tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54979304293382756752024-03-24T03:10:54.738-04:00Ry RunsMaking poor decisions since 2014Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-8411387176711455022023-11-14T15:48:00.000-05:002023-11-14T15:48:44.357-05:00Bighorn 100: White Shorts Were a Choice, Huh?<p></p><blockquote style="text-align: left;"><p>"Oh I thought I knew what <strike>love</strike> mud was 'till I met you"</p></blockquote><blockquote style="text-align: left;"><p> —Tom Odell</p></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />On paper, Bighorn doesn't look like a particularly tough hundred miler. It has somewhere between 16,000 and 20,000 feet of climbing depending on whose watch you believe, none of the climbs are very steep, and the altitude isn't a huge concern. So why is it a Hardrock qualifying race?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In reality, there are two major factors that make this a burly course: weather and mud. Depending on the year, there can be 90°F+ heat or freezing rain (or, potentially, one and then the other). This year we seem to have gotten lucky as the highs were around 70° and only a light drizzle fell on day two. However, the mud... Dear lord, the mud.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZFIV83A0ndAfyVrg7-vE0oagfTAM26lRnkZnqWf2Eqob-oGPQ5Zk9g1KpfHQg_3l9V2O-OAM8kwfWqAjP8HxHR9E6XWjmFsVyg7Ww7zO0uar5bkfJCsAeNLuZKhDJj13uNEshev-ODxhwrf8d_LL1IcrmTbMVb_aQ6PRRl1gTblUkc3Ol6r_Ce9GOO4/s3000/Bigorn-2023-RM-4550.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6ZFIV83A0ndAfyVrg7-vE0oagfTAM26lRnkZnqWf2Eqob-oGPQ5Zk9g1KpfHQg_3l9V2O-OAM8kwfWqAjP8HxHR9E6XWjmFsVyg7Ww7zO0uar5bkfJCsAeNLuZKhDJj13uNEshev-ODxhwrf8d_LL1IcrmTbMVb_aQ6PRRl1gTblUkc3Ol6r_Ce9GOO4/w400-h266/Bigorn-2023-RM-4550.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying some remarkably mud-free miles</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Listen folks, I'm from the northeast. We're no strangers to <strike><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ">love</a></strike> mud. I've done plenty of runs through the Adirondacks, the Catskills, and the Green Mountains in "mud season." Hell, I ran Tough Mudders before I became an ultrarunner. This was the worst mud I've ever seen, and there were miles and miles of it. Forget shoe sucking mud; this was soul sucking.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But I'm getting ahead of myself.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">The Course</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">The Bighorn 100 is an out-and-back route through the (you guessed it) <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bighorn_Mountains">Bighorn Mountains</a> in northern Wyoming. The route is remote and the trails are sparsely used by humans (Based on the amount of cow dung on the course, it does seem to be extensively used for grazing though.).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The course can be divided into three major climbs and descents, with a major aid station at the start/end of each one and many smaller ones along the way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNjIm069bf4KuNYgSGiAsgmtlTxYvGvTkjUov04OEydq-QAA-bh_wnQPWxoyrDGmtkGTPyNIsVzyglgmM0NnRVyiXImNYPhGmXZbBU63c4NbB5Rn-wQdDwxn5suNFlfSJPu9XO3BHt7Ktoj3NDG1TXUpFd40rDPoN_pbvbHphRAkWq0qHn7tBcIb9F4NU" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1567" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNjIm069bf4KuNYgSGiAsgmtlTxYvGvTkjUov04OEydq-QAA-bh_wnQPWxoyrDGmtkGTPyNIsVzyglgmM0NnRVyiXImNYPhGmXZbBU63c4NbB5Rn-wQdDwxn5suNFlfSJPu9XO3BHt7Ktoj3NDG1TXUpFd40rDPoN_pbvbHphRAkWq0qHn7tBcIb9F4NU=w400-h170" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bighorn 100 elevation profile<br />Major aid stations in <b>bold</b></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Of the major aid stations, Dry Fork (mile 13 and 82) and Jaws (48) are easily accessible to crews, but Sally's (30, 66) requires a long drive down a poorly maintained dirt road which had also recently experienced a landslide earlier in the summer. Needless to say, I asked my very pregnant wife to please not drive out to Sally's in the middle of the night.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Start to Sally's</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Much to my delight, Bighorn has a civilized start time of 9am, and I got the best night of sleep I've ever had before a race. I drove to the start with Girl Alex (the pregnant one) and Boy Alex (not pregnant). You might remember Boy Alex from his pacing gig at <a href="https://ryruns.blogspot.com/2023/01/fat-dog-120-dont-call-it-comeback.html">Fat Dog 120</a>. This year, we decided to race each other and drag our wives along for the ride. Alex was aiming for 26 hours and I thought 28 hours might be in the cards if things went well.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I got to the back of the race field just as the starting gun sounded, which was perfect timing in my mind. I get anxious standing around before races.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Unx4mSJWZqX-ZyD8RrqWPjEMCqKfb_9pZx-yb6HGJrqHgkQmjqWo-JHqPmu0eqAaNpCa1fnk8Jg51oNiSbHG80hS0_Qr6Qdo-FgmO6fliL2X8EAmDWx7DTrc7tq0GDLo5wLR99jR9Tbw2gIoJBPoZ1UN5YgPQ1Cqv8KZ8cD9UgD88QwTN_LIRR0dyeo/s3582/20230616_090925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3582" data-original-width="2981" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Unx4mSJWZqX-ZyD8RrqWPjEMCqKfb_9pZx-yb6HGJrqHgkQmjqWo-JHqPmu0eqAaNpCa1fnk8Jg51oNiSbHG80hS0_Qr6Qdo-FgmO6fliL2X8EAmDWx7DTrc7tq0GDLo5wLR99jR9Tbw2gIoJBPoZ1UN5YgPQ1Cqv8KZ8cD9UgD88QwTN_LIRR0dyeo/w333-h400/20230616_090925.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandstone formations in the early miles</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The first mile was along Tongue Canyon Rd, which allowed the runners to spread out a little before being funneled onto singletrack. A few miles in, we began to climb in earnest. The first eight miles of the course would take us from the mouth of the canyon at 4,000 feet up through a forest to a broad plateau at 7,500 feet. This section would be our first taste (sometimes literally) of the mud that we would see for the next 90-something miles. Snowmelt combined with record breaking spring rainfall had saturated the soil in the Bighorn Mountains, making the conditions treacherous for runners and volunteers alike.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusq1Ah4iu03L2wEBF_psnxpsO8B5FlN7vmL8_pnMLaQr2n7pkceR-j-nCkzrjFhOCMNjl2QjCkHnHhUeWZSlVTlPgIS-RG5nLk8CTfMFG-elNqAZD0mO72FCMB24yGC1gZdu3-n1NbPyBKi81f5hsaD-PORTUZB_KofdjUssPeE7zt4K2nd7uhe2uV44/s1131/bighorn%20mud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="1131" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusq1Ah4iu03L2wEBF_psnxpsO8B5FlN7vmL8_pnMLaQr2n7pkceR-j-nCkzrjFhOCMNjl2QjCkHnHhUeWZSlVTlPgIS-RG5nLk8CTfMFG-elNqAZD0mO72FCMB24yGC1gZdu3-n1NbPyBKi81f5hsaD-PORTUZB_KofdjUssPeE7zt4K2nd7uhe2uV44/s320/bighorn%20mud.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A slightly muddy section of forest service road near the course, taken shortly after race day<br />Photo from <a href="https://www.thesheridanpress.com/news/local/usfs-reopening-roads-in-bighorns/article_aff75462-1c4a-11ee-aa0b-6be94aa01580.html">The Sheridan Press</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I tried to keep my heart rate in check as I struggled to gain a foothold in the mud, but I ultimately had to red-line a few times to stay on my feet. I had left the snow baskets on my trekking poles for extra floatation, and I made liberal use of them on this climb. After some very slow miles, we emerged above tree line and were greeted by a stunning alpine meadow.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJFGYleD-gYt29M9N92UBbUIKJ3Gu18mnMbQwd_-f9htOMA4Um6Iht748chvFkcgCpKdGefYMfuYyEM3CMuqPoLS2cTQJ2uBYasluiRXhP-PtN_M8IB0svpCVXZKeehpDQNUIp43USCc635c9hSWqCNYFGMJxOe0aytEXTXSZQBDW96jUw2oOkYgfODI/s4000/20230616_111827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJFGYleD-gYt29M9N92UBbUIKJ3Gu18mnMbQwd_-f9htOMA4Um6Iht748chvFkcgCpKdGefYMfuYyEM3CMuqPoLS2cTQJ2uBYasluiRXhP-PtN_M8IB0svpCVXZKeehpDQNUIp43USCc635c9hSWqCNYFGMJxOe0aytEXTXSZQBDW96jUw2oOkYgfODI/w300-h400/20230616_111827.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Worth the mud</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I reached the Dry Fork Ridge aid station about 20 minutes behind my 28-hour schedule, but feeling pleased with how my lungs and legs were holding up so far. I could feel myself naturally slowing down from the altitude but thankfully didn't experience any headaches or nausea for the entire race. Alex helped me restock on food and water and sent me on my way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEPmycBZWbhAJ_ZH2sJj_FLs_W4fBieE6OXGAfZla7jp3zUHvqLx2qDb5SHXtKYmUdyS3KXsPZHZ-rDbkLNoyKTnlQSL50C8iQmHP4ue746YR6t29bB5CXDtxj9Up14a-kHUyOMzA9UfwskS-mrcVeg0DnYNT3jTxL6EVCZPblxJ_7GZciGsYOc5bmYF0/s3000/Bighorn-2023-JK--770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEPmycBZWbhAJ_ZH2sJj_FLs_W4fBieE6OXGAfZla7jp3zUHvqLx2qDb5SHXtKYmUdyS3KXsPZHZ-rDbkLNoyKTnlQSL50C8iQmHP4ue746YR6t29bB5CXDtxj9Up14a-kHUyOMzA9UfwskS-mrcVeg0DnYNT3jTxL6EVCZPblxJ_7GZciGsYOc5bmYF0/w400-h266/Bighorn-2023-JK--770.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In my element and feeling good</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We spent the next 10 miles or so traversing through more alpine meadows and muddy forests. During this stretch we passed by Kern's Cow Camp, which had been relocated from its planned site because the muddy access road was impassible to the pickup truck carrying supplies.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Random conversation I overheard in this section:</div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;">Man: "You know how you can tell the difference between deer poop and moose poop? If you can fit it in your nostril, it's deer poop."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Woman, spotting a pile of large pellets: "So that's moose poop then."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Man: "How can you tell? You didn't even try."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At the end of the traverse, the course dropped more than 2,000 feet down a section that is appropriately known as The Wall. As I picked my way through a particularly wet section of The Wall, I plunged my trekking pole deep into the mud, and when I pulled it out the entire bottom segment detached. Not ideal with 75 miles of race left to run. I spent a minute looking for the missing piece but it had sunk too far down to be retrieved.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I tested out the pole and found that it still offered a little stability on firm ground but sank straight into the mud since it was now just a hollow aluminum rod. I would later have to tape the remaining segments of the pole together since the bottom piece is crucial to holding the whole thing together.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5H_dSM2qrorI11d7V9Gcm1tPhyPGHxcdNwTlPjplDDQDW-3PawY3ICtUR9dl6Og9tin_1608obGLcPGA0iSOWYF072Z_iLKEYLyzn1PivUWTuXg8sD52G8auTg5wk3CidPUDtCg_fYUzusec4I5Xesdkda_BvWJZYN7RParmwSeRdR-rtLxFE-V3ecuM/s3000/Bigorn-2023-RM-8064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5H_dSM2qrorI11d7V9Gcm1tPhyPGHxcdNwTlPjplDDQDW-3PawY3ICtUR9dl6Og9tin_1608obGLcPGA0iSOWYF072Z_iLKEYLyzn1PivUWTuXg8sD52G8auTg5wk3CidPUDtCg_fYUzusec4I5Xesdkda_BvWJZYN7RParmwSeRdR-rtLxFE-V3ecuM/w400-h266/Bigorn-2023-RM-8064.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not one of those people who can disguise my feelings, evidently</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Equipment malfunctions aside, I made it down to Sally's Footbridge aid station (mile 30) in a little under 8 hours, having lost another five minutes from my anticipated splits.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Sally's to Jaws and Back</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Sally's will always have a special place in my heart for two reasons: First, they had a foot washing station composed of small plastic tubs of water and towels set out in front of camp chairs. This was a godsend since I had planned to change my mud-soaked socks here and needed to clean all the grit off my feet first. Second, they had a tray of McDonald's burgers at the food table. I'm not a big fan of fast food but a greasy burger hit the spot in that moment.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The next section would be an 18 mile, 4,500 foot climb through the dark. I downed a cold brew coffee, grabbed a headlamp, and stashed some warm layers in my pack. After a quick 5-minute turnaround I was back on the trail.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I quickly met up with a local runner named Mario who had done Bighorn in 2022. He warned me that there would be a treacherous river crossing coming up with just a rope strung across a deep and fast moving section of water. A few minutes later he let out a celebratory howl as he saw that there was a brand new bridge spanning that section.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyG0inWWsSCXIvvI21S6vTw0DrhZFWe8FDPfXajoZhxQv9n3xYLMEaoRS76Uwy-VmxVzpU6nbkAZkKDW5bCTUhGdN8HQRQqfzNLpHhESeZIYBiQEqPrVpRpVp2GKy62qWZBCYRTW2iD_8WdwRJS4y5b_6qqoakZ_hW1TBFBvZgrE8QkepbClm-nwl4GBM/s4000/20230616_190559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyG0inWWsSCXIvvI21S6vTw0DrhZFWe8FDPfXajoZhxQv9n3xYLMEaoRS76Uwy-VmxVzpU6nbkAZkKDW5bCTUhGdN8HQRQqfzNLpHhESeZIYBiQEqPrVpRpVp2GKy62qWZBCYRTW2iD_8WdwRJS4y5b_6qqoakZ_hW1TBFBvZgrE8QkepbClm-nwl4GBM/w300-h400/20230616_190559.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mario and another runner crossing the surprise log bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At Kern's Cow Camp, an 8-year-old volunteer (Eva, I think?) was handing out Balsam Root wildflowers to all the runners. I figured it couldn't hurt to add some more color to my ensemble, so I tucked it behind my ear for the rest of the trek to Jaws. Mario spent a little longer at the aid station, and I ended up doing the rest of the climb almost entirely alone.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPQbTmgK1WUtZP7mpfnMMPVQ3F8zW2RCge7267_r2og_lVV7pdCuexOsUVYHFHCOXFe69sHSmHZfO9ViIS-mfpAsyYiAuPTdVJTZxfpvzbELS_XStHH2jfcIwX3z-xxCZY3eFRptEoI_sScp2YwLioe5mMTajBDYFGdrmSuI4qcZi6BNCn-Bqh8PlMAg/s4000/20230616_195622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPQbTmgK1WUtZP7mpfnMMPVQ3F8zW2RCge7267_r2og_lVV7pdCuexOsUVYHFHCOXFe69sHSmHZfO9ViIS-mfpAsyYiAuPTdVJTZxfpvzbELS_XStHH2jfcIwX3z-xxCZY3eFRptEoI_sScp2YwLioe5mMTajBDYFGdrmSuI4qcZi6BNCn-Bqh8PlMAg/w400-h300/20230616_195622.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I feel pretty</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">As the sun began to set, the weather rapidly cooled. I layered up and strapped on a headlamp for the long night ahead. The trail continued to pass through muddy, slow sections, but the golden hour views more than made up for it. Elks bugled in the distance just out of sight. Just after dark, I started to see the first runners heading back.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzL-hTG7-ewVhr9tkBiUTlnTMMSmRMPTS7ORCr1ciQVJ7wC38bOYjteD4N19EH1m1MPs7GVYiEgsNxXkdeLCUlxCSuSIie9AuKFJrUtAN6qqPlHORRsd3ZC2I5T1pyqZENRC3C8MqELJ6fFIPAg8ibriB4ew-fEPHhO6Ur-KBu9BaFzV4_va0gotGbk6w/s4000/20230616_195616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzL-hTG7-ewVhr9tkBiUTlnTMMSmRMPTS7ORCr1ciQVJ7wC38bOYjteD4N19EH1m1MPs7GVYiEgsNxXkdeLCUlxCSuSIie9AuKFJrUtAN6qqPlHORRsd3ZC2I5T1pyqZENRC3C8MqELJ6fFIPAg8ibriB4ew-fEPHhO6Ur-KBu9BaFzV4_va0gotGbk6w/w300-h400/20230616_195616.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't get enough of these meadows!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The last few miles to Jaws had shin-deep standing water. At 9,000 feet up, with the temperatures now just below freezing, this was an unwelcome development. I reached Jaws at 10:40pm, now back on my target splits despite the tough conditions. Alex was waiting for me in the giant heated aid station tent, and the next ten minutes were a whirlwind of sock changes, adding layers of clothing, grabbing hot food, and of course getting a kiss to keep my spirits up (perks of having your wife crew you!).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I walked out of the aid station still munching on some warm quesadillas. The short break from running had left me chilly and my movements were stiff and slow. I slogged back through the shin-deep water section, soaking my new socks. It was going to be a long descent back to Sally's.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The 18 mile climb to Jaws had taken just under six hours (20 min/mi). In my race planning, I figured that the descent would be much faster, ideally about 4.5 hours (15 min/mi). This seemed conservative since I'm typically a good downhill runner and the grade of the descent didn't look bad on paper. What I hadn't accounted for was the mud (have I mentioned the mud yet?).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When all was said and done, I rolled into Sally's after well over 5 hours of descending, once again well behind schedule. The mud, the cold, and the dark had conspired to activate the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-with-my-life lobe of my brain, and I was feeling very sorry for myself. But I still had to get back to Alex at the finish line, so there was no time to sulk.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I changed out of my Speedgoats and into my ridiculously plush Glide Max shoes. It was just after 4am, and the sun would be out soon. Despite the mental low, I was certainly going to finish this thing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Sally's to the Finish</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Once again, Sally's delivered a world class aid station experience, and I left while munching on a sausage McMuffin. During my ascent of The Wall, I would periodically pull out this greasy cylinder of hyper-processed factory-farmed organ meat and nibble on it for motivation. Then I would jam it back into my sweaty running vest like Napoleon Dynamite squirreling away his tater tots. This must be what people mean when they talk about a runner's high.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5T0-QpVcxDBtHAg-5gmY0OitGdGFdXgUNKpOWCkOqHmc0F0xMeiQH4VeG1VPUnYgV_6VAKvXMjLMZ3RYzPdJDnC6Lh0M4WVq0_99Jmn2sPuBFJoBqHB1sQbS2D_ENx8cpBx-YQmU7JwqtWzTGarTEkiPCwCH_RoYDpbdFwsyMgQDOgSvp9qfbijwX2w/s4000/20230617_050355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5T0-QpVcxDBtHAg-5gmY0OitGdGFdXgUNKpOWCkOqHmc0F0xMeiQH4VeG1VPUnYgV_6VAKvXMjLMZ3RYzPdJDnC6Lh0M4WVq0_99Jmn2sPuBFJoBqHB1sQbS2D_ENx8cpBx-YQmU7JwqtWzTGarTEkiPCwCH_RoYDpbdFwsyMgQDOgSvp9qfbijwX2w/w300-h400/20230617_050355.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glorious sunrise!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The sun finally came out and we were greeted with another day of mild weather. With the power of a thousand emulsified animals coursing through my digestive tract, I hammered up the wall at a blistering 28 minute per mile pace. I was now back on top of the ridge and had only a few short climbs and one massive descent left.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Somewhere in this section I linked up with Dandelion, another Wyoming runner whose parents, she assured me, were not hippies. She was one of those all-around mountain athlete types, and we spent a few hours talking about her rock climbing, skiing, and mountaineering adventures. Somehow, my two favorite things to talk about during an adventure are past adventures and future adventures.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ46if8J4fX4st7dKU4LobnEFVouqubVUJvQ7DH6zkcA_iixVJrdoKT9wFyYRWS3bkMaxiZ4JWZIIE5qeOC0aBd8kXvUXWUTUHmYCIvbbnQXbYb18NPA-0384G2MJHJMmK2GyNt948VbqGfxRmuMQ7Dr4RF8fVFSsR1vnKdQ6SQFJHTAyZ7qb-LUOcn_o/s3000/Bighorn-2023-JK--56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ46if8J4fX4st7dKU4LobnEFVouqubVUJvQ7DH6zkcA_iixVJrdoKT9wFyYRWS3bkMaxiZ4JWZIIE5qeOC0aBd8kXvUXWUTUHmYCIvbbnQXbYb18NPA-0384G2MJHJMmK2GyNt948VbqGfxRmuMQ7Dr4RF8fVFSsR1vnKdQ6SQFJHTAyZ7qb-LUOcn_o/w400-h266/Bighorn-2023-JK--56.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once again I must mention how pretty the views were</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Shortly after I passed through Dry Fork, the 18 mile race started from that aid station. I have mixed feelings about how the next few hours played out. On one hand, it was a huge pain in the ass to pull over for the faster runners and to get stuck behind the more timid runners who slowed down in the mud while I wanted to just plow straight through. On the other hand, it was nice to have some people to talk to who weren't all sleep deprived zombies.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2b6kDyOdCA_OAfIzO2VPS55YHhqo5mJEcMxFyGk40ZjbH7pV5UYpT8QShDvG6tApdESh8sbYy7CWQQsTR22YBEVDpVaAfJJVtUvul9Asi4Y7wpJc-it88AALaJhGJkZi_2hk2FYlJjz6-Cc2DyJdhHB9W3tg8Po-RjSsZBb6PGVRZPlAMb-wAWTFlaRA/s4000/20230617_124810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2b6kDyOdCA_OAfIzO2VPS55YHhqo5mJEcMxFyGk40ZjbH7pV5UYpT8QShDvG6tApdESh8sbYy7CWQQsTR22YBEVDpVaAfJJVtUvul9Asi4Y7wpJc-it88AALaJhGJkZi_2hk2FYlJjz6-Cc2DyJdhHB9W3tg8Po-RjSsZBb6PGVRZPlAMb-wAWTFlaRA/w400-h300/20230617_124810.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portrait of the author very much in his feelings</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I slip-slid my way down the final descent feeling more like a drunken skier than a trail runner, making sure to take in the last few alpine views. At some point in here I slipped and attempted to brace my fall with my hands, only for them to sink into the mud up to my elbows. This is fun. We're having fun. I rinsed the smelly goo off in a stream, trying not think about the amount of cow shit I had seen in prior mud patches.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4GSiBXEwakt8L9dtX__ikvm1kjnwztH2TBL5LwL06Jgj_-FCxZozfBHzOS61YEyL-xqUTgcW1tlBAqY5EyvPudyS1CEg3xmtcfUd21IR411LvoEt2jyccjsjJEu-C9P_Sfsve7Y3kS1nZXFMg-DY2bf8LMgX2N3Hb6Pj8cvVI7gF3GuZLJQNkz8onj4/s3000/Bighorn-2023-JK--71.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4GSiBXEwakt8L9dtX__ikvm1kjnwztH2TBL5LwL06Jgj_-FCxZozfBHzOS61YEyL-xqUTgcW1tlBAqY5EyvPudyS1CEg3xmtcfUd21IR411LvoEt2jyccjsjJEu-C9P_Sfsve7Y3kS1nZXFMg-DY2bf8LMgX2N3Hb6Pj8cvVI7gF3GuZLJQNkz8onj4/w400-h266/Bighorn-2023-JK--71.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still worth the mud</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The last five miles were entirely on roads and descended at a mellow grade. I had envisioned trotting through this at a nice leisurely 12 min/mi pace, or perhaps in a final burst of energy, hammering some 8 minute miles. On that particular day and time, all my legs could manage was a pained 14-15 min/mi shuffle. As a matter of pride I maintained a running cadence, but a very friendly 18-mile runner was able to match my pace while power walking.</div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX3H0sraiPnJB24wIRyNa4gOO9gHET_0xm7Kc0OlSpaU6tJTm0qd_8FZC2EpjnEz4eCHHnpy0PaThkWmQG5KIJ1rlo-zSD2p62BgnOgBK9eGw8ApxjueyEzCigImgPzV3GUZKOtQR8rm6gMjI4GhP2bebRBoDJ_zrfnLGq1EQaQTL8r-AENxebZsx41rE/s3000/Bigorn-2023-RM-8914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX3H0sraiPnJB24wIRyNa4gOO9gHET_0xm7Kc0OlSpaU6tJTm0qd_8FZC2EpjnEz4eCHHnpy0PaThkWmQG5KIJ1rlo-zSD2p62BgnOgBK9eGw8ApxjueyEzCigImgPzV3GUZKOtQR8rm6gMjI4GhP2bebRBoDJ_zrfnLGq1EQaQTL8r-AENxebZsx41rE/w400-h266/Bigorn-2023-RM-8914.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mud literally from head to toe</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I crossed the finish line a little after 2pm after more than 29 hours of running. Alex and her baby bump were there to greet me. Boy Alex had finished two hours earlier, also an hour behind his time goal. We decided that our race execution must have been perfect, but the course must have been an hour slower than normal because of the trail conditions (I am not interested in investigating this further).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYG6VQp22c6QuwZN_XVgA-MT7ceQTMcFJ8Dcr8jEok1LxwAw-e-5a4aL_UYjpS4filPtkeF6kclxr0p8VSwywWF-K0pZIXgAbqXLDwTlXr1blxWBnSXeAlJK5k1GPWCoqct82yyNKujf0ZINbeGTemN5E8WjSyQkAZj93KEvwdg5E5Ptn7vZth4IeWnrs/s3000/Bigorn-2023-RM-8916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYG6VQp22c6QuwZN_XVgA-MT7ceQTMcFJ8Dcr8jEok1LxwAw-e-5a4aL_UYjpS4filPtkeF6kclxr0p8VSwywWF-K0pZIXgAbqXLDwTlXr1blxWBnSXeAlJK5k1GPWCoqct82yyNKujf0ZINbeGTemN5E8WjSyQkAZj93KEvwdg5E5Ptn7vZth4IeWnrs/w400-h266/Bigorn-2023-RM-8916.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan, Alex, and future Emily celebrating a successful adventure</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Final time: 29:18:34 (63rd of 226 starters)</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/9285356792/overview" style="text-align: left;">Strava</a></div><div><a href="https://www.itsyourrace.com/Results.aspx?id=384&y=2023">Official results</a></div><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;">Epilogue</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">We often turn my destination races into week long vacations, and in this case we drove out to Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks after the race. If you are considering running Bighorn, these are ideal places to visit while recovering from an ultra. There are tons of views, geothermal features, and wildlife that are visible from the side of the road. We even managed to do a little alpine scrambling despite my tired legs and Alex carrying a small human in her belly.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdNFfsLMEeHJfvvEO8j-EvVz1esuDtPZryXbJHA6MA9zT8nXi1zJBG74jkyrd4xBgV7c_oq9PQlTATRocao8aajKfAkU83oQ2I4AToDOHsk4H73l02pQuEwfEIYYnGHlG6te7y-_vjoIA25SSI-GVwvkP9IwpR-ZdftvkffDeTrpC1ynFXz2gXawUZy2o/s4000/20230621_124813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdNFfsLMEeHJfvvEO8j-EvVz1esuDtPZryXbJHA6MA9zT8nXi1zJBG74jkyrd4xBgV7c_oq9PQlTATRocao8aajKfAkU83oQ2I4AToDOHsk4H73l02pQuEwfEIYYnGHlG6te7y-_vjoIA25SSI-GVwvkP9IwpR-ZdftvkffDeTrpC1ynFXz2gXawUZy2o/w400-h300/20230621_124813.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good way to end a trip!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Bighorn was equal parts spectacular and awful. The views and the aid stations were among the best I've ever seen, but the mud was unrelenting. I doubt I'll ever race it again, but I'm glad to have done it once. Thank you to all of the event organizers and volunteers and of course to my wife and daughter for supporting me!</div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-81131162503527254472023-04-28T12:31:00.002-04:002023-04-28T13:42:42.999-04:00Silver Linings at TWOT 100<div style="text-align: left;"></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://thewildoaktrailrun.com/"><b>Who's invited</b>, by Dennis Herr</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div></div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><div>Since this is a semi-invitational, here are some guidelines to help you determine if you are "invited", or, more aptly, not invited:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>If you are even the least bit worried or concerned about getting lost, don't come.</li><li>If you have questions, don't come.</li><li>If you need a crew, don't come.</li><li>If you need toilet paper, don't come.</li><li>If you expect to be pampered in any way shape or form, don't come.</li><li>If you're a whiner, don't come.</li><li>If you're a freeloader, don't come.</li><li>If you're seeking fame and/or fortune, don't come.</li><li>If you're thinking about writing a report about your experience at Wild Oak, don't come.*</li><li>If you crave abuse, if you yearn for abuse, if you are addicted to abuse in any way shape or form (be it physical, mental, sexual, verbal, mathematical, artistic or whatevah), please send an request for entry!</li><li>The above bullet point applies to abusees only. Abusers are not welcome. The only abuser allowed is the trail.