The OSS/CIA run was named for the Office of Strategic
Services, which was the precursor to the Central Intelligence Agency. As history would state, the military operatives
who birthed the OSS trained on the trails in Prince William Forest Park, so we
were to run in their boot steps. In
keeping with the clandestine nature of the OSS and the CIA, the race was themed
to be a “covert” event; a test of one’s ability to perform and compete
relatively unseen in the wilderness.
Even the tech shirt said “No one knows where you are…just run!”
 |
| Badass shirt! |
After staying with friends in nearby Fort Lee, VA, I made my
way to the PWFP in the late afternoon on race day. The race directors—Alex H and Alex P—were on
top of things and had me checked in no time even though check-in was not due to
start for over an hour. With that to-do
off my mind, I had plenty of time to relax, check, re-check, and check again my
gear and my drop bags, and meet some other racers and volunteers. Phyllis (also Charlotte area based) was there
just as early as me. She and I were part
of the same online trail running group, but this was the first time we had met
in person. It was good to see a familiar
face, even if it was only by a thumbnail profile picture. We met up with Michael—also a member of our
Charlotte-based group—and his friend Lauren shortly before the trail
briefing. One volunteer was kind enough to
snap a picture of our Charlotte contingent.
 |
| CLT people before the race. From left: me, Phyllis, and Michael. |
Once everyone was checked in, the Alex’s rounded up the pack
for the short but informative trail briefing.
One of the park rangers went over some safety regulations and park
rules, and then Alex H informed us that the CIA made it explicitly clear that
they are in no way connected to this event…just in case we were wondering. He also reminded us that we were taking on a
risky ultra, so we should look out for ourselves and each other. Alex P went over the course map, of which we
all received a copy in our race packet. The
course consisted of two giant loops over the same path, with the second loop
adding an extra out-and-back section to bring the mileage to 50. Once the short and sweet briefing was over,
we had forty minutes to ready ourselves.
I donned a Nathan hydration backpack with HEED in the
bladder and GU gels and ginger chews in the front strap pockets. In my right hand was a 22oz Nathan handheld
bottle with regular water and more gels in the strap pocket. In my left hand was an LED knuckle light,
which left my hand free to grasp. On my
head was a Petzl LED headlamp with a rear-facing red strobe on the back side of
the band. My RaceReady shorts had
pockets full of Clif Bars, Stinger Waffles, and more gels. Having trained with all these items,
everything felt secure and accessible.
On my feet were a pair of Montrail Rogue Flys.
The Alex’s gathered us at the trailhead for the start, so
when Alex P gave the signal, all 70 of us flooded the single track at
once. The pack lined out after a couple
hundred meters, and I guessed I was near the 20th position. I fell in behind two runners named Mary and
Sean (whose birthday was on race day) and found their pace very
comfortable. Michael settled in behind
me and Phyllis formed up behind him.
Another runner named Pat joined the back of our informal, six-person
pace group. Mary was an effective pace
keeper. Our running pace stayed
consistently in the high 9 min/miles, and we walked all of the uphills from the
first half mile on. Overall, we were
setting an initial pace for a 10 hour finish, which was a goal for which we all
seemed to be aiming. The first hour went
by very quickly. The six of us made for
very sociable company, and the first five miles of trail were very run-able.
The footing became more rugged after the first hour. Several large rock outcroppings and stair
like climbs and descents brought our reasonable running pace to a slow, calculated
walk. I affected my best East European interrogator
voice and said “we have ways of making you walk!” All agreed that THAT should have been the
slogan for the race. Nearly seven miles
into the race, Mary stopped abruptly to cough up a wasp(!) she had swallowed by
accident. Sean stopped to pat her on the
back, but they both insisted we continue on.
I took over the lead spot in our pace pack. I checked my watch regularly to make sure I
was keeping the same conservative pace we had established so far. Soon after, Michael and the rest of the pack
faded behind me on a long, easy downhill.
There was still some light in the twilight sky, but visibility was
dropping fast. I reached back and turned
on my red strobe so that the pack behind me could spot me from afar. 10 minutes later, the trail crossed Mawavi
Road, on which we were to run a mile-long out-and-back round trip before
continuing on our original trail. The
half mile to the aid station at the top of Mawavi was a slope containing 300
feet of vertical gain. I walked nearly
the whole thing, seeing the race leaders pass me on their way down. The volunteers at the Mawavi aid station
hole-punched my bib, refilled my water bottle, and sent me on my way. I glided back down the hill, seeing another
dozen or so runners on their way up.
I waited until I hit the single track at the bottom of
Mawavi Road before turning on my knuckle light.
