The actual Top Of The World hill, from which the Atlanta skyline can be seen, marks the entrance to an out-and-back trail to the third aid station, so I enjoyed seeing several faster friends running in the opposite direction on their way out of that aid station.  When we arrived at the aid station, I was happy to see my friend, Scott, with whom I had run several races, volunteering at the tent.  I did not have much time to catch up, though, because I wanted to avoid resting at the aid stations for too long and the others with me shared the same resolve.  Jason, Lynne, and I ran together on the way out of the aid station as David moved ahead.

The repeat elevations were not over yet and the three of us made our way back to Sweetwater Creek via the power line trails, where we alternately ran down treacherously steep dirt hills and quickly hiked to the top of each subsequent hill crest.  We were relieved to return to the flat trails beside the creek so that we could resume a consistent running pace as we got closer to Jack's Hill, the final infamous climb of the first loop. Jack's Hill is a runnable trail under most circumstances, but the three of us were happy to power-hike the incline to the next aid station, where a fellow ultrarunner and friend, Cindy, volunteered and greeted us with smiles.  I decided that it would be in my best interest to take one of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich sections for additional energy, but I still maintained my resolve to avoid the cookies and candy at the aid station.  We continued along pleasant rolling hill gravel roads that passed a somewhat unsettling park sign notifying us that we were in a timber rattlesnake habitat. The most pleasant section of Sweet H2O 50K, a mile of winding trail covered with plush pine straw, allowed us the opportunity for a nonstop run to make up time.  After rounding out an extended curve to a paved road, we passed the finish line group shelter and completed our first loop in just over four hours.

Photo courtesy of Susan Donnelly

As we ran a relaxed pace along the paved park entrance road on the second loop, our spirits were given an additional boost when a car pulled next to us with my friend, Sean, a fast runner who had just completed an inspirational running adventure in the Himalayas, riding as passenger.  Sean cheered us on and we talked to him for several minutes as the three of us ran alongside the car.  Jason, Lynne, and I turned on to the main road and avoided traffic hazards by running a makeshift trail on the other side of the guard rail as we complimented one another on making good time.  This paved section on the second loop had killed my spirits the previous year, so I was feeling pretty good to have some running energy left.  We rounded the single-track trails and crossed the spillway once again, surprised to find that the water had actually risen to a higher level around our shins as we walked quickly across to rope-climb the embankment on the other side.

Lynne raced ahead, as Jason and I had long suspected that she would, and the two of us continued along the series of dangerous rock and mud descents, relieved that the mud had noticeably dried in the afternoon sun. The subject of conversation repeatedly turned to whether or not we had it in us to finish with a strong sub-nine-hour finish and we agreed that we both had enough energy to knock the second loop out in less than five hours.  My Montrail Mountain Masochist shoes still felt good and I was confident that they would keep me in good form for the duration, although they were more minimalist in the soles than I was accustomed to from my previous bulky shoes.

During this portion of the second loop at the 2010 race, I had been drained of energy and had only been able to walk at a steady pace, so I took comfort in the ability to run long stretches on the waterside trails.  The water level had risen higher throughout the day at Sweetwater Creek and we were trudging through water more often during the second loop, but I was enjoying the feel of the cold water on my feet.  Whenever Jason and I reached a non-technical stretch, I told him that I wanted to run while I could, but that I would not be able to keep running for long.  After a few miles, Jason joked, “You keep saying that you're going to stop and walk, but you just keep running.”  We were both feeling pretty good, though, and we both seemed to know exactly the right moments to start walk breaks.  In the days leading up to this race, I had been listening to a rock song, “Recharge and Revolt”, by The Raveonettes, and I told Jason that each walk break was a chance to “recharge and revolt” before the next long running stretch.