</li><li>If you don't like getting rained on, sleeted on, snowed on, or getting muddy while you grind out 25, 100, or 200 miles, don't come.</li></ul></div></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><div><div>*We're all going to pretend we didn't see this one, got it?</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-16eleTsPJaT6yD1F1HZdH7Ou2PePqYzpRkHfbEb6UF81M5dKIHICE8URIEdfRka7xTH2sFIosi-6l4c9b3PibOP7eVQxu0pnrt0KV5h4zAe3W-G1h4ylrGRwN4YmDzWSXeVMqMkPGCAJZRNbzEqLAPGvlI2b3JXMcfbVISUMDeydh4zvC4uW4I9T/s4000/20230217_132328.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-16eleTsPJaT6yD1F1HZdH7Ou2PePqYzpRkHfbEb6UF81M5dKIHICE8URIEdfRka7xTH2sFIosi-6l4c9b3PibOP7eVQxu0pnrt0KV5h4zAe3W-G1h4ylrGRwN4YmDzWSXeVMqMkPGCAJZRNbzEqLAPGvlI2b3JXMcfbVISUMDeydh4zvC4uW4I9T/w400-h300/20230217_132328.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All smiles on loop 1 of TWOT</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">TWOT's that you say?</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Built in 1979, The Wild Oak Trail is a 27 mile loop with 7,000 feet of ascent through the backcountry of George Washington National Forest in Virginia. In 1988, the legendary <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/m_results_participant.aspx?fname=Dennis&lname=Herr">Dennis "Animal" Herr</a> organized a 50 mile winter race on the TWOT. Since then, the race has grown to include 25+, 100+, and 200+ mile options, and has spawned a fall version known as "Hot TWOT" (the original one, naturally, is now colloquially known as "Cold TWOT"). On average, there are about two finishers of the Cold TWOT per year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Like most races, I can't pinpoint when TWOT appeared on my radar. <a href="https://www.randomforestrunner.com/2018/02/2018-twot-100/">John Kelly's jaw dropping sub-24:00 performance in 2018</a> certainly brought it to national attention though. I had been thinking about running it for the past few years, when my buddy Nich Mamrak gave me the push I needed with a simple Instagram message:</span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote><span style="text-align: left;">@nchlsmmrk: Any interest in doing TWOT this February? I am applying and you were the first person that came to mind that might be interested, could car pool, etc. 112 miles, 28k climb</span></blockquote></div><div><div>Folks, nothing gets me going quite like someone saying "I have a dumb idea and you're the first person that came to mind." I live for that shit.</div></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIwdXur2pBam8CsSpWJwV8Exj12HMhVsrrTekgamceaYbGPRTKI4tkgdaGA9LR1v7XVD5dGPiOl9Iv7AWFuQ3ASZ3Qgze2t6FYTR9P0dbvPmqukvLY93u2Z_18nTAMPKptLwZZOkAKp3LJadymV2jX7FDejba4eIdGuW_T-n-yv2hZPwxrJRKC94C/s1113/TWOT%20100%20Course.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1113" data-original-width="1020" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIwdXur2pBam8CsSpWJwV8Exj12HMhVsrrTekgamceaYbGPRTKI4tkgdaGA9LR1v7XVD5dGPiOl9Iv7AWFuQ3ASZ3Qgze2t6FYTR9P0dbvPmqukvLY93u2Z_18nTAMPKptLwZZOkAKp3LJadymV2jX7FDejba4eIdGuW_T-n-yv2hZPwxrJRKC94C/w366-h400/TWOT%20100%20Course.png" width="366" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TWOT 100 map and profile</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">TWOT in tarnation am I doing with my life?</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Having just <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8392286255/overview">Everested</a> in 24 hours in typically chilly January weather, I was feeling confident that I could survive the winter conditions. Since TWOT was about 50 miles longer than the Everesting challenge, I figured 36 hours would be a good time goal to shoot for.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That confidence began to wane as Nich and I drove down to Virginia through a light drizzle, then a steady rain, then an outright downpour. The 200 mile race had started two days prior, and we followed the race's Twitter feed as each runner dropped out one by one, none even reaching the 100 mile mark.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">These were veterans of the TWOT 100 who had tons of experience running long distances. What the hell was waiting for us on that course?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We got our answer as we drove into camp on race morning. The North River was lapping up at the sides of the road, swollen from the inch-and-a-half of rain that had fallen. We knew we had to cross the river once per loop and wondered aloud what that was going to be like.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div>We got to the start with enough time to take the most awkward starting line photo ever, and after a brief pump up speech, RD Antoinette Landragin released us into the wilderness.</div><div><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUxqFbONb6Qq8XaeFUHcxoDCCi29lnYON8KFmQ4oGWDEjRQlNzXIavDF5JHzciQLP2HMFzvpneJeCTjQjxOEmApNh_Y4nbPFY-VshxaStxyPkxn0QjpefhQlV5_m2EYd84RQbhNf6f4yVVhjufCtpUqGDW42I5R7qtMVn6KUCtlqnu68Njp8_NUZq/s1024/start%20line.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUxqFbONb6Qq8XaeFUHcxoDCCi29lnYON8KFmQ4oGWDEjRQlNzXIavDF5JHzciQLP2HMFzvpneJeCTjQjxOEmApNh_Y4nbPFY-VshxaStxyPkxn0QjpefhQlV5_m2EYd84RQbhNf6f4yVVhjufCtpUqGDW42I5R7qtMVn6KUCtlqnu68Njp8_NUZq/w400-h225/start%20line.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">100 mile starters, left to right: Nich Mamrak, Pat Heine, Ryan Thorpe, Jeffrey Moore, Zachary Davis, Mike Zinn, and Barry Main</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Alone and loving it</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">The other runners took off up the first climb, but homeboy ain't about that life. I casually walked behind them, watching them to quickly disappear from view. I have run enough races over the years that I don't worry about how far ahead the other runners get. If things go well, most of them come back to me eventually.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The first climb of TWOT is the infamous Chestnut Ridge climb that Grindstone 100 runners know and love. It cumulatively climbs 3,350' over seven miles to the summit of Little Bald Knob (lol). I've done this climb four times during Grindstone and once in a training run, and it always sucks. There's just no way around that fact. The climb is punctuated by short steep downhill sections, so it's very difficult to get into a rhythm. Despite being on a ridge, the views are mostly obscured by trees.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkDa8CympSBErDyhN4NBW7h0WyXe0p7mzdbRdaQ5K7L6eiBuxRgLYXf2GWggETtacuDZmc0wkSZ3GmCh13j6eGKBl8pUeLSS-yEi_aqgeHyBSvocEsWeodN6O3xFOdz5RemATDTsKnarctRHVgktWJk2GpsJOwOaLLvCVaJ6rmkKJo2Rj1YysgJx6/s4000/20230217_082826.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkDa8CympSBErDyhN4NBW7h0WyXe0p7mzdbRdaQ5K7L6eiBuxRgLYXf2GWggETtacuDZmc0wkSZ3GmCh13j6eGKBl8pUeLSS-yEi_aqgeHyBSvocEsWeodN6O3xFOdz5RemATDTsKnarctRHVgktWJk2GpsJOwOaLLvCVaJ6rmkKJo2Rj1YysgJx6/w300-h400/20230217_082826.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mist made things a bit more photogenic though</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Lately I've made a conscious effort to be more mindful of the positive aspects of my races, despite the fact that the word "mindful" makes me want to vomit. In that spirit, I tried to identify the silver linings of each obstacle that presented itself.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Silver lining #1: Every other climb in this loop is smaller.</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I made it to the top of the climb without an issue, stopping myself once in a while to take some pictures while the conditions allowed. The summit ridge had some spots with impressive drop offs, and I made a mental note to not eat shit and fall off a cliff overnight.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The 2,000' descent to Camp Todd was on a steep but surprisingly smooth section of single track. Unfortunately, there were a dozen trees that had fallen across the trail over the winter.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Silver lining #2: Climbing over downed trees is kind of like stretching and is probably good for me... or something.</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At the bottom, I found myself facing a very deep and fast moving North River. I was glad to have poles as I forded the freezing cold, thigh deep water.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Silver lining #3: I am now wide awake.</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I made it through the water slowly but without an issue. Volunteer Eric was waiting for me at Camp Todd on the other side, and he greeted me with all the hospitality I've come to expect in semi-supported races: "What took you so long? We were starting to think you were dead!" Glad to see you too, friend.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was carrying all the nutrition I needed for this loop, so I just refilled my water bottles and got back on the trail. Or rather, I sloshed uphill through an ankle deep river that had trail blazes on it. Yesterday's rain was apparently still making it's way off the mountains.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The climb up to Big Bald Knob (lol) was shorter but steeper than its predecessor. At 4,134', Big Bald Knob is - you guessed it - 200 feet <i>shorter</i> than Little Bald Knob. I relayed my confusion about this to the race organizers afterwards, and they explained that the words "big" and "little" refer to the size of the balds at the summit of each mountain and not to the height of the mountains themselves. I didn't see a bald on either of them, but I'll take their word for it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6C4vp4Loo_ONG3C_3gtGNgTdqZSsDCbrPVbJ4nKrg2s1jKZFR4ZqdrYN7ygSTD8amvbOTc8MWjnN-1Bht7MX6n6O40iTw_h0Vl9a4J1H8LSTS2gkVoFAUMGZT60w4hrRWWpqI2W9D3ZgLZ1r3wV-HU1qA2v_JiGKdYyv9oQ_P9PEULlgAJJeSGyiR/s4000/20230217_090735.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6C4vp4Loo_ONG3C_3gtGNgTdqZSsDCbrPVbJ4nKrg2s1jKZFR4ZqdrYN7ygSTD8amvbOTc8MWjnN-1Bht7MX6n6O40iTw_h0Vl9a4J1H8LSTS2gkVoFAUMGZT60w4hrRWWpqI2W9D3ZgLZ1r3wV-HU1qA2v_JiGKdYyv9oQ_P9PEULlgAJJeSGyiR/w300-h400/20230217_090735.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the more easily negotiated downed trees on the course</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The descent from Big Bald was unremarkable except for a short section with a 30% grade. I made it to the bottom without blowing up my quads and considered that a victory. I refilled my bottles again at the road crossing and started the last climb of the loop: Hankey Mountain.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On an elevation profile, Hankey Mountain looks like an afterthought. It's almost a thousand feet shorter than the previous peaks, but it contains the steepest section of the loop: Chinscraper. Aptly named, the Chinscraper climbs 517' in just 0.38 miles for an average grade of 25% and a peak grade over 40%. It's steep enough that you can stand upright and almost touch the ground in front of you in certain spots.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Suffice it to say I didn't set any course records on this climb, but I did happen to see another runner for the first time all day. <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jeffrey&lname=Moore" style="font-weight: bold;">Jeff Moore</a>, a finisher of many other difficult 100 mile races, was just ahead of me in 6th. It was too early to think about racing, but after 5 hours alone in the woods I figured it would be nice to have some company. I spent a few miles chasing him down a rolling jeep road, appreciative of the fact that he was leading me through a few crucial turns. I finally caught up as we began the final descent into camp, and we got to talking about the weather.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At this point I should mention that the weather had been mild all day with clouds in the morning and some glorious sunshine and 50+ degree temperatures in the afternoon. We were on track to finish this loop under 8 hours (well under my goal of 9 hours per loop), but with limited daylight in mid-February, it was already time to start planning for the night. The forecasts were calling for 20 degree temperatures in the valley with winds gusting to 30 mph. That meant that the wind chill at the summits could approach zero. Looking at the beautiful blue sky above us, it was hard to believe that conditions would deteriorate that much, but we decided we needed to be prepared.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We arrived in camp with 7:40 elapsed, which I consider a pretty solid 100 mile pace, but tied for last place. I spent about 10 minutes in camp making sure I had enough clothing to get through the first night loop. I don't usually like to stop that long, but with limited aid on the course it was important to make sure I had everything I needed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Night Moves</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">The big question for this loop was what to do at the river crossing. The RD had told us that we had the option to cross at another spot further upstream where there were stones to hop across, but this added almost a mile to the loop and there was no guarantee that we would even keep our feet dry.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-R2RMN5zIgQahz0RjbIhRQElB9y0IiI09liuuYfEqFRBfziy-KkYEGOxO8c2aHeAYZ7t_24z9I0jEUmBLOo_U2cQF0N80oKuPe0iMu-J6t3ZUXtsWUsFdLoDxVGog2ftP0xrvIqWkvpfOUHExG4JceKO3Xr8YRdQfqTm5_YJ8TGdf8Raceog3UAe/s3831/20230217_162334.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3831" data-original-width="2873" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-R2RMN5zIgQahz0RjbIhRQElB9y0IiI09liuuYfEqFRBfziy-KkYEGOxO8c2aHeAYZ7t_24z9I0jEUmBLOo_U2cQF0N80oKuPe0iMu-J6t3ZUXtsWUsFdLoDxVGog2ftP0xrvIqWkvpfOUHExG4JceKO3Xr8YRdQfqTm5_YJ8TGdf8Raceog3UAe/w300-h400/20230217_162334.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last view for a while</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Ultimately, Jeff convinced me to take the longer route because at this time of day, falling in the freezing water would have almost certainly ended our races. We summited Little Bald together, and I got a bit ahead on the descent. I negotiated the downed trees without too much issue and made the hard right turn to the alternate river crossing. I was pleased to see that the stones were just above the waterline, and a few short jumps got me to the opposite bank in one piece.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jeff caught back up as I was refilling my bottles at Camp Todd, but he needed to get some clothing out of his pack so I hit the trail ahead of him and unfortunately didn't see him again for the rest of the race. He would go on to finish in 40:25.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Silver lining #4: I'm no longer in last place.</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As predicted, the cold weather rolled in, and I progressively added more warm layers. I've gotten pretty good at micromanaging my temperature in races, which, being that I'm a sweaty disgusting bastard, is highly important. First is a Buff around the neck, which always adds a surprising amount of warmth. Then one around the ears. Then gloves, then the waterproof mitten shells, and then finally my rain shell. I had a puffer jacket stowed in my pack in case of emergency but never felt the need to use it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Armored against the increasingly hostile elements, I finished loop 2 in 8:25, which was fairly consistent with the previous loop considering the addition of an extra mile. I again kept this stop to just 10 minutes, getting some caffeine in my system and grabbing a few slices of bacon from <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jose&lname=Cardenas">Jose Cardenas</a></b>, who was volunteering before running the midnight single loop: "Take some bacon. The meat sweats will keep you warm on the climb." I thanked him for the motivation, and he responded, "thank me by running fast!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SD8ahtRqGVb7aHjD1F8OVv1ETAQTfLGtuwL1Tq_haT29m0DJsVSYdF8jEaYifXd1K1p1NlVPQ1C44MHZW0fRxrcqzoJeckUBNh-emRw9NCeepGsJc6XQrZia6LZGpo1mCsQge1TnC0FURVL2lFgBHPQsGgXym_xclRtgA2mJEi4pfazNlC_u_xZm/s1024/fire.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SD8ahtRqGVb7aHjD1F8OVv1ETAQTfLGtuwL1Tq_haT29m0DJsVSYdF8jEaYifXd1K1p1NlVPQ1C44MHZW0fRxrcqzoJeckUBNh-emRw9NCeepGsJc6XQrZia6LZGpo1mCsQge1TnC0FURVL2lFgBHPQsGgXym_xclRtgA2mJEi4pfazNlC_u_xZm/w400-h225/fire.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race entry was food for the communal aid station and a bundle of firewood. The volunteers kept a fire burning at the start/finish all weekend!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It was now after midnight, and the cold front was in full swing. The wind howled through the trees on Chestnut Ridge and bits of snow pelted my face. I went to take a sip of water and realized that the mouthpieces of both bottles were freezing. This problem was solved by putting my jacket on over my pack, which then created a new problem: I now had to take off my mittens and unzip my jacket whenever I needed any food or water. Ah, the joys of running in freezing weather!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I once again made the "smart" decision to detour around the deep river crossing. This plan was thrown back in my face when I slipped on an icy rock and plunged my left leg into water up to my knee. I also managed to bang my shin on another rock in the process, which - writing this ten weeks later - appears to have left a permanent mark.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Silver lining #5: Cold feet are great motivation to move fast.</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I hobbled into the heated tent at Camp Todd feeling sorry for myself, but I was greeted by <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Patrick&lname=Heine"><b>Pat</b></a> and <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Zachary&lname=Davis#"><b>Zack</b></a> who had both dropped out and were waiting for a ride. I tried to convince them to join me for the rest of the loop, but it was hard enough to convince myself to go back out. So I left and hit the climb up Big Bald, which was still a river but now had sections of fresh ice to keep things interesting.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I won't describe every twist and turn of this third loop, but the bottom line is that it was very cold and I gradually worked myself into a calorie deficit because of my reluctance to take off my jacket to access my food. When the sun came up midway through the loop, the weather started to warm and I slowly worked my way back out of that deficit. I made it through the loop in 9:15, which given the conditions, I'm very pleased with. I had passed <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Michael&lname=Zinn">Mike Zinn</a></b> on the descent from Big Bald, which put me in third place out of the five runners remaining. Mike was looking tired but determined and would go on to finish in 41:40.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">On the hunt</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">I spent a few extra minutes at my car getting calories and caffeine in my system. With 26:15 elapsed I headed out for my final lap. That gave me 9:45 to hit my time goal. By all accounts, Nich had solidified his hold on first place and was many hours ahead of me. I was happy just to avoid being lapped. I asked how far ahead the 2nd place runner was.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Oh you're not going to catch him. He left an hour ago and looked great!" came the response from the RD and volunteers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>Like hell I'm not!</i>" was what I thought to myself, but I think I responded, "Okie dokie, thanks!" as I left camp.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm not usually very competitive, but on the other hand...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><ul><li>I wanted to prove those volunteers wrong.</li><li>I thought it would be cool for the two Warren County, NJ runners to finish 1st and 2nd (ok, Nich technically lives in NY now, but he grew up just a few towns over from me).</li><li>I wanted to thank Jose and those same volunteers by running fast.</li></ul><div>As I headed up Chestnut Ridge for the final time, a bald eagle took off from a tree and flew directly over my head. Patriotic AF. Now I had to chase down second place for America too.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then something orange in the trail caught my attention. It was an orange peel. I figured the second place guy must have accidentally dropped it. Then a mile later I found another orange peel. Then another. Then another. Each one dropped in the middle of the trail. This was clearly deliberate.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>That settles it. This litterbug fuck is going down!</i></div><div><br /></div><div>If you're keeping track of my motivations to run fast, they were now: spite, camaraderie, gratitude, patriotism, and spite.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Silver lining #6: Spite is a great motivator.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>I charged up Little Bald and ran the descent as quickly as possible. With the sun shining and the weather heating up, I made the decision to wade through the river one more time to save myself the extra mile. The cold water actually felt good on my tired legs. Plus now wading through the semi-frozen river on Big Bald wouldn't bother me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Big Bald felt steeper than ever, but I hammered down the backside of it, running a pair of 13 and 12 minute miles for the first time in many hours. At the road crossing, I finally spotted him. Mister soon-to-be-third-place litterbug.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Just how many oranges do you have with you?" I demanded.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Um. I'm not carrying any oranges," he responded with some confusion.</div><div><br /></div><div>After some discussion, it became clear that the orange peels were left by a single loop runner who had started with a backpack full of them. I don't want to name names, so we'll just call him Schmarty Schwinn. I politely asked Schmarty after the race not to litter in National Forests and he politely thanked me for informing him about proper race decorum. Just kidding, he threw a temper tantrum and made the world's laziest TWOT pun in retaliation. Eat a dick Schmarty. Eat all the dicks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Regardless, I still had those four other reasons to run fast. I took off up the trail to Hankey Mountain with the other runner right on my heels. I stepped on the pedal harder and he stayed with me. We arrived at the base of Chin Scraper and it was time for me to make my move... except that he zipped right up the climb and left me in his dust. It became clear that I might have blown my wad too early in this loop, metaphorically speaking of course. My legs were not cooperating.</div><div><br /></div><div>I arrived at the top panting and wheezing to find this runner waiting patiently.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hey man, do you want to run this in together?" he asked.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Shit, yeah, I really do." I replied.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Silver lining #7: Running with other people is fun.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Mister soon-to-be-tied-for-second non-litterbug was actually named <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Barry&lname=Main">Barry</a></b>. Barry is a remarkably cool dude. With no one close behind us and my sub-36 hour goal well in hand, we enjoyed a leisurely jog through the final ten miles of the course. We swapped stories and learned the sort of personal details about each other's lives that only come out after many hours of running on a trail. At one point, he also politely waited while I pooped behind a tree. Which was nice of him.</div><div><br /></div><div>We arrived at the finish in 35:27:00, announcing "We are tied!" just so there was no confusion. I had suggested holding hands, but I guess our words were effective enough.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTc2kMIKATuOkAyAnLV_jz2iNI5oP9lifnXRH3xVNSUffdQh6umPkFwvHB4oIv8HITjQkEb5zklymAO38GVkrYd-CnHIxgdYclI3l7xVPyo7DFkTE0oNpE2AtrVB5wi7jyjpQhX_q8-Unp-LRa47br50qfqZzBJxj5pGrm5XOmiMTDtCOTcQz3FCdk/s1108/finish%20line.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1108" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTc2kMIKATuOkAyAnLV_jz2iNI5oP9lifnXRH3xVNSUffdQh6umPkFwvHB4oIv8HITjQkEb5zklymAO38GVkrYd-CnHIxgdYclI3l7xVPyo7DFkTE0oNpE2AtrVB5wi7jyjpQhX_q8-Unp-LRa47br50qfqZzBJxj5pGrm5XOmiMTDtCOTcQz3FCdk/w390-h400/finish%20line.jpg" width="390" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Barry showing off our sweet 3D printed finisher trophies which are shaped like the course map</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Nicholas&lname=Mamrak"><b>Nich</b></a> had finished many hours earlier, taking the win and setting the fastest Cold TWOT time by anyone not named John Kelly. His reward was having to sleep in the car for seven hours while Barry and I had our bonding session.</div><div><br /></div><div>With the sun setting for the second time and the weather cooling again, it was time to head back to civilization and indulge in Virginia's finest cuisine: Waffle House and Cracker Barrel.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thank you to the race directors Antoinette and Guy; to Eric, Jose, and the other volunteers; and to everyone who came out to race (not you, Schmarty). TWOT represents the perfect intersection of wilderness, community, and sadomasochism that I seek out in races. One of these days, I'd like to try the midnight single loop, but I don't know if my soul will ever be ready for another four loop effort.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/8584357400/overview">Final time: 35:27:51</a></div><div>Distance: 115.05 miles</div><div>Elevation: 28.805 feet</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://thewildoaktrailrun.com/">Race website</a></div><div><a href="https://twitter.com/twot100">TWOT 100 on Twitter (TWOTter?)</a></div></div></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-17092030354787775022023-01-11T16:00:00.005-05:002023-01-11T17:43:06.511-05:00Fat Dog 120: Don't Call It a Comeback<div style="text-align: justify;">Or do call it a comeback. Whatever, I'm not your mom.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I originally registered for Fat Dog 120 on January 2, 2018. I was coming off the best racing season of my short ultrarunning career, having broken <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2017/07/manitous-revenge-54-miler.html">14 hours at Manitou's Revenge</a>, <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2017/08/sub-20-bitches-vermont-100.html">20 hours at Vermont 100</a>, and <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2017/12/redemption-at-grindstone-100.html">24 hours at Grindstone</a>, along with <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2017/10/nj-appalachian-trail-fkt.html">setting a new FKT on the NJ section of the Appalachian Trail</a>. I was feeling invincible and was ready to take on a new level of mountain ultramarathon.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For reasons that I will elaborate on in way too much detail, that did not come to pass. If you would like to fast forward, skip to the race section below. For those of you who want to wallow in self pity with me, read on...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEA3csQ_3kJwHCZkWNicSM4vFH7P3ZNpg9WwpCK9uTv4ouWDCdLM6JCM2oPEhQtFK06VmXKI0-C1TSEFBRJTsAEMYdaVwHbH6D3QVDYZAKBs2kFiZHIlraREsEttNVexE3F9QJbsL-9jYbLEhD01G__8zrwSAdHM27_N8lshwC-N4MCEGBmUyEjNba/s4032/20220805_134017.