The next four miles of single track were pleasant to run, and I only saw
one or two other runners along the way.
Whenever I could, I would keep pace with another runner and pool my
light with his in order to conserve the batteries on my headlamp. It was completely dark now, and I started to
hear the sounds of nocturnal critters in the distance. I dodged some gnarly spider webs and saw the
telltale glint of wolf spiders’ eyes along the side of the trail every few
feet. I heard the intermittent cries of
foxes and the low honks of water fowl in the nearby creek. Now it was an adventure.
Shortly after the 12 mile mark, I came upon the Oak Ridge
aid station, which was the first full service aid station and the site for our
drop bags. I handed my bottle to a volunteer
to fill with water and I grabbed a pre-mixed dilution of HEED from my drop bag
to fill my pack bladder. I also reloaded
my gel pockets with a pre-rationed selection I had labeled in one of three sealed
plastic bags. The next part of the
course was a two-mile loop that would return us to this same aid station, so I
left my back pack with my drop bag and continued on with just my handheld bottle. I’m sure the two-mile loop would have been
very pleasant to run or hike in the daytime, but since it was a circular means
to an end in order to add the proper mileage, it just seemed unproductive and
tedious. Also, racers would have to do
this loop twice more on their second full course lap. That prospect seemed totally unattractive,
but Alex H later said that the purpose of adding the extra loop on the second
lap instead of the first was to get in our heads. Great.
I returned to Oak Ridge aid station, picked up my pack, and
got back on the main trail. Having
stopped at the campground’s facilities along the way, I had given Phyllis a
chance to pass me. I caught up to her
shortly and we passed some miles together.
According to her, Michael was behind and she did not know how he was
doing. The Oak Ridge trail spilled out
onto Burma Road, a wide gravel road that reminded me of the fire roads at
Umstead State Park. We saw a headlamp
ahead of us and closed the distance on him.
We introduced ourselves to the runner, whose name was Josh, and took a
long walk break together up the hill on Burma.
I later would find out that Josh and I went to college together and knew
many of the same people. Small
world. Burma Road allowed us to open our
legs and spread out for long stretches, but the short range of our lights made
the wide darkness in front of us seem that much more ominous. Near the top of a long ascent, we came across
a very zealous volunteer named Gary, who offered encouraging words and directed
us to where our next dip into the single track would be.
Josh, Phyllis, and I entered the single track together, but
I shortly shot off on a technical downhill.
I just couldn’t resist flying down the hills. The next few miles were fairly
technical. I fell down a couple of
times, and I sank my feet into soft mud once or twice. Before long, I caught up to a couple of
European runners: Christophe (French) and Alexander (German). Christophe urged me to pass him, but he and
German Alex were keeping a fairly quick pace, so opted to just join them
instead. The single track led to a fire
road called Pyrite Mine Road, and the three of us settled into a long
run/walking climb. Once again, the
limited range of our illumination kept us from seeing the top of the hill, so
we ran until it got steep, and walked until it got less steep. Christophe lagged behind for a bit, but Alex
was very consistent, so I settled in and focused on his efficient German
stride.
At the top of Pyrite Mine, we refilled our bottles at an
unmanned cooler and ran a couple hundred feet of asphalt before turning on yet
another fire road. By our watches, we
could tell that we were well past 20 miles of running, and therefore not that
far from the next full aid station. The
relatively flat fire road made for 8 minute miles with a few short walk breaks. Once we hit our next stretch of single track,
we knew we had about 1.5 miles left of our first lap. “Hey, it’s Sunday!” I shouted when I realized
it was past midnight. German Alex
laughed, but Christophe didn’t seem to care.
The single track was very run-able, but it contained a lot of rolling
hills leading back to the start/finish/halfway aid station at Telegraph
Road. I had started feeling my legs getting
tight a few miles back, but the fast pace on the fire roads seemed to loosen
everything up. I continued to walk the
uphills and blaze down the downhills.
Once I saw the lights of Telegraph Road camp site peeking through the
darkness, I picked up the pace in order to check in at the halfway mark of the
race.
I arrived seconds behind German Alex. My first lap took 4 hours and 55 minutes,
which was right about what I had planned.
So far, so good. Many of the
volunteers I had met before the race told me that I still looked pretty
fresh. Honestly, I was feeling a bit
fatigued, but hey, I had just run nearly 25 miles, so that’s okay, right? A lot had happened while I was out on my
first loop. Lauren greeted me and
informed me that Michael had dropped out of the race with a pulled
hamstring. He was hiking to Telegraph
now, and was due to arrive sometime after 2am.
