"Aaaaaaaack!"
That's the sound of me dry heaving mid-run at the Frozen Snot 14 mile race.
That's the sound of me dry heaving mid-run at the Frozen Snot 14 mile race.
Without breaking stride, I deposited a mouthful of last night's dessert (peanut butter ice cream, thankfully) onto the pristine white forest floor. I glanced at my GPS. Mile 1.9.
This was not going to be my day...
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| Picking my way up Barb's Kiss My Ass, mile 1.5 Photo by Mike McNeil |
The Frozen Snot
The Frozen Snot is a race whose course is as ridiculous as its name. A true sky-race in the heart of central Pennsylvania, Frozen Snot is part trail run and part winter mountaineering expedition. Case in point, the trails were originally cut by local athlete Fred Stover so he could train to climb Mont Blanc.
The course packs a hefty 5,800 feet of climbing into just 13.5 miles, but that doesn't tell the whole story. The first 1.4 miles and the last 2.2 miles are on flat gravel roads, which means almost all of the climbing is actually done in under 10 miles of trail. But that still doesn't paint an accurate picture of what this course looks like.
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| Elevation profile |
The steepest climbs require the use of all four limbs, and the steepest descents are equipped with fixed ropes to help keep runners upright. Due to the insane grades and the fact that the course is frequently covered in snow on race day, Frozen Snot is likely the only half marathon in existence that requires runners to carry microspikes or other traction devices. Perennial race winner Matt Lipsey eloquently summed up the course as "14.5 miles of bullshit."
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| Course map. Look at all those contour lines we crossed! |
To add insult to (very likely) injury, the race is held on what is often the coldest weekend of the year. This year was no exception as the temperature was a brisk 5°F when we toed the line on the morning of February 2.
With all that in mind, let's get back to the action.
Race Day, 3:00 AM
After hitting the snooze button three or four times I finally crawled out of bed, already tired after a night spent mostly in the bathroom. For reasons still unknown to me (karmic justice for posting stupid running memes on Instagram?) I contracted a nasty stomach bug 12 hours before the race and dealt with debilitating nausea and stomach cramps for the rest of the weekend.
As I shambled around our apartment gathering race gear, Alex wisely tried to convince me to sit this race out, but I insisted that we both run. There is a good reason why women outlive men. So despite her protests, we packed our bags and headed off on our 3 hour drive to McElhattan, PA.
I tried in vain to eat a bagel en route but my stomach somersaulted every time I swallowed a bite of food. I would have to make due with just liquid nutrition for the rest of the day.
A Rough Start
Somehow at least 273 people were crazy enough to sign up for this race, and we left in a mass start from the parking lot of a rural US Army Reserve Center. We had 1.4 miles of road running to warm up and sort ourselves out before entering the woods.
Up until my stomach issues arose the previous day, I had envisioned a top 10-20 finish at this race. I had hiked the course as a training run last winter, stopping for snacks and pictures along the way, and finished in 4.5 hours. I figured with a little effort, I could take 30 or even 60 minutes off that time. After all, this kind of shitty terrain is my specialty.
But when the starting gun went off, a mass of humanity sprinted forward jockeying for position and I could only waddle slowly behind them, fighting the urge to vomit onto the runner in front of me. I reached the first section of trail in about 100th place and stopped to put on my spikes. I then joined the conga line of people ascending Barb's Kiss My Ass, which climbed 1,022' through a boulder field in just 0.47 miles (40% grade).
Climbing was a welcome reprieve from the jostling of the initial run, and I managed to pass a handful of people on the narrow trail. However, with a foot of snow on the ground, the only way to move efficiently was to stay on the packed track left by the runners ahead of me. So mostly I just settled in and made slow steady progress.
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| Conga line on Barb's KMA Photo by Dave Seasholtz |
At the summit the trail flattened out briefly, and the transition back to running caused me to regurgitate the mouthful of melted ice cream that starred in the prologue to this story. I clenched down with my core muscles and tried to force everything else out, hoping that an empty stomach would be a happy stomach. No such luck. This would be the theme of my race: unproductive painful dry heaving whenever I tried to run.
Nevertheless I got to work on the ensuing (unnamed) downhill, which dropped 750' in 0.36 miles (-39% grade) through hard packed snow. These are the types of descents where speed depends less on athletic ability and more on a willingness to sacrifice your health and safety. I trusted my microspikes and leaned into the descent, careening past a dozen runners in only a few minutes.
Then it was time to gain all of that elevation back again on Goat Path Extension, which was 817' in 0.44 miles (35%). With the field spread out a little more, I was able to maintain an honest hiking pace while occasionally grunting words to the people around me.
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| Fixed ropes on Lightning Bolt Photo by Dave Seasholtz |
After another brief summit and another mouthful of my stomach contents spat into the snow, it was time to descend Lightning Bolt, which was a leisurely 1,002' in a mile (19%). This is about the grade of the trails that I train on at home, but any advantage I had was negated by the knot I felt in my stomach every time I tried to open up my stride. My ego was bruised as a couple runners passed me like I was standing still, chatting casually about how the trail felt "flowy." I politely disagreed.
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| Bridge at the bottom of Lightning Bolt Picture from last year's training run |
At the bottom we crossed a half frozen creek on a makeshift wooden bridge before climbing and descending Gut Check, which was more of a speed bump than an actual hill at only 136'. Then it was just a short flat jog through Laurel Run, a winding trail through dense mountain laurel, before we reached the first aid station at mile 4.8, more than 90 minutes into the race.
