Sunday, July 14, 2013

Western States Endurance Run Race Report 2013

It all began in Squaw Valley. The sport that has captured my interest and kept me pushing for the next biggest and toughest challenge began when a horse went lame. That is when a man said, "why not?" Gordy Ainsleigh decided to race against horses using his own two feet to cover the 100 mile Western States course. He made it. This year there were no horses; it was far less historic, but Gordy and I both toed the line in Squaw Valley.
Arriving in Squaw Valley With Some Awesome Team 5K Shirts

The journey to the hallowed grounds of ultrarunning is long and tough. Only the fortunate few get their names drawn and go from lottery hopeful to racer sharing a trail with some of the most legendary runners in ultrarunning. I am lucky enough to not only have my name drawn, but to have an amazing crew of five friends want to share the adventure with me.

Almost 400 trail runners and their crews descend on Squaw Valley on the last weekend of June the tackle the demanding course. When you arrive the atmosphere is very overwhelming. Shoulder to shoulder with the biggest names in trail running. All the rookies spend the first day bumping into each other as they stare awkwardly at Timothy Olson, Hal Koerner and Mike Morton.

Once I was able to get over where I was, my nerves subsided. I did my Friday pre-race medical check in.
Medical Check In... 120 over 84
This went surprisingly smooth.


Afterward we watched several members of the crew participate in the Montrail 6K Uphill Challenge.
John Gregg, Greg Wingo, and Stacy Barr


Brad Siegal and a Hill That Only Gets Steeper
We followed that up with a trip to the bar across the street. Alternating between water and Moose Drool Brown Ale seemed to be the perfect mix. I was more than relaxed for the mandatory race briefing early that afternoon.
Chia Seeds in the Beer
There are tons of Q and A sessions and information meetings in the days leading up to the race, but I felt like most of the information was a rehash of what I had already discovered online. I took away a few nuggets of knowledge and we retired to the condo a couple miles away.

Changing your routine before the race is generally not advised, but for this race I decided to go completely vegan the week before the race. I'd recently read Scott Jurek's book Eat and Run. I figured a little healthy eating wouldn't hurt. I enjoyed some vegetable pasta, mixed vegetables, roasted potatoes and a salad and I was ready for an early bedtime.

Being that I was still somewhat on Central Time, two hours ahead, I had been sleeping really well and waking up really early. It was no different the night before the race. When 3:30am rolled around I was up and ready to run.
Fun Times Before 5AM
On race morning you still had to check in and pickup your bib number. The process was really easy, so I had plenty of time pre-race to stand around with the crew and waste some nervous energy dancing.

The race starts sharp at 5am. A gun is fired and off you go, straight up. The first four miles take you straight up and over with around 2,500 feet of climbing. Unless you are elite, you are walking. It is just a matter of how fast your walk is. I passed Gordy early on the climb, that was neat to look over and see him. The sun rises at your back and it was incredibly beautiful to look over your shoulder and see the dawn of what was sure to be a long hot day.
Almost to the Top of the Escarpment
My pace was a little faster than mid-pack and once over the top I kept a brisk pace running with a good sized group along the ridge line. This section was the prettiest part of the whole trail. Technical single track over rocks and steams created by the melting snow. I was in awe of where I was and what I was doing.

Heading into the Lyon Ridge Aid Station
Approaching the Lyon Ridge aid station at mile 10.5 I knew the pace needed to slow down so I backed it down refueled and enjoyed the ridge. The next section was pretty exposed and even though it was early morning the sun began to heat things up.
The forecast this year was for heat, potentially 100+ degree record heat.

One of the Tough Ridge Climbs
This section of the trail was more difficult than I expected. Several steep climbs made for a slower pace than I had expected. I let a lot of runners go by me in these miles, but I had a plan to protect my body and I
was doing a good job sticking to the plan.

Runners don't get to see their crews until at least mile 23.8 at the Duncan Canyon aid station. The decent to this aid station is the first real significant downhill. After dropping almost 1,000 feet in a mile and a half you see that friendly crew for the first time.
John Gregg, Katie Gregg, and Foot Doctor Brad Siegal greeted me with smiles and cheers. You may not need any of their food, or fresh socks, but seeing them and hearing them cheer for you makes a huge difference. I grabbed my extra water bottle, threw some ice in my hat and grabbed some calories before taking off.
Ready to Serve... Me Fig Newtons

Creek Between Duncan Canyon and Robinson Flat
I knew the other half of my crew was waiting for me at the Robinson Flat aid station just six miles away. I didn't realize how tough, hot and uphill this six mile section would be. The heat was getting intense and my water supply was running dry before I reached the top of the climb and my awaiting crew. In spite of the tough going, I found my legs performed better than most and I passed several people.

