Area 13.1 Half Marathon 8/18/12 (Race Report)

On August 18, 2012, I ran the Area 13.1 Half Marathon with a finish time of 1:57:04.

The Area 13.1 Half Marathon, an inaugural event in Roswell, Georgia that was sponsored by Zulu Racing to raise money for South Africa benefit programs, was a new experience for me in two ways.  With its 6:30 PM start time, this half marathon would be the first evening race of my running career, and, since I had already run 10 miles with my Galloway training group roughly eight hours before the race start, it would be my first race event as the second long-distance run in one day.  I wanted the 23.1 total miles for the day as a part of my preparation for some fall season ultramarathons, so I approached this particular half marathon as a routine training run.

In all honesty, though, I registered for the Area 13.1 Half Marathon just for the T-shirt and the medal.  This extraterrestrial alien theme race, which is named after the UFO conspiracy theories associated with Roswell, New Mexico and the Area 51 military installation in Nevada, appealed to my lifelong fascination with 1950s sci-fi monster movies and reeled me in with the promise of an outrageously fun, albeit challenging, summer event.  I was lured aboard after just one glance at the event website and the race swag.

I was well-prepared for the inevitable alien invasion when I woke up on the day of the race.  I weighed 192 pounds after months of intense workouts and a Paleo Diet lifestyle.  I was still recovering from a mild Achilles tendon ache in my left leg, but my running was unaffected as long as I continued massages and icing whenever the symptoms surfaced.  I met my Galloway training group at Riverside Park in Roswell, the same location as the Area 13.1 Half Marathon, early on Saturday morning and enjoyed a fast, but seemingly effortless 10-mile routine training run.  An ill-advised decision to sprint the last small stretch to the end with some friends brought the Achilles sensations back, but a post-run recovery on my foam roller at home alleviated the problem.

Conventional running wisdom states never to try anything new on the day of a race.  I decided to ignore this wisdom for the time being when I made the decision to try out a new pair of Hoka One One running shoes, a recent brand known for its oversized, but lightweight, midsole technology.  Since the Hoka One One shoes have received almost universal acclaim with many of my ultrarunning friends because of their cushioned feel on long pavement races and rocky trail events, I had long wanted to try the shoes for myself, but had been unable to find any in my size.  When I found out early in the afternoon that a local running store had a pair in my size, I tried the Hokas by running a half-mile around the store block, and, finding the cushioning effect much to my liking, purchased them for the intent of using the Area 13.1 Half Marathon as a testing ground for longer events with the shoes.  The Hoka One One shoes have a springy low-impact effect that has been compared to running on a moon surface.  If I were going to run a science-fiction theme race, I figured that I may as well go whole hog with the theme and wear shoes that feel as though I’m running on the moon.

Sure enough, the Hoka One One shoes did give me the sensation of a low-gravity step as I started the Area 13.1 Half Marathon with some friends in the back of the pack along a flat road next to Riverside Park by the Chattahoochee River.  The race capacity of roughly two thousand runners along a relatively narrow road resulted in some of the most densely-crowded initial miles of a run that I have ever encountered, even rivaling the infamous first mile of the Peachtree Road Race 10K here in Atlanta every July.  I immediately began to pass a multitude of runners, but was still restricted to a restrained pace that was probably a blessing in disguise to minimize later fatigue.

For the first three miles, I ran on top of the yellow lines in the middle of the road to avoid the camber and slope of the pavement on either side, and soon found myself negotiating the orange pylons that the police had set up to free the left side of the road for drivers.  When I saw a runner ahead of me trip over one of the pylons to fall on the asphalt, I stopped momentarily to help him stand, and then resumed my own run with a watchful eye.  The elevation change along these first three miles was forgiving, save for a couple of gradual slopes, and, although I had resolved to run at an effortlessly comfortable pace as a training run for this event, I found myself quickly moving up in the crowd.  I wanted to catch some friends in the 2:00:00 Pace Team, but had started in the back of the crowd way behind those pacers.  I passed the 2:30:00 Pace Team early during the run, and soon found myself edging closer to the 2:15:00 Pace Team when I spotted their signs before passing them during the next couple of miles.

After an abrupt uphill stretch to the first turnaround just before the Mile 4 marker, the Area 13.1 course veered off the pavement onto a pleasant gravel dirt road neighborhood of large homes by the river.  I had elected not to utilize any Galloway run/walk intervals for this race, but my nonstop running felt pleasantly carefree so far.  The improved feel of my running as a result of my weight loss has been remarkable, and, during a few of my recent training runs, I have felt as though I were Peter Parker after being bitten by a radioactive spider in a laboratory.  Still, I reminded myself that 13.1 miles is a long way to run, and I could pay a steep price later on if I overextended myself during the first half of this race.

I had foolishly ignored a cardinal rule of inaugural races by neglecting to carry my own water bottle, because first-time race events often underestimate the hydration needs of runners on a crowded course.  My irresponsible oversight became apparent when I encountered aid stations that were already almost out of water and had to wait a few seconds while volunteers filled the remaining cups one-by-one for each participant.  The temperatures in the mid-80s for this August evening were merciful for this time of year, but the humidity was off the scale, and the lack of adequate hydration would ultimately exact a toll on some of my most talented ultrarunning friends who were present at this half marathon.

As I left the gravel terrain and returned to pavement on the way to the halfway point, though, I was still having fun with my running pace and I continued to pass runners until I finally spotted the signs for the 2:00:00 Pace Team ahead.  My initial plan was to catch up with this Pace Team and remain with them for the rest of the run as a solid training exercise to end my day.  I looked forward finally to catching these pacers and then edging into a slightly slower pace to stay with them.   Cheering crowds were gathered at the start area that doubled as the halfway point of the race, and I waved to a couple of friends as I arrived at the halfway aid station.  The water supplies were still dwindling, but I grabbed one cup and then accepted my first running gel from one of the volunteers.   I did not have enough water to wash down the gel entirely, so I simply kept running while enjoying the taste of the blackberry-flavored mix in my mouth.

The seventh mile of Area 13.1 took runners to a perfectly-flat riverside road straightaway that was deceptively torturous due to the long line of sight to landmarks in the distance that seemed never to come closer.  Long straightaways in races are a weakness of mine, because I fall into a frustrated “Are we there yet?” frame of mind when I see buildings, traffic lights, or other such landmarks a mile ahead.  The ordeal was lessened this time by fun conversation, because I soon caught up with the 2:00:00 Pace Team and greeted a friend, Dan, who was holding one of the pace signs.  Dan and I talked for a few minutes before I surprised myself by comfortably running ahead of the Pace Team on my own.  I was still energized by Dan’s voice behind me as he encouraged all the runners in his pace group and cheered everyone along. 

The toughest section of the course revealed itself at the Mile 9 marker shortly after I turned onto a road with two notable hills and overheard several other runners complaining that they had assumed the course was perfectly flat.  I smiled to myself, concealed my own increasing fatigue, and soldiered on, waving at a handful of faster friends who were returning from the Mile 10 turnaround.  The hills were not an issue for me, but I was starting to struggle with the humid weather.  The Mile 10 aid station had similar water shortage issues, as gallant volunteers quickly filled cups one-by-one.  I repeated the unfamiliar routine of downing my single cup of water and then eating a gel, this time with a chocolate frosting taste that remained on my tongue for the remainder of the event.

The Hokas still felt good on my feet, but I was increasingly cognizant of the fact that my stride was different in these shoes as I obeyed a first instinct to land on my heels instead of striking mid-foot as I have always done with my standard running shoes.  I did not feel any Achilles pain at the time, though, so I continued to pass runners on my way back to the final straightaway after Mile 11.  I waved to friends who were running behind me in the opposite direction on their way to the turnaround that I had just passed as I enjoyed the view of dusk settling on the Chattahoochee River to my right.