I felt for him. Mary also greeted
me at the aid station. She had dropped
out as well and was now an aid station volunteer. Lauren went on to tell me that the RD’s had
recorded about as many DNFs already as they had continuing racers. Upon hearing that, my moderate aches and
pains didn’t seem so important. German
Alex was ready to go, but he admitted that he had gone out too fast and planned
to slow down. Christophe was sitting
down at a table with a full meal in front of him. He looked pretty beat. I was still in the game. I had another drop bag at this aid station,
so I re-equipped, ate some salted potatoes and a Stinger Waffle, and drank a
cup of Mountain Dew. I thanked the
volunteers and set out once more into the heart of darkness.
Phyllis came into Telegraph seconds after I left. She was looking good, so I cheered her
on. I saw many other runners spread out
on the trail walking their way in as I was outbound. Most were able to manage a smile or a
thumbs-up. A mile later, I caught up with
German Alex. “Where’s the Frenchy?” he
asked. “He was having a meal,” I
responded, “he didn’t look so good.” Christophe
eventually would rally and pass me later in the race, but that happened hours
later. I don’t really remember when
German Alex and I split, but I ran the next few miles on my own in the
dark. I looked for small landmarks to
remind me of how far into the lap I was, but my memory was a bit fuzzy at 1:30
in the morning. I did remember the
treacherous footing that forced my comrades and me to walk during the first
lap. I had to be especially careful this
time as I was following the same path alone in total darkness. When I reached Mawavi Road, I walked the
entire way to the top, and I took my time at the water cooler. One young runner named Ibby I had met before
the race was looking in a bad way, but he insisted on continuing. He walked slowly out of the aid station, and
I ran my way past him down the hill. I
did not expect to see him again.
The miles between Mawavi and Oak Ridge passed almost uneventfully. I remember running most of them, taking
scheduled walk breaks, and being serenaded by the same nocturnal fauna as
before. I did not see a single
runner. I tripped and fell once, and my
knuckle light went out. I beat the
battery pack with the palm of my hand and it flickered back on, but not as
brightly. No good. Luckily, I had my headlamp, and I had a spare
knuckle light in my drop bag just a couple of miles away. I stowed the malfunctioning light in the
shoulder pocket of my hydration pack and continued on under the headlamp.
Once I reached Oak Ridge, I dropped off my back pack once
again and fished the spare knuckle light out of my drop bag. Since I had two two-mile loops before coming
back to my drop bag—and to the food table—I sucked down a single GU gel and hit
the forest loop. As I said before, I was
not looking forward to doing this seemingly pointless loop twice on this
go-around, but my spirits lifted when I saw Gary waiting at the trailhead. Gary was as encouraging as ever, and his
energy was infectious. He ushered me
into the loop and I settled into a sustained run for most of the two mile
leg. It seemed to take a lot longer than
before, but I was able to pass a couple of other runners along the way. I returned to a cheerful Gary and turned
directly onto my next and final two-mile loop.
This loop most likely took longer than either of the others, but it felt
as if it went by more quickly for want of it being done. I stopped and shook Gary’s hand and told him
that he was a great man to have around at 4am!
He gave me a “damn right!” and urged me back to Oak Ridge aid station.
I had 11 or 12 miles left, and I already had run over
40. If I was going to drop out, this
would be the place to do it. No, I was
tired and achy, and my quads were killing me, but I still had a lot of running—or
at least walking—left in me. I decided
to leave my hydration pack in my drop bag and continue with just my handheld
bottle full of HEED, and a half-dozen gels, bars, chews, etc. Now I knew I had to eat some more “real”
food. Nothing seemed appetizing. A volunteer handed me a cup of Ramen-style
chicken noodle soup. I grimaced and
forced it down my gullet, and I instantly realized it was the best meal I had
ever had. No hyperbole intended; I
cannot remember a more nourishing, delectable meal. The volunteer asked if I wanted another, and
I declined so as not to put too much on my stomach for the jostling ride to
come. Alex H was at the aid
station. He had just gotten a text
stating that the winner had crossed the finish line with a time of 8 hours and
42 minutes. Unreal for this course! He offered me some words that were halfway
between encouraging and provoking. “I’ll
see you at Telegraph,” I said to him in my proudest, most indignant voice.
The single track of the Oak Ridge trail was one long
blur. The uphills seemed longer, and the
downhills seemed more treacherous and more painful. My quads were trashed. It hurt to run the downhills, but it also
hurt to walk them, so I ran them. Every
time I came to a technical descent, I reached down into my more primal self and
flew down the hill yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, punctuating the
shouts with sharp, uninhibited profanity.