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEA3csQ_3kJwHCZkWNicSM4vFH7P3ZNpg9WwpCK9uTv4ouWDCdLM6JCM2oPEhQtFK06VmXKI0-C1TSEFBRJTsAEMYdaVwHbH6D3QVDYZAKBs2kFiZHIlraREsEttNVexE3F9QJbsL-9jYbLEhD01G__8zrwSAdHM27_N8lshwC-N4MCEGBmUyEjNba/w400-h300/20220805_134017.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I waited a long time for this view</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What followed was a string of bad luck for the race organizers, for myself personally, and - well - for the entire planet:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">2018: Race canceled because of wildfires on course</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2019: Race held on a modified course. I deferred to 2020.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2020: Race canceled because of Covid</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2021: Race canceled because of Covid</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2022: Race held on a modified course because of flooding</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On August 5, 2022, four and a half years after registering, I finally stood on the starting line. Rather than using the intervening years to get stronger and faster, I had suffered a string of mild but nagging health issues that had slowed me down a quite a bit from my peak. I was now coming off my worst years of racing, having blown up at <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5547720254">Manitou's Revenge</a>, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5987071313">Grindstone</a>, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7111545941">Hellbender</a>, and <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7377259571">Manitou's</a> again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you've noticed a lack of activity on this blog, that's because for a long period of time, I simply didn't enjoy running any more. I kept going through the motions, hoping to reignite the flame, but my body would not cooperate. Even my easy runs were leaving me feeling drained and sore.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It wasn't until a blood test showed low levels of iron and vitamin D that things started to click. I started taking supplements and immediately noticed an uptick in my energy levels. I bought a gravel bike and a TheraBand and started doing what would have been unimaginable to a young Ryan: stretching and cross training.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My race results didn't immediately improve though. My body was recovering, but my fitness would take longer to return. Also, I was about 15 pounds over my ideal racing weight. Rather than focus on a time goal, I decided that my main goal was to enjoy this experience that I was finally going to have in the mountains. Rather than taper, I spent the week before the race exploring Banff with Alex.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEV4x3O8X0m4yhZbPNDudz36QGFalPUxyzytP4vQ8gn7c7TRYL1mQX_64yCuNyXjx2ltUThQXv2mW4xua7a-a1DiIkXiQkXnXLjZLGrdFNsiQf6jMu_HZblWAnGGN4sKA_tKpxuD_uHAYBceHOl49ok5l_pFfVC0tTNRwc1vDPmNxw8ayAqPL28NIR/s4032/20220803_113215.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEV4x3O8X0m4yhZbPNDudz36QGFalPUxyzytP4vQ8gn7c7TRYL1mQX_64yCuNyXjx2ltUThQXv2mW4xua7a-a1DiIkXiQkXnXLjZLGrdFNsiQf6jMu_HZblWAnGGN4sKA_tKpxuD_uHAYBceHOl49ok5l_pFfVC0tTNRwc1vDPmNxw8ayAqPL28NIR/w400-h300/20220803_113215.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moraine Lake. Worth the <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7578420809">bike ride</a>.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4VSrTgCa-uQ3FjuyHLbTr5zdR9gJxLMHyGpkyhudGWn64SuTT1iiMpo186xcPFtgKhvRbwmFi6Ige1XW2diNv9UcZaePf8-RZVuZPAlOq1W9rjl1JGKBvrXgMLj38kDwKOslbwJbzJp64-rfvkfQFxXPvXBRePqYOq4iRzV5Y1rFZX2Umak4Ef6Hh/s4032/20220801_115202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4VSrTgCa-uQ3FjuyHLbTr5zdR9gJxLMHyGpkyhudGWn64SuTT1iiMpo186xcPFtgKhvRbwmFi6Ige1XW2diNv9UcZaePf8-RZVuZPAlOq1W9rjl1JGKBvrXgMLj38kDwKOslbwJbzJp64-rfvkfQFxXPvXBRePqYOq4iRzV5Y1rFZX2Umak4Ef6Hh/w400-h300/20220801_115202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Rundle. Worth the <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7566567995">8 hour hike</a> on race week.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Okay, I did have one time goal. They give out colorful buckles for a 36 hour finish. I thought that would be fun, but it seemed optimistic given all of the above. That goal went out the window pretty early on.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Let's get to the race.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">The Gang Races Fat Dog</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Fat Dog is a 120+ mile race in the Canadian Cascades, running point to point from Cathedral Provincial Park to Manning Provincial Park. Despite being located just across the border from North Cascades National Park, these provincial parks are some of the best kept secrets in North America. The course passes through pristine wilderness, crossing alpine meadows and rugged ridgelines. In 2022 the course was rerouted, perhaps permanently, because of severe flood damage in the Skagit Valley. This added on 5-10 miles and a bit of elevation gain.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFcwc-BO5sEcuJd8RxnvsAM6x0GHGsJrpm6TncRFopIu1qCcaZfpoWr6OpcinWeF7gWUjonhEFD4rtAKbbKXtLfP5hmQtF43nOy8CwM-CBKeNd0ryUVSVxeFHE0GdYXYS9UEwCwgH1SKXceYPEZrPVhO4pCsaBO3WFPmkw2fYKQvpeMDr0BPsqRI2/s1216/Elevation%20Profile.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="1216" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFcwc-BO5sEcuJd8RxnvsAM6x0GHGsJrpm6TncRFopIu1qCcaZfpoWr6OpcinWeF7gWUjonhEFD4rtAKbbKXtLfP5hmQtF43nOy8CwM-CBKeNd0ryUVSVxeFHE0GdYXYS9UEwCwgH1SKXceYPEZrPVhO4pCsaBO3WFPmkw2fYKQvpeMDr0BPsqRI2/w400-h153/Elevation%20Profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2022 Fat Dog elevation profile</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I was lucky enough to be joined by my two favorite Alexes for this race: Alex T. (my wife, aka Girl Alex) and Alex G. (my running friend, aka Boy Alex). Their experience in getting my dumb ass through difficult running events is unmatched. With a little bit of fanfare at the starting line, we set off on our 120+ mile journey.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_J56y67EbSmG39UQrDZne0Gxw1GuX8-35AOhVoxs89ppwSf3XOuU7-b7LjsY9gTrAfJXr4314FqHdq6gyT4Zq0F6N82GRIf7MM__VNtpBZ9ZEB16l_2nyo8rxTGAaJrEfJ6QsoG8LFwn-8xyiK8u-DGpQR_qcSIuaELrKAA2eaF2oJwLXWN7aIyXt/s2048/324789949_886510115813950_3684644992081244529_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_J56y67EbSmG39UQrDZne0Gxw1GuX8-35AOhVoxs89ppwSf3XOuU7-b7LjsY9gTrAfJXr4314FqHdq6gyT4Zq0F6N82GRIf7MM__VNtpBZ9ZEB16l_2nyo8rxTGAaJrEfJ6QsoG8LFwn-8xyiK8u-DGpQR_qcSIuaELrKAA2eaF2oJwLXWN7aIyXt/w400-h300/324789949_886510115813950_3684644992081244529_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy Alex, Girl Alex, Boy Ryan<br />The tent in the background says "Suck it up whiney baby" which is a pretty good race motto</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The first section was a 4,800' climb over about 9 miles on the Lakeview Trail to the Cathedral Aid station. This was the biggest climb and the highest point of the race, so as usual I forced myself to take it extremely easy, letting the more enthusiastic runners race past me while I stopped to take pictures and enjoy the scenery.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV4ffrsMl_uyRzIND57e3UOkN05UIENosfLDMuBWRuLkxIxydmZb1l8897HlUTAFJcAzZI4VmIDg1UV0Bnc55M60Og2JGjeEC8MpW4-YclkugxUBe_IES0DnN4QfT8nNaxbjdfLEAJQ3Q_oCMdaDz8stFx2P8nC6DAD0xzKQ9RKZzGywJijfJdmFtt/s2450/93723309-043A8739.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1634" data-original-width="2450" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV4ffrsMl_uyRzIND57e3UOkN05UIENosfLDMuBWRuLkxIxydmZb1l8897HlUTAFJcAzZI4VmIDg1UV0Bnc55M60Og2JGjeEC8MpW4-YclkugxUBe_IES0DnN4QfT8nNaxbjdfLEAJQ3Q_oCMdaDz8stFx2P8nC6DAD0xzKQ9RKZzGywJijfJdmFtt/w400-h266/93723309-043A8739.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All smiles on the first climb<br />Photo by <a href="https://mattcecill.smugmug.com/2022-Fat-Dog-120/">Matt Cecil</a></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The views on the ridge were spectacular. Race weekend happened to fall exactly at peak wildflower bloom and I finally got to see why people call this the most scenic race in North America.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Z1OxaucX7z8alvE9X9xZUzZ-1-iBJIYNU4y2eq9-U81mmpm6NGZWDQiuQwt-rFnSRLNO3LPV0Ly3Kwp-GOWxJODJ_JSbGfMVKqaoHXTiqMoPvsTdcQUkzY8lt6X03k6a9phdXXv3e7eqtSNeuGo-OVHiMSzcKEQqI9mUrbhzIg37UixHHwxW2KKa/s4032/20220805_135004.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Z1OxaucX7z8alvE9X9xZUzZ-1-iBJIYNU4y2eq9-U81mmpm6NGZWDQiuQwt-rFnSRLNO3LPV0Ly3Kwp-GOWxJODJ_JSbGfMVKqaoHXTiqMoPvsTdcQUkzY8lt6X03k6a9phdXXv3e7eqtSNeuGo-OVHiMSzcKEQqI9mUrbhzIg37UixHHwxW2KKa/w400-h300/20220805_135004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stupidly pretty</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After a short traverse along the chilly ridgeline, we made a 3,700' descent to Ashnola Aid station at mile 18. The weather got hotter and the trail got dustier as we descended, so I reined in my effort level. I was excited to see my crew for the first time, but I was also eager to get out of the dusty mosquito-y valley and into cooler weather. I think I got a little impatient with them as they swapped out the dying batteries in my SPOT tracker, but in reality I was only there for 5-10 minutes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The next section was almost the mirror opposite of the first section: a 3,400' climb to Flat Top mountain over 10 miles followed by a 4,000' descent to the Passayten River. I should mention here that on paper, these climbs all max out at around 800 ft/mi, which is not particularly steep for a mountain race. But I noticed pretty quickly that the trails were not evenly graded. Strava backs me up on this, showing that the ironically named Easygoing Creek trail maxes out around 30% grade in certain sections.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On the bright side, there was this to look at:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUyq8Iei2TkLJb5nr6mHJJE0izOoGXtLr5HcxuE3NrYQcRhD4V_IzvbQ0i6hGfFC6N7e95MK3CVG5GHL3qJoJXVZQagsMo56bjuC7C1qSf9nb5QWSGx1kDF3N_oSfhHnAG72HWbul0MeNXE8Qbxxjr45KxV16bRiJdR9Lt5b9mavXqJuvV5Ekv99C8/s4032/20220805_185747.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUyq8Iei2TkLJb5nr6mHJJE0izOoGXtLr5HcxuE3NrYQcRhD4V_IzvbQ0i6hGfFC6N7e95MK3CVG5GHL3qJoJXVZQagsMo56bjuC7C1qSf9nb5QWSGx1kDF3N_oSfhHnAG72HWbul0MeNXE8Qbxxjr45KxV16bRiJdR9Lt5b9mavXqJuvV5Ekv99C8/w400-h300/20220805_185747.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean, just...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKRcC8_mjWkoYboE9wA5DY_X6UozYmEXKrzWMu0mDhQcAZEmAk4VbygQjXlplX2NVpripB92rquzrt01yX7oUcAgVRTLkTIAXBSptjVF2j1Ug5WigYMZUD-WoEjKiPaA84KlimWXzrKxQvBrXJ3loCeW0kEMGVNcpPDaYAGfAuGsxm19GuINBCRp9/s4032/20220805_190148.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKRcC8_mjWkoYboE9wA5DY_X6UozYmEXKrzWMu0mDhQcAZEmAk4VbygQjXlplX2NVpripB92rquzrt01yX7oUcAgVRTLkTIAXBSptjVF2j1Ug5WigYMZUD-WoEjKiPaA84KlimWXzrKxQvBrXJ3loCeW0kEMGVNcpPDaYAGfAuGsxm19GuINBCRp9/w400-h300/20220805_190148.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruh.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm sure I lost 10 minutes in this section just spinning in circles taking pictures. But when am I going to be back to the Canadian Cascades? Worth it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Wet Feet and the Search for Meat</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Much to the relief of my race time, the sun went down and my view shrunk to just the 10 foot circle in front of me that was illuminated by my headlamp. The descent was pretty straightforward, but what I found at the bottom was a surprise: a thigh deep crossing of the Passayten River aided by a fixed rope. I had read a half dozen race reports to prepare for the race, but apparently this didn't make enough of an impression on those runners to warrant its inclusion. Canadians are a different breed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGfLW7DNDi8-XLA27z6HaWojU9bjMkrFNC2V2_V5LFcrieJsPNY_eljTYgkeQHOdlYcgxiVBaZRbWF-fJSN_1uMezEWpJoy7JmBbzq-oLep5r4aWxXni4s0EFjoQrpNM3iNoBCKZzm2j99Jhx5oIuxaPIbxfpRgPuo1ndaygnQLydwBRy5ljZXQoO/s4032/20220805_214924.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFGfLW7DNDi8-XLA27z6HaWojU9bjMkrFNC2V2_V5LFcrieJsPNY_eljTYgkeQHOdlYcgxiVBaZRbWF-fJSN_1uMezEWpJoy7JmBbzq-oLep5r4aWxXni4s0EFjoQrpNM3iNoBCKZzm2j99Jhx5oIuxaPIbxfpRgPuo1ndaygnQLydwBRy5ljZXQoO/w400-h300/20220805_214924.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was a definite highlight</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">At 39 miles into the race, I didn't expect to get stuck behind any groups of runners, but this was a major choke point since only one person could use the rope at a time. I considered charging ahead without the rope but didn't want to risk dousing myself in cold water as the temperature was dropping. Instead, I occupied myself by taking pictures and filtering water. After a 10 minute wait, it was finally my turn to cross. I wasted no time, charging ahead and presumably winning a Strava crown for that 100 foot segment (note to self: create the world's dumbest Strava segment).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLy5-_JQp3qgA9GybHYWnqoJ8ETr6g9sWO-XJKDPMFb_d5N_gZrdqxtC6xbLU1BnLS37W6pHZj157Blzh2DC3RTNRAeeD3dqB4suYjNfIMYK8lTr_hgCpRRPi1MZs4wkAlQzqdUTQBtBUvdgS2ky0bIyMGe05adtxhK5XQvuKbOuVgrLZO0XZLkrfu/s2450/93723310-IMG_9445.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1634" data-original-width="2450" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLy5-_JQp3qgA9GybHYWnqoJ8ETr6g9sWO-XJKDPMFb_d5N_gZrdqxtC6xbLU1BnLS37W6pHZj157Blzh2DC3RTNRAeeD3dqB4suYjNfIMYK8lTr_hgCpRRPi1MZs4wkAlQzqdUTQBtBUvdgS2ky0bIyMGe05adtxhK5XQvuKbOuVgrLZO0XZLkrfu/w400-h266/93723310-IMG_9445.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moody shot courtesy of Matt Cecil</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">In the original course, this crossing would have been followed by a 3 mile section of highway, which always sounded awful. Instead this year we followed a fire break that paralleled the road. For those of you who, like me, are unfamiliar with this term, a fire break is essentially a path bulldozed through the woods to prevent forest fires from spreading. This one was brand new, as evidenced by the fresh bulldozer tracks, and was basically a mud pit that climbed 1,000 feet from the highway. On fresh legs it might have been fun, but holy cow was this a slog!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, I finally made it to Bonnevier aid station, which I had been calling <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bon_Iver">Bon Iver</a> in my head for the last few hours. It was just after 11pm and I hadn't seen my crew in over 7 hours. I asked the Alexes to see if the aid station had any cheeseburgers. I had smelled them cooking back at the Trapper Aid station four hours earlier, but someone snagged the last one and I didn't want to wait for them to make more. I had been on a mission to find a burger since that moment, but I was shit out of luck because apparently those were the only burgers in the entire mountain range.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVcFOnoapEhvglWqC0P_a8CErfV1n_qGLBjzXegYDQkC12DLZrZoIUXEP3G5xjn-t77qGyKPEyKzVeicRuNgVH9PEMWZN0vaTZ0jWV24nOjhJFvroKSPtrIrvqHFdjxCau110rtK4nBPM_ntmXdGD_98Szc6chlAAlHlCTWJy9m_A8_VOTRUBaKL6/s2048/325083126_558183225943955_8671396822299557807_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVcFOnoapEhvglWqC0P_a8CErfV1n_qGLBjzXegYDQkC12DLZrZoIUXEP3G5xjn-t77qGyKPEyKzVeicRuNgVH9PEMWZN0vaTZ0jWV24nOjhJFvroKSPtrIrvqHFdjxCau110rtK4nBPM_ntmXdGD_98Szc6chlAAlHlCTWJy9m_A8_VOTRUBaKL6/w300-h400/325083126_558183225943955_8671396822299557807_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy Alex found me some bacon though, which is a fantastic consolation prize.<br />Get yourself a vegetarian friend who still brings you meat at aid stations.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">With dry shoes on my feet and a handful of greasy animal products for the journey, I got back on the trail. This would be the crux of the race for me and the other runners: a nighttime traverse of the Heather Trail, 37 miles in the backcountry with no major aid stations.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I started the climb with another runner who had run the first edition of Fat Dog. I had previously heard that the inaugural race was advertised as a 100 miler, and it wasn't until runners got close to the finish that they realized it was more like 115-120 miles. Yeesh. I learned from him that the reality was even worse. The race was also marketed as "beginner friendly" and there were runners attempting their first 100 miler that year. As someone who came into this race having finished thirteen 100 mile races and was completely drained by the finish, the thought of doing this with no prior 100 mile experience was horrifying.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I hit the Bonnevier aid station around 3am, happy to see other people for the first time in a few hours. The weather was starting to get chilly, and I saw frost forming in the grass around me. The aid station was a sullen affair with just a couple of volunteers standing shivering in the dark. I filled a water bottle and grabbed a gel and got moving. To those poor volunteers, thank you for standing on a mountaintop in the dark to hand out gels and fill water bottles!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A few miles later I found myself stumbling. My mind was drifting and I suddenly had the irresistible urge to sleep. I've noticed that my ability to handle sleep deprivation has been getting worse as I get older, and for the first time in my racing career I had to lie down in the middle of the trail and take a nap. I left my headlamp on so no one would step on me, took a quick look at my watch, and immediately drifted off into the abyss. I woke up 5 minutes later, a bit chilly but feeling much more energetic.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-QLdgINhwI8giUsLHut7pU3BlNhJ-p_XZUqiOXBMpbIrbXntpgwINVsuZo9saV96VXEZHbaP3b-D-qJrg1n-RbvbgGnddtZQbo9-JI7ap0pqpiDwGFz4hZjVJUS4YkUNWq4anWwtby9vLkTVRiS_dBo_-lRJ9l18qpcO6N95ITwfPlGbMlH3N7qt/s4032/20220806_054101.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-QLdgINhwI8giUsLHut7pU3BlNhJ-p_XZUqiOXBMpbIrbXntpgwINVsuZo9saV96VXEZHbaP3b-D-qJrg1n-RbvbgGnddtZQbo9-JI7ap0pqpiDwGFz4hZjVJUS4YkUNWq4anWwtby9vLkTVRiS_dBo_-lRJ9l18qpcO6N95ITwfPlGbMlH3N7qt/w300-h400/20220806_054101.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise over Nicomen Lake</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It was now almost 5am, and I knew that the sunrise would help me wake up. I crested Nicomen ridge just in time to see the first rays of sunlight peaking out over the mountains in the distance. A short but steep descent brought me to the Nicomen Lake aid station, where I once again grabbed a minimal amount of food and water and got back on the trail. I was around the half way point in the race with just under 20 hours elapsed. A 36 hour finish was certainly not going to happen, but 40 sounded like a nice round number too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">With the sun now shining down on me, I felt a renewed burst of energy and hammered the descent to Grainger Creek aid station. Just kidding! I immediately began to feel sleepy again, and I staggered down the trail, barely managing a 15min/mi pace on the buttery smooth single track. I zombie shuffled into the aid station, set a 5 minute timer on my phone, and immediately collapsed onto a yoga mat for my second nap of the race.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Once again, the short nap revived me (following it up with a cup of coffee didn't hurt either), and I was back on the trail. I now had a 10 mile climb on the Hope Pass Trail to get to my crew at the next major aid station. I was moving well, but this was a new section of the course, and it had clearly not seen much foot traffic. I could tell how much work had gone into clearing it ahead of race day, given all the fallen trees that had been cut. However, the trail was a muddy, mossy, brushy mess. Despite not having had rain in the last few days, I found myself constantly sidestepping puddles and creeks running across the trail.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I arrived at Hope Pass aid station at almost noon, having gone 12 hours since seeing my crew. I asked if they could find me that cheeseburger, but the hot options were tater tots and bacon. Once again, not bad as far as consolation prizes go. I was craving salt and I vaguely recall saying "Tell them to put a lot of ketchup on the tots. Like, a disgusting amount of ketchup. <i>Fuck them up</i> with ketchup."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEEqFxksGF-ze_oreAyvmLUpwjXh4aHvP-CFDqZut2iuZVm-uXvKCX02CACLZL1MmyGheQGKuU4hgBk-E5cDQimHtx4Qr3B6rZoQH0U-slsO7iiLLc2BN4ZA12KfX8sgL16_jwSqM7UhNJgf6Uk7tJZQFQZeePgrP9MKpm2Lkl-2fv9GiGqz0v-CI6/s2048/325087082_604299938171532_1304032475274105697_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEEqFxksGF-ze_oreAyvmLUpwjXh4aHvP-CFDqZut2iuZVm-uXvKCX02CACLZL1MmyGheQGKuU4hgBk-E5cDQimHtx4Qr3B6rZoQH0U-slsO7iiLLc2BN4ZA12KfX8sgL16_jwSqM7UhNJgf6Uk7tJZQFQZeePgrP9MKpm2Lkl-2fv9GiGqz0v-CI6/w300-h400/325087082_604299938171532_1304032475274105697_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy Alex sunscreening my calves and thighs. Not who I expected to deal with that task, but I'm not complaining.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h3 style="text-align: justify;">The Part Where I Got to Run with People!</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Now 80 miles into the race, we were firmly in pacer territory. Boy Alex had initially offered to pace more mileage, but with the lack of crew access in the backcountry, the only other option would have been for him to start at mile 40. And while 80 miles with a pacer sounds nice, I didn't want us to both be trashed by the end.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were back in the high country, and with the sun shining on the wildflowers we felt like we were in the Sound of Music. We had a 24 mile traverse back along the Heather Trail to the next major aid station, and Boy Alex was determined to keep me focused and motivated. Although like me, he couldn't help but stop for pictures.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8wzc5QqnU7ea6bnT1jdLu9zymm4nqZgqKxji_IPfROKOjvlyp_2Flj0TWqdYYXVZgdAh4mObjut85RmGTgLteEOJLh1mCwgWBEYj8SQYeqomHRWR-1ad8isUF1IvfHyw0NpAKUmx_tkdCxiONeVhk9UXDS9z-h4CzbK3ewFQT_Dvt3bIJ1OOM2AS/s2048/IMG_5721.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8wzc5QqnU7ea6bnT1jdLu9zymm4nqZgqKxji_IPfROKOjvlyp_2Flj0TWqdYYXVZgdAh4mObjut85RmGTgLteEOJLh1mCwgWBEYj8SQYeqomHRWR-1ad8isUF1IvfHyw0NpAKUmx_tkdCxiONeVhk9UXDS9z-h4CzbK3ewFQT_Dvt3bIJ1OOM2AS/w400-h300/IMG_5721.JPEG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers for DAYS, son!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We reached Nicomen Lake aid station at the same time as Lee Conner, a badass woman with whom I have shared miles at Grindstone and Hellbender. I always know I'm having a good day if I'm near her on the course, but unfortunately she was going through a serious rough patch. She seemed to be struggling to form words and her movement was uncharacteristically slow and cautious. I advised her to get some food in her system and take a nap, not that she needs my advice when it comes to finishing mountain ultras. I left her in the capable hands of the aid station volunteers and hoped for the best as I trudged onward.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzijzakEkGqSbLEqNGbinaBNPAuG7tSLNPdSVwnoE1ONxoMeCZHBKJ-QVIGmpwbN0gj1cQYiY8E0bLg1X3_3A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The remainder of the Heather Trail was beautiful, if not particularly fast. I hit the 100 mile mark in 32 hours, which seemed respectable to me given the difficulty of the course. I noted out loud that it would have been so nice if this race was "only" 100 miles. But alas, my dumb ass decided that 120+ was a good idea.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At mile 103 we hit Blackwall Road, a winding dirt road that would take us down to the race headquarters at Manning Park Resort. From here we had a panoramic view south into North Cascades National Park.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu47vn4aKDw-nggrXiSyb8Afxm4XIQPK8YMei-cIYBAbN9TDfckRFlQn7mehqW_WKaS1DSZLd82U7qp5ryP-8K3YcOKOAC0FcyKqUptSHmF4I38zJbSjxIttioEQWS-lchJUc43kEyEodtWm_4JiG_jEbHTis2KuZe59uUui4fG5fyrBXGBVzskhwe/s2450/93723311-043A1844.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1634" data-original-width="2450" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu47vn4aKDw-nggrXiSyb8Afxm4XIQPK8YMei-cIYBAbN9TDfckRFlQn7mehqW_WKaS1DSZLd82U7qp5ryP-8K3YcOKOAC0FcyKqUptSHmF4I38zJbSjxIttioEQWS-lchJUc43kEyEodtWm_4JiG_jEbHTis2KuZe59uUui4fG5fyrBXGBVzskhwe/w400-h266/93723311-043A1844.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Blackwell Road<br />Photo by Matt Cecil</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It was nice to be on a graded road and not have to think about foot placements for a while, but the soles of my feet were a mess after running through so much mud earlier in the race. We got to Blackwell aid station, and the Alexes swapped pacing bibs while I did some surgery. I scrubbed the grit off my feet with a towel (a highly useful piece of race gear) and dried them off as best as possible. To add a bit of protection, I double layered my socks, which seemed to help somewhat. With Girl Alex now by my side, I got back on my feet and hobbled onward.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaNf6-v7EI9QErtm-2eUuAhNnIujs5VUxQJcMAQ4dfIXBasRYcqdBaGRX1nmfynr6qJSsIpTOTIqd01UpADN2xrQStb-0kf0fA4Qm-49XMK7MYctvNo3Oc20atwY8GP-1RsPJRl0_ULvrV61O-Xf_UgYp7NaLthdWvh_C6dqYZXRP6n0-AmCvZp9yl/s2048/325034010_586464443490317_5813028383099924587_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaNf6-v7EI9QErtm-2eUuAhNnIujs5VUxQJcMAQ4dfIXBasRYcqdBaGRX1nmfynr6qJSsIpTOTIqd01UpADN2xrQStb-0kf0fA4Qm-49XMK7MYctvNo3Oc20atwY8GP-1RsPJRl0_ULvrV61O-Xf_UgYp7NaLthdWvh_C6dqYZXRP6n0-AmCvZp9yl/w300-h400/325034010_586464443490317_5813028383099924587_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It hurts but it do be pretty though</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We had a short detour onto a rocky trail that cut a switchback off the road descent, but after that it was six miles of pavement to descend 2,000 feet. I'm typically a strong downhill runner late in races, and I managed a respectable-but-not-aggressive 14 min/mi pace on this section. But let me tell you that my hips and knees were not happy about this sudden burst of what I will generously call "speed."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2doKRYJGUWnozFC6hToH_Dv2zfYc7xzOAxi50pXVQGylbVJ0zogp-qay4YOq5Jp_sK9CiNJ4wli87FaNwmdDcq2QBWni4pvqhVNJWNA84GkqCqeRK5dP-DK1gEFNXnasCxruXvVAd6OjMR_8aEbFikMUjSCmHh0CfIn2wjvYGTdVXACDvdcQNeGKQ/s2048/324524200_732791184931531_5290590072599664078_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2doKRYJGUWnozFC6hToH_Dv2zfYc7xzOAxi50pXVQGylbVJ0zogp-qay4YOq5Jp_sK9CiNJ4wli87FaNwmdDcq2QBWni4pvqhVNJWNA84GkqCqeRK5dP-DK1gEFNXnasCxruXvVAd6OjMR_8aEbFikMUjSCmHh0CfIn2wjvYGTdVXACDvdcQNeGKQ/w300-h400/324524200_732791184931531_5290590072599664078_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pain cave, party of one</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I felt bad that Girl Alex's section with me was such a low point. She tried to distract me by talking about some dinner plans with my family when we got back, but I informed her in no uncertain terms that I was in no state to check my mental calendar for openings. In fact, I was pretty sure that we were going to have to throw my corpse in a dumpster after the race, so future dinner plans seemed pretty fuckin' irrelevant. So yeah, that's the head space I was in. Sorry babe.