I turned onto the home stretch and repeated the two miles of the mentally-taxing straightaway road where landmarks seemed to remain forever out of reach in the distance.  I was finally feeling the burn from two long runs in the same day, but I resolved to continue my nonstop run without walk breaks until the end.  The sight of “UFO lights” along the path as volunteers waved green flashlights up and down the trees on the other side of the road brought a smile to my face, but my arrival at the Mile 12 marker brought an even bigger smile to my face.

The longest mile is always the final mile in such a race, but the road straightaway made this particular section into one of my greatest battles with exhaustion that I had experienced to date.  I caught up with a small crowd of runners, struggled to stay with them as I overheard their conversations, and then somehow outdistanced them.  I finally reached the bridge underpass on the way back to Riverside Park and passed one runner who cheered me on and told me that he was going to ride my coattail to the finish.  I ran over a long wooden boardwalk, crossed a wooden creek bridge, and shot into overdrive when I saw the crowds beside the finish line chute.

I finished the Area 13.1 Half Marathon in 1:57:04 and placed 255 out of 1755 runners.  I had maintained an average pace of 8:56 per mile for the distance and finished 24 of 134 in my age group.

Minutes after I collected my medal and race T-shirt, I felt a noticeable drop in energy as delayed exhaustion finally caught me.  I grabbed an apple from a food table and took a few greedy bites for some quick sugar relief, then talked briefly with a handful of friends.  When rain began to fall, I decided to skip additional post-race celebration and walk to my truck, where I ate a second apple and sat comfortably until some of my strength returned.

I ran nine miles the following morning and performed a back-to-back comparison of the Hoka shoes with my standard running shoes.  My ailing Achilles tendon seemed to worsen during the first couple of miles with the Hokas, but the relief was almost instantaneous when I replaced them with my standard shoes, and I continued my run pain-free.  The next day, I returned the Hokas to the running store and took home a new pair of my standard Brooks Adrenaline shoes.  Nobody said that running is not an adventure in experimentation.  I had looked forward to trying the Hoka One One shoes for a long time, and, if I had never tried them, I would have never known for sure.

My finish time at the Area 13.1 Half Marathon was just over a minute slower than my personal record at the distance from a few years ago.  Considering that this half marathon was my second long run in a single day, and that I fought brutal August humidity, I am quite happy with the final result.  After all, this was just another training run for my fall season.  Thanks to Zulu Racing for a fun experience outrunning the alien invasion, and congratulations to my friends at the race who made me smile every step of the way.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run 8/4/12 (Race Report)

On August 4, 2012, I completed my third Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run with a distance of 37.8 miles.

Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

The Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run, a fixed-time event sponsored by Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society (GUTS), takes place every August at Sweetwater Creek State Park in Lithia Springs, Georgia.  The 1.1813-mile race route loop starts at a picnic shelter that serves as the aid station, descends along a hilly single-track trail, a paved section, and a rock-strewn forest road down to a sandy path along Sweetwater Creek before crossing a wooden bridge and climbing hilly trails covered with tree roots to the final forest road hill that leads back up to the shelter.  The 73-foot elevation gain in the final half-mile of the loop seems modest to runners during the first few laps in the cooler morning hours, but gradually wears the body down over the eight-hour duration until most participants are reduced to a lumbering walk in brutal summer temperatures.

The GUTS website description from Race Director Ryan Cobb outlines the risks of this event.  “At the Hot To Trot 8 Hour Race, our goal is to provide the race as advertised.  As the name implies, you can count on it being HOT.  Temps are easily in the 90’s this time of year in Georgia, with humidity off the scale.  Hyponatremia and dehydration can be serious.  Runners are expected to use proper electrolytes in order to stay alive!”  At this year’s race, we were treated to a temperature high of only 84 degrees, but stifling humidity and thunderstorms throughout the day presented a unique set of challenges that ultimately resulted in a comparable amount of dehydrated or overhydrated runners, along with many blisters earned from eight hours in rain-soaked shoes. 

A couple of days before this event, I weighed 199 pounds on my gym scales, dropping below the 200-pound mark for the first time since I was 17 years old back in 1989.  As such, I was looking forward to competing at the Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run for my third year in a row, because this would be the first real test of my improved running fitness when compared to previous experiences at this race.  Unfortunately, an unexpected setback in the form of a muscle sprain just above my left Achilles from sliding on muddy trails at the Camp Croft Challenge Trail Marathon during the previous week threatened to derail my plans.  The bruise and small lump just above the Achilles tendon gradually disappeared after a week of frequent icing and Arnica gel treatment, but my confidence was still shaken to the point that I questioned my wisdom of showing up at this race.  I made a promise to myself that I would stop running if I felt any Achilles pain whatsoever, even if my Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run turned into a Hot To Trot Half Hour Run.  Like most other runners, I had learned the hard way that it only takes one experience of not listening to my body to stop my running career for an extended time, and I did not want to risk my fall season races for this event.

Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

Thankfully, my Achilles felt normal as I arrived at the picnic shelter on race day and set up a camp chair with my drop bag of supplies for easy access beside the route.  All GUTS events have a family reunion feel to them, and this morning was no exception as I greeted old and new friends before Ryan called everyone to the start for race instructions.  The oppressive humidity was already evident, but overcast skies held the promise of easier race conditions this year. 

Hoping that the weather would remain comparably mild, I settled into my usual position near the back of the pack as the runners took off slowly in a single-file line along the trail over a series of abrupt hill berms before spreading out on the paved road section that followed.  I intended to run with a careful pace, but still found myself passing a few others along the first half-mile.  When we crossed a wooden bridge by Sweetwater Creek, I slowed to a power-walk on the hills, but resumed running along the flats and descents between each climb.  Remembering my unfortunate brush with yellow jackets on the course a year ago, I prayed that the experience would not repeat itself.

Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

I had no pre-determined race strategy, other than to keep going until my Achilles muscles started hurting.  The ratio of hills to descents and the forgiving terrain of the trails did not aggravate my Achilles at all on the first lap, and I kept my fingers crossed that my good fortune would continue as my legs warmed up.  I decided that I would be perfectly happy if I could get just two or three hours of good trail running in as a solid weekend training exercise before calling it a day if needed.  The next couple of laps were similarly uneventful, and I was pleased to note by the picnic shelter timing clock that each lap was taking me roughly 12 to 13 minutes.  I established a tentative goal of completing four laps an hour.  Assuming that I was able to complete the entire race pain-free, this pace would result in 32 laps over the eight hours.  Knowing that I would inevitably slow to a walk later in the race just as I had during previous years and lose that pace of four laps an hour, I figured that a goal of 32 laps was overly optimistic, but I liked the idea of trying my best to maintain such a pace for the time being.  With this number in the back of my mind, I continued at a comfortable clip by running nonstop roughly 80% of the time on each loop, then power-walking the steeper hill climbs to conserve energy.

I managed to finish nine laps just after the two-hour mark, and I was happy to have an extra lap in the bank to maintain my four-lap-per-hour pace as long as possible.  That boost in confidence was timely, because the faint sound of thunder began to roll over the course, and I soon felt raindrops.  The thought of rain at a Hot To Trot event brought a smile to everyone’s face on the course, and we joked that it was our lucky day.  I assumed that the rain showers would quickly pass and evaporate in a punishingly humid fog under the sun, but my assumptions were mistaken, and the rain was there to stay for a few hours.  Rain fell in a slight drizzle most of the time, but occasionally poured down in full force.  The constant overhead canopy of leaves protected me from the worst of the showers, and the trails remained free of slippery mud.  One particular sand-covered hill that was my least favorite part of the course was made slightly more tolerable by the wet weather, so I continued to accept the rain as a blessing.

Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

At the conclusion of each lap, I ran through the timing chute with a smile for the volunteers, and made my way around the corner of the shelter to the aid station, where a small team of dedicated workers were always angels to the rescue with ice water to refill my handheld bottle, gels and Gummi Bears to keep me moving with sugar energy, and even cups of watermelon that put a smile on my face.  I settled into a routine of eating a gel after every other lap, so that I was loosely adhering to my established racing style of eating a gel every half hour.  At the end of the non-gel laps, I would either grab a small handful of watermelon or Gummi Bears from the aid station, or stop by my own camp chair to take a few gulps from bottles of Powerade in my drop bag.  I have learned from experience that eating an excessive amount of watermelon in the middle of a race is a bad idea, because my body retains a lot of fluid when I combine the watermelon with my normal running nutrition.  I rarely have the self-discipline to turn away from watermelon when it is placed in front of me on a hot day, though, and I would ultimately pay the price when my hands started to swell later on during this race. 

Aside from the short aid station stops, I kept moving steadily around each loop and stayed true to my strategy of running 80% of the course except for the steep hills.  The one exception was when I noticed with dismay that some medical tape that I had wrapped around a particularly blister-prone toe had slipped off and slid underneath the sole of my foot inside my wet shoe.  Knowing that I would save a lot of time later on by taking the precaution to avoid a rubbing blister, I sat down for the only time during the eight-hour event to remove my shoe and sock to discard the tape.

Photo courtesy of Errol Josephs

One of the many joys of the Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run is seeing my friends over and over again as they pass me, or vice-versa, while we all run the laps at our respective speeds.  An ultrarunning friend, Johan, who would go on to win this event with the most laps, always had kind words each time he passed.  The other front runners were also a sight for sore eyes each time they passed by as the race continued.  I paid the favor forward by doing my best to offer words of encouragement or jokes to each runner whom I passed on the course.  I took it as a good sign that I did not see many of the faster runners as often, because I was running faster this year and I was lapped fewer times.  The endurance of each and every participant on the course gave me strength as I observed the sheer will of people refusing to stop during moments of fatigue.

I passed the four-hour mark with 17 laps under my belt, remaining one lap ahead of schedule on my four-lap-per-hour plan.  Exhaustion was bearing down on me, and I kept telling myself that I would walk the next lap in its entirety, but an urge to keep running the laps won me over each time.  I kept expecting to end my race with an aching Achilles, and I was pleasantly surprised to complete each subsequent lap with no Achilles pain at all.  No matter how tired I was at the end of each circle, I still tried my best to maintain appearances by breaking out into a run when I passed the lap counters at the timing chute.

Photo courtesy of Sean Oh

An absence of specific Achilles pain did not equal a complete absence of pain, though, and the trial of miles soon exacted its toll on me.  The cumulative effects of running this eight-hour event after a trail marathon the previous week was all too apparent during the last half of this event, and a sharp heel pain occasionally shot through my right foot in my well-worn old trail shoes when I took a wrong step on the rocks of the forest road section leading downhill to Sweetwater Creek.  I eventually began to fall into a routine of mental blankness as my will to move ignored the red flags of fatigue.  The kind volunteers at the aid station would assure me that I was doing great each time I passed by, and, when I would tell them that I was about to start walking the laps because I could not run anymore, they would laugh and tell me that I had told them that the last time around.  I would then break out into a slow run back down the trail hills to complete the same stage play.  Like the teenager who just wants a Pepsi in the old Suicidal Tendencies song, I plodded along thinking about everything, but thinking about nothing. 

My frayed mental state became apparent during an encounter that is amusing in retrospect.  An acquaintance from a local triathlon and running club who had arrived on site to cheer for us from the shelter area called my name as I finished a lap.  When I saw that he was holding up a digital camera, I posed for a photo.  This friend kept holding up the camera as he asked me a series of questions.  “How many laps have you run, Jason?”   My mind went blank and I shrugged as I remained in my motionless pose.  “How do you feel?”  I told him that I felt pretty good, and asked him if he was done taking the photo.  “How many more laps will you run?”  I shrugged and asked him once again if he was done.  He asked me a couple more questions, and, when I finally demanded to know if he was done taking the picture so that I could keep moving to the next lap, he nodded.  Minutes later, another friend passed by me on the course and laughed as he told me that the guy had been videotaping me with interview questions instead of trying to take a single photo.  With my status as the official unintentional comic relief of the ultramarathon world still very much intact, I soldiered on.

I finished 25 laps just before the six-hour mark on the timing clock.  As the rain showers fizzled out and dry weather returned, I kept moving with the help of a stern internal dialogue.  Jason, you will get those 32 laps that you wanted if you can finish seven more laps in the next two hours.  Do not worry about how much your feet hurt from the gravel.  Do not worry about how tired you are from last week’s marathon.  Do no worry about how you are having trouble thinking clearly.  Just think about seven laps in the next two hours.  Just get it done.  Just get it done.  I somehow managed to find a smile for each runner whom I encountered on the loop, even if that smile was occasionally accompanied by faint mumbles.  At one point, as I walked up the final hill of one loop with a small group of runners, one of them asked us how much longer we were planning to keep running, and I replied off the top of my head, “I paid for eight hours.”  This drew some laughs from the other runners as we lumbered back up to the shelter. 

I greeted the aid station volunteers with a smile at the end of most of the laps and reminded them how much I appreciated their being there, but I also passed by a couple of times with a dazed expression on my face and a weak wave of acknowledgment during those last two hours.  As the final hour approached, I noticed that my fingers had swollen to Stay Puft Marshmallow Man size, and I knew that I had lost control of my hydration strategy.  When I licked my arm and tasted salt, I ascertained that I was losing sodium, but could not decide whether to modify my hydration or my electrolyte nutrition.  The good news was that I managed to complete four more laps during the seventh hour of the race, and therefore, only had three laps left to go in the final hour for my goal of 32.  I was incredibly thankful that I had banked an extra lap ahead of schedule earlier in the race.

Photo courtesy of Errol Josephs

Those last three laps during the eighth hour were painful, but I was able to summon enough energy to run for short stretches.  I stayed away from gels, Gatorade, or watermelon, and took less frequent sips from my water bottle.  When I completed 31 laps, my running legs were almost dead.  I threw my water bottle into my drop bag, and began my final loop with 25 minutes left on the clock.  I walked most of the time, but occasionally broke out into a jog during some of the more generous descents.  I eventually joined a group of running friends who were in a celebratory mood for their final lap, and I eagerly shared their enthusiasm.  This had been a good day for me, and I felt as though I were the luckiest person in the world for completing this event with no pain at all from the Achilles muscles that had been bothering me days earlier.  I passed through the finish chute for the last time with eight minutes left on the clock, relieved that I did not have time to go out for another lap.  I had succeeded in my goal to complete 32 laps, beating my previous course record by six laps.  I had finished the 2012 Hot To Trot 8 Hour Run with 37.8 miles.

I relaxed in the company of friends as I grabbed a chicken breast from the picnic grill and ate it with some sweet potatoes from my drop bag as a perfect Paleo celebration meal.  The ability to complete 37.8 miles in eight hours in August has boosted my confidence for the fall races to come, and that alone would have been reason enough to endure this challenge.  The joys of spending a day with friends and the ability to keep pace with some of my ultrarunning heroes, however, made this one of my favorite running memories to date.  Thanks to Ryan Cobb and the GUTS crowd for another safe and sensational Hot To Trot event.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Camp Croft Challenge Trail Marathon 7/28/12 (Race Report)

On July 28, 2012, I completed the Camp Croft Challenge Trail Marathon with a finish time of 4:54:29.

Photo courtesy of Pace Running Magazine

The Camp Croft Challenge Trail Marathon takes place in the beautiful wilderness of Croft State Park near Spartanburg, South Carolina and Greenville, South Carolina.  This 7,000-acre wooded area, the former site of Camp Croft, an Army Infantry Training Center that shut down in 1947, opened as a state park in 1949 as a part of South Carolina’s expansive park program established by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC).  Race Director Joseph Parker and the Greenville Running Company organized this inaugural Camp Croft Challenge Trail Marathon and created a race logo and medal design that acknowledges the park history and the CCC.  The first half of the race course follows the single-track trails and fire roads of the Camp Croft Half Trail Marathon, then takes runners across a river to loop several miles of single-track trails south of the main park grounds before returning to the start/finish area near the park office.

