Blue 5K Recap

It's been a while since I've done a race recap (or any post at all), mostly due to my gradual recovery from the OSS/CIA 50 miler I ran in June.  I must say, it was nice to run a straight up road 5K for speed after putting in so much volume-intensive training.
Four months ago, a ran a huge PR of 18:51 at Pawz Too Run in Davidson.  Everything was just on for that race.  Since then, all of the 5Ks I have run have been in the 19:50s.  There were several reasons I could state for these times: one course was 60% soft ground, another was in the middle of a hard training cycle, etc., and so forth; but I still felt underwhelmed with my performances.  P2R was a certified course, and I feel like I earned that sub-19 time, but given my more recent times, I felt the need to prove to myself that the 18:51 was not a fluke.  Blue 5K was to be my validating race.  My main goal was to go sub-19 again, but given the course, I would be satisfied with anything in the low 19s.
As is my custom for a 5K, I arrived over an hour early so I had plenty of time to run the full course as a warm-up.  Coming off a rest day, and feeling strong from a slew of recent speed workouts, my legs felt better than their average slightly-beat-up-from-over-training-ness.  Starting at the East gate of Bank of America Stadium on Mint Street, the course took a fast right onto Stonewall and followed that street gradually downhill for nearly the first half of the race.  The downhill leveled out and angled upward as Stonewall doglegged into Morehead.  Turning right on Morehead, there was a solid mile of terraced uphill punctuated by a final, steep climb passing over I-277 just past the Dowd YMCA.  Runners of Charlotte's Thunder Road Marathon should be very familiar with this stretch.  The final four blocks leading back to Mint Street and the East gate were mostly flat with some short downhill stretches, so if I had any juice left, this would be where I would let it rip.  Not an easy course, but it looked better in person than the profile did online. 
700 runners showed up for this popular race, so my first concern was to get a decent spot at the front of the starting chute so the foot traffic didn't bog me down before the quick first turn.  At the "go," dozens of runners shot out ahead of me, and I tried my best to marry my pace to my goal.  I wanted to average in the high 5:50s-6:05 minute/mile for the first 2K (shooting for sub-3:48/km) to take advantage of the easy slope on Stonewall.  I knew I would lose some of this time on the back end of the race.  My first kilometer was a target-paced 3:42.  The pack settled down at this point and runners began to fade back to me one-by-one.  The next kilometer was 3:46, and although it was still downhill, I had to work to maintain that pace.  So, doing the math in my head, I was 8 seconds ahead of a 19-minute pace at 40% of the race distance.  I would have preferred more cushion before the climb, but I had to save some energy as well.
As Stonewall curved, flattened, and began to wax uphill, more runners faded back to me.  Of course the hills would slow me down, but I was confident I at least would gain a lot of ground on the field ahead due to all the hills I normally run in training.  Sure enough, once I started climbing Morehead, I reeled in my competitors wholesale.  There was a brief respite from the climb at the 3K mark, but I registered that kilometer at 3:53.  I now was a scant 3 seconds ahead of a 19 minute pace, and there was a 1200 meter climb ahead that would eat up more time.  I kept a good pace and minimized the damage, but the 6:18ish average would not be fast enough to preserve my initial goal. 
The last bit of the climb on the overpass was a bit agonizing, but I still had some gas in the tank to muster a final kick.  I overtook a few more runners and did my best to slash off seconds, all while breathing very audibly.  One last right turn brought me onto Mint Street and to the 3-mile mark.  With 18:40 showing on the clock and about 0.1 miles to go, I was out of contention for a sub-19, but I surely would turn in a respectable time.  A fast runner with pink shoes was ahead of me and within reach, so I let everything out to get one last pass in.  Seconds after passing her, I saw her gaining on me in my peripheral vision; she wasn't letting me go that easily!  One last surge kept me ahead of her as we passed under the finish arch, but we were close enough to receive the same time of 19:17.
Given the early August heat and humidity, and the late-stage climb of the course, I am very pleased with a 19:17.  I'm still hungry for another sub-19, but I believe today's performance alleviates any worries I had about my specific 5K fitness. 

Satisfied with a good time.

Shoes: Adidas Hagio.  These are probably my new favorite all-purpose racing flats.  I ran my warm-up in the Inov-8 Bare-X 150s, but I was just feeling too much road in those shoes today.  Luckily, I brought the Hagios and they performed comfortably and effectively in road race conditions.  I can't wait to try them at 13.1 or a 30K.