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Alexes swapped pacer bibs again, and now I was back to being Boy Alex's problem. He had chugged a cold brew coffee and was determined to get me to the finish line regardless of my deteriorating state. I spent the next few miles trying to keep up with him as he went into full drill sergeant mode, barking orders to run interspersed with words of encouragement. I racked my brain for a polite way to tell him to fuck off. I considered sitting down in the center of the trail and DNFing in protest of this outrageous treatment, but that seemed a tad too dramatic. Eventually I settled on a very frank, "Hey man, this is not working and I'm totally fine with finishing an hour later if it means not pushing this hard." That did the trick.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcomJi88XlPc54kVH_sZlwHp3MxvOyKyF-HEexIxebK9LD30qNYWe-JVIcZG2bVgRbZ4m0a73LmVDm8frtGZarZ61_naR1TiLm5yYlvUQnTgQtowuhZI06TdxL7rO_fWagJ87jrsos1KWdjj4VNAf3G2WiOEdw5itIbL4BCYEv-6N3J4DLA_VH7Kl/s2048/325000990_546591614046758_992740964007153573_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcomJi88XlPc54kVH_sZlwHp3MxvOyKyF-HEexIxebK9LD30qNYWe-JVIcZG2bVgRbZ4m0a73LmVDm8frtGZarZ61_naR1TiLm5yYlvUQnTgQtowuhZI06TdxL7rO_fWagJ87jrsos1KWdjj4VNAf3G2WiOEdw5itIbL4BCYEv-6N3J4DLA_VH7Kl/w400-h300/325000990_546591614046758_992740964007153573_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic unrelated to this point. I just like the way it looks. Can you tell how hard I'm trying to hold my shit together?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We passed by the finish line at mile 113 and still had another 14 miles left to go, which if you ask me is a pretty rotten thing to do to a runner. We trudged onwards, but for the third time in the race I was met with an overwhelming urge to lie down and sleep. Boy Alex, having been nudged out of drill sergeant mode, relented and I curled up for a few minutes until I felt a very large spider crawl up my inner thigh. <i>Fine. Fuck. I guess I won't sleep.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thus began a very slow and sullen ascent of the Skyline Trail. If you had stopped me at this point in the race and asked my opinion on the technicality of the Fat Dog trails, I would have said that it has some mildly rocky sections but nothing too strenuous. Skyline flipped this assessment on its head. Rocky ledges. Steep drop-offs, sometimes on both sides of the trail. If I had done this in the daylight on fresh legs it would have been my jam. In the dark with 120 miles on my legs, it was <i>very much not my jam</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNiciq-e02Cr3ohZZaRxxXIitDytIwWB01pf40rSg6Prhd2nO6QNbYKAiQxgd8g6kGx6yBR52dt3AaMxiSTypQaGni1IoQOGwUKbanc3lmS8slgmfvN26gWoSwMb6v18kMOyGn7bIGifw8TOj4fGr6XCUgo_GbVWqsWKpLiIc06M3VTaYLwxwnj5T1/s2048/skyline.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNiciq-e02Cr3ohZZaRxxXIitDytIwWB01pf40rSg6Prhd2nO6QNbYKAiQxgd8g6kGx6yBR52dt3AaMxiSTypQaGni1IoQOGwUKbanc3lmS8slgmfvN26gWoSwMb6v18kMOyGn7bIGifw8TOj4fGr6XCUgo_GbVWqsWKpLiIc06M3VTaYLwxwnj5T1/w300-h400/skyline.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool, but also ouch.<br />Photo by <a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/canada/british-columbia/east-skyline-trail/photos">Anne Christensen on AllTrails</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Boy Alex did his best to distract me by practicing his Spanish. It had been freezing by the water at Lightning Lake ("Ryan esta frio!"), and as we climbed we hit a much warmer patch of air ("Ahora, Ryan esta muy caliente!") As my 20 mile miles turned to 30+ minute miles, I did the sort of mental math that every runner does at this point in the race. 40 hours had slipped away. 41 wasn't looking good either. Let's shoot for 42 then. The answer to life, the universe, and everything. It's a better number than 36 or 40 anyway.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We crested the last summit with just over 40 hours elapsed. I tried to run downhill but my feet were hamburger meat and I was losing coordination from the lack of sleep. At one point I stepped straight off the side of the trail and would have fallen 20 feet into some brush if not for a perfectly placed fallen tree that my foot landed on. <i>Get your shit together Thorpe!</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I noted with surprise that no runners had passed us since the last aid station, and with that a half dozen people flew by. One of them was Lee Conner, who was back from the dead and poised to finish with her trademark sprint. I gave chase for a few seconds but had to let her go.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At long last, we reached the bottom of the mountain. The finish line came into view across Lightning Lake and we heard cheering from the small group of spectators who were braving the cold in the middle of the night. I shambled across the finish line, gave Girl Alex a big kiss, collected my buckle, and gave that a big kiss too for good measure. Boy Alex got a hug.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27UMisN8WgajMfyiunven_QeIy_PsrJnksRUMg1u-EcOMEpRR7532ZBz-Il1pNXCQPo7LV_v9lDn3Bc7DKZnEBkTN76DcEVd74dM2vktNljdOc2eRDT18zh-9XX2Mbm-i_MZwBY_Gaw3XFIudsDMI11sOJgXas4IeMnGmgm4M8qPNiv3seu0e83sP/s2450/93723312-IMG_1101.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1634" data-original-width="2450" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27UMisN8WgajMfyiunven_QeIy_PsrJnksRUMg1u-EcOMEpRR7532ZBz-Il1pNXCQPo7LV_v9lDn3Bc7DKZnEBkTN76DcEVd74dM2vktNljdOc2eRDT18zh-9XX2Mbm-i_MZwBY_Gaw3XFIudsDMI11sOJgXas4IeMnGmgm4M8qPNiv3seu0e83sP/w400-h266/93723312-IMG_1101.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the feels</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7Az_31KlTXB4Ru4gpRvYldS9SfaDEDYnSevLlYZGRIIuYgwf3Has8hicbq2plZJvBJ9fguRx_tPgO6sRZJpHGazebdYPr6ysJls5mIINEUussT0bFyZbAIuU6AjoLezmz61DK1KVXOS4MVRpik7yJ8BCmlb6n5pVtx4ld3zglfGF5wBwVZmg9B0D/s2450/93723313-IMG_1106.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1634" data-original-width="2450" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7Az_31KlTXB4Ru4gpRvYldS9SfaDEDYnSevLlYZGRIIuYgwf3Has8hicbq2plZJvBJ9fguRx_tPgO6sRZJpHGazebdYPr6ysJls5mIINEUussT0bFyZbAIuU6AjoLezmz61DK1KVXOS4MVRpik7yJ8BCmlb6n5pVtx4ld3zglfGF5wBwVZmg9B0D/w400-h266/93723313-IMG_1106.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a boy and his Alexes</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Only nine runners had broken 36 hours and twenty broke 40 hours, which made me feel a bit better about missing those goals by such a wide margin. Despite having almost perfect weather, the course changes certainly seem to have added some difficulty to an already difficult race. Nevertheless, I finished feeling healthy (my feet were fine once they dried out) and despite some late race struggles, I really thoroughly enjoyed the experience.</div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=89651#id800937">Finish Time: 41:58:36 (30th place of 130 starters)</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7597589099/overview">Distance: 127.6 miles</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7597589099/overview">Elevation: 27,598 feet</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://caltopo.com/m/V331H">Comparison of old and new courses on Caltopo</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We couldn't hang out long because the temperature was just above freezing, but the next afternoon, after eating <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HrIeP798hiQ">all the bacon and eggs they had</a> in our small town, we returned to the scene of the crime and enjoyed soaking our tired feet in Nicomen Lake in 90 degree weather. What a difference a few hours makes!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCxs9jYixO5rt1Q8vLEi2Aac6CZbdZ2EopIQNEIZB7wBbaXSnWFeuyVuNNbscBlAn5nyiFbz_SvWko7fFRksVGnnrS8ZNjzW9BdvzlLmEJ-qnj71CaPq6v2AmMfrHY8I5hDAi8X9p-Vpedd0dYPfBeUPmPZsGiKrcdV0eOfPak8aWNUNfnL8obl4r/s2048/325012682_1002146540744567_5235815453201905671_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCxs9jYixO5rt1Q8vLEi2Aac6CZbdZ2EopIQNEIZB7wBbaXSnWFeuyVuNNbscBlAn5nyiFbz_SvWko7fFRksVGnnrS8ZNjzW9BdvzlLmEJ-qnj71CaPq6v2AmMfrHY8I5hDAi8X9p-Vpedd0dYPfBeUPmPZsGiKrcdV0eOfPak8aWNUNfnL8obl4r/w400-h300/325012682_1002146540744567_5235815453201905671_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I could have spent the whole day sitting here</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Then we had a three hour drive back to Vancouver to catch our flights home. Or rather, the Alexes had a three hour drive. I took a three hour nap and magically found myself at YVR airport.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUMDopErzdEfi-TJa5RNTtvjq6FCckyqJjgaeko_SZIXgP3RLDSp0a6kXKdC-34zGCNBAMr4RV_2ikwcN5tBK9IXDojaCtIpp4i8U7EcFf_uZuH8fUR_-M8AunR2g_MitpoulsFlqC-KHPKyouLdOaDZy_WdtmG0-v_au9SIKuqBvEL5oGlsQcW-N/s4032/20220811_144245.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUMDopErzdEfi-TJa5RNTtvjq6FCckyqJjgaeko_SZIXgP3RLDSp0a6kXKdC-34zGCNBAMr4RV_2ikwcN5tBK9IXDojaCtIpp4i8U7EcFf_uZuH8fUR_-M8AunR2g_MitpoulsFlqC-KHPKyouLdOaDZy_WdtmG0-v_au9SIKuqBvEL5oGlsQcW-N/w400-h300/20220811_144245.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It ain't colorful but it's a keeper</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't know if I'll come back to Fat Dog any time soon, but I'm glad I finally had the opportunity to run this amazing race. Huge thanks to the organizers, the volunteers, and of course, my two wonderful Alexes!</div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-23620988088781731082022-07-28T18:48:00.001-04:002022-07-28T18:48:16.476-04:00Adventure Report: The Bob Marshall Picnic<div style="text-align: justify;">There comes a time in every man's life when he finds himself frantically burying a bicycle in the woods in the middle of the night. For me, that time happened to be 11pm on Thursday July 14, 2022.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Allow me to explain.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ4mxsoZTJpO4InN0vjkenzx7cCdrGPbM4qA8FEmWViVIP3NcfhIpEOWP40ZF7QShfwtFgyVdcsWMqjyEV33MxMKc0pdR3Wg63-UJgdf9oC7nSEj7GuHXLjXNwgrd1VBOZ4l4EZ3e554G9B5_QrQ7KuEkwYd9D1ytHOLya7uHJuhpbkgvpr_X6q8Ov/s750/Bob%20Marshall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ4mxsoZTJpO4InN0vjkenzx7cCdrGPbM4qA8FEmWViVIP3NcfhIpEOWP40ZF7QShfwtFgyVdcsWMqjyEV33MxMKc0pdR3Wg63-UJgdf9oC7nSEj7GuHXLjXNwgrd1VBOZ4l4EZ3e554G9B5_QrQ7KuEkwYd9D1ytHOLya7uHJuhpbkgvpr_X6q8Ov/w320-h400/Bob%20Marshall.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob Marshall, the OG mountain ultrarunner</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">The Bob Marshall Traverse</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Back in 1932, legendary ultra-hiker and wilderness advocate <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_Marshall_(wilderness_activist)"><b>Bob Marshall</b></a> summited 13 <a href="https://www.adirondack.net/hiking/high-peaks/">Adirondack High Peaks</a> in a day, as well as the 2,876 foot Mount Jo for good measure. This broke the previous record of eleven peaks. He summarized the endeavor with the kind of self-effacing humor you would expect from a modern day ultrarunner:</div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.thedogteam.com/50KM50States-Web_Pages/50KM50States/50KM50States-index-frame.html">"Thus I have carried a little farther the fantastic pastime of record climbing, adding three to Malcolm's total of eleven. Perhaps within a few weeks, surely as soon as a few more mountains in the vicinity of Mount Marcy have trails cut on to them, somebody will readily enough overtop my record. Certainly it is a mark which any reasonably vigorous person in good physical condition can equal if he tries it when there are long daylight hours. In fact, it would fit perfectly in a class with flagpole sitting and marathon dancing as an entirely useless type of record, made only to be broken, were it not that I had such a thoroughly glorious time out of the entire day."</a></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;">Well said, Bob.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Marshall would pass away suddenly from heart failure at the age of 38, but his legacy would live on in the <i>nine million</i> acres of wilderness he helped to preserve.</div><p style="text-align: justify;">Marshall spent the night before his hike at John's Brook Lodge, a backcountry bunkhouse five miles from Keene Valley. At 3:30am, he set off into the darkness, summiting Big Slide before returning to the Lodge for a quick breakfast. He then turned south, climbing each peak in the Great Range (Lower Wolfjaw, Upper Wolfjaw, Armstrong, Gothics, Saddleback, Basin, Haystack, and Marcy). He dropped down the south face of Marcy to Four Corners, where he made an out-and-back summit of Skylight before continuing west past Lake Colden and up to Iroquois, Algonquin, and Wright. He then made the 2,500' descent to the Adirondack Loj where he had dinner. Feeling reenergized, he made the short but steep hike to the summit of Mount Jo to take in the stars. His route totaled 30-35 miles and 15,000 feet of elevation gain and took 18 hours and 40 minutes.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.thedogteam.com/50KM50States-Web_Pages/50KM50States-Daily_Log/50KM50States-Daily_Log.html">Ted "Cave Dog" Kaiser repeated this route in 2005</a> as part of his 50K in 50 states project, finishing in around 24 hours. However, it wasn't until 2018, more than 86 years after Marshall's famous hike, that a local runner named <b><a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/athlete/bethany-garretson">Bethany Garretson</a></b> bested Marshall's time, <a href="https://bethanyclimbs.com/2020/02/15/introducing-a-new-adk-fkt-the-bob-marshall-traverse/">completing the traverse in 15:33</a>. Within a few years the records had been lowered to <a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/route/bob-marshall-traverse-ny">13:07 for women and 12:10 for men</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvlewR_EVC7RrKoN-gasTBedgEqR3ZkIOBIUnHJDXyXwzh82mTpnr_lLK3w0QCiH8qHmy-NICQr84n4eYJaG_q-L10rqpo6ExjNQvTJ6E_Zpdh-2Gdajwz_XOA5mb26egbCpZHKy4h_R-WzKjbuxQOTHEQS9TPLBnK-Str8s9fGK6exvFFskfELJRm/s1745/Bob%20Marshall%20profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="1745" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvlewR_EVC7RrKoN-gasTBedgEqR3ZkIOBIUnHJDXyXwzh82mTpnr_lLK3w0QCiH8qHmy-NICQr84n4eYJaG_q-L10rqpo6ExjNQvTJ6E_Zpdh-2Gdajwz_XOA5mb26egbCpZHKy4h_R-WzKjbuxQOTHEQS9TPLBnK-Str8s9fGK6exvFFskfELJRm/w640-h208/Bob%20Marshall%20profile.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elevation profile of the Bob Marshall Traverse<br />Water droplets indicate places where water can be filtered</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Introducing the Bob Marshall Picnic</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Since seeing the Bob Marshall Traverse on the FKT webpage, I've been trying to find a time to drive up to the Adirondacks and run it. My name is indelibly etched in the annals of Adirondacks history thanks to <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/09/fkt-report-bunch-of-dix-in-dacks.html">that time that Alex Galasso and I created its greatest running route</a>. I felt compelled, therefore, to add to my legacy by smashing the existing FKT for the Bob Marshall Traverse.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The problem, however, was that the logistics of the traverse are complicated. It is point-to-point and starts 5 miles from the nearest town (1.5 mi on road + 3.5 mi on trail). That means that you either need to get a ride to the start, a ride back from the finish, or both if you are really trying to conserve energy. Additionally, the bunks at the Lodges are booked months in advance and it is impossible to predict mountain weather more than a few days ahead of time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The solution, it seemed to me, was to turn this traverse into a loop. This would require hiking into JBL from Keene Valley, completing the traverse, and either running or biking the 20 miles from the ADK Loj back to the start. In the same vein as the <a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/route/presidential-traverse-nh">Presidential Picnic</a>, <a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/route/grand-teton-picnic-wy">Grand Teton Picnic</a>, and <a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/route/yosemite-picnic-ca">various</a> <a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/route/mt-shasta-picnic-ca">other routes</a> that combine biking and running, I named this new route the Bob Marshall Picnic.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://caltopo.com/m/7R1TU"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="723" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjypW8_t_waXOmUbcrzGgSujMuBv8JB2kC41V0iLtdN12lxQnFMDscCoQHfQXHZGjebJowwU7N4ncjg0jfQVh9JAc07xt_yMfKQAYQ9xX_qkfQVFbbscIqzpke9mBtEcOTkiWb4DiUWG1sNT9ZZmIUCrhBtcQ5453S2diZirmEuKF30U_tU23HCGSXR/w395-h400/Picnic%20Loop.png" width="395" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://caltopo.com/m/7R1TU">The Bob Marshall Picnic. The original route is in red, the hike into JBL is pink, and the biking route from ADK Loj to Keene Valley is blue [click to see the route on Caltopo].</a> </td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><div><br /></div><div>All that is a long way to say that at 11pm on a Thursday night in July, I found myself thrashing through the woods outside of the ADK Loj trying to decide how big a pile of branches and leaves was required to safely hide my $120 gravel bike from any would-be thieves. I had made the 5 hour drive up from NJ after work that day, eaten a nutritious dinner of pizza and diet Coke while driving, and I planned to get a few hours of sleep before starting the next morning. My body is a temple, but like, a shitty one that thrives on sarcasm and junk food.</div><div><br /></div><h3>Hiking in the dark</h3><div>After an all-too-short night of sleep, my alarm went off at 3am. Go time! I had slept in my running clothes so all I had to do was hobble to my car and make the 20 minute drive from Draper's Acres campground to the starting point in Keene Valley. I chugged a Dunkin Donuts iced coffee that I had picked up at a gas station the day before (treat yo self). I parked my car at a hiker parking lot on on Rt. 73, and by 3:39 I was hiking up Adirondack Road toward The Garden trail head, munching on an everything bagel.</div><div><br /></div><div>The hike to John's Brook Lodge is a mild five miles and I took my time, treating it like a warmup. I arrived at the Lodge almost two hours later, having stopped to filter water, shed a few layers, and take a bio break. Now it was time for the fun part.</div><div><br /></div><h3>The Bobby</h3><div>I restarted my watch at 5:36am and set off from the Lodge. The climb up the Big Slide Trail is long but somewhat tame by Adirondacks standards, at a leisurely 2,000 feet in two miles. I felt a little dumb with three full water bottles in my pack as I zig zagged back and forth across Slide Mountain Brook. A little lesson learned in the importance of course recon. I reached the summit in almost exactly an hour, which was about ten minutes behind the men's FKT for the traverse. I typically like to start slow so I figured I would be a few minutes behind at the early summits, but if I had a good day I might slowly catch up my the end and sneak in under the FKT for the traverse portion of my day.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJr3Zr6E5pbY3_QPQ7ujXYQ1EWL4wLnCif-QiPqShfFqUh1r074sOjYFClg6SJr84j-h_R068dxk_8TTDdApv-wlIpS7U7iysmnrsT5KHKjgR59AdqnpRa-nNTP7CMZiIg84B7x9JYpfBWsT5mDw4-QNQI18i2PpSab85eqDv6JyJZd6nIA9toQr_K/s2944/20220715_063617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2208" data-original-width="2944" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJr3Zr6E5pbY3_QPQ7ujXYQ1EWL4wLnCif-QiPqShfFqUh1r074sOjYFClg6SJr84j-h_R068dxk_8TTDdApv-wlIpS7U7iysmnrsT5KHKjgR59AdqnpRa-nNTP7CMZiIg84B7x9JYpfBWsT5mDw4-QNQI18i2PpSab85eqDv6JyJZd6nIA9toQr_K/w400-h300/20220715_063617.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise over the Great Range from Big Slide</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I paused for a moment to take a sweaty selfie and then trotted back down the trail, eating my first Snickers bar of the day. I lost the trail briefly on one of the many river crossings, but found it again quickly. Yet another reason to actually scout the route that you are attempting to run for speed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now it was time to face the Great Range. I had done a full Great Range Traverse back in 2019 and remembered it being mostly devoid of water sources, as ridge traverses often are. I made sure to fill all my bottle as I crossed Wolfjaw Brook for the final time before getting to Lower Wolfjaw.</div><div><br /></div><div>The final push from Wolfjaw Notch to Lower Wolfjaw rises 725 feet in just 0.37 miles (36.5% grade) and I struggled to keep my heart rate low and my breathing steady. This would be a theme for the remainder of the day. With steep wet slabs and boulder scrambles that require the use of all four limbs, the Great Range is not conducive to low-heart-rate efforts. Nevertheless, I tagged the summit, took another quick picture, and plummeted back into the notch toward Upper Wolfjaw.</div><div><br /></div><div>Climbing Upper Wolfjaw involves negotiating a series of small cliff bands, and generations of foot traffic have eroded the delicate topsoil on the trail. I wondered what the trail would have looked like back in Bob Marshall's day before peak bagging was the popular hobby it is now. This would be another theme for the day. Bob Marshall had famously fought to protect these mountains from logging, but their fame has since led to a different kind of damage: severe erosion of the trails on the high peaks.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWezzEXPO340CXKtwsf1e7mLFD7EJYGLKNUsEqaAX0gJ0eGmyQVm0LINbhgytJbe4LlmywnmmfI2iosJerluS6WTUPvO6Jqb0zO3S5JKJRLpRePN4PdBXzlBmUmDypYRWFtkWsFBhEJPkjWtUIf5EL-19fyuD71VpAG6aTfoETEqQfPoMTzv0toBP1/s4032/20190608_073228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWezzEXPO340CXKtwsf1e7mLFD7EJYGLKNUsEqaAX0gJ0eGmyQVm0LINbhgytJbe4LlmywnmmfI2iosJerluS6WTUPvO6Jqb0zO3S5JKJRLpRePN4PdBXzlBmUmDypYRWFtkWsFBhEJPkjWtUIf5EL-19fyuD71VpAG6aTfoETEqQfPoMTzv0toBP1/w300-h400/20190608_073228.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing a slab on Upper Wolfjaw (I think) back in 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Moving along, I made sure to take the short out-and-back up the slab to the true summit of UWJ and then continued on southward. Next up was Armstrong, whose sheer sloped always look more imposing than they actually are when you first spot the mountain through the trees. I made it to the summit with minimal issues and was rewarded with a short stretch of relatively flat trail along the summit ridge followed up a mild (for the Dacks) descent and ascent to Gothics.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think of Gothics as the point where the Great Range traverse becomes almost a true alpine route. Although the majority of the route is still below tree line after this point, the summits are rocky and exposed, and the descents often resemble the type of scrambles you would find in a west coast range. Case in point, the descent off the southern flank of Gothics drops 604 feet in just a quarter mile of smooth rock slab (-45% grade). <strike>Dumber</strike> Braver hikers are able to walk this, but the vast majority choose to use an old sketchy garden hose that is bolted onto the rocks and is generously called "the cables." I opted not to use the cables since for some reason I thought it would take too long to bend over and grab them.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyMMe-mozib8fHD7uhwn1sgRdGxRRKSRrv_vQH61zBGNBKF78S-flfzjmBVOoq0YUbrlunEhcnj0SaJS5Kimw_hLW6T1pPr0F-O1RW3mr1-hVmvLpGox73u2YF83y6cvCD71u-olx-L7ElaYZTqrPDU7pZcHeEZdbwKE6lIdhlKOcwi78fFIsKFi-/s4032/20200704_124834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyMMe-mozib8fHD7uhwn1sgRdGxRRKSRrv_vQH61zBGNBKF78S-flfzjmBVOoq0YUbrlunEhcnj0SaJS5Kimw_hLW6T1pPr0F-O1RW3mr1-hVmvLpGox73u2YF83y6cvCD71u-olx-L7ElaYZTqrPDU7pZcHeEZdbwKE6lIdhlKOcwi78fFIsKFi-/w300-h400/20200704_124834.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex T. descending the cables during a partial Great Range Traverse in 2020</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The steep slabby descents continued after Saddleback. Here the Great Range Trail was essentially just a cliff face with a few blazes painted on the rock. Route finding was tricky and I paused a few times to make sure I didn't get cliffed out on my way down. This section was the steepest of the day at 336 feet in just 0.13 miles (-48.8%). Adirondack trail builders were wild back in the day!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFD3rYD81b7lHu4WEQDlXMr7Q55VnwgeBlgoRW_2Ylbz0tRi4-zQKhX7Gsr9nNskPqKCs6OE0V3HeHbd4a90qc04q3Avs2fORAwJBiP6eSrIXpP15ZqmChBkbMucjd3SFcqEnsfOTSe8GdKibeMkyTqyypXkSg5nL151EfpIbXphirsMdfudziO59/s4032/20190608_102649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFD3rYD81b7lHu4WEQDlXMr7Q55VnwgeBlgoRW_2Ylbz0tRi4-zQKhX7Gsr9nNskPqKCs6OE0V3HeHbd4a90qc04q3Avs2fORAwJBiP6eSrIXpP15ZqmChBkbMucjd3SFcqEnsfOTSe8GdKibeMkyTqyypXkSg5nL151EfpIbXphirsMdfudziO59/w400-h300/20190608_102649.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex G. picks his route down the Saddleback cliffs in 2019. Basin is off to the right.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Somewhere around here is where I ran out of water. It had been almost three hours since I had filled my bottles in Lower Wolfjaw Creek, and the weather was starting to get warm. I pushed a bit to get up Basin and down the other side to Haystack Brook, where I gulped down two bottles in rapid succession and then refilled all three bottles again. In terms of finding water, I had made it through the crux of the route and would have numerous places to filter for the rest of the day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Feeling reenergized, I charged up Haystack, which is one of my favorite summits in the Adirondacks. At 4960' Haystack is the third highest peak in the Dacks and the top 500 feet of it are entirely above tree line, which means that it offers a beautiful panoramic view of the surrounding peaks without the crowds of its neighbor Mt. Marcy.</div><div><br /></div><div>The descent down the Phelps trail was tougher than I remembered, butt thankfully it wasn't very long. It was now just after noon as I began climbing Marcy, the highest peak in New York. At this point in the day, the crowds had gotten a chance to make their way deep into the High Peaks Wilderness and the trail was getting busier. I was thankful that I had chosen to do this route on a Friday since that minimized the amount of times I had to pull over and let large groups pass.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcMXrQNjZDChpF1oZlXpx5LkFI7WC4HYz0ixmXHnstO1_eC9txcdP6feuWKEhS_8TPfSLcQls8m1jDiugwhzBxdLwni2gXCY7_Dn1fi9CQhSiwuhffgdNTiD-ZNDTJHRDXUxwI6J5XqkgJhBRev57Rg452rswBuUlBHODeYeg63f-a1gzSB1AJ7WX/s4032/20190608_141654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcMXrQNjZDChpF1oZlXpx5LkFI7WC4HYz0ixmXHnstO1_eC9txcdP6feuWKEhS_8TPfSLcQls8m1jDiugwhzBxdLwni2gXCY7_Dn1fi9CQhSiwuhffgdNTiD-ZNDTJHRDXUxwI6J5XqkgJhBRev57Rg452rswBuUlBHODeYeg63f-a1gzSB1AJ7WX/w400-h300/20190608_141654.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical crowds at the summit of Marcy. Photo from 2019.