Jason and I started to pass a handful of other runners on the trail and each encounter gave us new momentum.  Jason had accurately predicted that we were going to start passing people on the second loop if we maintained the steady pace and those predictions were coming true.  We reached the second aid station where Jenn, a friend who had just returned from an impressive Umstead ultramarathon run and who had seen me at my worst physical moments at the previous year's Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon, briefly quizzed me on how I was doing and whether or not I was taking in the right amount of fuel and water.   I gave her the thumbs-up that everything was going well.  Another runner, Dean, whom I recognized from previous races, decided to run along with Jason and me as we left the aid station and made our way to the long open meadow section, which I named “the run in the sun”.  I told Dean and Jason about my misadventures along this section during the previous year, when I was walking miserably under the brutal sun out in the open and watching one of my ultrarunning friends, Graham, move farther and farther away in the distance.  There was no walking along this portion of the trail in 2011, though, and the three of us traded jokes as we got closer to the Top Of The World.  I was in a hurry to get this flat meadow section completed so that I could, in turn, get the Top Of The World out of the way. We soon passed a female runner who decided to keep up with us. Rose would accompany the three of us for the next several miles. As I had promised Jason and Dean while we were running through the open meadow trail nonstop, we enjoyed a long walk break when we reached the gravel road leading up to the first series of hills. We resumed an easy run as we descended the rocky section leading to the last big stream crossing.  I avoided the temptation to lie completely down in the stream for a cold ice bath effect as the four of us arrived at the ravine trail climb.

The ravine trail on the second loop was the point in the 2010 race where I had resolved not only to drop out of the race, but to drop out of running altogether.  This distant memory was made all the more distant as I climbed the ravine trail with a smile on my face while Dean constantly joked around with everyone.  Dean's presence on this entire section was a blessing, because he kept all four of us in good humor during the toughest part of the race.  I took the lead on the series of hills leading to Top Of The World and remained about 20 feet ahead of Rose, Dean, and Jason.  I wanted to stick with the crowd, but I was also in a hurry to get this section out of the way as soon as possible.  I could hear Dean and company behind me and I turned around occasionally to joke with them.

This Top Of The World series of hills was harsh and unrelenting, but so were the four of us.  This report probably makes Sweet H2O 50K seem easier than normal, because I really cannot recall any specific moment from the race when I felt down on myself or when I was unable to remain in good spirits.  Every part of my body was hurting along these Top Of The World hills, but the camaraderie that I enjoyed with friends old and new made everything bearable and even fun.  During this race, I learned the most valuable lesson of my ultrarunning life so far. I learned that the ability to remain optimistic and to find humor in every situation is the most important ultrarunning tool and that this ability can overpower physical discomfort.  I was getting hot under the sun, my legs were hurting, and I was definitely winding down, but I was also enjoying a fun Saturday afternoon with friends.  In the same way that Charles Halloway shows his son how to defeat the demons and darkness with laughter in Ray Bradbury's novel, Something Wicked This Way Comes, I was reminded that happiness and positive thinking could defeat fatigue during one of the most difficult 50K races of all.

When we reached the Top Of The World summit, I resumed running alongside the other three and we congratulated the other runners that we saw leaving the out-and-back aid station in the opposite direction.  Scott cheered us into the aid station and I enjoyed two huge cups of Gatorade while a volunteer refilled my Camelbak.  Scott offered the last two slices of pizza to us and I politely declined while Jason took a slice.  I was overjoyed when one volunteer congratulated me on how I looked a lot slimmer compared to when she had seen me while volunteering at the same aid station the previous year.  Just as Rose, Dean, Jason, and I were getting ready to leave, we saw two more of my ultrarunning friends and personal heroes, Susan and Rob, running in from the trail. I joked with Jason that I had known that Susan and Rob would catch us at some point.  Rose ran ahead while Susan took pictures of Rob, Jason, and I. Dean caught up to us soon after and the five of us commented on the view of Atlanta as we completed our final Top Of The World trek of the race.