Robinson Flat was a straight up party. So many people and I swear I heard music. It made me dance a little bit. This is the first place your weight is checked. The goal is not to loose too much weight, but certainly not to gain any weight. Weight gain is a sign that your kidneys are not working a a sure fire way to get pulled off the course. I was already down five pounds. That was a little concerning, but I took noticed and loaded up on food a fluids at the aid station.

On the exit to the aid station I saw the other half of my crew. Greg Wingo and Stacy Barr were joined by members of another local runner (John Cobbs) crew. I sat on a log and chatted with Greg, Stacy, Ali Edwards and Owen Bradley, but I can't remember what I did or what was said. All I know is I was told the trail went immediately up, but then really down.  

The climb up is vague in my memory, so it must not have been too bad, but the downhill was great. My legs felt okay, I was handling the heat, and I was looking forward to seeing my crew at Dusty Corners. I took two Aleve at Miller's Defeat and cruised into Dusty Corners in great spirits ready for a shoe and sock change.
Living Like a Diva

I started the race wearing Hokas. The strategy there was to minimize the downhill abuse on the quads before switching to my Saucony Peregrine 3's, a shoe that fits my foot perfectly. I had a slight blister rubbing my heel, but nothing that was a problem. Foot Doctor Brad lubed me up, slid on some new socks and with the new shoes on I was off into the heat again.

I ran into a local named Don during the next section. He gave me the 411 on what to expect with the upcoming trail. It was runnable and I hung with Don for a good bit. He had run Western States in close to 20 hours in the past and  and clued me into the fact that locals refer to this race as "States" and not "Western". He was also quick to point out how well I was doing and that was a huge confidence boost before I let Don slip ahead of me.

Devils Thumb is one of the iconic parts of the race. A big climb in the heat of the day that takes a major toll on many a runner. The climb is just less than a mile long, but you climb up about 1,300 feet. Again, I was shocked at how much better I did on this climb than most of the people around me. I passed Don and about 10 other runners on the way up. It was complete carnage for a couple folks and I could tell more than a few races were ending on this brutal climb.

Coming into the Devil's Thumb aid station, I had one minor concern. I was starting to feel chilled and with the hot temperatures that was not good. To fend off an possible heat exhaustion, I got an ice water towel draped around me and a popsicle at the aid station. The medical staff must have thought I was in good shape because they kicked me out after just a few minutes.

With a handkerchief filled with ice and tied around my neck I took off for a nasty decent down to El Dorado Creek. Five miles down with a drop of almost 3,500 feet will put a beating on the body. I ran hard for the first part of the decent before easing up when I realized exactly how far we were going down. This decent was very exposed and the sun was baking us as we dropped to the low hot canyon of El Dorado Creek.

Rolling into this aid station I was hot and for the first time all day there was no volunteer to greet me and ask what I needed. I grabbed a bottle refill, grabbed some fruit, a glass of ginger ale, and I left for the long climb up to Michigan Bluff. I left the aid station too soon. I was still hot and after about 500 feet into the climb I knew I needed to stop. I found a downed tree and popped a squat.

The Michigan Bluff climb is not as steep as Devil's Thumb, but it is two and a half miles and goes up 1,700 feet. I was in rough shape and stopped again to lay on a big log after about half a mile. This rest as well as being passed by two runners was enough to get me back on my feet and climbing again. I was cooled down and began to knock off switch backs one by one. By the last mile of the climb I was not only feeling better, I was gaining strength and looking forward to my crew who was waiting just ahead.
Cruising Into Michigan Bluff, Then Eating Some Roast Beef

Before I could see my crew, I needed to weigh in again. Consistent fluids and regular food had not only kept my weight steady, but I had actually gained a pound. Brad and Katie were waiting for me with a chair and a roast beef sandwich. The vegan thing was out the window because during the race you eat whatever you can. I find an Arby's Roast Beef sandwich has a good mix of salt, protein and carbs.