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I tagged the summit of Marcy with exactly seven hours elapsed since I had left John's Brook Lodge. Previous reports from this route had said to treat this peak as the half way point, but I hoped that I was well over half way done. It was on the ensuing descent to Four Corners that my quads started to complain for the first time. I had pushed them pretty hard on the steep slab descents earlier in the traverse and I hoped that they would hold up for the remaining 8,000-ish feet of descent that were ahead.</div><div><br /></div><div>Skylight was a quick climb and descent but somehow seemed to be ten degrees hotter than any other trail I had been on. Sweat was pouring down my face and stinging my eyes. I was happy to check a new high peak off my list, but even happier to get off the mountain and spend a few minutes splashing around in Feldspar Brook. Nothing feels better than ice cold mountain runoff on a hot summer day.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next four miles were relatively flat, following the Mount Marcy Trail along Feldspar Brook to Lake Colden before the assault on the last three high peaks. I was still only 20 minutes behind the Traverse FKT, and I figured I could make good time here and maybe pull even with the FKT before the big climb up Iroquois. The reality was that the Mount Marcy Trail - as its name suggests - is one of the shortest routes to the mountain and consequently is horribly eroded from decades of overuse. I had pictured myself jogging down rolling creek-side singletrack, but instead I was greeted by a boulder field with intermittent sections of shoe sucking mud. Rather than the leisurely 12-15 minute miles I had anticipated, I was barely able to average 20:00/mi in this section. By the time I reached Lake Colden the FKT was starting to slip away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nevertheless, I pushed hard on the climb up Iroquois. I only had a few thousand more feet of climbing, so there was nothing left to save the legs for (well, aside from a 20 mile bike ride, but I decided not to think too hard about that little detail). Once again, I had started a climb with three full bottles and then found myself climbing up alongside, and occasionally through, a creek. I cannot overemphasize how important course recon is for this route.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtfo662kstMKONZdXnPc6PmoziGJgEWFSiZgTsD7pzH4-PHft3ZjW_aE6QziFfYdXEWDyoyk8cukmfHGNkdQvTJCcfL91RZEJXa0li42vj8eh2qcXiQSkYwGMXonIFvx7a_WaBZSarLdpkOsSQkqMyVnt1h-jCWfFMgwyOzZW3RuaG7MqchClarq7/s4032/20220715_145045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHtfo662kstMKONZdXnPc6PmoziGJgEWFSiZgTsD7pzH4-PHft3ZjW_aE6QziFfYdXEWDyoyk8cukmfHGNkdQvTJCcfL91RZEJXa0li42vj8eh2qcXiQSkYwGMXonIFvx7a_WaBZSarLdpkOsSQkqMyVnt1h-jCWfFMgwyOzZW3RuaG7MqchClarq7/w400-h300/20220715_145045.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Algonquin Trail: all the water you can filter</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Strava claims that this climb was mere 1,886 feet in 1.51 miles, but let me assure you that it felt significantly longer. The entire section was essentially a stack of boulders with a creek running over it. Don't get me wrong, this is exactly the sort of silly masochistic bullshit that I drove up to experience, but this isn't a trail for people in a hurry.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBeBntsfG8tgF5YUyAUApA7b1ArWdUZTSP6DJIF1n9e1PYtvHj6SOyjMA1bSSL3ROoFtwFfAo4Baue94kzwrwZOrR1rcvTsL_juMOXlsTfcU_DOB8ZXizet5S1No9wO1KsoFX2gwPHztjY1IgcCYkHln6153MeOFW82Ta_GgBsQYxrXvx_E_FjEht/s1623/294434249_10115344171494209_5428872478921976321_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1623" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBeBntsfG8tgF5YUyAUApA7b1ArWdUZTSP6DJIF1n9e1PYtvHj6SOyjMA1bSSL3ROoFtwFfAo4Baue94kzwrwZOrR1rcvTsL_juMOXlsTfcU_DOB8ZXizet5S1No9wO1KsoFX2gwPHztjY1IgcCYkHln6153MeOFW82Ta_GgBsQYxrXvx_E_FjEht/w355-h400/294434249_10115344171494209_5428872478921976321_n.jpg" width="355" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling "strong" just below the summit of Iroquois. The Trap Dike route up Mount Colden is visible just over my shoulder, but that's an adventure for another day.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>The gust of cool air that greeted me at the bald summit ridge was wonderful. I made the turn southward over Boundary Peak and up Iroquois. I took a glance at my pace chart and realized that I was now almost 35 minutes behind the traverse FKT. I had a decision to make. I'm usually good for a fast downhill finish, so I didn't think I was completely out of the game. On the other hand, I had Fat Dog 120 coming up in a few short weeks and I couldn't risk hurting myself or overexerting. I decided to throw in the towel and settle for establishing the Picnic route as a consolation prize.</div><div><br /></div><div>With that decision made, my adrenaline subsided and my energy levels dropped. I made a slow ascent of Algonquin, losing another 5-10 minutes on the FKT, and then walked down the north side of the mountain toward Wright. Despite looking like a side note in the elevation profile of the traverse, Wright is a deceivingly steep little peak, rising 577' in 0.38mi (28.1%). I took a moment here to soak in the spectacular scenery and enjoy the last few minutes of breezy 55 degree weather that I'd had all day on the summits.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivRQELxnpCtpMbBD3W1tq5i77t7ruDEBvSU2mQeHdhHvbCuLYTNhddU9Wo1HRXijLiObUfK5oW-8cxMrmEPduYz70VfrkjZx3lO5BMqEQIEsbOJSrjiLr8p0G4XnhNqVLHb4IA0dmhbJ7LmCVq_ezpM-x94KzDmPfLNiwoyFIh74L-sQUP4x1dRKxK/s1458/294554064_10115344171474249_4993731381801749408_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1458" data-original-width="1294" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivRQELxnpCtpMbBD3W1tq5i77t7ruDEBvSU2mQeHdhHvbCuLYTNhddU9Wo1HRXijLiObUfK5oW-8cxMrmEPduYz70VfrkjZx3lO5BMqEQIEsbOJSrjiLr8p0G4XnhNqVLHb4IA0dmhbJ7LmCVq_ezpM-x94KzDmPfLNiwoyFIh74L-sQUP4x1dRKxK/w355-h400/294554064_10115344171474249_4993731381801749408_n.jpg" width="355" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back at Colden and the Great Range from Wright, the last high peak of the day</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I mostly walked the 3.6 miles from the summit of Wright to the ADK Loj, making a few half-hearted attempts to jog when the trail leveled out. But at this point, I was just trying to save a bit of energy for the bike back. I passed through the Loj property with 12:30 elapsed and one last peak to tag. <i>Why?</i> I thought to myself, <i>Why the fuck did Bob Marshall have go back out to do Mount Jo after dinner?</i> I'm sure I'm not the first person to register this complaint.</div><div><br /></div><div>While only a mile and a half round trip from the Loj, Mount Jo is a tough little peak at the end of a long day. From the trail, I could smell hotdogs cooking and hear children playing in Heart Lake. This was one of those situations that makes you question your choice of hobby. Nevertheless, I summitted the mountain and walked back down to the Loj, stopping my watch with 13:21:28 elapsed.</div><div><br /></div><h3>Now let's see, where did I leave my bike?</h3><div>The first order of business upon returning to the Loj was to put in a food order at the Hungry Hiker, a snack bar that was serving hot food and cold drinks. I had passed by it before my climb up Jo and the thought of eating a big greasy cheeseburger was the only thing keeping me going. I ordered burger, a Coke, and a Gatorade. I'm not sure what I paid for all that. I would have gladly shelled out $100 if it meant I didn't have to eat another goddamned gel.</div><div><br /></div><div>While the food was cooking, I set off to dig up my bike, hoping that no one had spotted it and decided to ride it into the lake or throw it off a cliff. Thankfully it was right where I had left it. With my brain a bit mushy from 15 hours of moving through the mountains, it took me a while to get the tires mounted and fix the chain, which had somehow wrapped itself around the pedal. You see, in my laziness the night before, I had stashed my bike disassembled since that's the only way it can fit in the back set of my little Honda. Yet another valuable lesson learned. Assemble the bike before you're on the clock.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0p2RXagt5XPjyvvt69gim1Zdt74HdG7w9MD5JHZNkJp2dZ1CZ1UvdVWRkFIpAd0ECBlXUzw0mRKZifVhEI2IuHuL6mRD5JrK0vwWVqJ4ncqTFZ-QreMpYEXSDUSwVLXt1AY9aV0x2fB2swAaytxMmZ5u2wm0j78-IRPxKZQ9qUNaNcdrJVXaOyVh3/s1623/294558678_10115344171489219_7633232243468496069_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1623" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0p2RXagt5XPjyvvt69gim1Zdt74HdG7w9MD5JHZNkJp2dZ1CZ1UvdVWRkFIpAd0ECBlXUzw0mRKZifVhEI2IuHuL6mRD5JrK0vwWVqJ4ncqTFZ-QreMpYEXSDUSwVLXt1AY9aV0x2fB2swAaytxMmZ5u2wm0j78-IRPxKZQ9qUNaNcdrJVXaOyVh3/w355-h400/294558678_10115344171489219_7633232243468496069_n.jpg" width="355" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what heaven looks like</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I rolled back to the Loj and wolfed down my burger with chain-grease-covered hands, then set off for the last 20 miles of my journey.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On paper, the route from the Loj back to Keene Valley drops from 2,200 feet down to 1,100 feet. When I planned the Picnic, I envisioned this as a leisurely coast with very little pedaling involved. Unfortunately, all the little bumps in the elevation profile added up to another thousand feet of climbing. Even more unfortunately, I'm a novice biker who rides a beat up old gravel bike. That is to say, this was not a fast or efficient ride back in to town.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The sun began to set about half way through the ride, and I flipped on my lights and put on my puffy jacket for the first time all day. I had felt a little silly carrying that jacket in my pack for 15 hours, but as I ripped down the thousand foot descent into Keene at 40 mph, I was extraordinarily grateful that I had thought to bring it. I'm sure that serious bikers would scoff at the idea of wearing a puffy jacket while trying to go fast, but as I have tried to emphasize here, I'm not a serious biker.<br /><div><br /></div><div>I pulled back into the hiker parking lot in Keene Valley 17 hours and 33 minutes after I had left, completing the loop entirely human-powered and self supported. From what I can tell, my time on the traverse portion of the route is the third fastest on record, and my time for the full loop was even a bit faster than Bob Marshall's time for just the traverse. However, I have to give him style points for stopping to eat a full breakfast, lunch, and dinner on his journey.</div><div><br /></div><div>This traverse can certainly go much faster, as I took my time with the first and third legs of it and made various tactical, navigational, and nutrition mistakes during the traverse itself. Hopefully this effort inspires other people to tackle the Picnic or to invent bigger and dumber routes in the mountains.</div><div><br /></div><div>The route is still pending approval on fastestknowntime.com, so I'll update this post if/when it goes through.</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy running!</div><h3>Stats for nerds</h3><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7475700717/overview">Keene Valley to JBL: 5.19mi, 1,450', 1h54m</a></div><div>Stop at JBL: 4m</div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7475701144/overview">Bob Marshall Traverse: 30.53mi, 14,678', 13h21m</a></div><div>Stop at ADK Loj: 30m</div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/7475700700">ADJ Loj to Keene Valley: 20.43mi, 984', 1h45m</a></div><div><b>Total: 56.15mi, 17,112, 17h33m</b></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://caltopo.com/m/7R1TU">Full route on Caltopo</a></div></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-20815285597604149572021-11-29T19:12:00.007-05:002021-11-30T20:22:39.377-05:00How to Climb Half Dome with the Cables Down<div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: red;">Disclaimer:</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b><span style="color: red;">Don't do this.</span></b></li><li><b><span style="color: red;">If you do this, don't rely on my advice. I'm a dumbass whose self preservation instincts can generously be called "lacking."</span></b></li><li><b><span style="color: red;">If you rely on my advice, don't fall and die.</span></b></li><li><b><span style="color: red;">If you fall and die, don't come back as a ghost and haunt me.</span></b></li></ul></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Okay, now let's talk about how to climb Half Dome.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzf61KXEUPSE3CRIFOEB0VaRjRo58D7yp1qv5U3_XQQe_wiwh15fCbVvfnydZYtADR4cmbEjWhaZkqs4s3LJ_INLtENL1SDejobiZN_HfSQ4Q_e4-zPnyeuIRIg_ElmxIh6gd7k44302M/s2048/20211028_112254.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzf61KXEUPSE3CRIFOEB0VaRjRo58D7yp1qv5U3_XQQe_wiwh15fCbVvfnydZYtADR4cmbEjWhaZkqs4s3LJ_INLtENL1SDejobiZN_HfSQ4Q_e4-zPnyeuIRIg_ElmxIh6gd7k44302M/w400-h300/20211028_112254.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forcing yourself to smile is a good way to avoid having a panic attack.<br />Edit: A sharp-eyed reader pointed out that my waist strap was not doubled back, which is dangerous. Dumb mistake. Be smarter than me.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">What is Half Dome</h3><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Half_Dome">Half Dome</a> is a smooth glacially-carved granite peak on the eastern end of Yosemite Valley. Its summit rises almost 5,000 feet from the valley floor and it is visible for miles around.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuAlhUr9z7qz09qcH6G4y_ErZFnvj0mjViZWXld-BtLMB1C1k2DicvG8jwDhY6k6_W16xWP6Lye8rxAv8Z5vzenPcE-gWmDCh8EHzYxjeAIniR0tdEy4WD7IpZeapugeey4U6zGYen-4/s1440/yosemite+in+the+snow.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiuAlhUr9z7qz09qcH6G4y_ErZFnvj0mjViZWXld-BtLMB1C1k2DicvG8jwDhY6k6_W16xWP6Lye8rxAv8Z5vzenPcE-gWmDCh8EHzYxjeAIniR0tdEy4WD7IpZeapugeey4U6zGYen-4/w400-h300/yosemite+in+the+snow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A snow covered Half Dome as seen from the center of the valley. The cables are hidden to the left of the vertical face.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Once described as "perfectly inaccessible" by Josiah Whitney, Half Dome is now climbed by thousands of people each year via a set of steel cables and wooden steps that are bolted into the east face. Due to the popularity of this hike, the National Park Service started requiring permits for the cables in 2011. These are available through a <a href="https://www.nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/hdpermits.htm">lottery</a> and are limited to 300 people per day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDkxyQKFZHWJZCIPFKOUi3sMSSzVJ_4OEV1xGPW0ZY7QdBAZ4RKX2aDlNcluAIDU3DycQQDFWY_lPZUfuouFCn0PT-Rsec-GrAW3cqa9pzCmEgasEEBAk0GyUcU-ty9IF0LSZx99Vjyg/s1024/Half_Dome--cables.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDkxyQKFZHWJZCIPFKOUi3sMSSzVJ_4OEV1xGPW0ZY7QdBAZ4RKX2aDlNcluAIDU3DycQQDFWY_lPZUfuouFCn0PT-Rsec-GrAW3cqa9pzCmEgasEEBAk0GyUcU-ty9IF0LSZx99Vjyg/w400-h225/Half_Dome--cables.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hikers climbing the cables on the east face of Half Dome<br />Photo by Spencer Joplin</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">During the offseason (October 12-May 19), the steps and stanchions are taken down and the cables are left lying directly on the rock. After this date, no permits are required, but the park still allows hikers to climb to the summit at their own risk.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqoHqhUXrLwXq8KOlXHjr8ATzkB1cj6wvndkg8IThqR2XxhoOob94glp2jubv7eczDxvmWgw5aqi_08GGjLJgN3zoTHGUnt_rfGqbEvR9Oc3d2G1kbsXqqlpEgvMS0-GWceNmsTRXGVag/s640/half+dome+cables.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqoHqhUXrLwXq8KOlXHjr8ATzkB1cj6wvndkg8IThqR2XxhoOob94glp2jubv7eczDxvmWgw5aqi_08GGjLJgN3zoTHGUnt_rfGqbEvR9Oc3d2G1kbsXqqlpEgvMS0-GWceNmsTRXGVag/w400-h268/half+dome+cables.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half Dome cables lying on the rock<br /><a href="https://www.outdoorproject.com/articles/climbing-half-dome-shoulder-season">Photo via Outdoor Project</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">In case the warning at the top was not sufficient, you should know that in the 102 year lifetime of the cables, SEVEN PEOPLE HAVE DIED WHILE CLIMBING THEM. This is not a hike but an aided rock climb. The instructions below are my best attempt at keeping you safe if you choose, despite my warnings, to attempt this climb. This is compiled from a lengthy bit of searching for advice online as well as practical lessons learned while climbing Half Dome in October of this year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Tying into the Cables</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Each "cable" is not continuous but is instead a series of cable segments that overlap with each other. Additionally there are anchor points every 50-100 feet where the cable is bolted into the rock. This means that to safely climb the cables you will need to detach and reattach yourself from them several times on both the climb and the descent. For reasons that will soon become clear, I recommend using two lengths of rope, one connected to the cable via a <b>Prusik knot</b> as your primary tie-in and one connected via a <b>carabiner</b> as your secondary tie-in.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajm5LoDXh7N-0z-yAQnnuAkiLQMXD6WGk04CrJRMNqDsFw735zuoWAGTqRgSncMnh7JFyJYcrhfUFhj7HEiU9nbAYBiJPR-9bk5f9B-7wDYbgZ2AOHRDCJ2VyYVWr6bxqmHCfjPlhbg0/s2048/20211028_100108.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhajm5LoDXh7N-0z-yAQnnuAkiLQMXD6WGk04CrJRMNqDsFw735zuoWAGTqRgSncMnh7JFyJYcrhfUFhj7HEiU9nbAYBiJPR-9bk5f9B-7wDYbgZ2AOHRDCJ2VyYVWr6bxqmHCfjPlhbg0/w400-h300/20211028_100108.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex at the base of the cables modeling the Prusik/carabiner combo that I recommend</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Your attachment points need to satisfy these criteria:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Friction:</b> If you fall, a carabiner will eventually stop you, but you might slide 50-100 feet along a 45 degree rock face before that happens. An ideal connection will provide friction if you begin to fall. This is where the Prusik knot comes in.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><b>Reliability</b>: Paracord and webbing ain't gonna cut it for this one. You need to tie in with something robust enough to stop your momentum if you fall to an anchor point.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Redundancy:</b> The goal is to always be attached to the cable in at least one place. You will need at least two connections so that one can remain attached when you unclip from the end of each cable segment.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Quick and easy to connect/disconnect:</b> You don't want to be on the cables for an hour each way.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Resistance to melting:</b> This is why I recommend using a carabiner as your secondary tie-in. In a worst case scenario, your Prusik knot does not catch the cable immediately and instead runs along it for some distance. The friction from this could hypothetically melt your rope. Having a carabiner connected in parallel with your Prusik knot provides a backup.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So here is the plan: your primary connection to the cable should be a Prusik knot. This will be connected to the belay loop of your harness with a carabiner. Your backup is a separate length of rope with a carabiner clipped onto the cable. The carabiner rope will be tied into the belay loop of your harness. Below is a list of gear and instructions on how to execute this plan. [Edit 11/30/21: A much safer, but more time consuming method is to use <i>two</i> Prusik knots <i>and</i> a carabiner to attach to the rope. I opted for one of each.]</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlJkaGY1D0JsdJUA5jdZTB-li11b8A26rsQCsWntHt91fPArc_sH6khyphenhyphen_GhpLRIyjOioF8Olj1gNAEOHGxk-Ze94ZIUc4i2GxmGN8BhOYPVOrGfchFPlTDytVTeATeIe5SLJQJR5HvuEM/s817/prusik-knot-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="817" data-original-width="728" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlJkaGY1D0JsdJUA5jdZTB-li11b8A26rsQCsWntHt91fPArc_sH6khyphenhyphen_GhpLRIyjOioF8Olj1gNAEOHGxk-Ze94ZIUc4i2GxmGN8BhOYPVOrGfchFPlTDytVTeATeIe5SLJQJR5HvuEM/w356-h400/prusik-knot-2.jpg" width="356" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Gear you need (per person)</h3><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Harness (<a href="https://www.rei.com/product/162868/black-diamond-momentum-harness-mens">REI, $65</a>):</b> Any type of climbing harness will do. These are not typically rented by local outfitters for liability reasons. You're probably going to have to buy one or, if you're feeling thrifty and are confident in your knot tying, <a href="https://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Rope-Harness">make one out of rope</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fHCJi9YWDCmGyG1juA6P2qxeh094ZRPXhAhCD85SQl-cAv6KGarX_XTti-12blq4v-x4kPnwLDTT9h2j2vsQ5V-bz7rkHcw04qIbddfpLJIVql_wL9M8HBT4RGlpOY4SGVjH1NJ0Mys/s588/harness.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="524" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1fHCJi9YWDCmGyG1juA6P2qxeh094ZRPXhAhCD85SQl-cAv6KGarX_XTti-12blq4v-x4kPnwLDTT9h2j2vsQ5V-bz7rkHcw04qIbddfpLJIVql_wL9M8HBT4RGlpOY4SGVjH1NJ0Mys/w178-h200/harness.jpg" width="178" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Rope (<a href="https://www.rei.com/product/737306/edelweiss-discover-8mm-dry-rope">REI, $90</a>):</b> Two lengths of 8mm rope cut to 6-8 foot (~2 meter) lengths, and tied into a loop using a double fisherman's knot. One of these will become your Prusik knot and the other will attach your carabiner to the cable.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09UY7Q0o8hvs_ZtAf1jwoJzeuNpAu-DSuls0vxxDCVayJ5O_ZO1RaHAhcfjjKt9BxmPtXhbrxvSB9xYDZ4Q65MB6PC4XVpypqsG4UHmh3UDuFjhDHhvyAjpkoLFp7LMC2oXx5sadz5D0/s850/How-to-Tie-a-Double-Fisherman%25E2%2580%2599s-Knot.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="850" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09UY7Q0o8hvs_ZtAf1jwoJzeuNpAu-DSuls0vxxDCVayJ5O_ZO1RaHAhcfjjKt9BxmPtXhbrxvSB9xYDZ4Q65MB6PC4XVpypqsG4UHmh3UDuFjhDHhvyAjpkoLFp7LMC2oXx5sadz5D0/w400-h306/How-to-Tie-a-Double-Fisherman%25E2%2580%2599s-Knot.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Carabiners (<a href="https://www.rei.com/product/169033/black-diamond-rocklock-twistlock-carabiner">REI, $20/ea</a>):</b> Two autolocking carabiners with wide enough openings for the cable (~0.75"/19mm). One of these will connect directly to the cable and the other will attached your Prusik knot to your harness.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwh9X4KzVnblkkV86Ye-BeFmnw-TbiPQMVzrCFqPH5BTHXUeEcCujRvilFPZTA8tqYsmdo3Ca3_X8iHut5lIifglEPWksXK0Nq4aLrT4vIqlhB4kQKVc_YE1b9G1qLHGmBnU_2loYH3ZQ/s588/carabiner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="394" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwh9X4KzVnblkkV86Ye-BeFmnw-TbiPQMVzrCFqPH5BTHXUeEcCujRvilFPZTA8tqYsmdo3Ca3_X8iHut5lIifglEPWksXK0Nq4aLrT4vIqlhB4kQKVc_YE1b9G1qLHGmBnU_2loYH3ZQ/w134-h200/carabiner.jpg" width="134" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>[Edit 11/30/21] Screamer (<a href="https://www.backcountrygear.com/standard-screamer/">Backcountry Gear, $20</a>):</b> I did not bring one of these, but it was an excellent suggestions from some feedback I received on this post. Add this between your rope and the carabiner that clips onto the cable. The screamer is able to absorb some of the dynamic load on the carabiner in the event that the Prusik slips/fails and you fall to an anchor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>GPS Beacon:</b> Cell reception is unreliable in Yosemite. For safety, I recommend carrying an <a href="https://www.garmin.com/en-US/p/592606">inReach Mini</a> or a SPOT tracker, both of which have emergency distress beacons that will alert search and rescue. These can be rented from many outdoor sporting goods retailers. I've had good experiences with <a href="https://www.outdoorsgeek.com/product/spot-gps-satellite-messenger-rental/">Outdoors Geek</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihatncWd736gELjppd76T8otCL0BlqCDcpsrsqdc1vUA_8wjNoUrvc_nQdCYXIuCi1jnIyQAklhqVQB4-Vw1E7MG-aJeJcpc3rMhVlbSkPqfg-3fzVRzafJyXTNVft80hLyCtMJcczrsA/s600/inreach.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihatncWd736gELjppd76T8otCL0BlqCDcpsrsqdc1vUA_8wjNoUrvc_nQdCYXIuCi1jnIyQAklhqVQB4-Vw1E7MG-aJeJcpc3rMhVlbSkPqfg-3fzVRzafJyXTNVft80hLyCtMJcczrsA/w200-h200/inreach.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Shoes:</b> Approach shoes, trail runners, or hiking boots are all viable as long as they have good grip. I used a pair of Hoka Speedgoats and their Vibram sole had no trouble sticking to the rock. Climbing shoes are unnecessary.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Water:</b> Depending on your fitness level, you will be hiking for anywhere between 5 and 15 hours. Bring at least 500ml (16oz) of water per person per hour. A water filter is nice to have as a backup, but the water sources are sparse and unreliable near the summit.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Food:</b> Eat early and often. You don't want to climb the cables while hangry.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Gloves (<a href="https://www.homedepot.com/p/Milwaukee-Large-Goatskin-Leather-Performance-Work-Gloves-48-73-0022/312920368">Home Depot, $20</a>): </b>While not entirely necessary, a good pair of gloves will save your hands as you pull yourself up the cables.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Warm Clothing:</b> Mountain weather is unpredictable. Even on a "normal" day you might need to deal with a 30 degree temperature swing between the early morning and mid-afternoon. Warm layers, a rain shell, and a Mylar blanket/bivy are all good ideas.</div><br /><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Preparing for the climb</h3><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Fitness:</b> Half Dome is a 16+ mile round trip. You will want to be in good cardio shape so that you are not depleted by the time you reach the base of the cables. You should also have enough upper body strength to comfortably pull yourself up the cables for anywhere between 10 and 30 minutes. Pull ups, rows, and deadlifts are good preparation for this part.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Gear</b>: Practice tying and untying Prusik knots around something with a similar diameter to the cable (~0.75"/19mm). You will need to become proficient at doing this quickly and reliably. Remember that you will have to do this while out of breath on a rock wall.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Climbing the cables</h3><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Assess: </b>The approach to the cables involves a very steep climb to the summit of the sub-dome on a set of granite stairs. While not technically demanding, this section is tiring. I recommend taking a lunch break on the sub-dome. This also provides a good opportunity to look for snow/ice/water along the route and to see if other groups are climbing ahead of you. Note: I strongly discourage anyone from attempting the cables in snowy or wet conditions, and you should absolutely turn around if you see any storm clouds moving in.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-dvUeLcfS2dcTmxVpUpaCnlg6f6eWHOLvC4MT5ADna90WUNxW4tVWecf8Q4IQTSgJ_8jIPIM2ElByRGdc607jv622OHtccoPshIWNN64FRhpUhtuqRwEZrRRzkodwTX-xtYkezzWKZU/s2048/20211028_094728.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl-dvUeLcfS2dcTmxVpUpaCnlg6f6eWHOLvC4MT5ADna90WUNxW4tVWecf8Q4IQTSgJ_8jIPIM2ElByRGdc607jv622OHtccoPshIWNN64FRhpUhtuqRwEZrRRzkodwTX-xtYkezzWKZU/w300-h400/20211028_094728.