Photo courtesy of GUTS

Susan and Rob stayed behind at the entrance to talk with Sarah, who was volunteering at the intersection, so Dean, Jason, and I kept running to begin the power line trail section.  Dean began joking with Jason and me that he could run the hills in a hurry and we encouraged him along.  When Dean did, indeed, speed ahead of us to run up the hills effortlessly, Jason and I laughed and decided that Dean had been sandbagging all along earlier in the race.  Cramps started to erupt up and down my legs during one steep power line climb, so I took my final S-Cap of the race and made sure to bite down on the capsule so that the electrolytes could start working as soon as possible.  Nothing was going to deter me from a sub-nine-hour time this year.  Jason was clearly more energetic and he told me that he felt like he could run a 100-miler.  When I expressed admiration at his resilience, Jason told me that the pizza slice at the last aid station had given him a real second wind.  I learned yet another valuable lesson. I should not turn down pizza when it is offered to me at an aid station. 

Despite my unfortunate dismissal of a pizza offer, I was pleased with my fuel and electrolyte strategy for this race.  For most of the day, I avoided taking food from the aid stations to rely instead on the gels that I had brought to the race.  Each half hour, I alternated the Crank e-Gels with Accel Gels, which contain protein, and these electrolyte sources kept me on the move when combined with an S-Cap once an hour.  I did take a couple of small peanut butter and jelly sandwich quarters from the aid stations and, at one point after the final Top Of The World pass, I ate a few Gummi Bears.  I also did not hesitate to drink cups of Gatorade or soda at the aid stations.  For the most part, though, I refrained from my usual strategy of leaving each aid station with handfuls of sugary foods.  For this reason, I think that I was better able to judge the level of sodium that I was putting into my body during the race and this enabled me to balance the hydration intake accordingly.  My Camelbak does not have a flow meter for the water, but I am certain that I adhered to my strategy not to drink more than 30 ounces of water per hour.  When I arrived at the finish line, I was not bloated from sodium or hydration excess like I have been in the past. 

Jason and I made our way up Jack's Hill in good spirits as we saw the watch countdown in our favor for a sub-nine-hour finish and, possibly, an 8:30 finish.  Cindy enthusiastically cheered the two of us along as we arrived at the final aid station and told us that we had 2.25 miles left to go.  Jason and I left the aid station debating the mileage, because we were both certain that we were closer to the finish than that.  As it turned out, Cindy was right, because the shorter route to the finish had been removed to make up mileage after the elimination of the stream crossings.

We ran at a decent clip for the gravel road section and power-walked the two notable uphills.  When we finally reached the glorious pine-straw trail on the final stretch, we began the nonstop run on the last mile and half to the finish.  I encouraged Jason to pass me if he wanted to, because I could see that he had a lot more energy in the bank, but he assured me that he wanted us to finish together.  We both picked up our pace noticeably when we smelled the barbecue chicken at the finish area.  I was grateful for the company and conversation along this final stretch.  When we reached a small hill a half mile from the finish, Jason asked me if I wanted to take one last walk break and finish strong, but I replied that I felt good and that we should keep running.  We exited the trail to a hilly pavement stretch to the finish and picked up our pace, both of us laughing when I commented about how the road was never going to end.  We made the last turn up some wooden steps and crossed the finish line while friends from GUTS (Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society) greeted us with cheers.  We both crossed the finish line as the clock read 8:43 and shook Race Director Johnny Buice's hand as he congratulated us on another successful race.

My official finish time was 8:43:51 and I had placed 193 out of 209.  Jason and I had made good on our determination to finish Sweet H2O 50K in under nine hours and I had beaten my previous year's time by over an hour.  I credit the lower temperatures in 2011 with my faster time, but I will gladly file this as a course record just the same.

I spent a long time at the finish area with friends and food.  The barbecue chicken hit the spot, the chairs were comfortable, and, as with all post-ultramarathon celebrations, the stories were fun to hear and to tell.

The first, and hopefully not the last, ultramarathon with no crushing mental low points was in the books for me. I feel like I left everything on the course in physical terms, but I also felt good as I walked around slowly after the race.  My mental state had remained upbeat and my body had rewarded me in turn.  At one point during the race, Jason and I had reminded ourselves that we do not get paid to run ultramarathons, so the primary goal is to stay safe and to have fun.  I am proud of my faster time, but I am prouder of achieving that primary goal.