I knew my chance to pick up my pacer was just ahead at the Forest Hills aid station. The problem is, I really had no idea how far away that was. For some reason I thought it was 10 miles from Michigan Bluff to Forest Hills. Turns out its about six miles. This stretch had a nice drop into Volcano Canyon, which as you might guess is hot. Out of the canyon the trail rises a little on some rolling hills. Eventually there was a sign indicating an aid station just a quarter mile ahead. The sign was a lie. At least a half mile later at the top of a jeep road was the next aid station. it was small and I noticed a lot of people hanging out. After a few questions someone told me it was less than a mile up the road to the main aid station of Forest Hills where my crew and pacer were waiting.

During this stretch crews and pacers are allowed to walk/run with their runners. As I hiked up the steep paved road I began to chat with another runner's crew. A nice local named Scott gave me some good encouragement. He had run the race in 2012 and was here to pace his friend Mark this year. I would see Mark and Scott several more times before Auburn. Within a few minutes I see my first pacer Greg Wingo trotting down the road. I was excited to see him and together we mostly walked the remaining half mile into the Forest Hill aid station.
So Happy to See the Crew

The relationship between a runner and his or her crew can be difficult. Runners are often tired, cranky, delusional among other things. Telling, convincing or tricking a runner to do what the crew wants can be similar to babysitting a four or five year old. My crew was hell bent on me eating partly because they knew I needed to, and partly because I told them before the race to make sure I did. After a few minutes of arguing and a sock change, Wingo and I took off.

It was more than 15 hours into the race so the sun was beginning to set. The temperature dropped a little, but not much and it seemed to be getting more and more humid. Luckily this section of the course was pretty runable and my legs felt pretty good. We were moving at a good pace and passing a lot of people as the sun slipped away and our headlamps began to light the way. I like night running and I was enjoying the trail and the company of my pacer.

In the back of my mind I was trying to do math. I suck at math, but it is necessary when trying to figure out when you might be able to finish. Wingo and I were talking a little about whether I had a chance to beat the magic 24 hour cutoff. We both had figured out that it was possible, but we didn't openly discuss it. The goals was kind of just understood. We kept a fast pace but I was cognizant enough to try and save my legs a little.

This section is capped off by the famous American River crossing. That marks mile 78 on the course. Over the almost 17 mile stretch from Forest Hill to the river I had improved from 154th place to 115th. I felt good and focused. Crossing the river is a great experience.
Wingo and I Take a Swim in the American River
They have a rope and lights that help to illuminate big slick rocks. The water is cold, but on a hot humid night it felt great. I dunked my body on the far side and hurried out of the water.
In a Hurry
It was almost two miles up a nasty jeep road to the next aid station called Green Gate. My other two pacers met me about half way up the hill and we all power hiked into the aid station.

Something happened in that two mile climb to Green Gate. I went from being focused and strong to exhausted and tired. I just wanted to lay down. I grabbed a cup of ginger ale and a quick bite in the aid station and then I went to find my crew. I remember seeing people laid out all over the place. I think it was mostly other people's crew members trying to sleep. My crew had a chair set up for me, but I was going to lay down and I grabbed the chair and threw it aside. This flying chair proved to be a rude wake up call to the guy sleeping as I'm pretty sure it landed on his face. I apologized as I laid down and instructed Brad to fix my left foot. I had a blister on the top of my fourth toe, but all I knew was that I wanted him to remove the toe nail. He couldn't do that, but he duct taped it and gave me a fresh sock. John Gregg and I departed a few minutes later.

The rule of thumb in ultras is when you feel bad just keep moving forward and you will likely start to feel better. Sometimes it happens a couple miles later; sometimes it happens ten miles later; sometimes it doesn't happen.
Walking Somewhere After Mile 80
We walked for awhile then I ran a little section. It was a good run, but it wore me out and made me feel real sick to my stomach. By mile 87ish I was stopped on the trail and vomiting. This made me feel better, but not much better. It was clear my stomach was not going to get better, but luckily I had less than 15 miles to go.

Part of a pacers' job is to do whatever it takes to keep the runner in a positive (or as close to positive) mindset as possible, and to keep them moving forward. Somewhere along the way I lost my bearings and had no idea where I was mileage wise. John decided it was in his best interest to lie to me about how far I had till the next aid station. I had no clue, but I kept marching on at a reasonable pace all the way to Brown's Bar.