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the cables from the sub-dome. Note the two climbers half way up.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div><b>Tie in: </b>As you tie in at the bottom of the cables, slide the knot up and down the cable to get a feel for the amount of friction it provides. You can add/remove loops from the knot as needed to increase/decrease the amount of friction. When you're ready to climb, clip in with the carabiner.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Climb on: </b>The initial climb is mild and can be done without relying too much on the rope. Higher sections will require you to hoist yourself up hand over hand. The cables are heavy and this is harder than it may sound. The Prusik knot should be pushed ahead of you with one hand to avoid leaving too much slack in the rope. The carabiner can be allowed to drag behind.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Switching cables: </b>When you need to switch to a new section of cable, switch the carabiner first. This will provide a sturdy anchor point while you untie and re-tie the Prusik knot. This initial clip-in is also a good time to rest your arms and back. You can sit/stand and lean back with your ropes supporting you.</div><div><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8I1K1RPpuw1awRDOleY3sy54wIVxpdpVwoDSuNdUhpuK-6eFG-gfK-GVnMSonEWeggUkVonYbhn7iDS98RnVKYVzzGFTjp4XuNg1CNoL2T98oTkHAPfTv5nM2P-FCWVlt02vAJNUBE8/s2048/20211028_103746.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8I1K1RPpuw1awRDOleY3sy54wIVxpdpVwoDSuNdUhpuK-6eFG-gfK-GVnMSonEWeggUkVonYbhn7iDS98RnVKYVzzGFTjp4XuNg1CNoL2T98oTkHAPfTv5nM2P-FCWVlt02vAJNUBE8/w300-h400/20211028_103746.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is also a good time for pictures. Don't drop your phone though.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Don't panic:</b> The cables can be dizzying when you're on them in person. If you feel overwhelmed, find a ledge or a good spot to clip in. Sit down and catch your breath. If this doesn't help, then it's best to descend.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Watch for other groups:</b> I was fortunate enough to have the cables to myself. Passing another group is a potentially dangerous situation, which is probably best attempted at an anchor point.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Gear you do <u>not</u> need</h3><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Via ferrata kit:</b> While tempting, a via ferrata kit will not provide adequate protection against a fall since carabiners do not have any friction in their connection to the cables. They will certainly prevent most fatal accidents, but it is also possible to injure yourself badly in a 50-100 foot fall from one anchor point to the next.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Webbing:</b> This is a popular suggestion for climbers on a budget to replace their rope, but it is ill-advised. Similar to the via ferrata kit, a carabiner on a length of webbing will not provide any friction. Worse yet, webbing lacks the elasticity of a via ferrata kit and will be more likely to snap if it catches after a long slide down the rock. You would almost be better off with no protection than the false sense of security provided by this setup.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Helmet:</b> Half Dome is a slab climb and, like most of Yosemite, the rock quality is amazing. There is very little chance of rock fall on the route and a helmet is just extra weight that would be better spent carrying extra food or water.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">My Trip Report (10/28/21)</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">My wife Alex and I arrived in Yosemite on 10/25, <a href="https://abc13.com/yosemite-falls-california-storm-weather-park/11167337/">just as a historic "atmospheric river" event dropped inches of rain and snow on the park</a>. For our first three days in the park, we walked through 4-6" of snow on every hike and resigned ourselves to the fact that we would probably not get to summit Half Dome in those conditions.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgef8BEzsiHK1CeI8izIdWGwolfD_VC2uCo5S7dwX7CC2QbNEFQ4fpSILWeDunYV5qB8QvtBw1ZxSuDoJWEuw9l6UYb4vfkoE4Q4x9VgFm309YN_YJVri1MzTDBSSO-bzPwfo2s-QxHqIU/s2048/20211026_115059.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgef8BEzsiHK1CeI8izIdWGwolfD_VC2uCo5S7dwX7CC2QbNEFQ4fpSILWeDunYV5qB8QvtBw1ZxSuDoJWEuw9l6UYb4vfkoE4Q4x9VgFm309YN_YJVri1MzTDBSSO-bzPwfo2s-QxHqIU/w400-h300/20211026_115059.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many inches of snow in the high country on 10/26<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As the weather warmed up later in the week, we decided to at least hike to the base of Half Dome to see whether the cables looked feasible. On the morning of 10/28, we woke up at 4:30am after a luxurious night at the Awahnee Inn near the base of the peak. After a quick breakfast and a short drive to the Happy Isles parking lot, we were on the trail by 5:40, hiking by headlamp. We passed by Vernal Falls in the dark, stopping for a moment to put on our rain shells to avoid getting wet in the 35 degree weather. With the falls flowing at a rate usually reserved for the spring runoff, the Mist Trail was living up to its name.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafJgJatb-VFl0ORuhP3zzQlYPE-EX8LUQ2Gxm4wOyqzarbOyHahKEsSixF8g0A5wgk5Z15q5dhFHny3DRGgAHiFGLEZh5RnJd7CAmYnK5nahoYF2e-KYA-J0N-W6DFomqeJUorrdKdHc/s2048/20211028_063841.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafJgJatb-VFl0ORuhP3zzQlYPE-EX8LUQ2Gxm4wOyqzarbOyHahKEsSixF8g0A5wgk5Z15q5dhFHny3DRGgAHiFGLEZh5RnJd7CAmYnK5nahoYF2e-KYA-J0N-W6DFomqeJUorrdKdHc/w300-h400/20211028_063841.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vernal Falls, illuminated by headlamp</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The sun peaked out as we reached Nevada Falls, but it would still be a few hours before the temperatures warmed up. With the temperature inversion in the Merced River valley, we were very chilly walking through Little Yosemite Valley. Turning to climb up the John Muir Trail provided a welcome increase in body heat production.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At around 7,800' (1,000 feet below the summit) we got our first glimpse of the sub-dome and the cables and began to doubt whether we could even make it to the to the base of the cables. The sub-dome was covered in six inches of snow, and the granite stairway leading to its summit was completely invisible from our vantage point.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUc5mxdyonpjR_kZh-Ksc4chVJFERGmn1aJ05dlfC0BalsWK2pf3Y5_5JY9oyxnesPgzC9UXZARpGKT8XdT9U6yn4-paRWQyDbxYPH0pN4Axq8N3CaOVBIkvJ_opxag6gfSlqJ-CAoj0/s2048/20211028_090443.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUc5mxdyonpjR_kZh-Ksc4chVJFERGmn1aJ05dlfC0BalsWK2pf3Y5_5JY9oyxnesPgzC9UXZARpGKT8XdT9U6yn4-paRWQyDbxYPH0pN4Axq8N3CaOVBIkvJ_opxag6gfSlqJ-CAoj0/w300-h400/20211028_090443.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first view of Half Dome</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We trudged onward and were happy to find enough footprints on the stairs that they were relatively easy to follow. We did end up taking a few detours around slick patches of snow but otherwise made it to the base of the cables without incident. From there, we could see two climbers slowly working their way up the route. There were two patches of snow above them, so we decided to have a snack break while we watched to see how they fared.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEMlWMjNrQkHXsaUuczHSBBmnQzZnC8u2xsos2F8l0zXmDQ9YXDtS_l7D4nWprobTIaVAPj8NKpD6qr16hyphenhyphenCBvi2xbAsU55h4OyCPjDEzRYs9G5FZjUBFndlfKIAlvtZ8_5uDTJMgBpM/s2048/20211028_095152.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEMlWMjNrQkHXsaUuczHSBBmnQzZnC8u2xsos2F8l0zXmDQ9YXDtS_l7D4nWprobTIaVAPj8NKpD6qr16hyphenhyphenCBvi2xbAsU55h4OyCPjDEzRYs9G5FZjUBFndlfKIAlvtZ8_5uDTJMgBpM/w400-h300/20211028_095152.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pair of climbers on the cables</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Seeing them top out gave us the confidence to attempt the cables, and we tied in and set to work climbing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4K3etIzCHng4Dzfsj4wsaZ9olyAqIwb-iNpxHLJ00HcqGJTlSa5aqVqCklP_cxclx_wA2aDJMCHE8LgCgJ1-2qIgok7CNjSq0Td61uVuO3LfoO76UmYt0iXw2QCage5LxCM5sxwRFPA/s2048/20211028_101634.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4K3etIzCHng4Dzfsj4wsaZ9olyAqIwb-iNpxHLJ00HcqGJTlSa5aqVqCklP_cxclx_wA2aDJMCHE8LgCgJ1-2qIgok7CNjSq0Td61uVuO3LfoO76UmYt0iXw2QCage5LxCM5sxwRFPA/w400-h300/20211028_101634.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All smiles at the base</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Alex went first so I could physically support her if she slipped or needed a rest. We reached the first anchor point and she quickly untied and re-tied her Prusik. I fumbled with my rope and ended up taking a bit longer. By the time I was reattached she was 20 feet ahead but starting to get nervous. I caught up and we regrouped at a small ledge. She was not feeling confident in her ability to pull herself along the full length of the cables, so we decided to descend back to the base and regroup.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After some discussion, we decided that I would try for the summit and she would stay on the sub-dome, where she could watch my progress. Feeling a bit guilty about leaving her but wanting to summit, I clipped back in and resumed my climb.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0An3gixZ53Dj5fnI0emO5kX7sUl2yWOgzMNlBj9nEH5W4xNab-E4RL8MK9zu_cWS3XCjFDEUsfkD7ouRoKd3zVOT4Iu2I4x4Zjtzq9XiClR9jN3TtYHI4JJgnf7qQskwYM_7uRQaGGEs/s2048/20211028_103726.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0An3gixZ53Dj5fnI0emO5kX7sUl2yWOgzMNlBj9nEH5W4xNab-E4RL8MK9zu_cWS3XCjFDEUsfkD7ouRoKd3zVOT4Iu2I4x4Zjtzq9XiClR9jN3TtYHI4JJgnf7qQskwYM_7uRQaGGEs/w400-h300/20211028_103726.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back on the cables with Alex just barely visible on the summit of the sub-dome</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The initial climb wasn't too strenuous and I made good progress, getting progressively better at tying my Prusik knot at each anchor. When I reached the segment of cable beneath the first snow patch, I realized that the melting snow was sending a steady trickle of water down the cable itself, making it that much more difficult to grip it. After a moment of contemplation, I decided to press on. The climb got more difficult from this point, as I was less willing to trust the friction of either my Prusik knot on the wet cable or my feet on the wet granite.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red;"><b>[Mom, if you're reading, this would be a good place to stop. I made it back down alive. The End!]</b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The scariest moment came just beneath the second snow patch. I unclipped my Prusik knot from my harness to untie it, and the momentary loss of friction allowed the knot to slide 20 feet down the cable and out of my reach. I hadn't considered this possibility. I was now attached with just my carabiner, at least 50 feet above the previous anchor, and I now had to descend a wet cable to retrieve my rope. I was successful in doing so, but this momentary lapse in concentration could have ended badly. I made a point of keeping a hand on the Prusik knot any time it was unclipped from my harness.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Heart attack-inducing moments aside, I made it to the summit and shared a gorgeous view of the valley with the other two climbers that we had watched earlier. We exchanged pictures and I texted Alex to let her know I was okay.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiba19o_k1W8MaVTkrTZ0APArLmH9PxgQlxFgLkoOcfcRZTU4vScFeUQAhQK-ayXDqfbpTIv413rpwRepft51rN_fcZmOYWjvCL1dt82eWWXv-1y1qlRlA81MRzwo2gUaGv5ROUlTW6kTg/s2048/20211028_110521.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiba19o_k1W8MaVTkrTZ0APArLmH9PxgQlxFgLkoOcfcRZTU4vScFeUQAhQK-ayXDqfbpTIv413rpwRepft51rN_fcZmOYWjvCL1dt82eWWXv-1y1qlRlA81MRzwo2gUaGv5ROUlTW6kTg/w400-h300/20211028_110521.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The iconic overlook at the summit of Half Dome. After climbing the cables, this doesn't seem scary.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The descent was substantially easier than the climb for two reasons: First, it was simply less physically strenuous going downhill in the thin mountain air. Second, descending allowed the Prusik knot to simply drag behind rather than constantly having to push it ahead. It pulled tight a few times and needed to occasionally be loosened, but this provided a welcome confirmation that had adequate friction to arrest a fall on a wet cable.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTg-0Ovu6K4GfD9Nm25ROOLK5YW6nRiDHfHwXCE-yY-nEmLYza_PFIzwBXV-WBZWxSXG1AN42xn6J4renCkPkCMGpATj37zipi5i3lxe0WvYp77s4zSbHCGFOBIWTIbj8cEB4ZOqZON4/s2048/20211028_111705.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTg-0Ovu6K4GfD9Nm25ROOLK5YW6nRiDHfHwXCE-yY-nEmLYza_PFIzwBXV-WBZWxSXG1AN42xn6J4renCkPkCMGpATj37zipi5i3lxe0WvYp77s4zSbHCGFOBIWTIbj8cEB4ZOqZON4/w300-h400/20211028_111705.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All smiles on the descent</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I reached the bottom of the cables about an hour after I had started the climb up them. Accounting for 20 minutes of photo taking at the summit, that means my moving time was 40 minutes to the summit and back, which is certainly not fast but might provide a good benchmark for similarly fit hikers who attempt this route.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">With plenty of daylight left, we took a leisurely stroll back to the trail head, stopping to take pictures of Nevada Falls from the gorgeous viewpoints on the JMT.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KIjSqNVBiy6v2ndXZXGaPmzDY7aN3OK1rtXIDngiYqmAQoBa09gXrRDcLoLYZ3L1GOZGei70w-WdHGEjeMmPecpz2Y8trjQxfqd3V6Ddao_9LZoG4tTUyN6DWGeWbBjhyphenhyphennDI65C3oxg/s2048/20211028_140705.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7KIjSqNVBiy6v2ndXZXGaPmzDY7aN3OK1rtXIDngiYqmAQoBa09gXrRDcLoLYZ3L1GOZGei70w-WdHGEjeMmPecpz2Y8trjQxfqd3V6Ddao_9LZoG4tTUyN6DWGeWbBjhyphenhyphennDI65C3oxg/w400-h300/20211028_140705.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right to left: Nevada Falls, Liberty Cap, and the backside of Half Dome</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Our car-to-car time for the whole hike was a little under 10 hours, with most of that being moving time. Hikers who are better acclimatized to altitude will probably be able to go faster, but we found that this speed was a nice compromise between finishing quickly and being able to take in the sights along the way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Further Reading</h3><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.yosemite.ca.us/forum/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=527&start=15"><b>Yosemite.ca Forum:</b> Lengthy and informative discussion about climbing Half Dome with the cables down.</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.summitpost.org/phpBB3/half-dome-cables-t68817.html"><b>Summitpost.org: </b>Another good discussion. Pay particular attention to the recommendation <i>not</i> to climb the cables while they're down.</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EFHxQ5fiUvI"><b>How to Tie a Prusik Knot:</b> Short video produced by REI. Good as a reminder the night before your attempt.</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.outdoorproject.com/articles/climbing-half-dome-shoulder-season"><b>Outdoor Project - Climbing Half Dome in the Shoulder Season:</b> A similar article to this one, although they recommend two Prusik knots.</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.alltrails.com/trail/us/california/half-dome-via-the-john-muir-trail-jmt"><b>Alltrails - Half Dome via the JMT: </b>A map of the route which can be downloaded to your phone for offline navigation.</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/6184554704"><b>My GPS Track on Strava:</b> Self explanatory.</a></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-65261317443657700542021-06-22T16:10:00.017-04:002021-06-22T16:23:42.389-04:00Smokies Challenge Adventure Run (SCAR)Today's post is brought to you by Vaseline™: <i>For the love of all that is holey, don't leave home without it!</i><div><br /></div><div>[Warning to sensitive readers: In case it wasn't clear from that sentence, this report contains way to much information about butt chafing. Ultrarunning is gross, and I'm not here to sugarcoat that fact. You have been warned.]</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DVh3TgahbyC55qchhLl-VkkhYV7qa9VIuvBDrnkQOIbHg38SLGn0gXFmYItAtg_aKXXeYWL5X4dVv0hH_nvsRlE5FeQBtJXwRweHWZdlQyopRaQ3hgICH66pkzlzMT2GRFkcSMTuZlk/s2048/received_2899457403609186.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DVh3TgahbyC55qchhLl-VkkhYV7qa9VIuvBDrnkQOIbHg38SLGn0gXFmYItAtg_aKXXeYWL5X4dVv0hH_nvsRlE5FeQBtJXwRweHWZdlQyopRaQ3hgICH66pkzlzMT2GRFkcSMTuZlk/w400-h300/received_2899457403609186.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue skies and thick thighs<br />PC: David White</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The <a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/route/scar-tn-nc">Smokies Challenge Adventure Run</a>, or SCAR for short, is the delightfully melodramatic name given to the 72 mile section of the Appalachian Trail that traverses Great Smoky Mountain National Park. One of the highest and most remote routes on the east coast, SCAR boasts a formidable 18,000 feet of climbing and descending, tags multiple 6,000' summits, and has just a single road crossing near the half way point, which forces most runners to carry 10+ hours worth of supplies at all times.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've had this route on my bucket list ever since vacationing in the Smokies in 2015, so when my Michigander-turned-Tennessean friend <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=David&lname=White&age=33">David White</a></b> invited me to run it with him, I jumped at the opportunity.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After 13 hours of driving over the course of two days, I found myself at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fontana_Dam">Fontana Dam</a>, which is the southern terminus of the route. I stuffed a duffel bag of clothes and a pair of trekking poles into the trunk of David's little Ford Fusion, and then stuffed myself into the back seat alongside our soon-to-be pacer <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Samantha&lname=Stoklosa&age=29" style="font-weight: bold;">Sammi Stoklosa</a> and a mountain of clothes, food, and running accessories. Up front were David, our soon-to-be crew <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=David&lname=Cofer" style="font-weight: bold;">Cofer</a>, and another (slightly smaller) mountain of running gear. Thus began our cozy two hour drive to Davenport Gap, which would be our starting line the next morning.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0VkNRRxdEv57X-gCDdnMD_-C094Ztk7kPq09TnTdLU9lzsEtFMD_E8iEkRRdBkoBxwyax7e-3jYjHRRQlU0DZOTpzKDJWKm88Wu0-W43j8Yc5ChwUWkAImuZ7KvkwJAm-69i5zmAvwk/s2048/dinner.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0VkNRRxdEv57X-gCDdnMD_-C094Ztk7kPq09TnTdLU9lzsEtFMD_E8iEkRRdBkoBxwyax7e-3jYjHRRQlU0DZOTpzKDJWKm88Wu0-W43j8Yc5ChwUWkAImuZ7KvkwJAm-69i5zmAvwk/w400-h300/dinner.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left to right: myself, Sami, and Cofer discussing either Greek philosophy or dick jokes over dinner. I can't remember which.<br />PC: David White</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We checked into a little thru-hiker cabin a few minutes from the starting line and immediately set to work doing all of the essential pre-race preparations: eating pizza, drinking beer, sipping whiskey, drinking a little more beer, and fussing with our mountains of gear.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After a rock solid three hours of sleep, our alarms went off at 4:00am. With a planned 5:00am start time and a 15 minute drive, that was just enough time for me to visit the porta potty and wolf down the gourmet breakfast that I had picked up at a gas station on the drive down: a pack of strawberry Pop Tarts and a can of Starbucks cold brew coffee. Treat yo self!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Miles 0-20: Sunrise and smooth sailing</h3><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNZ_qcbOkv_4GE2f6476QG5g5WTIXR9DWBEJS437MwmkPlSWCEelg51i333fgPDiMQye9oNGlLgGi5gfg430CPaEG_M3dfmEDboJq7YZY6fc0NFoXn3QNkPAM_WpMypklnkzUk4Pnjw_E/s2048/poles.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNZ_qcbOkv_4GE2f6476QG5g5WTIXR9DWBEJS437MwmkPlSWCEelg51i333fgPDiMQye9oNGlLgGi5gfg430CPaEG_M3dfmEDboJq7YZY6fc0NFoXn3QNkPAM_WpMypklnkzUk4Pnjw_E/w300-h400/poles.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David's artsy shot of our starting line.<br />PC: David White</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">At precisely 5:01am (close enough!), we left Davenport Gap and began the long climb up to the 5,000'+ ridge where we would spend the rest of the day. David took the lead and, using trekking poles for the first time ever, charged forward at a solid pace. It was a lovely 59 degrees outside, but the humidity ensured that we were drenched in sweat within the first mile. The narrow trail was lined with fresh mountain laurel blooms and crisscrossed with even fresher spider webs, which David reluctantly deconstructed as he hiked.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A few miles in, the sun peaked out and we were treated to an orange sky over the blue haze of the mountains. Life was good!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogi7AYxonANJArI9rrQU-DuSYLZvV0UcAigV3qlOpHFcgRnQa4KJrx5bjnJ9xhPZlj6hVm1Is3-OfKnpA50dVe4PrY-R8Ck1zkfAa_q45IW-ndT2fqWtC7GHM3H_rUHuImgcAoTu6hL8/s1346/IMG_20210528_112855_515.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1346" data-original-width="1346" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogi7AYxonANJArI9rrQU-DuSYLZvV0UcAigV3qlOpHFcgRnQa4KJrx5bjnJ9xhPZlj6hVm1Is3-OfKnpA50dVe4PrY-R8Ck1zkfAa_q45IW-ndT2fqWtC7GHM3H_rUHuImgcAoTu6hL8/w400-h400/IMG_20210528_112855_515.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise over the Smokies<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Around the two hour mark, we passed our first of many (we thought) water sources of the day. David filtered a bottle, but I still had a liter and a half left and didn't bother to stop. If you were watching a movie about our adventure there would be an ominous organ chord played over this moment, but since that's not possible to do in a blog post I'll just inform you that we had, in fact, just passed the last available water for the next seven hours.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But that was for future David and Ryan to worry about. In the present, we were riding high on good weather, good views, and good company. As the trail climbed steadily higher, verdant rhododendron tunnels gave way to mossy old growth boreal forests.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEh34ipyqGhkfzcWOxS3UCuyv-5kaZU-RcwHzxwKUGmrBerZkRCBcX3RQht2cZh2-H3koBd2NURG70Js87dEfcBD-0obtB4dfipFWMsR0dRe5M-VpCAHWtjSIhwYmBVyEgtFhLTd6YOBA/s2048/20210522_081411.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1358" data-original-width="2048" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEh34ipyqGhkfzcWOxS3UCuyv-5kaZU-RcwHzxwKUGmrBerZkRCBcX3RQht2cZh2-H3koBd2NURG70Js87dEfcBD-0obtB4dfipFWMsR0dRe5M-VpCAHWtjSIhwYmBVyEgtFhLTd6YOBA/w400-h265/20210522_081411.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Smokies at 3,000 feet vs. 6,000 feet</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We took dozens of pictures between the two of us but generally kept chugging forward at a steady pace, keeping our rough goal of 24 hours in the back of our minds. 24 hours is the finishing time that most runners shoot for on this route, and on paper it seems pretty easy. Just three miles an hour - barely a fast walk.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I don't remember where we were at this point in the journey, but I distinctly recall hearing David say "that's not a good sign" as he crouched over a dry creek bed. We had apparently reached one of the more "reliable" water sources in the first half of our journey and it was nothing more than a damp patch of dirt. As most of the Smokies are classified as temperate rainforest, it had not occurred to us that water sources could dry up during the spring, but in retrospect this might have been worth checking.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Miles 20-40: How is a rainforest this dry?!</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">It was now mid-morning and the sun was climbing in the sky. Traversing ridgeline at the same altitude as Boulder, CO, we had the benefit of cooler temperatures, but with 17% less oxygen in the air we noted that climbing uphill was noticeably harder than usual. Upon writing this paragraph, I also just remembered that running at altitude requires greater water intake than running at sea level. Live and learn.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijhNKlR3KLirUJFqXMoa9iuenlBJZqOwJVtaFVdLdyqja7Q0we1O9cLaSKol5ux9cJHrHd4gYOl5Ua_RSsjXK3J1QY7WKu9FSMZXTeq6O6g0BX1_eonfZwjk8qY7AFaTO3YZ9OzyQ-HzI/s2048/view+5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijhNKlR3KLirUJFqXMoa9iuenlBJZqOwJVtaFVdLdyqja7Q0we1O9cLaSKol5ux9cJHrHd4gYOl5Ua_RSsjXK3J1QY7WKu9FSMZXTeq6O6g0BX1_eonfZwjk8qY7AFaTO3YZ9OzyQ-HzI/w400-h300/view+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the ridge<br />PC: David White</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After hours of rationing water, we were down to one last 500ml bottle between the two of us, and a couple hours of exposed ridge line still separated us from our loyal crew. David sent a text (hooray for cell reception on ridges!) letting them know that our situation was desperate and that we needed water asap. They responded that they could run out and meet us a few miles from the road crossing at Newfound Gap. With the promise of reinforcements on their way, we slowly sipped the last few milliliters of water and did our best to keep moving forward. We weren't going to die of dehydration, but if things got much worse we would have to make the difficult choice to drop out and protect our bodies.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As the water dried up, so too did our conversation, which to that point had been pretty lively. As ultrarunners are wont to do, we slipped into silent death march mode. Tried to conserved energy. Tried not to complain about how hot and uncomfortable we both were, as if acknowledging those facts would make them more real. It was just as well, since my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth from dehydration. I vaguely remember offering to sell my soul in exchange for some cold water to splash on my salt encrusted face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtEab0RqmhsOe35bKFoh-KrZZUuPd4lV44YerjO_KbAxQOjxbLSNIe5ReQDdNBDSQ2gzGWaTaeLKa8WyHR-jJlD0C8wtX4U8LK-0Nhn7WQ_8ni53GKXrLCWDilz0k4aMX2m_BaBM-J3U/s2048/tree.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtEab0RqmhsOe35bKFoh-KrZZUuPd4lV44YerjO_KbAxQOjxbLSNIe5ReQDdNBDSQ2gzGWaTaeLKa8WyHR-jJlD0C8wtX4U8LK-0Nhn7WQ_8ni53GKXrLCWDilz0k4aMX2m_BaBM-J3U/w400-h300/tree.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This desiccated corpse of a tree seems representative of our current state at this point in the story</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Somewhere around Charlies Bunion, Cofer came bounding into view with a handheld bottle. We gulped it down voraciously. A few minutes later David's friend <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Lea&lname=Mulligan" style="font-weight: bold;">Lea</a> appeared with two more full bottles. Those were also gone in seconds. We thanked them profusely and then sent David ahead to get more. We would need at least a few more liters to properly unfuck ourselves.