I arrived at Croft State Park in the mid-afternoon on the day before the race as a vicious thunderstorm was battering the area.  After the storm cleared as quickly as it had arrived, I went for a brief scouting trip around some of the race trails with my camera before spending the evening at the campsite with several friends from Georgia Ultrarunning and Trailrunning Society (GUTS).  Since the weather appeared deceptively serene, I decided not to set up my tent at the campsite and to, instead, spread out my sleeping pad in the open bed of my pickup truck.  I had nearly fallen into a peaceful sleep when I heard thunder and felt raindrops start to fall.  Laughing at my misplaced faith in the summer weather, I quickly gathered my pad and retreated into the cab of my truck, where I spent the remainder of the night catching short intervals of uneven sleep while the rain poured outside.

Hours later, I emerged from my truck to calm skies, ate the pleasant breakfast of sweet potatoes and chicken that has become my pre-race routine with my Paleo diet lifestyle, and made my way to the race start area across the park road from the campsite.  At 202 pounds, I was now in the best shape of my adult life thanks to my new eating habits and an intense workout regimen that I had followed for most of the year.  Just the same, I knew that a marathon in July weather on unfamiliar trails was nothing to take lightly, especially when the weather predictions indicated 93% humidity for the start time of the race and 71-degree temperatures that would quickly rise into the 90s that day.  For me, the Camp Croft Challenge Trail Marathon would be just another Saturday training run where I utilized run/walk intervals to complete the distance, so I decided on a strategy of staying close to other runners to avoid getting lost on the 40 miles of trail system in the area.  After an hour of hanging out with GUTS friends and greeting some South Carolina running friends who have become like family after I have run so many races with them this year, I settled into the back of the crowd as Joseph introduced himself and gave pre-race instructions concerning trail markings and aid stations before sending us down the course.

The race started with a short stretch along a gravel park road to thin out the runners before turning onto a single-track horse trail marked by yellow ribbons.  I put a piece of peppermint candy into my mouth, the first processed sugar product that I had eaten in almost two months since my last long-distance race, for some energy momentum right away as I fell into a comfortable pace among the marathon runners and relay-race runners who would be completing the race in four relay sections. 

Moments after I turned off the gravel road onto the forest trail, the most prominent terrain hazard of this race announced itself in the form of a horse-trodden path that had softened into several inches of mud in several spots after the thunderstorms.  I have always disliked running on muddy trails.  In fact, I hate running on muddy trails with a passion from the darkest abyss of my heart, and mud-covered ground is my least favorite trail terrain.  My previous trail races have fortunately taken place on mostly dry trails, and I have fallen into the habit of quietly avoiding group training runs that take place in excessively muddy conditions.  Running in slippery mud requires a certain finesse that I lack, and I avoid the activity whenever possible to avoid rolling my ankles while trying to stay upright during such a run.  I joked with the runners around me about embracing the challenge, but I knew that I was in for some rough times as two of the runners near me had to stop to retrieve shoes that had been sucked off their feet in the mud during the first couple of miles.  My Montrail Mountain Masochist shoes stayed on my feet, but were soon drenched from the mud puddles from indentions made by horse hooves.

Despite the unfavorable terrain, I was still able to open up into a solid running pace most of the time, and I soon passed several runners.  I have never been a particularly competitive runner, but I succumbed to the desire to stay ahead of these runners, and that momentum would carry me along for the remainder of the race.  During the past couple of months, I had moved to a faster pace team with my weekend training group and had started using Sunday mornings to push myself at nonstop running on rolling-hill trails near my home in an attempt to improve my “forever pace” at long-distance events.  I still took advantage of several trail inclines to conserve energy with walking intervals, but I was happy to be running with more confidence even in the dangerously humid weather.

I passed an unmanned aid station without refilling my nearly full Camelbak hydration pack and almost cheered aloud with relief when the trail took a turn onto a fire road with firm footing and no splashy mud.  This flat fire road went on for another mile or two, and I took advantage of the break to enjoy some nonstop running at a restrained, but decent, pace.  I took periodic drinks of water and adhered to my longtime race strategy of eating a gel every half hour by my stop watch.

A universally accepted truth in trail running is that, whether one is feeling good or feeling bad, the feeling will certainly not last.  Sure enough, my euphoria of running on a gentle fire road did not last, and I eventually returned to a muddy single-track trail.  When another runner and I emerged out of the forest into a small power-line clearing and had to call back a third runner who was starting to run down the wrong trail after ignoring markings on the other side of the clearing, I was reminded of the possibility of getting caught up in a moment and accidentally venturing off course on a dangerously hot summer day.  Fortunately, the first half of the course was relatively easy to follow, since the new trail markings for this particular race were supplemented by established tree markings for the half marathon race on the same trails.

I arrived at the first manned aid station shortly after passing a large lake.  A volunteer refilled my Camelbak with water as I took my first drop bag that consisted of nothing more than a large bottle of Powerade inside a plastic grocery bag.  Having been notified in pre-race emails that the aid stations would only have water with no sport drinks or food, I had arranged for three Powerade bottles to be placed at the major aid stations that doubled as relay-race changeovers, since drop bags were permitted at these locations.  I thanked the volunteers and left the aid station with the heavy bottle of Powerade in one hand along with the Camelbak on my back.  Since starting the Paleo diet months ago, I had become hypersensitive to the energy boost effect of sport drinks during long races, since I never indulge in processed sugar on normal days.  The Powerade put a spring in my step, but I quickly tired of carrying the bottle, and decided simply to take several gulps from my other two bottles later in the race before leaving them at the stations.

I soon reached the most punishing stretch of the entire Camp Croft Trail Marathon, a section of single-track trail that had recently been graded, but not closed to horse traffic after the grading.  The result was a mud-slathered path on slippery hills that summoned the worst profanity that I had learned in my 40 years as I struggled to keep from falling on my face during the more challenging turns as the heat of the summer day intensified.  I would be tempted to say that the profanity did not count since I was alone on the trail at the time, but I am pretty certain that the entire state of South Carolina heard my curses during a couple of occasions as I sank ankle-deep on muddy descents.  Trail marathons and ultramarathons reveal true character through adversity, and, as such, I am embarrassed to say that shortcomings in my character were displayed in full during this event as I battled negativity and the self-defeating attitude that is my worst enemy when I am fatigued.

The graded section of trail gave way to more conventional single-track after a creek crossing that I completed in one piece after some slips on the wet rocks.  I passed a couple of runners along the next trail section as I crossed two park roads and managed to keep pace while temporarily returning to a happy state of mind.  When I arrived at an unmanned aid station, I placed my nearly empty bottle of Powerade on the table and resumed running empty-handed in a less cumbersome manner.

Runners familiar with the course had assured me that the muddy terrain would stop after the halfway point, but the mud-covered horse trail sections still appeared frequently during the two-mile stretch on the way to that halfway point.  These mudslides compounded my fatigue and eroded my disposition.  I have had a great many irritable and annoyed moments during trail races while dealing with various obstacles, but this was the first time during a race that I was reduced to the type of seething outrage that one might hear in a Nine Inch Nails song.  At times, I repeatedly told the muddy trails exactly what they could do with themselves as I negotiated the deep puddles and often emerged with mud-covered shoes after failing to clear the sections to dryer ground.

I finally arrived at the 13-mile aid station at a river crossing bridge and thanked the volunteers for refilling my Camelback while I took several swallows from my Powerade bottle that was waiting for me on the table.  I joked with the volunteers, “My review of this trail so far is that it sucks!  I’m having fun, this is a great race, and y’all are doing a great job, but the trails themselves just flat out suck.”  The volunteers laughed, and a couple of runners voiced agreement as I crossed the bridge to easier trails and smiles on my face during an extended flat single-track that felt effortless compared with the mud on the other side of the river.  I had made it to the halfway point of the race in roughly 2:50:00 and was proud of my progress.