There was music blaring here, and despite the name there was no kegs or cocktails (not that I could have stomached one). I got my foot looked at here, but there was little that could be done. I now had a blister on my forefoot and it made each step somewhere between uncomfortable and painful. I thought Brown's Bar was at mile 91, but it was actually mile 90. That meant the Highway 49 aid station at mile 93.5 was actually 3.5 miles up the trail and not the 2.5 I expected. No amount of lying by John could convince me that we had only traveled 2.5 miles, so he just convinced me that this section of the course wasn't accurate.

When we finally got to Highway 49 my crew was there in full force. I was in bad shape. I knew I would finish but any expectation of a finishing time had gone way out the window. I got no foot attention or shoe or sock change. All of that seemed pointless. Food and drink also seemed pointless. I was moving so slow and resigned to the fact that I was death marching to the end so no food, drink, salt, socks or whatever could make a difference now.

I left for the final seven miles with Stacy Barr. He was so excited to be there and he gave me a nice lift. He kept talking about how epic the whole experience was and that I was about to finish the Western States 100. We climbed up to an open ridge top where we were meet by the rising sun. I picked up the pace for a brief moment and joked with Stacy that he was going to get to run a little bit. At this point my run may have been more of a shuffle, but it was quick enough to pass by at least one person.

This part of the trail drops down to the No Hands Bridge, which is one of the epic landmarks on the Western States course. I thought I saw the bridge about five times before it actually appeared through the trees. It was underwhelming to me but that could have been more a reflection of my state of mind. I was tired and exhausted.

It is only a two mile climb up to Robbie Point from here. I thought it was going to be longer, tougher and steeper. I stumbled along the trail waiting for it to make a turn up the ridge. Finally we started to go up. It was just a few hundred yards before we were on a paved road with aid station volunteers cheering me and Stacy toward the top. At the top there is the Robbie Point aid station. They ask you if you need anything, but I have to imagine that they were left with coolers full of fluids and trays full of food at the race's end. Who would stop there when there is just a mile left to go?

Stacy and I powered on and were met by Ali here. The three of us climbed up for about an eight of a mile before the road tilts downhill toward the Placer High School track and the finish line. I was encouraged to run by Stacy, Ali, people on the street and even a runner who ran by me at what seemed like a 5k pace to me. Moving fast hurt and I was content to take my time until I saw the actual track. A fought back tears on what may be the longest mile of the course, but eventually you make a turn and end up on the high school track.

The track was underwhelming. I guess every time I had read about this place I picture it as a grand stage. In my mind it was a grand colosseum and not an average high school football stadium. I saw my crew, and I began to muster up a shuffle that resembled something of a run.
The Final Stretch With an Amazing Crew Cheering Me On!
Shortly after this another runner came onto the track and he was moving much quicker than me. Without thinking I increased my speed and covered the last 200 meters in what seemed like just a few seconds. I crossed the finish line 25 hours, 54 minutes and 19 seconds after I left Squaw Valley.

I was given a medal. I spoke to the medical staff and answered some questions about something. Did I weigh in again? All I wanted to do was lay down in the football field and after hugging and thanking the crew, I did.
So Happy to Be Done

One of the big prizes you get for finishing is the big silver or bronze buckle depending on how fast you finish. You aren't given this buckle when you finish, but rather at an awards ceremony at 12:30 on Sunday. It was hot, and the big tents in the football field were filled with exhausted, worn down hobbly runners and crews. I laid on the grass eating popsicles just like some of the biggest names in the trail running world. Eventually, they called my name and I got my hands the prized Western States finishers buckle.

I never expected to be in Squaw Valley to run this race. I was lucky to have my name drawn. I certainly never expected to have an incredible crew of people (Katie Gregg, John Gregg, Brad Siegal, Greg Wingo, Stacy Barr, and Ali Edwards) who actually want to travel across the country to put up with my crap. I am a luckier to have them. I will always treasure the memories of our epic Western States adventure and I look forward to future chapters on life's adventure.
I Don't Always Go to Squaw Valley, But When I Do I Go With Amazing People

Friday, March 22, 2013

Georgia Death Race Postmortem

Inaugural races can often be dicey. Throw in the word "death" in the race name and a first time race director that prefers to be called "Run Bum", this race had every reason to be a complete disaster. There were bumps, big steep bumps, but the race was anything but a disaster and in fact a rather challenging and wonderful experience.