Recap of the OSS/CIA 50 Mile Night Run

One of my goals for 2012 was to finish my first 50-miler.  Boy, did I pick one!  My lack of patience led me to find a race that was relatively close and set to run before the midsummer heat set in.  That left the Bethel Hill Moonlight Boogie in Ellerbe, NC and the OSS/CIA 50 Mile Run in Prince William Forest Park, VA.  Both were night runs in the late June heat, but that is where the similarities ended.  The Boogie was and is a well established road race notorious for long, relentless hills, marauding dogs, and a high drop-out rate.  The OSS/CIA run was in its inaugural year, and was set to run in a protected wilderness known for rugged terrain, technical trails, and a very real likelihood of getting lost.  By the time I had worked up the gumption to tackle one of these 50s, the Boogie was full.  Therefore, I was destined to take my chances with the unknown at the OSS run.

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 20^th 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 2^nd place in the female division, 11^th overall.  I finished 13^th 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.

Charity Chase Half Marathon Recap

Dean, Allen, and me at Charity Chase Half Marathon in Hickory, NC.

The hot, late Spring weather took a convenient break this morning for this year's Charity Chase Half Marathon in Hickory, NC.  30 minutes before the sunrise start of the race, it was a chilly 54 degrees--perfect running weather.  I signed up for this race on a whim in order to get one more fast half marathon in before the summer heat descended upon the Piedmont.  I set  three different time goals: plan A (a stretch goal), plan B (a realistic but appropriately challenging goal), and plan C (a "do-or-die" goal).  Plan A was to break 1 hour, 30 minutes for a half--something I should be able to do, but this hilly course (1,262 feet of gain) was not meant for super-fast times.  Plan B was to maintain an average pace of 7 minutes/mile.  Plan C was to beat my 6-month-old PR, which should not present a challenge given my level of fitness now VS then.  If this were an ultra or a tough full marathon, a plan D of "finishing" would go without saying.

I got in about a mile of warm-up running to shake off the chilly air and to squeeze in some quick bursts at my intended race pace.  This helps me get the pace in my head.  The legs were turning over well, and race pace appeared fairly effortless during warm-up...good.  I met up with fellow DARTers Allen Strickland, Dean King, and Todd Spears before gathering at the starting coral.  All three were planning to give a solid-but-conservative effort today.  Having run the course before, they were aware of how the notoriously hilly course could kill pace predictions.  Where we run--in the North Mecklenberg area--there are a lot of decent local hills that are characteristic of a North Carolina Piedmont metro area.  Hickory is nearly an hour West of us, and therefore an hour closer to the mountains, so its rolling hills are more numerous and dramatic.  We were in for a workout today.

I wished my fellow DARTers good luck and found a spot near the front row; I was feeling competitive today!  Three runners to my right were obviously talking about me in Spanish, and they gestured to my very yellow racing flats.  "I like the shoes," one of them said in heavily accented English.  "Si, amarillo es muy rapido!" I responded in heavily accented Spanish.  We all shared a laugh at that.  The race started at a very punctual 6:30 am and we were off.  I consciously resisted my habit of letting the adrenaline take me off the starting line at too quick of a pace.  I settled in to a steady 6:50 (according to Garmin) pace and watched at least a couple dozen runners lope past me.  I ignored them--another discipline I have been working on.  The crowd spaced itself out pretty evenly in the space of the first half-mile.  I spotted one particular runner in and Under Armor compression shirt who looked to be maintaining my goal pace or a little faster.  I decided I would spot him for a while and keep an eye on my watch to make sure his race didn't mess up my race.  The first mile had a nice downhill followed by a decent, double terraced uphill.  I let my effort determine my pace on the hills, but I still looked at my watch to see what kind of pace I was losing or gaining in case I needed to amend my race strategy in the later miles.

According to my Garmin, the first mile was a 6:36, but I did not pass the first mile marker until 7:10.  We all know that GPS watches are far from perfect as far as accuracy goes, but that's a big margin of error after only one mile.  This would be a discrepancy I would deal with all morning, and other racers had the same issues,  Eventually, the mile markers would more or less even out, but I spent the first few miles largely racing by feel.

Mr. Under Armor stayed 5-10 seconds ahead of me for the first few miles, and my pace readings and manual mile splits were all in the 6:45-7:05 range, so I settled into a groove and kept an eye on him.  "Relax," I kept reminding myself silently whenever I found myself trying to make up time on an uphill, or chasing to catch another runner.  The downhills would make up for the the uphills, and the other runners would fade back without any help from me.  Relax.