Drowning My Sorrows
I've seen my share of aid stations at trail races, and let me tell you that this one made a lasting impression. It was small by necessity, as everything had to be packed in on ATVs, but the selection was impressive. Two large folding tables were set out. One had the usual aid station fare along with bacon that was fresh off the campfire. The other was filled - absolutely filled - with different kinds of Fireball whisky, from the original cinnamon flavor to a Fireball RumChata concoction.
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| Aid Station 1 Photo by Dave Seasholtz |
The bacon seemed like too much for my tender belly to handle, but I figured a shot of cinnamon liqueur might settle it a little. It went down easy, and I considered chasing it with another shot but then opted not to push my luck.
Onward and upward, quite literally. We climbed a short but nasty embankment called The Avenue which overlooked the aid station. At 335' of vertical gain in just 0.13 miles, The Avenue is one of the steepest sections of the entire course at a whopping 49% grade. Thankfully the lead runners had kicked footsteps into the snowy hillside which my spikes easily bit into. The sound of laughter and the smell of fresh bacon wafted up from the aid station the entire way.
After a short rope-lined descent down Debbie's Drop (477' in 0.42mi, -21%), we arrived at Why Not?, also known as Backside of the Beast. Despite being one of the longest climbs of the race, it was a manageable 24% grade, climbing 1,048' in 0.84 miles. I passed the time chatting with other runners on the way up and before I knew it we were standing at the summit of Mt. Logan.
Next up was the most difficult descent of the race: Mt. Logan Direct. This monster of a slope dropped 1,358' in 0.82 miles for an average grade of -31% and a peak grade much worse than that. A half dozen fixed ropes lined the descent, and I made liberal use of each and every one of them as I careened downward. I passed a handful of people who clearly valued their lives far more than I did. I also spotted at least one safety volunteer, who presumably was there to collect the shattered corpse of anyone who lost their footing.
Speaking of which, I would be remiss if I forgot to thank the dozens of volunteers who stood out in the cold all day. From the aid station workers who provided vital alcohol and pork products, to the course marshals who kept us from wandering aimlessly into the vast wilderness, everyone was cheerful and enthusiastic despite the frigid temperatures. Thanks guys and gals!
But back to the descent...
Strava shows that I covered this section at a 16:58/mi pace, which makes it sound like I was walking. But the speed I took this descent felt like 5K pace. My feet could barely keep up with my body as I half ran, half stumbled down the steepest face of Mt. Logan.
Once back on flat ground at the bottom, my stomach cramps returned and I was passed back by the last two people I had passed on the descent. I shuffled along the short stretch of gravel road leading to the Zindel Park aid station.
Prepare Ye
Convinced that any food I ate would immediately be un-eaten on the trail, I passed through this aid station without stopping and re-entered the woods. At the trail head was the following sign:
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| Prepare ye to meet The Beast |
The course description lists The Beast at 1,300' of vertical gain over 2,900' of horizontal distance, or 45%. Strava claims that it is slightly less steep than that. Whatever the truth is, The Beast lives up to its name. The final and single largest climb on the course, the Beast ascends a boulder field parallel to Mt. Logan Direct before gaining a steep wooded ridge back to the summit of Mt. Logan.
This is the type of grade where it's hard for me to pace myself since even a slow walk makes my heart rate skyrocket. Luckily, I was following a woman who reminded me to take in the views of the mountains behind us. I didn't take any pictures of them, but I did quickly snap the first and only mid-run selfie of my life. Please enjoy my ice beard:
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| This race lives up to its name! |
Now I'm pretty sure most of that ice is just from my breath condensing on my facial hair, but there's also a reasonably good chance that there is literally frozen snot in there too. So my experience truly lived up to the spirit of the race.
Back to work on the climb...
Here's what it looks like when you're fully in the grasp of The Beast, taken during my training run last year.
And here is what my sorry ass looked like to everyone else.
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| Meeting The Beast Photo by Mike McNeil |
But the difficult part of the Beast isn't the boulder field. It's when you get to the top of the boulder field and you realize you're only half way up. These are the moments that make you consider getting into basket weaving as a hobby instead of mountain running.
But luckily my legs felt good since I hadn't been able to run hard all day, so I made decent progress up The Beast and finally found myself standing at the summit of Mt. Logan for the second time. I took a few steps forward before my stomach rebelled yet again. So I walked for a little while. When everything settled, I ran a little, then felt terrible again and walked. This cycle repeated itself many times on the final descent, and I left a series of small peanut butter scented puddles on the white snowy trail the entire way down.
I passed through Zindel Park aid station again and was finally on the home stretch. A few hundred yards ahead, I saw a familiar neon yellow jacket. It was Alex, who was finishing up the 9 mile short course!
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| Alex looking characteristically cute on Barb's KMA earlier in the day Photo by Dave Seasholtz |
In a grand romantic gesture, I snuck up behind her and called out "Ay girl! You come here often?" Despite this, she was still happy to see me, and we jogged the last few miles together.
We crossed the finish line holding hands in 4:25:43, good enough for 41st in the long course and 47th in the short course respectively. I was three minutes slower than my previous training run, but I had a great experience and got to run two miles with my wife!
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| Done! Photo by Kirsten Ebeling-Labant |
Epilogue
Pennsylvania does not mess around when it comes to building trails, and they take their post race food just as seriously. The Reserve Center was filled with pizza, soup, and other hot food. But I wasn't ready for solid food and Alex wasn't in the mood for any of their offerings, so we just collected our race swag (whisky glasses and fleece blankets!) and hit the road.
Mile for mile, Frozen Snot is right up there with the Barkley Fall Classic and the Swan Song Loop in terms of difficulty. The trails are as steep as anything you'll find in the Presidential Range and running this race in February gives it a true high alpine feel even though the high point is only 2,100 feet.
So ends our first experience with Pennsylvania trail racing. We can't wait to come back in better shape next year and give this race hell!