I had run the Duncan Ridge 50k a few months before the Georgia Death Race, and since the first 15 miles were practically identical, I knew a little about what I was in for and I knew it would not be easy. The Duncan Ridge Trail (DRT) is known for being steep and punishing. Whoever carved this trail into the North Georgia Mountains did not believe in switchbacks. The trail is rarely flat; either up or down.

This time around I opted to camp out in Vogel State Park the night before the race. The weather was mild and the facilities at the park are so nice this seemed like a good idea. After an uneventful pre-race meeting and a relatively good night's sleep I woke up at 3am and prepared for the race start. I don't normally run with a hydration pack, but since this race required runners to haul thermal tops, jackets, blankets and other gear, I decided to jam all of that into my hydration pack. I knew I would likely need very little of it, but remembering that this was Run Bum's first race as RD, I was prepared for anything.

At the start Run Bum gave a short speech. He advised that we would have both the best of times and the worst of times. He was right. Moments later we were off through the campsites to the Coosa Backpack Trail. This trail winds out of Vogel State Park before descending down to the bottom of Coosa Bald. Once you cross a few bridges your legs get a rude introduction of what is to come. I've heard it is about three miles up to the top of Coosa Bald. Luckily this is not the Duncan Ridge Trail so there are at least switchbacks to take you to the top.

This race started at 4am so everyone could be up on the ridge for sunrise. Some people do not like running in the dark, but I am not one of those people so I really enjoyed the first few hours of this race. On the descent from Coosa Bald I rolled into the first aid station. After a quick water refill and a handful of something sugary, I was off into the dark. You can see other runners ahead and behind you very easily as headlamps bob up and down along the ridge. We plunge into a valley along a real muddy and tricky trail. I almost slide off the trail and down the side of the ridge. How far would I have fallen? Death race, yeah, I get it.

This part of the race was brutal. So steep both up and down and it surely punished the legs in every way possible. The race continued to wind along the ridge in the dark as we made our way to the second aid station. I was cognizant to get some calories early since I knew it could be a long day, but I did not want to spend a long time in any aid station. As we left the volunteers told us to be sure and turn right in six miles when we hit the Benton Mackaye Trail.

Shortly after leaving the aid station, the sun would rise. I timed it almost perfectly as I peaked a steep climb the sun lit up the sky with orange and yellow. It was worth taking 30 seconds to stop and look around at the beautiful sight. Despite the pain on my throbbing calves and hamstrings, there was no place I'd rather be at that moment.

Along this part of the race that the Run Bum got mean.  Posted along the steep climbs of the DRT were signs taunting runners. One said that we were almost done with the climbing. Twenty yards later a second sign said, just kidding you aren't even close. That definitely stopped me in my tracks for a moment to catch my breath and contemplate exactly what I had gotten myself into today. 

The next aid station was at mile 21 and at this point I was in need of it. I start to think it cannot be a good thing to feel this bad just a third of a way into the race. Thoughts of dropping out of the race creep into my head but as I have no cell phone I know coordinating a DNF will be difficult and that puts that idea to rest. The trail drops for at least a mile into the third aid station where I loaded up on Mountain Lighting which I am told is super legit. It worked.

Once back onto the Benton Mackaye trail things got a little better. This part of the trail was more runnable and I did just that. Just a few miles into this section I was feeling much better and I was at the next aid station in no time. I had no drop bag waiting for me so I quickly filled up my water, joked with some volunteers, and departed onto a jeep road. I hate jeep roads, but this was runnable and a nice change of pace for me since it wasn't straight up or down.

At this point I started thinking big picture. I had thrown out some time estimates of 15-17 hours to my friends and that math seemed to be holding up. Could I go faster though? The temperatures were rising and I needed to be aware of my salt intake, especially as I began to push the pace in hopes of turning in a fast time. A quick stop at a small aid station gave warning of a long a brutal stretch ahead. It would be the last real single track and it would give us a lot of climbing.

It was supposed to be seven miles. It wasn't. We did; however, cover some gorgeous trail and some incredible overlooks along this stretch of the Benton Mackaye Trail. After what seemed like hours of up and down you keep expecting to come down a ridge into the next oasis of an aid station. Every downhill seemed to be meet with a opposite uphill. Eventually, I snapped. Sitting on a tree just 20 feet into a climb two runners come by to ask if I was okay. We exchange curse words about the lack of an aid station. Finally, a third runner suggests that it must be just over this next climb. I begin to drag myself up the climb again. Not much further up the road is a creek. I stop and lay down in it. I was overheating and in a bad way.