I caught up with Janice, a friend from the GUTS group, and, finding her pace to my liking, I trailed just behind her for the remainder of the race.  We ran for a few miles on a flat trail that twisted and turned across small creeks and lush fern-covered landscapes.   Every now and then, I would take a Galloway walk break when I closed the distance between Janice and myself, then catch up with her again over the next few minutes of easy running.

The actual distance of the second half of Camp Croft Trail Marathon is a subject of debate.  The Race Director posted that the bicycle wheel measurement of the entire course comes out to 25.869 miles and was purposely short to include a river crossing near the end, but Garmin measurements of the course depict shorter distances averaging 22 miles or so depending on lost satellite coverage and distance inconsistencies due to trail switchbacks.  I did not wear a Garmin watch for this race and had no other way of ascertaining any measurements.   The second half of the course did not seem nearly as long as the first half to me, but a lot of my perception may be due to the fact that the entire second half was easily runnable with fewer hills and no treacherous mud.  The remainder of the course took me about 2:05:00 to complete, whereas the first 13 miles took me around 2:50:00.  For the purposes of this race report, I defer to the classification of this race as a marathon and shrug off the distance uncertainty as a routine trait of low-key trail races that are not USATF-certified.

I was pleased with my running speed during this flat trail section, I was well-energized from my nutrition, and I was confident of a good finish time compared with the field of runners for this race.  My ease of mind during this stretch was short-lived, though, when Janice and I were passed by a woman who asked us whether we were running the marathon course or running as a relay team.  When we replied that we were running the full marathon course, the woman sternly admonished us that we were running in the wrong direction, because she was in front of the other relay runners and no other marathon runners had come through the Mile 21 aid station that she had just left.  When we replied that we had been following the correct markings as per the instructions of the race volunteers, the woman repeated that we had to turn around because we were going in the wrong direction.  I told Janice to ignore the woman, because we seemed to be moving along the correct course path.  For the life of me, I could not think of any possible way that I had taken a wrong turn on the course, and Janice agreed that she had been following the trail markings as well.  Still, the seeds of doubt had been planted in my head by the relay runner, and I started to second-guess myself.  There is nothing worse than running a section in a challenging trail race when I am not certain if I am following the course, and this new worry affected my mental game almost instantly.  When a second relay runner passed me and Janice, and confirmed that she had just left the Mile 21 aid station that Janice and I had not yet visited, the doubt was in my mind to stay.

The uncertainty about my course direction brought anger along with it.   I was running better than I had ever run during a long trail race event, I was proud of my progress, and I was having a good day, so the idea of failing at this race due to a wrong turn really chapped me.   I had worked too hard on a hot day to fail due to simple ignorance.  The idea of being lost on a trail in dangerously-hot July weather weighed down on me, and, although I could have reluctantly accepted a DNF due to a wrong turn, I hoped that I was not moving along the trail farther off course and putting my safety at risk.  Janice and I both noted that we were following the yellow ribbon markers and that the trail matched the race route description so far, so we simply decided to keep running along the trail and DNF if we happened to end up at an aid station off the planned course.  In the end, any sort of forward movement felt good, even if I was vocalizing my grumpiness too much at the moment.

Janice and I encountered a third runner who told us that he was running the full marathon, but that he had just been passed by two relay runners who had told him that he was running in the wrong direction.  He was glad to see us, because he had been doubling up back in the other direction in uncertainty when he met us.  The feeling was mutual, and I was relieved that Janice and I were not the only marathon runners on this section.  The three of us soldiered on by walking the steeper hill inclines, but running easily on the flat sections.

We finally arrived at a parking lot and saw the tent for the Mile 21 aid station, according to the race description.  I asked one volunteer if two relay runners had just come through, and he replied, “Yes, they were going in the wrong direction just like you.”  This pushed my annoyance past the red point.  I told the volunteers that the three of us were running the full marathon instead of the relay, and that we had remained on the south side trail loop since the river crossing, as instructed in the race directions.  I threw my hands in the air and asked, “Are we or are we not going in the right direction?”

Thankfully, we had been running in the correct direction after all.  After realizing that the three of us were marathon runners and that we had arrived at the parking lot by the south side trail loop, the aid station volunteers informed us that the two relay runners who had passed us had been the ones who were running in the wrong direction and that we had been following the proper course.  Now that my concerns were assuaged, I thanked the volunteers profusely and apologized for my previous crankiness.  I refilled my Camelbak, took several large gulps of the third Powerade bottle that I had left in the drop bag for that station, and then listened carefully as a volunteer showed me the upcoming trail turn on the map that the relay runners had missed.  A mile out from the aid station, a turn in the trail had been indicated by arrows placed in front of the path along with the normal yellow trail markings, but mountain bikers had removed the arrows on the trail earlier that morning, and several runners had made wrong turns at that intersection as a result.  Armed with the correct trail information, Janice and I took off for the final trail section to the finish line.

The next couple of miles were straightaways with a gentle downhill slope.  I was all smiles as I followed Janice along this stretch and we found the trail turn that had caused the confusion.  I reminded myself that I should not give in to negativity during the rough moments of fatigue, because, as always, things do eventually get better in every trail race.  We proceeded down the correct path onto another downhill straightaway that led to a twisting single-track that meandered on top of a steep hill with views of a forest ravine from above.  This section had no yellow ribbon markings, but the trail name was helpfully posted on several trees.  I tripped a couple of times, since I had not been picking up my feet enough to scale the tree roots, but I somehow managed to avoid falling.  I knew that this was the final trail to the river crossing, but this trail seemed never to end with its twists and turns.  I happily noted the increasing views of ferns that signified the vicinity of the river, though, and my patience was soon rewarded when we turned onto main riverside trail.

Janice and I reached the river crossing just in time to see two runners ahead of us reach the other side.  We both slipped on the rocks just a few feet into the water.  Janice got back on her feet to complete the crossing, but I just shrugged and decided to swim on my belly across the shallow water to the other side.  I did not win any points for gracefulness, and my white shirt was soon covered with mud, but I did make it across the river without injuring an ankle or busting a knee.  We emerged on the other side of the river just ahead of two runners who had caught up with us.  I knew from the previous day’s scouting expedition that I was only a half mile from the finish, so I kicked into overdrive when I saw that I had ten minutes until the five-hour mark on my stopwatch.

The final section of single-track was a gradual uphill climb, but I ran the entire distance at a fast pace while glancing down at my stopwatch when the terrain permitted.  I was overjoyed when I ran out of the woods into the park grounds, crossed the park road, and sprinted full speed through the finish chute.  I had finished the Camp Croft Challenge Trail Marathon in 4:54:29 and placed 24 out of 45 runners.

I grabbed a slice of watermelon, joined a handful of GUTS friends at a picnic table, and waited for others to arrive.  When I approached the finish table and discovered my official time, I commented that I had never completed a sub-5-hour trail marathon.  The volunteer informed me, “I don’t want to bust your bubble, but the course was shorter than a marathon distance.”  I just laughed and said that I was happy with my time relative to the field of runners, regardless of the distance.  Despite a few hitches in the form of muddy trails, profanity, and confusion about direction, I had achieved one of my best race performances on a hot and humid July day.  I returned to the campsite, where I showered, ate some sweet potatoes, and spent time with the GUTS crowd before leaving for the three-hour drive home.   My left calf muscles just above my Achilles were aching when I arrived home, probably a result of the many slips in the mud or maybe an act of vengeance from the trail for my cruel words to it along a couple of sections.  Thankfully, the Achilles pain is slowly improving two days later.

My utmost appreciation goes to Race Director Joseph Parker and the Greenville Running Company for organizing a safe and fun inaugural Camp Croft Challenge Trail Marathon.  I would like to run this race again, muddy trails and all, because it was a good opportunity for me to gauge my fitness level during a warm summer month.  This was the first of many training races in my future, and I’m looking forward to facing the challenge with new lessons under my belt.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Peachtree Road Race 10K 7/4/12 (Race Report)

On July 4, 2012, I ran my eighth Peachtree Road Race 10K and earned a 52:54 finish time.