The first 4.5 miles looped through downtown Hickory and passed by the local high school and Lenoir-Rhyne College.  The sun was up, and the brisk Spring air was starting to breeze by us.  After this first loop, we passed the starting line again and repeated the first mile of the course before turning into a more residential side of town, where the back loaded 9 miles of the course awaited.  Miles 6 and 7 were a bit of a blur.  I maintained a steady pace and kept a constant tail on Mr. Under Armor, and I think there was a sneaky little uphill near mile 7.5.  After that lay the longest sustained downhill of the course--over a mile's worth.  Much of it was steady, but there were short spots with steep grades that caused the eyes to widen a bit.  "Relax," I reminded myself.  I needed to save myself for the climbs that inevitably would follow this long descent.  I kept my pace in the low 6's on the downhill, feeling I had conserved responsibly while still banking some time.  The saved time and energy both were about to come in handy.

At mile 9, we took a hard right turn into a local park veined with paved greenways.  Upon entering the greenway, I stared straight up the daunting hill about which all of the Charity Chase veterans had warned me.  Race pace and equal effort went out the window for this hill.  I had been keeping a sub-7 pace for just over an hour, so all I could do was "sustain the pain," as our Olympian friend Fam would say.  The only good thing about this hill was that everyone else had to run it too.  Under Armor and I passed a couple of runners on the climb; the second one used a lot of energy in a vain attempt to hold on to his position.  I can't say I agreed with his strategy.  A lot of race still lay ahead of us.  I also was pleased to see that I was closing on Mr. Under Armor.  He looked so much stronger than me just one mile earlier, but he was fading back to me now.  This gave me a boost of confidence, and I did not shoot out ahead to close the distance, but I did notice my pace quickening before the climb was through.

The greenway weaved through half a dozen switchbacks--mostly uphill--before spitting us back onto a four lane road.  Mile 11 was relatively flat, so I could focus on finding my race pace again, although there was no relaxation at that speed this far into the race.  I looked at the overall time on my watch, did some ugly math in my head, tried to account for Garmin-course discrepancies, and reassessed whether plan A was still viable.  Not likely.  I practically would have to PR a 5K in order to come in under 90 minutes.  It was in the realm of possibility, but I was coming to accept plan B as my new goal. 

Mile 12 and the first half of mile 13 were just plain cruel.  12 had a sustained uphill that didn't kill you, but it ate up a lot of time.  The hill flattened out after the 12th mile marker, but it took a while to make turns for a sub-7 pace after catching my breath.  Half a mile later, the course turned right to an 8-block climb.  It was not the worst climb of the race, but so close to the end, it certainly was the most demoralizing.  Again, I forgot about pace and dug in.  I could hear my gasping breath now, but there was no holding back with a scant half-mile to go.  By the time I reached the top of the hill, I was 600 meters from the finish.  I was zapped.  I passed the mile 13 marker (which was early by the reckoning of all) and locked my eyes on the finish arch.  It just wouldn't come any closer.  According to the data on my watch, I finished strong, with the fastest average pace on my last fractional mile split, but it sure didn't feel like a strong finish.  Mr. Under Armor finished close behind me.  We tacitly gave each other a congratulatory shout-out as we headed for the refreshments.  My final time was 1:31:22, a 6 minute PR, and an average pace of 6:58.  Plan B: accomplished.  My time was good enough for 2nd place in my age group, and 15th overall out of nearly 500 runners.  I'm good with that.

My creepy little Age Group trophy.

Allen came in at 1:38:12 and Dean out-sprinted a nearby competitor to a 1:39:59 finish.  Todd Spears crossed the line shortly after 1:42.  We congratulated each other and commiserated about the difficulty of the course.  I could not stick around for the awards ceremony (Allen graciously accepted my creepy little bobble-head trophy on my behalf) because I had do jet back to Davidson to support fellow DARTer Jeff McGonnell in his 24 hour Loopy-For-A-Cause run to promote Batten's disease awareness.

Allen finishing strong.

Dean sprinting through the arch.

Being as tough as it was, Charity Chase told me a couple things about myself as a road racer.  First, as long as I concentrate on my form and remind myself to relax, things tend to play out largely as I plan them.  Second, I can maintain a sub-7 pace for 13.1 miles on a very hilly course.  It's within reach to maintain the same pace (or close to it) for a marathon on a more forgiving course.  This is especially relevant because 26.2 miles at a 7 minute/mile pace would qualify me for Boston.  Yes, I finally am going to entertain this goal.  Aim high, right?

Gear:

Shoes: Inov-8 Road-X Lite 155.  These are my 10K road racers, but they held up pretty well over 13.1 hilly miles.  Despite their super-light weight and low profile, I might consider taking these flats to a road marathon.

Nutrition: Clif Double Express gel (100mg of caffeine) 15 minutes before the race, and then a Powerbar gel at mile 4.5 and mile 9.  This is more than I usually eat during a half, but I want to get used to fueling myself early and often at race pace in preparation for upcoming road marathons.