Thanks to Johnny Buice and the Douglas Country Rogue Runners for making Sweet H2O 50K possible for another amazing year.  Thanks to my GUTS friends for the encouragement and for hanging around at the finish. A hearty fist pump goes to Jason Sullivan for running the entire duration of the race with me and for the fun conversations.  Congratulations to everyone who ran well at one of the toughest and most rugged 50K plus extra mile courses around.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Publix Georgia Marathon 3/20/11 (Race Report)

On March 20, 2011, I completed my tenth marathon, the Publix Georgia Marathon, with a finish time of 4:46:23.

Photo courtesy of Susan Hornbuckle

This event was the most fun pavement marathon race that I have run to date, despite a handful of challenging setbacks that could have derailed the experience.  On the morning of this race, I woke up with a sore throat that signaled the beginning of a head cold and my legs were in fatigued condition after a poorly-executed taper week, but I rubbed dirt on these stumbling blocks and readied myself for what has become one of my favorite local events.  The Publix Georgia Marathon, formerly the ING Georgia Marathon, would carry me through 26.2 miles of hilly Atlanta roads and familiar city landmarks where I would encounter friends, old and new, by way of fellow runners and volunteers.  This marathon takes place at the beginning of spring and the chilly starting line temperatures always seem like the last dying gasp of winter as they are swept away from the city streets by a mild heat while runners make their way to the finish.  I knew that I was not at my best when I lined up in my starting corral, but I was not going to let a head cold or a poor taper week prevent me from watching months of early winter morning training runs under bundled clothes fall behind in the rear view mirror as I crossed the finish line of this event with a smile on my face.

Ambitious goals do sometimes have to be shelved under certain conditions, though.  After I spent the weekend before this marathon achieving a new personal record at a local 10K race and then tiring my legs the next day with a spontaneous decision to run ten fast miles around my neighborhood in sunny weather, I realized that my chances of beating my previous marathon record of 4:20:10 from the 2009 Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon were slim at best.  When I volunteered at the Publix Georgia Marathon Race Expo and spent eight hours moving heavy boxes on the Thursday before this event, I woke up tired the next day and decided that I should modify my goal and simply strive to beat my 4:58:48 finish time from last year’s Georgia Marathon.  Finally, after I had trouble falling asleep on the night before the race and woke up from only two hours of sleep with the sore throat, I shrugged and decided that my final goal for the 2011 Publix Georgia Marathon would just be to have as much fun as I could and to keep from embarrassing myself too badly.

I arrived at Centennial Olympic Park in Atlanta a couple of hours before the race start, secured a spot in my favorite parking lot next to the finish area, waited for friends at the Galloway Marathon tent, and made a couple of last-minute decisions that would ultimately help me enjoy a better race.  Since I was convinced that I had cost myself a sub-50-minute time at my 10K the previous weekend by obsessing over the pace numbers on the main display of my Garmin watch, I decided to remove the pace from the main screen display altogether and replace it with the Galloway interval countdown.  I also took a second look at the high number of water and Gatorade stops on the marathon course map and decided that I would not need to carry my handheld water bottle.  I removed my truck key from the water bottle pouch, tied the key into the laces of one of my New Balance 850 shoes, and left the handheld bottle at the tent for safekeeping.

I lined up in the starting corral with Scott, a friend with whom I had run a few recent ultramarathons, with the intention of running with him for company while we could maintain identical paces.  I knew from past experience that Scott’s sense of humor would make for some interesting early morning miles.  I am ashamed to say that, after over a year of avoiding diet sodas, I had recently fallen off the wagon and had, in fact, enjoyed a few too many Diet Mountain Dew bottles as I rested the day before the race.  The effects of the diet sodas were making themselves clear as I briefly left the start corral just minutes before the race to water some nearby bushes behind a concealed parking lot.  I would end up wasting several minutes of this marathon race with multiple bathroom stops and, when I returned home later, I would immediately resolve to resume drinking water through my normal training days.