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A few minutes later, we arrived at Icewater Spring, which is aptly named. Good lord that water was cold and rejuvenating. We each chugged a bottle and then filled up several more for the road. I splashed a few handfuls of water in my face, the salt stinging my eyes as it ran off. I'm pretty sure I owe someone my soul now, and honestly it was worth it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">With renewed spirits and some great conversation from our pacers, we made quick work of the remaining miles to Newfound Gap. David and I staggered into the tourist-choked parking lot feeling much better, but still in need of some calories before continuing our run. The human body needs water to process food, so seven hours between water sources meant seven hours of insufficient calorie consumption. Sammi was waiting for us a the car with a buffet of food options.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"I got cold soggy noods!" she said while gesturing to a Nalgene bottle of chilled ramen noodles.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yes, send noods!" I responded. David similarly indulged.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thus began a whirlwind 15 minute pit stop during which I may have eaten the biggest meal of my life. I inhaled the entire serving of noodles in two bites, unhinging my jaw like an anaconda eating a capybara made of pasta. I devoured two slices of cold pesto pizza left over from the night before. Cookies? Sure. Pickles? Why not? I chased this all down with a few big gulps from the Kentucky mule that I had prepared the night before. Cofer put a cold beer in my hand, and just as I took the first sip someone offered me a shot of whiskey. This was happy hour and a five course meal at NASCAR pit stop speed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7f_DV_urjECu1cvHJ7YEP30QpGPWXArBC4qL5M2Iu9yBGCJrAYNt3ujbRJd5QqaPNEUTzWEvnHPn93u57MMpieBD9R2EXQNy1URAF7CTYcISGK3hqLyZlENPxtr0AMM7csnZ98spWBTw/s2048/crew.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1331" data-original-width="2048" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7f_DV_urjECu1cvHJ7YEP30QpGPWXArBC4qL5M2Iu9yBGCJrAYNt3ujbRJd5QqaPNEUTzWEvnHPn93u57MMpieBD9R2EXQNy1URAF7CTYcISGK3hqLyZlENPxtr0AMM7csnZ98spWBTw/w400-h260/crew.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left to right: Cofer, David, me, Sammi, and Lea at Newfound Gap<br />PC: David Cofer</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">"Ready to go?" said David, who was suddenly wearing a different outfit. Somehow he had found the time to change his clothes while I was eating my body weight in junk food.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"But..." I said as I gestured widely at all the uneaten food that was still out, and then realized that 15 minutes had passed in the blink of an eye.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Beer still in hand, I waddled lazily after him and back into the woods. Much to the delight of my stomach, which indeed felt like I had just eaten a capybara, we immediately started to climb and I was able to digest the thousands of calories that I had just inflicted upon myself. The trail was rocky and frequently off camber in this section, but we were still relatively fresh after "only" 31 miles of running in ten hours.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After just two miles, we again saw our crew at a little parking lot in Indian Gap. I wasn't hungry, but I stuffed another cookie in my mouth for good measure. This stop was very brief, and from here we just had a "quick" 8 mile traverse to the summit of Clingman's Dome, where we would see our crew for the third and last time until the finish.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But as I would go on to learn about the Smokies, nothing is ever quick. Sure, there is no all-fours rock scrambling like the Catskills or the Adirondacks; there are no 1,000 foot per mile slogs like the San Juans; no knee deep river crossings. No, instead the SCAR is death by a thousand cuts. Each section is <i>pretty</i> rocky and <i>pretty</i> steep. And if, through a series of poor choices, you're <i>pretty</i> dehydrated to top it all off, you might find yourself suffering without really knowing what hit you.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">All that is to say that the wheels started to fall off in the eight miles between Indian Gap and Clingman's Dome.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjgVT887Q73C2TJfLV4uCD6UfQ-46EnOypoEwwATrCt3Gq2psx9CjrgmhPaSoqDS7uoKjcD1gurC_1hLoXNasAB2vtaLhEAS_Za0niNY4CaNUzoHYEUlPPgKZHFE-pacR4SxQn7FAUbc/s2048/20210522_180255.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjgVT887Q73C2TJfLV4uCD6UfQ-46EnOypoEwwATrCt3Gq2psx9CjrgmhPaSoqDS7uoKjcD1gurC_1hLoXNasAB2vtaLhEAS_Za0niNY4CaNUzoHYEUlPPgKZHFE-pacR4SxQn7FAUbc/w300-h400/20210522_180255.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere on the slog to Clingman's<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We weren't particularly sore or tired. We were no longer dehydrated or calorie depleted. But the trail was just rocky enough and we were just tired enough that we started to lose motivation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We summitted Mount Collins, one of the numerous 6,000 footers on the route, and on my elevation profile it looked like we had a leisurely three mile traverse to gain the remaining 500 feet to the summit of Clingman's Dome. And from there, the trail went primarily downhill for the remainder of our journey. Despite our struggles, things were starting to look promising!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then, much to my surprise, we started to descend.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The thing about relying on a low resolution elevation profile is that it smooths out a lot of little climbs and descents. So instead of our leisurely 500 foot climb in three miles, we instead had a 500 foot descent in the first mile followed by a 1,000 foot climb over the next two. Needless to say, that was bad for morale. Our crew texted asking how far out we were, and I responded that we were at "mile thirty-fuck-point-fuck," which they thankfully thought was funny.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At long last, we summitted Clingman's Dome, where we spent another 15 minutes trying to put the shattered pieces of ourselves back together. As luck would have it, we ran into <b><a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/fkt/hunter-leninger-benton-mackaye-trail-ga-tn-2021-04-29">Hunter Leninger</a></b>, who had just set the fastest known time on the 288 mile Benton McKaye Trail. This put our adorable little 70 mile adventure into perspective, and after a few minutes of self reflection we were back on the trail.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Miles 40-60: Angry starfish and the giardia flavored water</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Fourteen hours had elapsed since we had started our journey. We now had 10 hours to cover the remaining 31 miles, which were primarily downhill. Despite our struggles earlier in the day, this seemed doable. Adding to our optimism was the company of Sammi, who would join us for the rest of the journey.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIwBfJtRTscABgQobTXixe0USb0rSSojYW6BhxW9pMvQVlqksUISCGLOsnOfk5wKvX-OAVI_FPedAE1c_u1SHjLHBMkP8EsanCurHem7xdsOyQzI71tMbAETpES9VkW4y2eraGuNQZlw/s2048/20210522_201438.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIwBfJtRTscABgQobTXixe0USb0rSSojYW6BhxW9pMvQVlqksUISCGLOsnOfk5wKvX-OAVI_FPedAE1c_u1SHjLHBMkP8EsanCurHem7xdsOyQzI71tMbAETpES9VkW4y2eraGuNQZlw/w300-h400/20210522_201438.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sammi leading the charge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Our enthusiasm somewhat restored, we began our assault on the southern half of SCAR. Between Sammi the science teacher, David the nurse, and myself the research scientist, our conversation naturally drifted to extremely nerdy topics. Perfect! I can talk anyone's ear off about electrons and photons and the perils of grad school, and will gladly do so when the opportunity presents itself.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Despite the welcome distraction, I became increasingly aware of a sense of discomfort below the equator. The accumulated salt from 14 hours of sweat had resulted in <a href="https://i.imgur.com/dq1Rg7d.gif">a burning ring of fire, to borrow a phrase from Johnny Cash.</a> I went to grab a lubricating wipe from my pack and realized with horror that I had used them up and hadn't restocked at our last supply point. This was going to be a long 31 miles.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">With the boldness that only comes from many hours of running, I loudly informed my two companions that my butt was in the process of sanding itself apart. David confirmed that he was dealing with the same issue. Sammi, who teaches teenagers, was unperturbed by this news.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Quick sidebar: Why the hell are the Jim Walmsleys of the world sponsored by running lubricant companies? You know for a fact that <a href="https://i.imgur.com/pbbhwnz.jpg">his skinny little thighs have never once touched each other during a run</a>. Want to prove that your lube works? <i>Sponsor a thick legged runner, you cowards!</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thank you for listening to my Ted Talk.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2SAYfSDeOJGp3Pj0Z3RG43UbtnvMqeejoTNfhhh96EV-k5IhqLj0DrV73uIuANIikwvbnoez7hiEDKBUHkVwPrEP3SWfZ-e3PXXafYZgrsTqBuWT09wA7ERUci67yI6J8It5RYYbGRE/s2048/20210522_201748.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2SAYfSDeOJGp3Pj0Z3RG43UbtnvMqeejoTNfhhh96EV-k5IhqLj0DrV73uIuANIikwvbnoez7hiEDKBUHkVwPrEP3SWfZ-e3PXXafYZgrsTqBuWT09wA7ERUci67yI6J8It5RYYbGRE/w300-h400/20210522_201748.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last little bit of daylight</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We crested Siler's Bald just as the last few rays of sun disappeared from the sky. The narrow ridge was dotted with stunted trees and offered a nearly panoramic view. We were about to run through the darkness for the next nine hours. This is what ultrarunning was truly about!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As if on cue, the terrain grew rockier. Our pace slowed and the conversation became less enthusiastic. Sammi was using this run as mental preparation for her first 100 miler, and she was about to get a front row seat to a full fledged death march.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We reached Derrick Knob Shelter, where a very helpful Ridge Runner (Appalachian Trail steward) directed us down a steep side trail to a wonderfully cold flowing spring. Once David and Sammi had filtered their water, I sent them back up while I crafted a makeshift wet wipe from a paper towel and ice cold spring water, and attempted to do some damage control. My apologies to the confused woodland creatures watching this bizarre human bathing ritual. This offered a few minutes of relief, but I would be back in chafe city within a mile. Worth a try.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtI3pUZ1YoUTQK3T_jAAxFDmw70v5gBdZ7HUBXim2ivKL_uOzcxA2NBO__JNIQX6pld0rgfzTvCzOzOMn7YNB81MCRiQifO1ptQximXa2SP0flHsKL1vY68-2DTJHTSVxdGD7VgThIULI/s1688/filtering+water.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1688" data-original-width="1186" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtI3pUZ1YoUTQK3T_jAAxFDmw70v5gBdZ7HUBXim2ivKL_uOzcxA2NBO__JNIQX6pld0rgfzTvCzOzOMn7YNB81MCRiQifO1ptQximXa2SP0flHsKL1vY68-2DTJHTSVxdGD7VgThIULI/w281-h400/filtering+water.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Filtering water at Derrick Knob Shelter<br />PC: Sammi Stoklosa</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We trotted on through rolling terrain. Our elevation profile insisted that we were gradually descending, but it certainly didn't feel like it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At some point in the middle of the night we heard a crashing sound just to the right of the trail. We had spooked some kind of large creature. Or at least it sounded large. Then again, a squirrel sounds large when you're running in the dark. The amount of bear scat on the trail was enough evidence that we should proceed with caution though. We yelled and sang loudly to scare off the animal, but as luck would have it, it kept running away in the direction we were traveling. A half dozen times over the course of a mile we heard the same crashing sound just out of sight. These are the times when you really appreciate running with other people.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">With cooler temperatures, I was able to stay on top of my hydration and nutrition. My legs felt strong, and the altitude no longer seemed to affect me as much. However, there was nothing I could do about the horrific chafing that I was experiencing. I experimented with different running forms, even attempting a hands-on-buttcheeks approach which worked for a few steps at a time (and presumably looked really cool too). I would periodically fall back from David and Sammi while I attempted all of this and then hobble-run to try to catch up. I once again offered to sell my soul for a little bit of Vaseline.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"You still back there, Ryan?" I would hear from David.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yeah, just working through some things," was my honest response.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">About 15 miles from the finish, we reached our last spring. We decided to fill all of our water bottles since we anticipated these miles going rather slowly. As David lifted his water bladder out of his pack, a small container tumbled to his feet. Vaseline! David had forgotten it was in there. For the second time in 24 hours, I owed someone a soul. Thankfully I bought a 12-pack of souls the last time I was at Costco.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We slathered our naughty bits with reckless abandon, while Sammi politely turned away and pretended not to be entirely grossed out. Like I said, ultrarunning is disgusting. I make no apologies for that fact.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Miles 60-71: The anticlimactic finish and aftermath</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Onward, and upward. Then downward. Then upward again (it was still rolling terrain). I vaguely remember summiting something called Devil's Tater Patch and being annoyed that there was not a single goddamn potato to be found. What kind of clownshow tater patches do you cultivate, North Carolina!?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The sun came up and the 24 hour mark came and went. No matter. We just wanted to get to the finish. Time was a meaningless human construct, and our human forms were just a vibrating mass of particles cooperating for an infinitesimal moment in the grand scale of the universe. Wow, did someone slip LSD into my water bottle or was the sleep deprivation really getting to me that much?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After way too many surprise <i>invisible-on-the-elevation-profile</i> climbs, we reached Shuckstack (or as I had been calling it in my head, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJQU22Ttpwc">Fuck Shit Stack</a>). We climbed up to the fire tower and then just had a few downhill miles to the finish, and -</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Wait a minute - where did the trail go?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were standing at the base of the fire tower and there didn't seem to be any way forward. I pulled up my map and realized that we weren't supposed to climb up to the tower at all. Our only missed turn of the day, and it came four miles from the end. At least we didn't go very far.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Our self pity didn't last much longer, as we ran into Cofer and Lea just below the summit. They perked us up with stories while Cofer blasted classic rock from his phone. David asked Lea to run ahead and grab some drinks for us. A few minutes later she bounded back up the trail with a ginger ale in one hand and a beer in the other. David grabbed the ginger ale, which left me to suffer through an ice cold IPA. We all have to make sacrifices sometimes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We reached the parking lot after 27 hours and 18 minutes of nearly continuous movement through the mountains. As I left the trail, Cofer informed me that I needed to touch the trail sign. I complied by heaving both trekking poles at it and flipping the double bird to the entire mountain range. Then I regained my composure and we posed for a nice finish line picture.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5Dsfr-loBwvxEkC-aLJOrrfHHZYKA9iwm-NL1fZLely3xKavxB8qAJNm3hpfrYpgq7FCGE_JH-EDyYSS8Q0he5czf4OmUtD4uGPikYklgFDgxCFwCwKf805WHbLY7CMNZfdw335WP28/s2048/finish.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5Dsfr-loBwvxEkC-aLJOrrfHHZYKA9iwm-NL1fZLely3xKavxB8qAJNm3hpfrYpgq7FCGE_JH-EDyYSS8Q0he5czf4OmUtD4uGPikYklgFDgxCFwCwKf805WHbLY7CMNZfdw335WP28/w400-h300/finish.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Done!<br />PC: David Cofer</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We flatly refused to run the extra mile across Fontana Dam, as some people choose to do, so our crew loaded our sweaty corpses into a car and shuttled us over to the bathrooms.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I took one of the most satisfying showers of my life, then spent a few minutes reflecting on the adventure with David. Or, I should say we attempted to reflect on the adventure, but we mostly sat slack jawed with thousand yard stares on our faces. I wondered aloud if it were possible to chafe a butthole completely off and whether I would need some kind of transplant. Ultrarunning is a silly sport.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I slept in the back of my Subaru for a few hours, then woke up at 3pm with an insatiable craving for breakfast food. As I was in the south, there was an easy solution: Waffle House! A short drive later, I was sitting in front of the most beautiful view of the entire weekend.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4II0MAyf57RfA5z6XHZsBbH0zV9yujFmlI-S2R8GSqxPDlo0MiRPPbLvyG_nftcvPuECfknUd_Yoz_vreAsqAoR2mC3le0MeNuAjr4qvC_4qzvH4ijOGGAtdK3OAA9begoq5p7us3bk/s2048/20210523_162322.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4II0MAyf57RfA5z6XHZsBbH0zV9yujFmlI-S2R8GSqxPDlo0MiRPPbLvyG_nftcvPuECfknUd_Yoz_vreAsqAoR2mC3le0MeNuAjr4qvC_4qzvH4ijOGGAtdK3OAA9begoq5p7us3bk/w400-h300/20210523_162322.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three sunny side eggs, triple hashbrowns smothered and covered, side of bacon.<br />I ate every single bite.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Now with the benefit of four weeks of hindsight, I can say that I got everything I wanted out of this trip. I got to explore some new mountains for the first time since the pandemic shut everything down, I spent time with a good friend, I made a few new friends, and I scratched that long adventure itch that haunts all ultrarunners. Aside from a random Achilles twinge that has lingered around since then, my legs held up well and my nutrition plan (summarized as eating everything in sight) worked to perfection.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A week later, I received a small package from David. Inside was the coolest buckle I've ever gotten from a run, featuring a vintage map of the Smoky Mountains. I don't usually condone belt buckles for sub-100 mile runs, but this was so cool that I immediately made an exception. As I type this report, I am proudly wearing it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zhas1JO42rMqPq9VFHIzujZEklNhH9pK_m4gDqJTA0kJlM1Hin3BYWNyLXlNmOzk2IJWTkoHGUbasr3z25da2kG9TuIYwzgQFnCB7HvczOqzB-obfH8tP27wa8W7uaLLXmPn8pNtlcw/s2048/buckle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zhas1JO42rMqPq9VFHIzujZEklNhH9pK_m4gDqJTA0kJlM1Hin3BYWNyLXlNmOzk2IJWTkoHGUbasr3z25da2kG9TuIYwzgQFnCB7HvczOqzB-obfH8tP27wa8W7uaLLXmPn8pNtlcw/w300-h400/buckle.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buckles: For 100 mile races and 71 mile runs that feel like 100 mile races</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">This concludes my Smoky Mountains adventure. I have now done a handful of long runs in the South, and the mountains down there never disappoint. I can't wait to go back!</div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Next up: Manutou's Revenge 54 miler.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/5347106723/overview">Strava link</a></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-60041518874559579602021-04-14T18:39:00.006-04:002021-04-15T11:53:57.160-04:00Everesting Attempt on Mount Beacon<div style="text-align: justify;">Incoming message from <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jay&lname=Lemos"><b>Jay Lemos</b></a>:<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yo"<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Wanna do a really really stupid 100/24hr in January?"<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A18kYnP4Pec">I was immediately hooked.</a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWeDPaVR7LpiNXCDRtw4m7LYCdSTC0M5CqpxeaIl2XqBZg-G-Yg36W5NkSCCFk3GAS8ySUtIPKhB808HS0o3FIkL-mBwFVpDlDgVDQRgzDmFtcxdJRv4LPtnSy8IscM7Z1STMqVdvdl4/s1440/IMG_20210117_154903_714.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuWeDPaVR7LpiNXCDRtw4m7LYCdSTC0M5CqpxeaIl2XqBZg-G-Yg36W5NkSCCFk3GAS8ySUtIPKhB808HS0o3FIkL-mBwFVpDlDgVDQRgzDmFtcxdJRv4LPtnSy8IscM7Z1STMqVdvdl4/w400-h400/IMG_20210117_154903_714.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Night view from the Mount Beacon observation deck</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h3>A quick history lesson for y'all's asses</h3></div><div style="text-align: justify;">From 1902 to 1978 the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Beacon_Incline_Railway">Mount Beacon Incline Railway</a> transported hundreds of thousands of tourists to an observation deck 1,000 feet above the Hudson River. With sweeping views of the Hudson Highlands, Mount Beacon became one of the most popular peaks in the region. Although the trackway and lower station were destroyed by a fire in 1983, the ruins of the powerhouse at the top are still standing, and more importantly, the observation deck still offers some of the finest views in the area.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffNzDlUlQQtGgq5GujxhfcWrSIgrwLGlqM7M4bymBVNYatuqwMdfc0SL0QJW_SvWQeBgZwjoKPcs8efwdj1XbmxSCzS7FLg3iZShfvjOI0LqkJADryJkudrgprpDTR8sVd3YSKMno4tQ/s800/Incline+railway.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiffNzDlUlQQtGgq5GujxhfcWrSIgrwLGlqM7M4bymBVNYatuqwMdfc0SL0QJW_SvWQeBgZwjoKPcs8efwdj1XbmxSCzS7FLg3iZShfvjOI0LqkJADryJkudrgprpDTR8sVd3YSKMno4tQ/w400-h266/Incline+railway.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The incline railway in its heyday<br />via <a href="https://hvmag.com/life-style/history/restoring-the-mount-beacon-incline-railway/">hvmag.com</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The trail to the wheelhouse doesn't quite match the railway's ludicrous 65% grade, but it packs a nice round 1,000 feet of climbing into 1.0 mile (okay, it's more like 1,030 feet and 1.02 miles, but who's counting?). Jay's plan was beautiful in its simplicity: climb to the old powerhouse and descend as many times as possible in 24 hours.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Wait, didn't I just run a 100 miler two weeks ago?</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Despite knowing about this event months in advance, I still scheduled my solo <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2021/02/the-hillier-than-thou-100-welcome-home.html">Hillier Than Thou 100</a> just two weeks before it. To put it mildly, I was coming into this crazy adventure in less than ideal condition. I didn't want to be sidelined for more than a few days afterwards, so my goals would need to reflect these limitations.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As I often do, I devised a tiered set of goals, with the most important at the bottom and the most ambitious at the top:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><ul><li>A Goal: 30,000 feet of climbing</li><li>B Goal: Climb the height of Everest (29,029 feet)</li><li>C Goal: Finish with energy left in the tank</li><li>D Goal: Don't get hurt</li></ul><div>Assuming my legs could withstand a second 24 hour event in the span of 18 days, these goals all seemed reasonably achievable. Twice in 2020 I had climbed 20,000 feet in under 13 hours for the Springathlon virtual races [<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3229828030/overview">1</a>, <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3611181859/overview">2</a>], so I had almost twice the time to do 1.5x the gain. On paper it was doable. But to quote Mike Tyson, "Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth."</div><div><br /></div><h3>The Great Beacon 24hr Everest 100 Challenge™</h3><div>(yes that's the official name of the event)</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcS_qQ7iSA6MQnkRG_0BobjW1xBKQNMh-8lXYZD4S1pV6bfzqJndK6dgQ9JWATnuMMmgwNjm9uQy6Z9vzmOvFL76ypNeQQxBHm-vkgCt6F5hoy20gNMuJjLboYe-hyyuNSUMdaUP4kSBQ/s1428/Screenshot_20210117-183419_Message%252B.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcS_qQ7iSA6MQnkRG_0BobjW1xBKQNMh-8lXYZD4S1pV6bfzqJndK6dgQ9JWATnuMMmgwNjm9uQy6Z9vzmOvFL76ypNeQQxBHm-vkgCt6F5hoy20gNMuJjLboYe-hyyuNSUMdaUP4kSBQ/w303-h400/Screenshot_20210117-183419_Message%252B.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Told ya.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>At 10:15am on the chilly morning of January 15, four runners started up the Mount Beacon trail: <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jay&lname=Lemos">Jay</a></b>, <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Michael&lname=Diblasi&age=32">Mike DiBlasi</a></b>, <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Steven&lname=Lange">Steve Lange</a></b>, and <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/m_results_participant.aspx?fname=Ryan&lname=Thorpe">myself</a>. If you peruse those Ultrasignup pages, you'll find that the other three guys are significantly faster than I am. So when they all started running up the trail, I stayed back and enjoyed a leisurely hiking pace. I decided I wasn't going to run a single step uphill.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's take a second to describe the course. There's only one mile of trail, but when you do it dozens of times you learn all the intricacies of it.</div><div><ul><li><b>The Approach</b>: A crushed gravel path from the parking lot to the ruins of the lower station. By far the easiest section of the trail.</li><li><b>The Stairs</b>: About 100 steel steps. Really easy footing, but steeper than they look.</li><li><b>The Switchbacks</b>: The longest section. Washed out doubletrack that's littered with loose rocks. Hikers like to walk 3 or 4 across through here.</li><li><b>The Jumble</b>: The rocks get larger and the trail narrows as you get higher. This is the point where you cross into real technical terrain.</li><li><b>The Ledges</b>: A series of short but steep rock ledges. In the winter these are covered in ice, which is either a lot of fun or a harrowing experience depending on what kind of person you are.