Next on my calendar: It's filling up quickly, so I won't list all of them, but in June alone, I have the Pick Your Poison 5k and the Summit Solstice 4-miler (both in Davidson), and the OSS/CIA 50 mile Night Run in Triangle, Virginia.  Tough month!

Mountain Running and Karma at Crowders

A great Memorial Day view atop Crowders Mountain.

It's Memorial Day, and I decided to spend the day at Crowders Mountain State Park for some mountain trail running with one of my running buddies, Sam.  Since I am training for a 50-miler in a month (oh yeah, by the way, I'm running a 50-miler in a month...), this mountain run was the second day of a back-to-back long run weekend, as well as a good opportunity to put some foot time in on rugged trails.  I did not want to spend my next trail race on my chin like I did at Long Cane earlier this month. 

My focus race, the OSS/CIA 50M Night Run, will have about 5,000 feet of elevation gain over the 50 mile duration--a solid 3 out of 5 in ultra running terrain difficulty rating.  Today's run was just over 14 miles, but Sam and climbed a total of 2,540 feet across that distance.  Therefore, mile-for-mile, we got some good solid, more-than-appropriate elevation practice today, and after a tough road run the day before at that.  But as with most trail runs, and any adventure worth mentioning, the real rewards lay in the journey, not the destination.

Sam picked me up at my house while our respective wives and dogs were still asleep, and we cruised down the interstate to Crowders.  Although the park opens at 8am on paper, the gates were wide open for us at 7:20.  Sam warned me that we would be running the entire 2-mile ascent to the summit of Crowders Mountain.  Mind you, the average grade of incline for this section is near 10%, with stretches near the top approaching 20% or greater.  However, Sam's pride was an excellent driver.  Having run this route with our mutual ultra running friend Jeremy (veteran of a score of ultras, including the fabled Beast series in Virginia), he wanted to be able to boast to him that he ran the whole ascent without walk-breaks. 

We settled in to a responsible pace.  Whenever I run prolonged climbs, I repeat the word "patience" in my head.  Sam and I didn't talk much for want of saving breath for the climb.  After a mile, we were feeling pretty good.  Another quarter mile later, as the slope just kept increasing, we were not feeling well at all.  The dull ache of lactate build-up turned into a burn.  After half a dozen switchbacks of staring up steeper slopes, our pride gave way to self-preservation.  We admitted defeat and walked most of the way left to the top of Crowders Mountain.  The view was worth the climb, albeit still shrouded by low clouds.  The views would improve as the day went on.

Next came the stairs--333 stairs to be exact.  To come down from the mountain on the other side, we had to negotiate a few hundred feet of variably spaced stairs built into the slope.  This is harder than it sounds when your legs are already fatigued.  The stairs gave way to a steeply descending gravel road, and after a few hundred meters, we detoured onto the rocky single track of Crowders Trail.  The trail was nice and technical.  Unlike many mountain trails, there were not any switchbacks to speak of; the rocky trail led straight down the mountain.  After 10 minutes, were were still descending.  When the trail finally did flatten out, I was feeling a little zapped mentally from having to pay so much attention to my footing. 

Just before the 5 mile mark, Sam and I came to a trail intersection and took a right onto the Pinnacle Trail.  This trail moved pretty quickly for a mile or two, but then it took a progressively steep route of switchbacks up the face of the day's second mountain, King's Pinnacle.  We traversed a section of rock outcroppings that was so rugged, we had to walk around cobble to boulder-sized obstacles.  The climb began in earnest after that.  We ran what we could until the trail was what we both agreed was totally unrunnable.  Even for a hike, it was a tough slog, but again, we were rewarded with magnificent views.

Sam at the end of the trail just before summiting the Pinnacle.

The sun came out to give us a great view of the surrounding country.

Now, all we had to do was make our way back.  Running down the Pinnacle trail was fun to say the least.  Gravity did most of the work while we concentrated on our footing and on slowing ourselves on slim tree trunks and branches.  In no time, we reached a trail crossing near the bottom of the slope.  To the left was the way from whence we came, full of pace-killing rock outcroppings.  To the right was a welcoming, totally runnable trail.  As far as we could surmise, this trail would lead us to the Visitor Center, where we would replenish water and pick up the Crowders Trail from the other end.  Best laid plans...

The new trail did indeed loop around to the Visitor Center...we just looped the wrong way.  We resorted to looking at Sam's paper map, which had all but disintegrated in his SpiBelt from the saturating sweat of the humid day.  We doubled back, picked up the road through the park, and followed it to the Visitor Center like a couple of urban explorers.  After making a pit stop and filling water, we were off again, and we picked up the Crowders Trail in no time...going the right way even.