Scott was listening to his iPod in one ear as we began moving toward the start line with our corral group and we had fun comparing favorite running songs.  I started my Garmin watch countdown as we crossed the start line and settled into a comfortably slow jog in the middle of the crowd.  As we ran with an easy conversational pace through the streets surrounding Georgia State University, Scott and I exchanged jokes as the occasional runner threw us a bewildered look.  We also reminded each other that, since the marathon runners were vastly outnumbered by the half marathon runners at this event, we needed to stick to our own comfortable early pace before the two races split after the sixth mile and not worry about how many others were passing us.  My experiences on this course during the previous year’s race had taught me that the hills of the final miles were unforgiving to runners who paced themselves too quickly at the beginning.

Just before the first aid station, I ran down some stairs of a parking lot adjacent to Piedmont Road to make the next of many bathroom stops and then caught up with Scott before grabbing a half cup of Gatorade.  Scott and I resumed running together as we ran down a North Avenue hill and turned onto Central Park Place to run under blooming trees. Scott expressed concern for our pace as we crossed the third mile marker at 34 minutes, but I was content to allow for at least two hours and 20 minutes for the first half of this marathon course and then let the race begin in the latter half.  I was feeling slightly under the weather and I would need to draw on the conserved energy later.  As with all my pavement marathon races, I was using Galloway 4-minute-run/1-minute-walk intervals and, during one of the walk breaks, I enjoyed a bridge crossing over Freedom Parkway that shows my favorite view of Atlanta just before passing the Martin Luther King, Jr. historic sites.

When Scott and I were halfway through the fourth mile of the course, I took advantage of one of my walk intervals to pull over into thick bushes for another bathroom stop.  Scott joked, “You need to decide whether you want to run a race or go to the bathroom.”  I replied, half-jokingly, “I was actually planning for a lot of bathroom breaks today with a little bit of running in between.”  The frequent bathroom breaks were an annoyance, but I decided just to roll with it, knowing the situation would improve as I continued running and consuming electrolytes.  I felt more confident with my pace when Scott pointed out that the runners around us were starting to slow down already.

When we entered the Little Five Points area, Scott and I resumed our music discussion as we ran by a couple of favorite independent record stores.  I knew, however, that Scott wanted to plow ahead without the Galloway intervals, so I told him not to feel badly about running ahead and that I would try to catch him during the second half of the race.  Scott sped up and kept running as I started my next walk interval.  I was hardly starved for company in the crowd, though.  When I saw a runner wearing the trademark Marathon Maniacs singlet, I introduced myself as Maniac # 1549 and enjoyed brief conversation as I continued though the split at mile 7 and soldiered along the full marathon course into the Candler Park neighborhoods.  I employed a slightly faster pace when the crowd thinned after the split and even managed to maintain momentum through a few “speed bumps” by way of the Candler Park hills.

I was happy to see a handful of friends from Get Fit Atlanta at the mile 10 aid station, although I wondered in a daze why one of them who greeted me by name was wearing some sort of film noir spy chemical mask outfit.  When my friend, John, asked me after the race if I had liked his Rorschach costume from Watchmen, I laughingly berated myself for being too focused on my race to recognize a character from a comic series that I had loved in my teenage years. 

The next three miles of the race were relatively uneventful for me as I kept a lid on my temptation to run faster during a few flat road sections that led into the city of Decatur.  I thanked volunteer police officers and amused myself by reading a series of rhyming signs placed beside the Decatur roads to motivate the runners.  I was looking forward to reaching the halfway point of the course and my patience was rewarded when I crossed the 13.1 timing marker and checked my stopwatch to see a time of 2:24:30.  During last year's race, I had arrived at this same checkpoint with a 2:15:00 time, but had hit a wall on the hills of the final miles.  This time, I was confident that my slower first half would allow me to maintain my constant Galloway interval pace without taking additional walk breaks on the hills.