The Peachtree Road Race 10K, with its capacity of 60,000 runners during the hottest season of the year here in Atlanta, is generally not regarded as a race to achieve personal records.  As such, I always approach the event in a casual manner by treating it as a normal training day.  Right now, I am on a roll with my weight loss and, at 210 pounds, I am at the lowest weight of my adult running career since I started marathons and ultras years ago.  I have settled into the routine of punishingly intense treadmill workouts at a 10% incline on Monday through Thursday of each week, and I power-walk on the incline at an anaerobic heart rate for an hour in an attempt to achieve progressive distance records during that fixed hour time.  These uphill workouts are benefiting my weekend long runs by making the uphill running almost effortless on normal road conditions and by making the steep trail inclines more manageable.  On Tuesday night, July 3, less than 14 hours before the start of the Peachtree Road Race, I achieved a 4.6-mile distance during my hour on the 10% incline treadmill and earned a new record.  This hardly qualifies as suitable race taper behavior.

As I arrived at the starting area of the Peachtree Road Race and was greeted by 71-degree temperatures and 85% humidity even in the early morning hours, I shelved any time goals and resolved simply to run the entire distance without taking any walk breaks on Cardiac Hill, as I had the year before when I finished in 59:26.  The temperature was cooler this time around than the year before, but the humidity made up for the difference.

I was fortunate to have a corral spot in Wave B, since I used my existing 10K PR of 50:17 from a downhill race in 2011 as the qualifying time.  I settled into the very back of the Wave B crowd, knowing that I would be shuffling through people for the first mile, but content to use that first mile to warm up into a decent pace.

The first three miles along Peachtree Road meander downhill as runners leave the start area at Lenox Mall and make their way down to the Peachtree Creek neighborhoods.  I ran faster than my comfort zone allowed, but still conserved energy, at just over an eight-minute per mile pace for the first couple of miles.  The noticeably descending slope of the third mile resulted in my fastest pace yet, and I briefly went into sub-seven-minute mode.

The beatdown of Cardiac Hill began at the fourth mile, but my treadmill incline workouts had served me well, and I remained in high spirits as I passed other runners by taking baby steps up the incline. This brutal half-mile climb is interrupted by a deceptive flat spot where runners turn a curve to see the rest of the hill looming before them.  I took advantage of this brief lull in incline to breathe in as much oxygen as possible before resuming the second half of the climb.

Yellow flags were hung along the course to caution runners on their pace in the hot conditions, but I stayed in the middle of the road and turned down the chance to pull off at any of the aid stations for water.  I also went out of my way to avoid the water sprinklers, since I did not want to get my feet soaked during a 10K road race.

Photo courtesy of Kim Fuller

The fifth mile of Peachtree Road Race is the true test that separates the runners from the walkers.  I ran up Peachtree Road at an incline almost comparable to Cardiac Hill with legs that were still recovering from Cardiac Hill, but I maintained a solid running clip.  I was wearing a regular stopwatch instead of a Garmin, but I predicted a 54:00 finish time, give or take some seconds.  I wish I could say that my running felt effortless with my lighter weight this year, but I was struggling to keep a running pace on these hills, and I felt as through I were swimming through an ocean of humidity.

The crowd of spectators and hecklers along the side of the road kept a smile on my face during the tough moments, though.  The Peachtree Road Race 10K is so distinctly Atlanta that I have to tip my hat to the idiosyncrasies of Waffle House employees throwing T-shirts to the crowd, of country-rock bands playing crudely-improvised cover songs, and of the flavor-of-the-month hip-hop songs being played on obnoxious loudspeakers.

The final mile inspired a final push with my running, and, although I cursed the small hills along the final stretch to the finish at Piedmont Park, I felt a sub-53-minute race holding a carrot in front of my face.  I sped through the finish line camera crew setup and resisted the temptation to keep glancing at my watch as I made it through the chute just seconds before the 53-minute mark.  I had finished the Peachtree Road Race 10K in 52:54 to beat my previous year's time by almost seven minutes.  I ignored the finish line food temptations, because I knew that I had a cold Granny Smith apple waiting for me in my truck, but I did plow through several bottles of water as I hung out in Piedmont Park with friends for the next couple of hours.

I do not feel that my race time was anything impressive, and it is not even my fastest Peachtree finish, but I still have a grandiose head rush when I see my placement of 5,503 out of 57,754.  I can certainly live with my spot in the grand scheme. 

Thanks to the Atlanta Track Club for another brilliantly-organized Peachtree Road Race.  It's not easy to pin down logistics for such a large-scale event, but Atlanta Track Club always comes through in style to keep things safe and fun.  The Peachtree Road Race is the only time of the year that I can get from Lenox Mall to Piedmont Park in less than an hour, and, for that, I am always grateful.

See you on the trails.

Jason

Chattooga River 50K 6/3/12 (Race Report)

On June 3, 2012, I completed the Chattooga River 50K with a finish time of 8:04:00.

Photo courtesy of Susan Donnelly

The Chattooga River 50K, like the Long Cane 50K that I finished a month ago, is one of the endearingly low-key donation-only races of the South Carolina Ultra Series founded by Race Director Terri Hayes.  This out-and-back race course in the mountains of South Carolina near the Georgia border challenges runners with daunting climbs and twisting switchbacks over tree roots and rocks on trails that occasionally overlook the Chattooga River from precariously steep ledges.  The predictions of merciful 82-degree temperatures for this weekend promised the coolest weather in the history of this normally-sweltering summer ultra event, but the comparably mild weather outlook did little to assuage my apprehension about running this course that has become notorious for its two ten-mile sections without water stops and for its history of sending talented runners home with ankle injuries or heat exhaustion.

Thankfully, my concerns about the Chattooga River 50K were outmatched by a newfound confidence in my ultrarunning abilities.  I had achieved a new personal record at the 50K distance with my finish at the Long Cane race in May, and I would be lining up for the start of this event at 223 pounds, the lowest weight of my long-distance running career over the past three years.  As I rode up to South Carolina with accomplished veteran ultrarunner Richard Schick and enjoyed his stories of races from past decades, I was eager to put my improved running capability to the test at a race that I had wanted to run since I first joined the ultrarunning community.  We arrived in South Carolina early on Saturday afternoon, and, since Terri Hayes had selflessly held the same race on both days of the weekend to accommodate all runners after the event filled to capacity for the original Sunday date, we decided to pass time by visiting the campground to cheer for the Saturday finishers.  I went for a preliminary stroll along a couple of miles of the race course to scout the terrain and take photos before we left the campground for our hotel.

On the morning of the race, I woke up early for a Paleo Diet breakfast of sweet potatoes and canned chicken breast, since that same breakfast menu had served me so well at my previous ultramarathon.  Richard and I arrived at the campground start area just before daylight and spent the next hour greeting friends and listening to Terri give a detailed pre-race introduction that outlined a few tricky turns along the race course and emphasized the need for adequate hydration for the two long stretches of the trail that were inaccessible to aid stations.  A local running friend, Thomas, had brought some ivory ribbons to the race so that we could all wear one to celebrate the life of Angela Ivory, a brave and kind ultrarunner acquaintance who had lost her battle to cancer days before.  As I tied one of these ribbons to the Road ID around my right wrist, I reminded myself how fortunate I was to be in the company of friends old and new at each of these events.  I settled into the back of the pack of runners with a smile as the race started, and broke into an easy jog along a campground gravel road before the course veered into the woods on a single-track trail.