The optimistic runner was right. Just up the climb was an open field with enough pink polka dotted markings to signal a 747. I grabbed a piece and made a headband. It was humorous to me and I needed that. Previous runners had given word that #102 (me) was in trouble so the volunteers were very attentive to me when I finally arrived at the aid station. The consensus was that we were really about 38 miles into the race, but officially this was the mile 35 aid station. I wanted to stop, I wanted to drop. I told a wonderful young lady that I wanted to DNF, but I wasn't going to so instead I would sit down in a chair until I felt like running again. Several cups of ginger ale, some pretzels, and cookie, and salt pills later I was ready to leave. It was probably 15 minutes and it was exactly what I needed. 

I took this next part easy. I walked for the first couple miles but eventually felt good enough to run again. It started as mostly just the downhills, but eventually I was running the flats, too. From here on the race would be on all forest service roads. Luckily, these roads were all well maintained so while it was boring, it was easy running.

My spirits were high at the next aid station and being told the next seven miles were downhill only lifted those spirits higher. I ran almost this entire section and made great time. I was sweating and my stomach felt uneasy, but the legs felt great so I ran hard.

The aid stations and roads all kind of blend together from here on. I know at one point I got to eat bacon. I know at one point I wanted to stop and shit, but all the forest was burnt by a fire so there was none of nature's TP. I know we ran on a paved road for awhile and I passed horses and cows and goats. I know I thought about stealing and riding one of those horses. Even the horse may have broken down on the uphill forest service road that was just ahead.

The only thing I hate more than a jeep road, is a jeep road that goes uphill for miles and miles. That is what I found here. Combine a stomach  that was puking up a weird dark purple substance and shitting something worse. Those two things are not a recipe for fast running, but I kept moving. I took at the map at one point so I could try and figure how much further this climb might be. Either it was not possible to tell, or I was too messed up to effectively read it. I almost used the map to wipe my ass, but opted to put it back in my pocket instead.

After more sign taunting by the Run Bum, I finally reached the aid station. The gentleman there told me it was 6 miles to the finish, but that it was mostly down hill. After a quick swig of Mellow Yellow I took off after the final little climb. It was just about a half mile or so up the mountain before we hit a nice service road that went right down into Amicalola Falls State Park. The road was easy to run, but the faster I ran, the more I needed to shit. It was a balancing act that my shorts were praying I pulled off without incident.

When you get close to the finish you start to see people. Campers, hikers, cars, all of it starts to show up more regularly. This helps you push through the discomfort. I ran into the State Park and was looking for the finish. Where was everyone? I saw no sign of actual human beings. Eventually the pink polka dotted markers led me to a step rocky downhill and then a rooty single track with switchback after switchback. I bombed this part using trees to help navigate the tight switchback turns. Eventually I hear people and by then the trail dumps out onto a nice paved path with a simple but glorious finish line just a few yards away. I crossed in 15:54:43 and immediately plopped down in a chair. People wanted to give me food and drink, but all I wanted was a shitter and some real toilet paper.

The Georgia Death Race is hard. I mostly loved it and will certainly put it on my calendar for next year. No race is ever organized and put on perfectly, but for the inaugural running of this race Sean Cien Fuegosthechisel Run Bum Blanton and his team deserve a lot of props. I can't wait to see what he and the crew do to make this race even better and tougher next year.


Thursday, February 7, 2013

2013 Rocky Raccoon Race Report

In 2012 I spent almost 28 hours on the trails at Huntsville State Park trying to figure out the Rocky Raccoon 100. Getting a buckle means you conquered the race on that particular day, but I certainly did not feel like I had figured out that race, that distance, the challenge of running 100 miles. With all the lessons I thought I had learned in 2012, I was back again in 2013 to give it another shot.

This year I flew out with my friend John, who was also running, and our crew of John's wife Katie and our friend Martin. My parents who live in Houston would also travel up to be part of the crew. The decision to fly from Birmingham instead of drive like we did last year was clutch. We rented an RV and set up camp in the state park Thursday afternoon. Friday would be a nice relaxing day.