The three-mile stretch from Decatur to Emory University consisted of a gradual downhill that I enjoyed with a faster, but still leisurely pace before the trial of hills began just after the mile 16 marker.  The sky was overcast, but the temperature was warming up noticeably on a humid day.  When I felt the first hints of a leg cramp, I took two S-Caps from the net pockets that lined the waist of my running shorts.  During this three-mile section, I enjoyed interacting with one runner whom I would pass during each of my run intervals only to be passed again during each of my walk breaks. Each time, we would wave and give amused well-wishes to each other.  In a marathon, some runners are like Soviet jets in the movie, Top Gun, and you cannot evade them.  This camaraderie continued for the next several miles until I eventually stopped seeing him again during my walk intervals.

After the mile 16 marker, I reached the never-ending Lullwater Road incline that served as the appetizer for the steady diet of climbs that would continue through the Druid Hills neighborhood.  The time for pleasantly holding back on my pace was over and I charged the hill, eager to have this section behind me.  When I crossed the mile 17 marker just before Ponce de Leon Avenue, I looked at my watch and realized that just over three hours had passed.  I reminded myself that I had a good chance of beating last year's time at this race if I did not lose the plot. Do not lose the plot, Jason.  Do not lose the plot.

I turned off Ponce de Leon onto Oakdale Road and continued the brutal punishment of climbs through the Druid Hills area, using mental tricks and old song lyrics to push myself with a deliberate running pace to each subsequent Galloway walk interval.  I appreciated the occasional encouragement that I received from Druid Hills residents that tailgated in their front lawns with friends to cheer all of us along the way.

As I lumbered up and down the hills of the mile 18 section, I received an unexpected wake-up call that would fuel the rest of my race. When I waved to a woman who standing on the side of the road to cheer for the runners, she told me that she was here because she had lost her daughter almost a year ago.  She pointed to a nearby sign for The Amanda Riley Foundation, an organization founded to help children and teens suffering from cancer.  I thanked the woman for being there and continued down the road, but I could not get the encounter out of my mind.  My struggles to finish a marathon were insignificant and trivial compared to the hardships that this woman had overcome during the past year and I was reminded once again that I was blessed simply to be able to participate in this event.  Although I am a state government employee who struggles to make ends meet from one month to the next, I made a silent promise to donate to The Amanda Riley Foundation when I returned home to my computer after the race.  Armed with a new sense of perspective, I ran with a stronger pace.  When I plugged my Garmin watch into my computer after the race and analyzed my mile splits, I was not surprised to find out that I had achieved one of my fastest mile paces along this section.

The hills did not relent, but neither did I.  I stayed true to my run intervals, even when those intervals started at the bottom of a steep climb.  Do not lose the plot, Jason. 

I was carried along the remainder of the race by seeing friends at just the right moments.  As I ran up a hill to make my way out of the Druid Hills neighborhoods for good, I passed Len, a friend from my local trail running group, and he sped up to run alongside me. Len and I soon reached Stillwood Drive, the nemesis of my race from last year.  Stillwood Drive has the steepest set of hills of the entire course and is indifferent to the exhausted runners of mile 20 who must ascend each incline only to dive down to the next.  Last year, this section had reduced me to a walk for the entire mile. I was not going to let this happen in 2011. I walked when my Galloway interval beeps called for it, but I ran every step of the way up these hills during my four-minute running bursts.  Before I knew it, Stillwood Drive was just a memory and I was still running.  I received more uplifting encouragement when Len and I ran the last hill to Virginia Highlands and were cheered along by Sarah, another trail running friend who was waiting to pace Kirsten, who was completing her first marathon.

With Len close behind me, I made my way into Piedmont Park, grateful to see Susan and some other friends from my Galloway group cheering just before the park entrance.  My resolve to stick to my running intervals through the steep hilly neighborhoods of Druid Hills and Virginia Highlands had left me exhausted and I must have been noticeably struggling as Len and I turned around the Piedmont Park lake, because Len encouraged me that I only had a few miles left.  I was occasionally feeling a rise in my body temperature and I knew that there would be a cost to running this race while I was under the weather from sore throat symptoms.