The first three and half miles of the Chattooga River 50K take runners along the Winding Stairs Trail, a leisurely path of downhill switchbacks that descend roughly 1,000 feet to the turnaround point at a forest road.  I was content to run with a restrained pace to conserve energy for the inevitable climb back up this same trail, and I enjoyed spending time with a group of friends who were following the same plan.  Easy downhill trails often cater to complacency, as I discovered when I tripped over a high leaf-obscured tree root for the first of many times on this course and fell down on the trail.  As the runners ahead of me expressed concern, I stood up unhurt, save for my dignity, and assured them that I was okay as I brushed dirt off my arms and resumed my run.  My sprawl was instantly forgotten in the joy of running downhill on this beautiful trail through the bright green trees of early summer.  I told the nearby runners that I was giving this race course an A+ grade so far, and was answered by good-natured gallow jokes about how that grade might change when we had to go back uphill on the same route.  Our descent seemed to continue indefinitely, and, as we all lost count of the multiple switchbacks that we were running down, I began to strategize about how I would approach the gradual climb back to the top.  We reached the gravel road turnaround at the bottom of the Winding Stairs Trail just minutes after I had eaten my first gel at the half hour mark, and I took advantage of the sugar boost by starting my uphill climb at a running pace.

I remained in back of the small group of friends as we ran back up the Winding Stairs Trail, but found that I was often able to keep up with the group by walking deliberately on the steeper sections while most of them kept running.  For the most part, though, I stuck to a gentle run and was relieved to find that my uphill running did not take a toll on my energy level.  I remembered a useful mantra from my earlier trail running days, “If it feels like work, then you’re working too hard.”  The gradual run/walk up the hill did not feel like work, so I was confident that this 1,000-foot climb so early in the race would not exhaust me before the tougher trail terrain that was soon to come.  I kept my eyes on the trail, mindful of hidden tree roots after my earlier fall, but also enjoyed the scenery of mountain laurel along the banks that bordered the trail switchbacks and the sound of waterfalls from an adjacent stream.  My left hip and IT band were aching slightly due to tightness along the hip that has bothered me for the past couple of races, but the dull ache never intensified.

I reached the top of the Winding Stairs Trail and followed the course markings to the first aid station next to a paved highway crossing, pleased that I had finished the first seven miles in just under an hour and half, despite the 1,000-foot elevation climb.  The temperature was pleasant in the morning hours, but I still took the time to refill my Camelbak hydration pack to capacity, since the next aid station was ten miles away.  After helping myself to two cups of Powerade sports drink, I refastened my Camelbak and took off across the road to the Big Bend Trail that led to the Chattooga River.  I was now alone for the most part, since I had left a couple of runners in my group behind at the aid station, but was able to spot some faster runners ahead of me on occasion when the trail opened up into longer straightaways.  My vision was starting to become slightly blurry, since I had spent the past hour and half looking down at the trail in front of my feet with concentration during the extended running stretches.  Fortunately, the terrain of the Big Bend Trail consisted of a few hills conducive to walk breaks, during which I looked up at the leaves above me to alleviate my blurred vision by removing my focus from the tree roots in my path.  After a couple of miles, my vision improved.  

I caught up with one runner near the end of the Big Bend Trail as I heard the rapids of the Chattooga River close by.  We continued past a wooden bridge that marked the junction of the Big Bend Trail with the Foothills Trail that the course would follow for the next several miles.  I took note of the prominent white blazes on the trees along the Foothills Trail and eagerly made my way to the river.  The beginning of the Foothills Trail marked the end of easy trail running landscapes, and I soon found myself navigating steeper climbs and descents that were often lined by wooden boards as the trail twisted and turned along ledges that overlooked the gentle river rapids below.  Boulders and rocky crevices often lined the trail to my left as occasional scenic views of the river opened up to my right.  

The Chattooga River is one of the most beautiful wilderness areas in the Southeast, and the sight of the small waterfalls and clear water below the trail brought a smile to my face.  The canoeing scenes from the 1972 movie, Deliverance, had been filmed just a few miles downstream from where I was now running, and the river landscapes looked identical to those scenes even 40 years later.  I quickly decided that the Foothills Trail was the most remarkable trail section that I had seen during any of my ultramarathons so far.

Photo courtesy of Susan Donnelly

 The idyllic river scenery alleviated any psychological fatigue from negotiating tree roots and occasional slippery rocks along the ledges, and, although I was now taking more walk breaks, I was able to keep running nonstop even on a few of the milder inclines.  At one point, I arrived at the crest of a steep descent where the winding trail turned in steep switchbacks down to the river a long way below me.  The runner who had kept me company along the Foothills Trail so far started telling stories about how this area reminded him of the Colorado trails where he had grown up.  Since I have never traveled out west, I enjoyed the stories as I continued to take in views of the current landscape during the run.  I was reminded of the need for caution when my foot slipped briefly on a wet rock along one steep ledge during a walk break, but most of this trail was quite runnable without any real hazards.  

The other runner and I reached the top of a climb that led briefly away from the river, and then enjoyed a very long downhill run that led along switchbacks taking us gradually back down to the river bank.  I appreciated the ease of this fun descent, but I was also nervous about having to climb back up this hill in a few hours on the trip back to the finish.  The challenges of the Foothills Trail terrain were already evident during the mid-morning hours, so I shuddered to think of how I would handle these trails in the opposite direction later on in the heat of the afternoon during my second trip through this ten-mile stretch without an aid station.  I continued my brisk running pace along a mostly-flat riverside section at the bottom of the hill and soon found myself alone again.  The trail meandered alongside campsites on the bank before turning away from the river again for a steep climb.

With my new low running weight of 223 pounds, I was still walking up the steep inclines, but there was a more deliberate bounce to my step that carried me up the hills with less energy expenditure.  The benefits of my grueling weekday workout routine, where I power-walk on a 10% treadmill incline at an anaerobic heart rate pace for an hour after work Monday through Thursday, were now evident in my running performance.  I will never be an elite ultrarunner, since my skills at running technical rocky trail sections are still clumsy in comparison to those who finish in the top ranks of these races, but my ability to run nonstop for longer stretches and to climb hills with less energy demand is slowly, but surely improving.  As I made my way to the top of the Foothills Trail climb away from the river and resumed running on a gratifying flat section on top of a ridge, I remained in good spirits and continued taking in every moment of the vibrant green forest scenery.

Another long and winding descent on switchback trails reminded me that the inevitable trip back up this trail in the opposite direction later on was going to punish my resolve, but I kept running happily and relishing the energy from each gel that I ate on every half hour mark.  The next couple of miles of trail could best be described as tree roots on top of tree roots on top of tree roots.  The only downside of my Mountain Masochist running shoes is that the bottoms of my feet become quite sensitive to pointy obstacles after several miles of a long trail race, so I occasionally winced as I stepped on particularly unforgiving roots.  I smiled when I spotted a gravel road on the trail ahead of me and knew that I was close to the long-awaited aid station, but the smile left my face when I emerged onto the gravel only to find a remote forest road parking lot with a sign indicating that I still had some distance left to go on the Foothills Trail before reaching the main highway where the aid station was located.

I did not experience any mental lows of note during this entire race, thanks to sound nutrition choices and pacing strategies, but I did become admittedly grumpy during this mile and half stretch to the aid station.  I kept convincing myself that I heard cars from the highway over the next hill, only to reach the top of that hill and discover that the trail continued to wind along over endless tree roots with no clearing in sight.  The false car sounds always turned out to be wind noises or running water from nearby streams.  I kept running for long stretches between steep inclines as the trail passed campsites and wooden bridges, and was relieved when I saw the first couple of leading runners on their way back in the opposite direction and was reassured that I was on the right path.  When a friend passed by in the opposite direction while I was climbing a steep series of wooden erosion steps, I laughed wearily and asked, “Is there an aid station in my future?”  During one brief moment of irritated exasperation, I noticed the Angela Ivory ribbon tied around my Road ID wristband and reminded myself that I had no reason to complain on such a great day when I was alive and well on a beautiful trail.

The Mile 17 aid station eventually appeared after I paid a toll in fatigue by climbing up a lengthy elevation of several hundred feet to the highway crossing.  I ascertained that my comical irritability over the past mile and half on the way to the aid station was a sign of slightly insufficient fueling that could quickly lead to a real psychological low point if I did not address the issue with more sugar intake in addition to the 100-calorie gels that I had been eating every half hour, so I downed an impressive four cups of Powerade at the aid station as a friendly volunteer refilled my Camelbak with water.  I stuffed a large handful of Gummi Bears into my mouth and made short work of them before leaving the aid station.  On my way out of the aid station, I grabbed a handful of gumdrops from another bowl, thanked the volunteers profusely, and told them I would be back soon, since the next two miles of trail led to a turnaround.  