Camping in style
My goal for the race was obviously to finish, but I was certainly shooting to break that 24 hour mark. I knew with foot care lessons and salt intake lessons learned at last year's Rocky Raccoon mudfest, I should be better prepared and sub 24 was at least a reasonable goal. I decided that I would run without a pacer this year so that I'd have a back up goal of just finishing the race all by myself if that sub 24 goal eluded me.

Before the race.
Race morning I was delighted to wake up to no rain and a nice temperature right around 50 degrees. Great running weather although I was a little concerned about the heat of the day, but I'd deal with that later. Last year John and I started in the middle of the pack and we found the first several miles very slow as a result. We decided this year to run up front and we were probably running in the top 20-30 runners for the first few miles. The feet were light, my headlamp was bright, everything felt good and right.

Somewhere after DamNation I decided I needed to dial back the pace a little bit and started to walk the hills of that DamNation loop. I started to get passed a lot, and at some point John caught back up to me and it was good to talk and strategize a bit. The consensus was that we were on a pace that was too fast, but neither of us felt concerned enough to really slow down. We don't have very similar running styles so we didn't really run the rest of the loop together. My first loop goal was 3:45, I came in at 3:24 just about a minute or so ahead of John.

Two really happy runners
At the start of this second loop I knew I was just three miles from getting my first real attention from the crew. John and I came into the Nature Center aid station together and promptly plopped down in chairs while our crew asked us what we needed. I didn't need much except some lube for the feet. I was hell bent on keeping blisters from being a problem. I probably drank an Ensure, but didn't really need much else. I left the headlamp and arm sleeves behind and took off.

John and I ran together for a little bit after this, but as the temperature started to rise, I knew I needed to be very cautious of my pace. I think I told John I was hoping to do this loop between 4:30 - 5 hours. He was going to go faster, so I let him run ahead. The second loop was really uneventful. I think a lot of folks were passing me, but I was more concerned about saving my legs and my body after a faster first loop than I had planned.

23 Miles, Get me some lube!
It turns out my goal of running a sub 5 hour loop would be no issue. I came back into the start at Dogwood at 4:11 hours and was feeling really good and strong. The temperature had started to rise even more and I knew at this point I needed to try to slow down even more.

I wish I could say things got tough during this loop, but I was so focused on dialing things back that I just kept it easy, tried to eat and drink, and upped my salt pill intake to three pills an hour to account for the extra heat. Again my crew was great at mile 43. I felt a little rubbing on a toe and my heel so I changed from my new Pearl Izumi N1's to the trusted Saucony Peregrine 2's. The crew told me John was looking and feeling good as I took down part of an Arby's roast beef sandwich. I told my crew the goal was something close to 5 hours and then I was gone.

43 Miles, looking a little bloated. Best Crew Ever!
This loop was probably the most challenging for me. It felt hot. My legs were starting to hurt, but nothing was keeping me from running. I ran the downhills and some of the flats. When I wasn't running I was doing a fast walk. I'd check my watch at certain points of the course and while I was definitely moving slower, the pace was still pretty close to previous laps. As the sun began to set I began to pick up the pace a little. I grabbed my headlamp from the crew at the Park Road aid station at mile 57 and headed back to Dogwood to finish off the loop. I managed to get it done in 4:28, so far better than 5 hours and at 12:06 total for the race.

Runners are allowed to get pacers starting at mile 60, but this year I decided to attempt the race with no pacer. I felt the challenge of finishing it by myself would be good for me. Now with the temperature dropping and my headlamp turned on I began to pick the pace up a bit. That is probably all relative to what your body can do. It felt like I was running a lot faster, but in reality, it was probably about the same. I remembered to pickup my iPod at the Nature Center and after a trip to the bathroom and an Ensure I was back to the trail. I knew John was ahead of me with his wife and pacer Katie and with the speed I was running I felt like I would catch them at some point. Out of the DamNation aid station I was running really hard since my iPod seemed to be randomly giving me a perfect running playlist. The temperature continued to drop, but I was sweating so staying warm was not an issue. Midway through the DamNation loop I came across John and Katie. I stayed with them briefly, but since our running styles differ I ended up running ahead after a few moments.

As I came into DamNation a few miles later I reminisced to how much different this year was from last year. In 2012 I was sitting at DamNation at mile 72 with a serious lack of salt problem and horrible blisters wondering if my race was over. This year, I grabbed some fluids, fresh headlamp batteries and I was headed to Park Road.