As Len and I started up a laborious hill at the beginning of an out-and-back around the park grounds, we were cheered along by another crowd of trail running friends, Kim, Desiree, John, and Kim's daughter.  When I made it to the top of the hill along the out-and-back, something inside me snapped and I found an unexpected second wind of energy.  The realization that I only had a few miles left to go hit me and I knew that I was capable of a strong finish.  A runner who was going the opposite way on the out-and-back must have recognized my distinctive look and my black outfit, because he asked me if I had run the Twisted Ankle Trail Marathon.  I nodded and waved at him as I passed, since I was desperate to keep the momentum.  Do not lose the plot.  Do not lose the plot.

Len and I hurried downhill from the out-and-back section, where I thanked Kim and the others profusely as I passed by.  Len and I were about to start the arduous 12^th Street hill out of the park, but I decided to pull off into the park bushes for one last bathroom break.  I am looking forward to seeing the flowers and leaves bloom throughout Atlanta over the next couple of spring months, because I am pretty sure that I fertilized the entire city quite well during this race.

The 12^th Street hill climb was alleviated by perfect timing, because one of my Galloway walk breaks fell squarely in the middle.  I waved to the volunteers who supplied me with water as I grabbed another Crank e-Gel from the net pockets of my shorts and ate it for some quick energy for the hills that would line the last three miles.  Spring Street is no picnic, as far as the hills are concerned, but I ran this mile at a decent pace as I leapfrogged Len and Caroline, a friend from the Marathon Maniacs group.

From Spring Street, I turned south over the bridge into the Georgia Tech campus and silently envied the carefree students who lounged around the lawns of their fraternity houses.  As an alumnus of Georgia Tech, I should remember that a Tech student's life is anything but carefree.  I envied these students nonetheless as I soldiered along a hill climb next to Bobby Dodd Stadium and my old dorm buildings.

My friend, Julian, with whom I had traveled to the Long Cane 55 Mile Ultra several months ago, was standing by the final aid station with encouragement after he had already completed his race.  I was grateful for the well-wishes as I ascended the final challenging hill to start a relatively flat final mile.

The last mile of the Publix Georgia Marathon is sadistic in its simplicity. Exhausted runners continue along a flat road where the Omni Hotel next to the finish can be seen the entire time, but never seems to get closer. After an eternity, the crowds along the side of the road thickened and the horse smelled the barn. I dispensed with my Galloway walk intervals during the last half mile and ran my way home.  I waved to a friend, Beth, who cheered from the side of the road as I made my final turn and ran a hundred yards through the finish line.

I finished the Publix Georgia Marathon in 4:46:23.  I had beat my time from the previous year on this same course by 12 minutes.

A volunteer hung a finisher's medal around my neck and I made my way to a group of friends just beyond the finish crowd.  Scott soon found me in the crowd and we greeted several other friends as we made our way back to the Galloway tent where I retrieved my water bottle.  I never caught up with Scott after all during the race, but he assured me that he had only finished a few minutes ahead of me and that I had been closing the distance in the end.

As Scott and I ate greasy hamburgers at The Varsity after the race, he told me, “Jason, you could have finished this race at least 20 minutes earlier if you had brought your game.”  I readily agreed, because I had not brought my game to this marathon.  Instead, I had brought a sore throat, a pair of already-fatigued legs, and a series of bathroom breaks that had cost me precious minutes.  I was in a celebratory mood, though, and I did not overburden myself with what could have been.  I was happy to have beat my previous year's time despite an emerging head cold and, after my encounter with The Amanda Riley Foundation at mile 18, I could not bring myself to feel anything, but elated that I had just finished my tenth marathon.

That sore throat did develop into a full blown head cold, but that was a small price for me to pay in return for enjoying one of my favorite Atlanta events and for completing what I have come to view as an annual rite of passage into a beautiful spring season.  I have temporarily banned myself from running any distance over seven miles so that I can have a few recovery weeks and be at my best for the next big race, a 50K on April 16, but I will be outside pounding the pavement and trails on a near-daily basis to enjoy the weather while it lasts.

See you on the trails.

Jason