We settled in to what I thought was the most comfortable rhythm of the day, keeping sub-9 minute pace on technical footing and rolling hills.  After 20 minutes of running in the zone, Sam stopped abruptly behind me.  I paused and looked back, and he had the deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes.  "You OK?" I asked.  He shook his head, reaching behind him.  I thought he had tweaked a muscle in his back or leg.  No.  He had lost his keys.  Hopefully, they were at the Visitor Center, but they could just as easily be on the 2 miles of trail between here and there, in which case we likely would never see them again.  Luckily, I had my phone in my hydration vest, and Sam called his wife.  She would drive to the state park and meet us as we were finishing our run.

There was nothing else to do but head back to where we started.  We settled into a nice groove again, but when we hit the gravel road leading to the stairs, we walked.  We ran a few short stretches, but the incline was steep enough that we would have to be fools (well, even more fools than we already were) not to walk it.  The stairs came next.  I didn't hesitate.  I settled into a climb and counted them as they went.  Not that the stairs were fun, but they seemed to go by without seeming interminably long.  Sam and I took another breather at the top of Crowders.  We snapped some more photos of the awesome view as well.

Behind me was a vertical cliff side leading a few hundred feet straight down.

Sam and I discussed our plan for the last 2 miles, which were bound to be the most punishing.  Overall, after having run 32 miles since the previous morning, my legs were feeling pretty good.  But we both had to be careful.  2 miles of screaming downhill could shred our quads in no time.  We agreed that we would cruise as best we could, not fighting momentum, but we would not push the pace.  I did my best to keep my feet turning over so as not to rock my body with bounding strides.  It helped to lean into the climbs as I often do during my hill training, but I found myself outrunning my cardio if I leaned too far into them.  Sam kept a steady pace at my side.  A mile into the descent, I almost ran myself out of control, but I barely gained my composure before rounding the next switchback.  Sam would later tell me of the disaster he thought I was about to have.  The entire descent took less than 15 minutes.  As soon as Sam and I reached the parking area and stopped running, the humid, stagnant air immediately caught up to us.  I longed for the Clif Bar that I had packed as a post run snack, but it was in the locked car.  Crap. 

Sam's wife Steph came to our rescue with a spare key for Sam's car, and we nourished ourselves, rehydrated, and changed into some dry clothes.  Hoping for the unlikely, Sam drove to the Visitor Center to see if he had left his key at the facility.  We searched the grounds where we had repacked our gear and did not find them.  But, upon checking with the ranger at the front office, Sam was more than relieved to find that someone had turned in his keys.  The ranger conveyed how lucky Sam was as well.  I credit good karma.  Despite the distress of having lost the keys, finding them at the end of the day's run kind of felt like icing on a cake. 

Today's gear:

Shoes: Montrail Mountain Masochist.  For runs this rugged, I use a traditional trail running shoe.  Compared to every other shoe I have, the Masochist is a tank, and long miles of technical footing warrant a stable platform with plenty of protection over the toes, under the foot, and on the sidewalls.  This is the bread and butter of the Montrail line.

Hydration: Nathan Minimist hydration backpack and Nathan Quickdraw 22oz handheld bottle.  I had water in the pack and HEED in the bottle.  This most likely will be my combo for the OSS/CIA 50.

Nutrition: GU and Clif Bar gels.  Clif Bar as a post-run snack.

Long Cane 50K Race Recap

It's hard to sit down and write this recap. Not because I don't know what to say, rather because a dull pain envelops my quads everytime I try to sit down. Such is the reminder whenever one races a fairly hilly, quite technical trail 50K.

Barnaby and me relaxing the evening before the race.

Often, I go to races by myself, give my best effort, and then journey home of my own accord after texting my wife and letting her know how I did. This time, I was lucky enough to have Heidi and Barnaby (our oldest dog) join me for the weekend mini-vacation that culminated in my running a 50K race through the woods along the Long Cane trail near Abbeville, SC. Heidi, Barnaby, and I stayed at a hotel in nearby Greenwood the night before, and I spent the evening carbo-loading on peanut butter bagels, pretzels, orange juice, and whatever else I could get into my stomach without upsetting my system. I had been aiming for 3200 calories a day for the past couple of days in an effort to max out my glycogen stores so I would not suffer a debilitating bonk like I did at Umstead Marathon nine weeks earlier. Unfortunately, there was a motorcycle convention in town that weekend, so neither Heidi nor I could manage a very deep sleep the night before the race. Barnaby slept fine.

On Sunday morning, I laid out all of my mid-race nutrition to find the best way of balancing it in my multi-pocketed running shorts without the cargo bouncing around too much and pulling the shorts down to my ankles. The night before, I tested out my load while running back and forth in our hotel room, much to Heidi's entertainment. It seemed that no matter how I stacked things, I would be spending the first hour with a bouncing waistline, until I ate some of food that was weighing me down.