The Jeep road that leads to the Park Road aid station is my least favorite part of the course. If you know me you know I hate onions, chicks who wear too much make up, and jeep roads. Luckily, by now I had figured out that if I ran the downhills and some of the flats, I could knock this section out in about 25 minutes. I think my parents were surprised to see me at Park Road since I was well ahead of pace. I was moving faster on this loop than I did on loop three. I never stayed long at this aid station except for the time I used the porta john but I can't remember which loop or loops that was.

The next 4.4 miles to Dogwood was pretty easy. I was comforted by knowing at this point I had assured myself a sub 24 hour finish since I would have more than 7 hours to finish the final loop and I had just done the 4th loop in 4:19.

Out for the final loop I saw John almost immediately. He was probably about a half mile from finishing his loop and was happy to hear how close he was. I told myself that I was going to back the pace down and just make sure I could get a nice safe finish. There was no need to break an ankle now and DNF. I got my final Ensure at mile 83 and joked around with my crew some. I think they were remarkably surprised with not only the pace, but my upbeat spirits. Katie had dropped off from pacing John and was there to give me an update on him. He was doing really well and had Martin to bring him home for his final loop. How is it that we were both having such amazing races after the disaster of 2012?

I had time check points for each loop that gave me an idea of where I was and what the pace looked like. At DamNation I knew I was on a similar pace as I had been most of the day so I began to think of possibly finishing under 21 hours. Perhaps it was my excitement of the math or deliriousness of being at mile 86, but I made my first mistake here. I did not listen to my body and ignored the queasy stomach and did not take the antacids in my drop bag.

The next six miles were the worst of the race. I'd run but only to feel like I was about to throw up. I could usually only manage a minute or so of running before I was slowed to a walk by the feeling of sickness. I kept it steady and when I got back to DamNation it was straight to the drop bag for antacids. I thanked the aid station volunteers for a great job again this year and I was gone for the final eight miles.

Antacids seem to work almost immediately. Within a half mile I was back to feeling good and running more than I was walking. I found that I was passing a lot of runners; runners who had looked to be faster than me earlier in the day. My dad told me I ended up improving 17 places on the final loop. This really pushed me to keep going faster and faster. As I flew into the Park Road aid station my parents greeted me with smiles and applause. I was short with them, explaining that I was going to try to break 21 hours.

At this point I was not only racing the 21 hour mark, but my head lamp batteries. I noticed that it was getting dimmer and dimmer over the past few miles and that potentially it could die before the finish. The solution was to just run faster. This became a challenge once the trail dumped back onto the root filled single track for the last three miles. Somehow, I made no bad steps, I realized here that I was likely to break 21 hours, but if I hustle, I could also do this loop in less than 4:30.

When you get to the bridges you know you are close. I was there, but my light was so dim. In an effort to save batteries I would switch off my headlamp on the bridges since I knew the footing was good. Did this help? Probably not, but I did it on three of the longer bridges.

For the final mile or so you can see the main park road. There is one small climb and then you cross three roads on the way to the finisher chute. I think I ran this whole section and I think I ran it pretty fast. As you turn the corner to see the finish line there is an overwhelming sense of joy, pride and accomplishment. This ain't supposed to be easy and while it was much easier this year, it wasn't easy. I had managed to surpass all of my goals and expectations. My parents were standing at the finish line as I crossed at 20:54:35. The final loop was 4:29 and I finished 29th overall. They weren't sure it was me at first since I had done the last 4.4 mile section in maybe less than an hour. I hugged them and smiled bigger than I have in a long time. Joyce gave me my sub 24 hour buckle and I found a chair to sit down in. John would finish an hour later going sub 22 hours and turning in a race that surpassed his expectations as well.

An incredible team with lots of reason to smile
I have only done two 100 milers, both at Rocky Raccoon. I'd tell you I know what to expect now, but I certainly didn't expect the race I had this year. I think what I know now is that you can train, prepare, have a plan, have a crew, have all of that stuff, but when you hit the trail you just never know what is going to happen.

Huge thanks to Joe and Joyce and the whole Rocky Raccoon team. They put on a hell of a race. My crew and support team is incredible. It makes a huge difference just knowing you have people there, and they are there for you. Seeing that smile, hearing the applause, it all keeps you going. I'm lucky and blessed to have people that want to share these crazy adventures.