For the most part, the two miles of trail to the turnaround consisted of gentle downhill runs along switchbacks.  I was dreading the climb back up this trail from the turning point, but I tried my best to greet the faster runners with a smile as they climbed up in the opposite direction.  My spirits were lifted to see a few friends whom I was not as far behind on the course as I had imagined.  The aid station volunteer had added some ice into my Camelbak with the water, and this cold water was incredibly refreshing at this point in my race.  I took occasional sips from the Camelbak, and then blew into the Camelbak valve so that all the water would return to the main hydration bladder instead of warming up in the plastic tube that was draped over my shoulder.  The positive effects of my sugar feast at the aid station started to show by the time I reached the wooden bridge that marked the turnaround point, and I felt a renewed energy as I began to power-walk the series of switchbacks that climbed roughly 600 feet for the two miles back to the aid station.   I encouraged runners whom I encountered going in the opposite direction on their way to the turnaround behind me and even posed for a photo or two when friends passed by.   After a long, but uneventful climb, I reached the peak of the climb where the aid station awaited me once again.

Photo courtesy of David Ray

 This final aid station stop was located at Mile 21, and I had just over ten miles of hot afternoon trail hills along the same Chattooga River section that I had finished an hour ago.  My Paleo lifestyle is tweaked for long-distance running when I know that my body will instantly utilize any quick-sugar foods that I eat.  As such, I enjoyed more cups of Powerade and another handful of Gummi Bears while the volunteers refilled my Camelbak.  When asked if I wanted ice in my Camelbak this time, I politely declined and simply told them to refill with water.  As much as I loved the ice-cold water, I knew that I would need all available Camelbak capacity for water during my return trip in the rising temperatures.  I also doubted that my 70-ounce Camelbak capacity would last me the next ten or eleven miles until the finish line.  I would be running alongside the Chattooga River and alongside streams for the remainder of the race, but I had no means to treat any water if I chose to refill from one of those sources.  I asked a volunteer how many Powerade bottles they had behind the aid station table and was grateful when he told me that they had plenty of bottles and that I could take as many as I wanted for my return trip.  I took one 20-ounce Powerade bottle to carry along with my full Camelbak before grabbing a handful of gumdrops, thanking the volunteers again, and running out of the aid station.

I decided to name my 20-ounce Powerade bottle, “Chucky”, because I knew that it would be my friend till the end.  With Chucky in hand, I ran down several feet of trail switchbacks lined with tree roots, relieved that this particular section was so much easier going down than coming up.  The tree roots and trail turns that seemed never to end did not annoy me on the return trip, since my spirits were high from the sugar and nutrition that I had taken in during the two out-and-back visits to the aid station.  The dull ache in my hip and IT band that had made itself known during the early miles of my race had not intensified and, in fact, seemed to be lessening.  Despite the warmer temperatures, I had not needed any of the Hammer Endurolyte capsules from my pack, because my legs never cramped.   I passed the forest road parking lot again and readied myself for the constant hill climbs that were coming up on the return trip to the river.  

I passed a couple of friends shortly after the forest road and, after joking with them for a few minutes, continued alone as the hills intensified.  As during my two most recent ultramarathons, I passed every runner whom I encountered during the last ten miles of the trail.  Each new encounter put an added spring in my step as I took solace in losing sight of each runner over my shoulder on the hills.  I knew that I would not place highly on the finishers list of Chattooga River 50K, since this race attracts so many highly-talented runners, but I was overjoyed to be running well during this final section when I had expected a slow death march.  A massive climb up switchbacks on the way to the river went by faster than I imagined, and I was happy to hear the sounds of the rapids once again as I ran the flat section on the ridge before heading downhill to the riverbank.   When I reached section of the Foothills Trail adjacent to the river, I finally finished all of my Powerade from the bottle, but was confident that my full water supply in the Camelbak would get me back to the campground.  I carried Chucky along, since there were no trash receptacles in this remote area and since there was a small chance that I might need to refill the empty bottle with untreated water from the river in the event of a worst-case scenario.  

Photo courtesy of Viktor Trukov

The beauty of the Chattooga River made an impression on me once again, and I was thankful to be participating in such an amazing 50K trail race.  I had decided that the Chattooga River 50K was my favorite 50K race that I had run to date, because, while the race was a severe beatdown in certain sections with hill climbs and technical tree root trails, there were no “un-runnable” parts of the course and every stretch along the route allowed runners to make the best of their individual pacing abilities.  This race was truly something else.

I caught up with another runner just before one punishing hill climb away from the river, and enjoyed a conversation with him as he told me about completing a hike of the entire Appalachian Trail a few years ago.  This particular elevation that I had feared so much when I ran down it earlier in the race took a while to complete, but I enjoyed running the milder parts of the climb.  On the way back down to the river, the other runner and I encountered a friend who was limping along with an injured ankle.  I wished him well and continued along, thankful that the tree roots had not wrecked my ankle in a similar way.  I took advantage of the long downhill to make up some time, realizing that I had a good chance of finishing this race in less than eight hours.  I was eager to finish the race, but I was almost sad to leave the scenery of the Chattooga River area.  I ran the flats and downhills with a careful eye for the tree roots, but enjoyed the glimpses of the river to my left during the uphill climbs.  

After I left the Foothills Trail to return on the Big Bend Trail, I quickened my pace, undistracted by scenery now that I was away from the river.  I still had water in my Camelbak with less than four miles back to the finish, but I was unsure of how much was left and I still did my best to conserve the water when I was tempted to drink more.  This section of the trail seemed much longer on the way back than it had earlier in the race and, once again, I found myself hoping for signs of a road when I thought that I heard noises from automobiles.  My stopwatch counted down relentlessly, and I pushed past fatigue when I saw that I only had a half hour left until the eight-hour mark.  I remembered particular landmarks from the earlier trip down this trail in the opposite direction, and knew that I was on the right path, but occasionally ambled through landscapes that I did not remember and wondered when I would ever reach the road.  I finally did cross the highway to find a pile of empty water bottles from an unmanned water station at the trail entrance.  I threw Chucky, the empty Powerade bottle, into the trash pile, thankful for the added sports drink that had given me energy when I had needed it at the beginning of the return trip, and continued down the trail for the last half mile of the race.

A trail marker pointing to the finish was a sight for sore eyes when I reached the bottom of the final hill and made a turn for the campground.  I waved at a few onlookers as I emerged from the trail onto the short stretch of gravel campground road and sprinted to the end where friends cheered me on at the finish line.  I had run the Chattooga River 50K in 8:04:00 and placed 31 out of 51 finishers.

I thanked Terri Hayes for an incredible race and sat down on a camp chair by the picnic area, surprised to find that I had a few sips left in my Camelbak.  I filled a plate with grilled chicken and watermelon slices while congratulating some of my friends who had already arrived at the finish.  Two longtime ultrarunning friends, David Ray and Jason Sullivan, had both finished shortly ahead of me, and I had fun comparing notes about the race with both of them.  After a few minutes of storytelling, I enjoyed a shower from one of the new campground facilities, said goodbye to the crowd, and relaxed in the passenger seat of Richard’s van for the ride back to Atlanta.  

Photo courtesy of Viktor Trukov

I have completed 33 marathons and ultramarathons to date, and consider the Chattooga River 50K to be my favorite 50K event so far and one of my favorite races overall.  The Chattooga River 50K was a rugged, but beautiful, adventure, and my utmost respect goes to all of those who have finished this race before in much hotter summer temperatures.  I am sure that I will have my chance to tackle this race in typical June weather when I sign up for it again in years to come.  Thanks to Terri Hayes and the South Carolina Ultra Series crowd of volunteers for a truly memorable race weekend.  

See you on the trails.

Jason