What a beautiful backdrop!

My cheering section!

With the forecast calling for temperatures reaching the high 80's with high humidity, I opted to go without a shirt to cut down on chafing and allow more sweat to evaporate heat away from my core. I also would be carrying two handheld bottles with me: a Nathan Quickdraw 22oz that I would fill and refill with water, and a 7oz mini-bottle in the other hand that I filled with a few gels and a little bit of water to thin out the mix. I also inverted the strap on the 7oz'er so that the bottle rested on the outside of my hand, leaving my palm free to hold other food items, like shot bloks or Clif Bars. I packed a couple of Clif Bars and a pouch of energy chews in a large ziplock bag and marked it as my drop bag for the aid station at mile 15. I carried everthing else--gels, shot bloks, stinger waffles, etc.--on my person.

We arrived at the Parson's River campsite at 6am, an hour before the start time. I checked in and introduced myself to Terri Hayes, the race director and creator of the South Carolina Ultras on Trails series. Terri organizes events like Long Cane for no entry fee (although donations are accepted, and I gladly threw some cash her way), so that veteran and rookie ultra runners alike can bank some enjoyable trail running in an ultra race setting with no real emphasis on fast times or age group awards, etc. After introducing myself to some other runners--some of whom I recognized from their online blogs--I geared up and joined the crowd gathering around Terri for the trail briefing.

All geared up and ready to run.

The 50K course (there also was a 55 mile option) would be a large figure 8, where miles 5-10 and miles 20-25 would be along the same winding cut-through trail in the middle of the map. After the first cut-through, runners would follow the top loop counter-clockwise and eventually reach the entrance to the cut-through from the other direction at mile 20. Then, turning right after about five miles, we would follow the bottom loop clockwise until we reached the beginning of the course. 95 percent of the course was single track, with a few short sections of gravel road, and about half a mile of total pavement. Thankfully, nearly all of the course would be shaded by tall trees.

At the start of the race, I grabbed a spot at the front of the pack. As Terri started the race, I settled into a pack near the front and hit the trails. Within the first half-mile, I passed a handful of runners until I joined the back of a small pack that included fellow DARTer Val Wrenholt, another runner named Ann, and a fellow 50K runner called David. Val and Ann were planning on running the 55 mile option, bu their first 32 miles would be along our 50K course.

Just after the start.

Originally, I had planned to run Long Cane conservatively so I could focus on nutrition and hydration in anticipation of futre longer ultras. However, since the temperature was comfortable at the start, I figured I would get as many quick miles in as I could before the heat set in. This was Val, Ann, and David's plan as well. After a mile, we had settled into a comfortably quick pace and I was just starting to break a cool sweat. I had my first fall at mile 1.2. I bounced back up and quickly caught up with my other three cohorts, who probably didn't even notice my stumble. Unfortunately, this would not be my last or worst fall of the day.

Unlike other races, where I don't mess with nutrition until getting a few miles under my belt, I implemented my feeding schedule right from the start of the clock. Every mile, I ate a shot block and chased it with either water or gel-water. This would add up to about 250 calories for the first hour, not counting anything I grabbed at the first aid station. Five miles into the race, we reached Aid Station 1, which offered water refills and directed us onto the cut-through trail. I had finished my shot blocks by then, so I refilled my water bottle, and thinned out my gel-water flask, and I hopped back on the trails right behind David. Ann--who was wearing a Camelbak--went right through AS1 without stopping, and Val quickly gave chase. David and I gave them a wide berth. If we cought up to them, so be it. After all, they were running a different race anyway.

I got to know David over the next few miles. Although he and I were not peers in terms of age group or size, we shared a lot of commonalities in race times, and we tacitly agreed on a comfortable pace. According to the volunteers at AS1, there were only two runners ahead of Ann, Val, and us, so we were front-of-the-packers. The cut-through section offered some technical switchbacks and a lot of ups and downs. I fell a couple more times within the first few miles after AS1, but I assured David I was fine, and that I just needed to get my trail focus back in order. Normally, I would consider myself a pretty sure-footed trail runner, but today was not my day. I made note of some of the longer uphills we ran, and told myself I most likely would be walking those when I came to them again in a few hours.

About 90 minutes into the race, I saw Ann fifty yards ahead of me. More importantly, I saw Aid Station #2 just beyond her. Ann breezed by AS2 just as she did AS1, but David and I stopped to refill water and grab a bite to eat. I ate a stinger waffle and a 1/4 PBJ, and then I was off. Now we were on the long, counter-clockwise top loop, but the miles went by fairly quickly due to the lack of switchbacks and the slightly more forgiving trail. David and I continued to chat to pass the time, keeping a steady but purposeful pace since the heat was yet to descend upon us. After a few miles, I pulled away from David and enjoyed some faster pace trail running. I wasn't going marathon-fast, but it was fast enough to keep me interested in the trail. I made it a point to suck down another gel or two to make room in my pockets for the Clif Bars I was going to pick up from my drop bag at the 3rd Aid Station. The extra calories could never hurt.