I had come to grips with the fact that the pain was not going to go away
from this point on. If I let it stop me,
I would get nowhere and still be hurting.
If I embraced it and accepted it, I could learn to separate my pain from
my progress. There was no longer a
question of “if.” I was going to finish
this motherf****r. All I had to do was
keep moving forward, and the miles would take care of themselves. Now I just had to work on chipping away at my
pace.
Burma Road once again gave me a chance to open up my
legs. I ran short distances and walked
in between. While my walk breaks were
frequent, I kept an efficient hiking pace—near 15 minute miles—so my overall
pace was not deteriorating too dramatically.
I saw a glimmer of light through the trees on the horizon. Dawn was approaching. My spirits lifted another peg. The single track between Burma and Pyrite
Mine contained more stubbed toes and more painful downhills. I was finding it hard to summon the energy to
run after each walk break. I was
unquestionably bonked, but I was still in a clear and sound state of mind, so
while my muscle glycogen was depleted, I at least knew my blood sugar was
alright. My pace was at the mercy of my
metabolism, but I could still will myself forward. I set small, manageable goals, like running
until I reached the next trail blaze, or allowing myself to walk for the next
three minutes, etc. I forced myself to
eat, even though nothing seemed palatable.
It was fully light outside by the time I reached Pyrite Mine
Road. While I enjoyed seeing my
surroundings in the daylight, I was a little disheartened to see the entirety
of the hill ahead of me. I walked. I ran a few steps here and there, but mostly
I walked. Someone—probably Gary—had left
a water cooler at the top of Pyrite Mine Road.
I stopped to top off my bottle and took out my trail map. According to my watch, I had run over 50
miles. I found my location on the map
and gauged the remaining distance according to the map scale. Two, maybe three more miles left…great. I crumpled the small map in my fist and left
it on top of the water cooler. The only
way through was through.
There was a little more than a mile of fire road before I
hit the single track again. I had
clocked some near marathon-pace times on this stretch with German Alex on the
first lap. Now, I was happy to hit
10-minute miles between walk breaks.
Phyllis caught up to me shortly before the trailhead to the single
track. Although she said she wasn’t
feeling too well, she looked no different than the last time I had seen her 25
miles earlier. I waved her on as I was
sure she had more run left in her than I.
In the full daylight, I could really appreciate the beauty
of the trails in Prince William Forest Park.
The last stretch had some rolling hills, but the surface was
agreeable. The last mile was
interminably long. Before climbing what
I thought had to be one of the last hills, I glanced behind me. There was German Alex, 50 feet away, waving
at me while walking. I smiled and turned
to face forward to see a glint of reflected light through the trees. Yes, I was seeing the cars in the parking lot
right before the finish line. German
Alex must have seen it at the same time, because he immediately broke into a
run. I was not going to be passed in the
final 300 meters of a 50 mile race! All
of the pain and agony evaporated away, and I broke into a sprint. Everyone in the clearing dropped what they
were doing and cheered as I emerged from the trail with Alex hot on my
heels. Rarely does anyone see a
head-to-head duel like this at the end of an ultra marathon. I could hear the German closing in on me, but
I dared not look for him. I strode
through the finish line at 11 hours, 21 minutes, and 8 seconds, exactly one
second ahead of Alexander. I immediately
turned around and Alex and I through our arms around each other like long lost
comrades. By far, this was the best
finish I have ever experienced to any race.
 |
| My climactic sprint to the finish. The Euro-blur behind me is German Alex. Photo courtesy of Michael Vance. |
The race was a brutal battle of attrition. Out of 71 starters, there were only 29
finishers! With a more than 60% DNF
rate, the OSS/CIA 50 makes even the Boogie seem welcoming. Phyllis finished a few minutes ahead of me
and took 2nd place in the female division, 11th
overall. I finished 13th overall,
which more than satisfied me considering just finishing this race was an
admirable feat for experienced ultra runners.
More than one fellow participant stated that this race was the toughest
50 they had ever run. I say again: boy,
did I pick one!
I have to give major props to Alex P and Alex H, the race
directors. This truly was an awesome
event that was rewarding in countless ways.
I also must send a shout out to Gary, Lauren, Mary, Michael, Dave S, and
several other volunteers (some of whom were DNF’d racers) who kept my engine
running. Big congratulations and thanks go
to Phyllis and German Alex for pushing me in the final stages of the race. With this milestone in the books, I think I
may see a 100-miler in the not-too-distant future.
 |
| This is what I look like after running 53 miles. |
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