I arrived at AS3 in what seemed like no time. I pulled a bandana from my bib belt, soaked it in cold water, and wrapped it around my head. As the day got hotter, this would help to cool my core temperature. I grabbed my goodies from my drop bag, ate some gummy bears and a salt tab, thanked the AS3 volunteers, and shot onto the trail after David, who was quicker through the station since he did not have a drop bag. Within a mile, I caught up to David. The trail was a bit technical, and the spotted light from the tree canopy was making the footing difficult to see. Earlier, David had informed me of his colorblindness, so I hoped he would have better luck with his footing than I had up to that point.

Again, I pulled away from David. In addition to two Clif Bars, I had a pouch of Powerbar Energy Blasts that I was holding in my free hand. I continued my scheduled eating of one blast per mile, as I did with the shot bloks in the beginning of the race. Eating on the run kept me going, but it also gave me something to do. I am more alert when I multi-task. As long as I did not take too much attention away from my footing, the time would fly by. Although, since most of what I had been eating on the trail so far was sugar based, my gut was beginning to beckon for a break.

AS4 was right at the 20 mile mark. I was feeling pretty good for 20 miles. There was a hint of tightness in my hips from continuous motion, but I took that as a sign to back off and keep the Wall far off in the distance. I re-doused my bandana, filled my bottles, grabbed some M&Ms, and disposed of some of the trash I was stashing. David cruised into AS4 just as I was leaving. I gave him a shout, then I turned on my heels and ran.

This the start of my second trip through the cut-through trail. The next aid station was 7 miles away, but there was an unmanned water drop halfway there. I know a lot of people who have run this race dislike the cut-through trail, but I was happy to run it twice. Even though I had fallen a couple of times, I appreciated the technicallity of this part of the course. I ran it a little more cautiously this time through, as I already had spent over three hours running, and one cannot take agility and concentration for granted at that point. At mile 22.5, I took my first walk break. I was still in good shape to run, but I figured I would save some energy on these hills, especially since this 50K course was longer than 50K, and I still had at least 10 more miles to run. I also walked to give myself a chance to eat a Clif Bar. After sugary gels, shot bloks, and power blasts, it felt good to get some solid, oat-based energy with some protein and fat in my system. I forced myself to eat slowly and take small bites, looking and listening over my shoulder for signs of David or any other runners approaching. With my vantage of the past few switchbacks, I could tell I had a lot of empty room behind me. I did not start running again until I had finished chewing and swallowing the last bite. I felt better already, like I had only run 15 miles instead of close to 23.

When I reached the unmanned water drop, I again took my time. I poured out my water over my head to cool myself down, adjusted my food items in my pockets, and refilled my bottle once again. Just as before, David came into the water drop as I was about to leave. I grabbed a water bottle out of the case, opened it, and handed it to him. He was looking pretty strong, but he admitted that the heat was starting to get to him. I gave him a pat and continued on the trail.

Here's where I started to get a little tired and lonely. I picked up the pace whenever I started to feel stagnant, and after a couple of close calls, I fell once again. This time, my torso flattened on the ground. I was only on the ground for two seconds, but it seemed like longer. I admonished myself to get up and pay attention! When I found myself looking at my watch more and more often, I could tell I was starting to get fatigued. Hell, at this point in a 50K, I'm allowed to feel a little zapped. When I reached mile 26.2, my watch read 4:04. It would have been a nice mental bonus to have a sub-4 hour marathon split, but I'm happy I took a couple walk breaks anyway. The important thing was the I was not bonking.

Aid Station 5 was a welcome sight. Although there was another aid station less than a mile from the finish, this was my last real aid station before the final leg of the race. Douse, refill, 1/2 banana, Clif Bar, "Which way?" "Thank you!" David caught up to me at the aid station once again, and another 20-something runner was right behind him, coming into AS5 as David and I were leaving. I could tell David was slowing down considerably due to the heat, but I certainly was not speeding up. For the last time, I opened up some space on David, and he and I would not be in conversational range for the remainder of the race. After tracing a tree line across an open field, I was back on the single track.

Five, six miles left...I wasn't sure. Everyone gave different measurements for the actual course length, and it was nowhere near certified. "Oh well," I thought, "I'll run until it's done." The trail spilled out onto one of the few paved stretches of the course: a couple hundred yards of gradual uphill followed by a couple hundred yards of steep uphill, all in the bright sun. I ran until I got to the bottom of the steep part and then settled into a walk. My leg muscles were telling me how to plan out the rest of the race: walk the uphills, run easy on the flats, and run fast on the downhills...as long as I don't bust my ass! Before the flagged trail blazes directed me back into the woods, I glanced back and saw David a quarter mile behind me, fighting to get some shade as he walked along the side of the road.

I stuck to my terrain-based running plan and kept a respectable pace for the last leg of any ultra, although things were starting to get a little old when my watch showed the true 50K distance and I still had a couple of "bonus" miles left to go. Oddly, my split at my recorded 50K mark was 4:57:59...the exact time to the second of my previous 50K PR! If I had been one second faster, I might have been pissed, but now I was just amused...and tired.

A few other runners came towards me going the opposite direction. I recongnized one as Ann, who was on her reverse leg to complete 55 miles, but the others...I never recalled them passing me. I later found out that they had taken a wrong turn a ways back and gotten to Aid Station 6 far too early. The volunteers at AS6 turned them back down the trail to make up some of their lost mileage. I at least was going the right way, but I couldn't keep track of whether there was one, two, or three other people ahead of me. All I knew is that I was still very much ahead of most of the field.

The bonus miles were truly brutal. I still had a little bit of energy left in the tanks, but Terri had saved the only real steep and rocky ascents for this final part of the race. I came to embrace the uphills because they meant I could walk. I found myself still able to glide (sort of) on the descents, but my quads were starting to feel trashed. I rejoiced when I saw Aid Station 6, which was a scant 1/2 mile from the finish. At AS6, runners were given the choice of turning around and running the course in reverse (sans cut-through) for a 55-miler, or continuing to the campsite for a 50K finish. I told them I was doing the 50K, and they directed me back the way I came at the beginning of the race. They also informed me that the campsite had BBQ, dessert, and all kinds of other fixin's waiting for me. I replied that my wife and dog were there, and that's all I cared about at the time. When I asked how many 50K'rs were ahead of me, they said there was only one. Sweet, I was just a few minutes' jog from a second place finish.

1/4 mile left.  Don't stop me now!

I ran down the road to catch my last 1/4 mile of trail to the finish and was rewarded with a bonus. Hiedi happened to be a taking Barnaby for a walk, and they were emerging from the trailhead as I was approaching. She immediately apologized because she was not waiting at the finish line, but neither she nor I thought I would be finishing this early. I didn't care. I was almost done, and she was there to cheer me on minutes before. She took my picture as I cantered into the trail towards the finish.

The finish area at Long Cane really speaks to the laid back nature of Terri's races. There were maybe a half-dozen people there. Terri, was keeping the time on a wrist watch, another volunteer was handing out the hand-crafted finishers' medals, a couple of people were in the pavillion serving BBQ, and who I assumed was the other finisher was headed off to the showers. I strode to the finish at 5:18:31, and Terri confirmed I was the second to arrive. One of the other volunteers commented that the one person who finished ahead of me looked a little worse for wear. The final distance measured on my GPS watch was 33.3 miles. 20-Something Runner from AS5 was the third to finish, and David came in a few moments after him, drenched in sweat. I congratulated both on a great run, and they did the same for me. Shortly after, Heidi arrived with Barnaby to congratulate me and take a few post-race pictures, including some of my trail wounds.

Finished!

One of my battle wounds.

I feel ya, Brother!

Long Cane was a fantastic event, and one could not ask for anything more from a race director who dedicated herself to creating free ultras for beginner and experienced trail runners alike. I learned a lot from this race. I got a feel for a nutrition plan that works for me over ultra distances. I learned that time away from the trails lets your trail running skills decay. I learned that I can not only complete ultras, but I am to the level where I can compete, at least at the 50K distance. Perhaps next year I will come back and take a shot at the 55-miler. However, the most important lesson I learned was that having a loving wife and dog waiting for you can bring any finish line closer to you.

One happy family!

Gear:

Shoes: New Balance MT 110. These were great for 50K, but I might make the step up to a more substancial shoe for longer, more rugged races.

Compression: 2XU calf sleeves

Shorts: RaceReady LD with a Nathan bib belt pinned to the waistband all the way around.

Hydration: Nathan 22oz Quickdraw and Fuel Belt 7oz Dash handheld. S!Cap salt tabs.


Nutrition: Powerbar gels, GU gels, Clif Shot Bloks, Clif Bars, Honey Stinger Waffles. I consumed about 1700 calories during the race counting onboard nutrition and AS food. I probably expended close to twice that.

Barnaby looks how I felt.

Just some of what I ate on the trail.