</li><li><b>The Loop</b>: Just before the wheelhouse, you make a right to the viewing platform, then scramble up a rock formation and circle back to the main trail.</li></ul><div>That was way too much information for a mile, but now you know what we spent 24 hours on.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>So anyway, the three speedsters did their speedster thing and left me in the dust while I sauntered forward with seemingly no sense of urgency. Steve was planning to be out for 8 hours, while the other two were in it for the long haul.</div><div><br /></div><div>The approach was nice and easy. Two state park employees were spreading fresh gravel on the path, but it was easy to work around them. The stairs and switchbacks were uneventful. But the jumble and the ledges were covered in a layer of wet ice, and I struggled to maintain my footing. I regretted not bringing any kind of traction devices. Was I really going to be able to navigate this section safely for 24 hours?</div><div><br /></div><div>Just past the ledges, I spotted the pack of speedsters heading back down. They weren't going too much faster than me, but I've made the mistake of trying to keep up with those guys before and I knew it wouldn't be pretty after 24 hours. I made it to the viewing deck after 28 minutes, celebrated by peeing in the bushes, and then headed back down the slick descent. Loop one was complete in 41 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLc3Th4yPatpqk1KodBRNy6o3A5Jp5WbzLXdc9gLYM-YoQFPJZU_5C5LI01waXTyXX-wkbDHv7IdSd1A8tF2Z46w0k3afmq0hSzQT31mZAGjMZxcfj8FYqXC2ypmYTLe7N3E6YzUSMm-s/s1440/IMG_20210117_154903_717.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLc3Th4yPatpqk1KodBRNy6o3A5Jp5WbzLXdc9gLYM-YoQFPJZU_5C5LI01waXTyXX-wkbDHv7IdSd1A8tF2Z46w0k3afmq0hSzQT31mZAGjMZxcfj8FYqXC2ypmYTLe7N3E6YzUSMm-s/w400-h400/IMG_20210117_154903_717.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foggy view from the summit later in the day</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Back at the bottom, Steve stopped to change into some fancy shoes with carbide spikes (he was much better prepared for winter conditions than the rest of us), so I caught up to him. He graciously stayed with me for the next few loops and we chatted about upcoming race season plans. He was using this as a training run for an Everesting attempt on skis later in the season (<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4896202745">which was successful!</a>).</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCiuNmPuGBsMJZac1gMyeE2h4RXPjwLSx06IUfk7Wcu0_ljGFm4cDSpra1dgl-hJoJ5g0WvzeHJbcjUNhSqKPTfKA880oN_Re4Z9VVEOXl-rE9_LnWP-B2jM2ejrzQ476CPHdcEjafUKs/s1440/IMG_20210117_154903_648.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCiuNmPuGBsMJZac1gMyeE2h4RXPjwLSx06IUfk7Wcu0_ljGFm4cDSpra1dgl-hJoJ5g0WvzeHJbcjUNhSqKPTfKA880oN_Re4Z9VVEOXl-rE9_LnWP-B2jM2ejrzQ476CPHdcEjafUKs/w400-h400/IMG_20210117_154903_648.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfie game on point</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>With a 1,000 foot ascent every 42-45 minutes, we racked up elevation gain quickly. The icy sections softened in the heat of the day and our legs got used to the unstable footing. My Hoka Speedgoats also performed admirably on the slick rocks. I'm becoming more and more impressed by them every time I use them.</div><div><br /></div><div>After a few laps together, Steve took off to run with the speed demons again, and I was once again on my own. You would think that running that same mile section of trail would get old quickly, but (1) the footing was challenging enough that it demanded my full attention most of the time and (2) I was a able to distract myself with various food-based rewards every few laps. With the slow pace and the chilly weather, my seemingly bizarre combination of iced coffee, California rolls, and Kalamata olives all went down easily. Shout out to <b><a href="https://www.nj.com/news/2021/01/watch-ultra-marathoner-finishes-running-the-length-of-nj.html">Cole Crosby</a></b> for introducing me to the last two items as race fuel. These supplemented my baseline fuel of a Spring gel each hour (Speednut for the win).</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xkhBGUgKIt2BbT_9WxYCTqfLEvMLgaDWRphwHYRHtXTmFgMlg9ViYjiCPzxlUx7zrDI83ZszJOQqyMzg3_jlqxcQnLQxsY23g6p6xOyTKuBQMZXwr5c3nruzyXcBxvjmTyZdRNiCcUo/s2016/sushi.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5xkhBGUgKIt2BbT_9WxYCTqfLEvMLgaDWRphwHYRHtXTmFgMlg9ViYjiCPzxlUx7zrDI83ZszJOQqyMzg3_jlqxcQnLQxsY23g6p6xOyTKuBQMZXwr5c3nruzyXcBxvjmTyZdRNiCcUo/w300-h400/sushi.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sushi + running is a much better combination than you would expect</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I hit the one-third mark (10,000') right around sunset with seven hours elapsed, which meant I was an hour ahead of even splits for my A goal. Perfect! I was almost immediately rewarded for this milestone as my good friend and mountain aficionado <a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/blog/2018-siudy-catskill-35-fkt" style="font-weight: bold;">Mike Siudy</a> showed up with two fresh hot pizzas and some hazy IPAs. You have to love a sport where this stuff counts as race fuel! I downed half a beer and grabbed two slices of pepperoni pizza to go, resisting the urge to kiss Mike on the mouth as I left since, you know, social distancing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hiked very happily to the summit while I ate, and on the way down I passed the now-foursome of Jay, Steve, and the Mikes just behind me. The sun had fully set and we were entering the crux of this endeavor: 14 hours of darkness. Thankfully, Jay would go on to lap me shortly after this, and he, Siudy, and I would sync up for a loop together.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2Y00zPTtRmKL19ymJaSSNhdxH23pTHXda32BI2SbV58yDZBCJKxP7n4T7SnVEvUwtRojeH41L7vs0Zpcs_Le0vGUNK4uRYFWGWet_NlObo_-WrSg0Vxr2iQenO877iIOYaO7-wOpMsI/s960/IMG_20210117_154903_641.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji2Y00zPTtRmKL19ymJaSSNhdxH23pTHXda32BI2SbV58yDZBCJKxP7n4T7SnVEvUwtRojeH41L7vs0Zpcs_Le0vGUNK4uRYFWGWet_NlObo_-WrSg0Vxr2iQenO877iIOYaO7-wOpMsI/w400-h400/IMG_20210117_154903_641.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a normal Friday night for the three of us</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Beyond the summit, Jay went on ahead and Mike stayed with me for a few loops. It was the first time we had seen each other since my failed Manitou's 100 attempt the previous June, so we had a lot to catch up on. Mike is never short on words, so our laps together passed quickly. I made sure to have my one and only wipeout of the day right in front of him as my way of saying thanks for his company. While descending through the jumble, my left foot slid out in front of me and my right leg stayed in place as I collapsed into a clumsy half split. To Mike it looked like I had just wrecked my knee, but thankfully my sturdy legs survived intact.</div><div><br /></div><div>After five or six total laps, his biggest outing in a few months, Mike had to get home. Somewhere around here, Steve also called it a day after setting a personal record with 13,000'+ of vertical gain. Now the three of us were alone on the mountain all moving at different paces.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was time to try something that I had never done before: listen to music while running. Yeah, I know, most people have done that before but for whatever reason it has never appealed to me. On the roads I need to be able to hear cars coming, and on the trails I want to know if hikers or other runners are approaching. Running a 1 mile section of trail with two other runners seemed like the perfect time to finally try this. I popped in some earbuds and started blasting my playlist of 90's alternative rock. And wow, yeah, I get why people do this now.</div><div><br /></div><div>A light rain started falling and the temperature dropped. I bundled up a little more and pulled out the big guns: Hamilton. With a two and a half hour runtime, the Hamilton soundtrack had gotten me through some long car trips before, so why not a long section of wet trail? I sang along loudly. I rapped the entire Lafayette part of Guns and Ships perfectly, though with great difficulty. Mike and Jay probably thought I was a lunatic.</div><div><br /></div><div>But there was a fatal flaw in my plan: the orphanage (if you've listened to Hamilton, you know what I'm talking about). I was already feeling a little emotionally raw from the exertion, and this song made tears well up in my eyes.</div><div><br /></div><div>"The ooooorphanaaaage...." I whimpered softly.</div><div><br /></div><div>Suddenly Jay was saying something to me as he passed. I pulled out an earbud.</div><div><br /></div><div>"What was that?" I asked.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I said, you're the hardest dude on this mountain."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Erm..." I paused and composed myself. "Thanks Jay."</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxO6etcJnnCFUi2EPU0jQIHz5gwWQHPi2MiDh2NeAG1cwuUez5WNGkAs4qOlybDeElzE5LcnPTFDLJuuas-rox4d0sQ8hOM4JnVCayySj796iXGsX8w_McqGxfMxOAhQ4nsgZKEEBv7Rc/s1440/IMG_20210117_154903_717.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxO6etcJnnCFUi2EPU0jQIHz5gwWQHPi2MiDh2NeAG1cwuUez5WNGkAs4qOlybDeElzE5LcnPTFDLJuuas-rox4d0sQ8hOM4JnVCayySj796iXGsX8w_McqGxfMxOAhQ4nsgZKEEBv7Rc/w400-h400/IMG_20210117_154903_717.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view overnight looked like this except instead of a panoramic vista it was impenetrable fog in every direction</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>I hit 20,000' of gain with 15 hours elapsed. My pace had slowed in the dark, but that still left 9 more hours to climb the remaining 10,000'. Very doable as long as I took care of my nutrition and clothing.</div><div><br /></div><div>The good news was that around 4:00am it stopped spitting rain. The bad news was that around 4:05 it started absolutely pissing rain. The temperature was 36 degrees. We still had six hours left on the mountain. We wouldn't want Everesting to be easy, now would we?</div><div><br /></div><div>I put on my survival suit: two long sleeve shirts, a down puffy jacket, a rain shell, and waterproof mittens. I also changed into a fresh pair of shorts because my dumb ass didn't think it would be cold enough to run in pants. I was now wearing almost every article of clothing I had brought. If this didn't work then I was out of options. I scarfed down a few slices of pizza and some donuts for good measure and started hiking back up the trail, which now resembled a flowing river.</div><div><br /></div><div>I shivered violently for the first few minutes as my heart rate started coming back up. It's amazing how quickly your body temperature can plummet in this weather. A simple change of clothes can end your whole race if you're not efficient. The only solution is to put your head down, get moving, and let your body warm itself back up. By the time I reached the summit, I was warm enough to take off my hood. Crisis averted!</div><div><br /></div><div>The survival suit worked to perfection over the next few hours, and I was able to zip/unzip layers as needed to regulate my body temperature. After hours of pitch black and driving rain, the sky finally started to lighten. Alex called as she was driving to work, which perked me up immensely! With only a few laps left, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and my legs were still feeling good. I was going to finish this thing!</div><div><br /></div><div>I figured out that I only had to do one loop per hour to hit 30,000 feet, and I did not intend to work any harder than that. I took my sweet time with the last few loops, pausing at the summit to admire the nonexistent view and to soak in the absurdity of what we had decided to do with our weekend. Ultrarunning is a silly sport, and god damn do I love it!</div><div><br /></div><div>I hit 30,000' with half an hour left and 59.6 miles on my watch, and I decided to go back out and find Jay and Mike to hike it in together. I wanted to make sure there was enough of a buffer on my vertical gain that some Strava rounding error wouldn't cheat me out of 30,000', plus 60 miles was a much nicer rounder number than 59. Also if I waited at the finish, I would have been tempted to break into the victory beers that I was saving for the guys. It all just made sense.</div><div><br /></div><div>We reached the parking lot together after 23:54:38 elapsed on Mount Beacon. Jay had lapped me twice for 32,000'+ (almost a "Hardrock"), while I just barely eclipsed my 30k goal, and Mike set a huge PR with 20-something-thousand feet of gain after working through some quadricep issues over night.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpZxmLu4-N-_Q43Ie-UHBwA1bmcej-9GcY9CQEoRSOuAEgFC9tCFH6XwoKth1DDNVauUalq_o5yXNOL-EDJWwK8wKiH_gXGvEbjdftJgXotOKJtLRm1NdO3MkH5rnu3fp02-_ngvf8Jg/s386/IMG_20210117_154903_649.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="386" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpZxmLu4-N-_Q43Ie-UHBwA1bmcej-9GcY9CQEoRSOuAEgFC9tCFH6XwoKth1DDNVauUalq_o5yXNOL-EDJWwK8wKiH_gXGvEbjdftJgXotOKJtLRm1NdO3MkH5rnu3fp02-_ngvf8Jg/w400-h400/IMG_20210117_154903_649.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure whether this was the dumbest thing we've ever done, and that fact speaks volumes about our decision making.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>Big thanks to Jay and Mike for setting such an audacious goal and peer pressuring me into joining them. Not that I require much pressure, mind you. I'm sure we'll have many more crazy adventures together over the years, but this one will always be memorable.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4632548676/overview">Strava data</a></div></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-80178861893640920952021-02-03T18:26:00.001-05:002021-02-03T18:26:40.649-05:00The Hillier Than Thou 100: A Welcome Home Party<div style="text-align: justify;">I know... I know... I said I wouldn't run another road 100 any time soon. But I couldn't let a failed <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2020/07/adventure-report-manitous-revenge-100.html">Manitou's Revenge 100</a> be my last adventure of the year could I?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After recovering from Manitou's, I struggled to find the motivation to keep training during a sweltering summer and fall with no races. Complicating things further, in October Alex and I bought a beautiful little house near our old home towns. It's a wonderful place, and I'm thrilled with our decision, but it meant that my free time was suddenly occupied by Lowes runs instead of training runs. After successfully avoiding most adult responsibilities until well into my 30's, I was now consumed by them. Yuck.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As the holidays rolled around, I pondered how to squeeze one last adventure into the truly bizarre year that was our 2020. Then I thought back to a bike race that my friend Tim had told me about a few years prior. It was a burly century ride (100 miles) around Warren, Hunterdon, and Morris Counties called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/hillierthanthou">Hillier Than Thou</a>, which went out of its way to find the toughest paved climbs and descents in the region.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A quick glance at the course map revealed that it made a giant loop around our new home town while passing by some notable landmarks from our childhood (more on those later). Access to aid would be plentiful. Bail out options were simple. And I wouldn't have to contend with potentially snowy trails. With Alex and myself both off work between Christmas and New Year's Day, a plan was hatched.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrBzKIH5eZ2YZxy4Z-VyckSdGMEascRgN1NENBTdHm9LVd5mJdPausfiyYXQNCeLgPvMlxv0fM1_fMPlwm8T0-CTjqQFs4n3dsOpGfzWm9nJWksdB-IOV7gvV6_lhxfr7qiKCaTj6lfI/s1116/Map+and+Profile.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1116" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrBzKIH5eZ2YZxy4Z-VyckSdGMEascRgN1NENBTdHm9LVd5mJdPausfiyYXQNCeLgPvMlxv0fM1_fMPlwm8T0-CTjqQFs4n3dsOpGfzWm9nJWksdB-IOV7gvV6_lhxfr7qiKCaTj6lfI/w400-h370/Map+and+Profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">103 miles with 13,000 feet of gain</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Jogging Down Memory Lane (Miles 0-22)</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">We arrived at the Point Mountain trail head at 7pm on a Tuesday night. I chose a night time start because my goal was to jog this bitch in a "leisurely" 22 hours. Starting just after sunset would get all of that pesky sullen night running out of the way while I was still fresh as a daisy. That was the plan, anyway.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4ZZLoHWttdL9R4iYJkBtgMwTkZyBNcwhjDP94hjAPbLFmAAGccCrcHPw7nZ4nQx6_3KNie3llQDY3MYO6FZXOf3MNwL9-aY84viZqHQ354zgCZ8OyK4VOZMyNxniLjbpAuxKAzN_Zug/s2048/Start.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1644" data-original-width="2048" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4ZZLoHWttdL9R4iYJkBtgMwTkZyBNcwhjDP94hjAPbLFmAAGccCrcHPw7nZ4nQx6_3KNie3llQDY3MYO6FZXOf3MNwL9-aY84viZqHQ354zgCZ8OyK4VOZMyNxniLjbpAuxKAzN_Zug/w400-h321/Start.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I find myself making this gesture a lot at the start of races, and I think it sums up my motivations pretty well.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After a few pictures and some fussing around with my headlamp and reflective vest, I jogged off into the night.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Half a mile into my run, I passed by Mansfield Elementary School, which I attended from 2nd to 6th grade. Out of sight behind it was the quarter mile gravel track where we had our daily "Walk Jog Run," a 15-minute period before lunch during which we ran as many laps as possible. We were only required to do 3, but I always liked to push hard and see if I could run 6, 7, or on very rare occasions, 8 laps. Little did I know that over 20 years later, I would spend my free time running the equivalent of 400+ laps at a time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A mile later, the first real climb of the day began. Hoffman Road was the site of my family's old house, where I lived from 7th grade through the end of college. At only 900 feet, it had always seemed like a towering behemoth of a mountain, especially when I was driving my ratty 97 Kia Sephia down it in the snow with a learner's permit (RIP neighbors' mailboxes). I had also spent hours on end thrashing through the woods on that mountain in search of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rubus_phoenicolasius">wild raspberries</a> during the summer, which would turn out to be excellent preparation for races like the <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-barkley-fall-classic-50k.html">Barkley Fall Classic</a> many years later. I gave our old house a little wave as I passed by.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I took the descent cautiously, trying to ease my woefully undertrained quads into the effort that they were about to undertake. I made a left onto Jackson Valley Road, following the route that I took to high school each morning, usually running late. After a few miles of rolling hills through cornfields, I arrived at Warren Hills High School. I remembered the time I ran to marching band practice from home on a summer day because I couldn't get a ride. My sheet music was soaked through with sweat by the time I arrived, but I had felt like the biggest badass in the world. The total distance I'd covered that day was four miles.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZzkXsZ9YYvy_3iHFBDO2ArL00_P3HPBUL7HD5V2qfHZ4qkdpeUGIISTewDijmY5dsaGp8Gelxf30WV3fOi3jZJeXmesPedK9z0IaMsxVSAQ9t1IK3ztH_wELk0zu3CWN7i97FxUb9BKE/s2048/Ginger+Bread.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZzkXsZ9YYvy_3iHFBDO2ArL00_P3HPBUL7HD5V2qfHZ4qkdpeUGIISTewDijmY5dsaGp8Gelxf30WV3fOi3jZJeXmesPedK9z0IaMsxVSAQ9t1IK3ztH_wELk0zu3CWN7i97FxUb9BKE/w300-h400/Ginger+Bread.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chowing down on fresh gingerbread at WHRHS.<br />Sexy.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Alex, my mom, and Alex's mom Julie were all waiting for me with snacks and other supplies. Tim, who you'll recall was the inspiration for this run, came out to pace me for the next couple of climbs since he lived down the road (and at this point it was still a normal time for a human being to go out running). Together we climbed Mine Hill Road into the town of Oxford. Sixteen years prior, I had driven to Oxford in snow storm to kiss a pretty girl from study hall. That pretty girl's name was Alex, and these days I get to kiss her pretty regularly. I like to think that young Ryan would be very proud of adult Ryan.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We made a hard left and climbed back out of Oxford on Jonestown Road, passing by the entrance of Oxford Lake where I have spent countless summer days over the years. Another quick climb and descent brought us careening down Harmony-Brass Castle Road, a road which that old Kia Sephia was always struggled to climb when I visited my best friend John in high school. Thankfully having a cool car was not a prerequisite for dating 18-year-old Alex back then. Neither was having a functional car, as I would later learn (RIP Kia Sephia).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I turned off into Meadowbreeze Park and Tim continued on straight to head back to his car. I found myself passing by the peewee football fields where my friends and I played ultimate frisbee after school. Somewhere I still have the old cotton t-shirts we designed with the creative-as-heck name of our league: Ultimate Frisbee League. I would go on to play ultimate for five years in college and grad school, and I credit those multi-day frisbee tournaments for seasoning my legs for ultramarathons. Sure, climbing a hill at mile 80 is tough, but try playing defense with a hangover and blown quads from five games the previous day.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A short but steep climb up Coleman Hill Road gave way to an equally steep descent down Halfway House Road, which despite the name has some gorgeous old stone houses (and a mailbox shaped like a deer that scared the holy hell out of me). This brought me down to Route 57 and the aid station at Villa Roller Rink, where all the cool kids used to have their birthday parties. Come to think of it, I never had a birthday party there for some reason.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Moving on...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After a mile on Rt. 57 I turned up onto Millbrook Road, where Alex and I looked at a few houses earlier in the year. It's a pretty little wooded road and we were disappointed that we couldn't afford the 250-year-old farmhouse that we toured. But more pertinent to this story, Millbrook Road was the longest climb on the course, rising almost 1,000 feet over four miles. Yes, it turns out that NJ actually has a few 1,000 foot climbs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I settled into an easy jogging pace and enjoyed the moonlit scenery as I slowly reached the high point on the course: Montana Mountain at a <i>whopping</i> 1,223 feet (humor me, okay?). I was greeted by sprawling cornfields at the top, and they offered little resistance to the swirling winter wind. It was downright chilly, but I distracted myself by turning off my headlamp and running by the unobstructed light of the full moon directly overhead.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">The Steepening (Miles 22-59)</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">Now at almost midnight, I was joined by Alex for the perhaps most difficult five mile section of the course. She greeted me enthusiastically through multiple layers of hoods and buffs, and we took off on the descent down Castner's Road. We plummeted downhill for several miles, losing every bit of the elevation that I had spent the last hour gaining. Then after a mile of flat running on Rt. 519, we began the steepest climb of the day: Fiddler's Elbow.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Compared to the trails that I regularly train on, a 528' climb in 0.76 miles isn't particularly heinous, but it should give you an appreciation for the determination of early east coast settlers. Those crazy bastards were willing to build a road on just about any damn hill they pleased. And apparently they didn't care much for switchbacks. Having run this section on a recon mission a few days earlier, I was beyond grateful to have Alex's company. Mostly just so I could say to someone "Can you believe how steep this friggin' hill is?!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZFlu7RZKKcJDv8c88kSU9KGjXXf1KQe2E4RPJwA-dID4iAWj5KMTTGA0SJrJVyo8ICPuS6qlURZ_pulqIpTEFPRLpIn3aQMJzwSaGJNe28zNNmIpyUCd4OoQcHtwN9KQkqd2WH5YTZU/s1440/Alex+and+Me.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZFlu7RZKKcJDv8c88kSU9KGjXXf1KQe2E4RPJwA-dID4iAWj5KMTTGA0SJrJVyo8ICPuS6qlURZ_pulqIpTEFPRLpIn3aQMJzwSaGJNe28zNNmIpyUCd4OoQcHtwN9KQkqd2WH5YTZU/w400-h400/Alex+and+Me.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking selfie from Fiddler's Elbow</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">70 minutes after Alex had joined me, we were back at her car and it was time for her to get some warm dry clothes on. After a final kiss (see, I told you I get to smooch her up all the time!), it was time to run some easy miles for the first time in a few hours. The descent into Harmony was four straight downhill miles at a moderate grade, which felt amazing after some of the quad busting descents from earlier. I made good time on this section, keeping to a conservative 10:30/mi.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The descent ended all too quickly as I found myself at the base of Wester Road, which is deceptively steep at 463' in just 0.83mi. I hiked the entire thing and then continued hiking up Fox Farm Road to the west entrance of Merrill Creek Reservoir, where a much warmer Alex was waiting for me. It was chilly near the water so I moved along quickly. After some rolling hills and a leisurely descent, I once again found my crew on the side of Rt. 57, this time at a gas station. The buzzing neon lights overhead were a bit jarring after running through the wilderness for so long, but I was thankful to be off the mountain and out of the wind.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The next section would have been unremarkable if not for a flock of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snow_goose">snow geese</a> that had settled in a nearby field. For those of you who are unfamiliar with these birds, they are solid white except for black patches at the tips of their wings, and in the winter they migrate to parts of the US in flocks numbering in the thousands. So even though it was pitch black out side, I could tell I was near a flock because of the sheer volume of honking. The experience sounded something like this:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>HONKA HONKA HONKA HONK--</i>"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">*a house briefly blocking the noise*</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>--AHONKA HONKA HONKA HONK--</i>"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so on for about a mile. Don't let anyone tell you that NJ doesn't have wildlife.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, I made quick work of the climb and descent of Mountainview Road, which the name suggests, has absolutely no views if you're running on it at 4am. This led to a two mile stretch on Asbury-Bloomsbury Road, which is part of my daily commute home from work. Home field advantage, baby! Incidentally, I find a lot of the the road names in this region to be pretty unimaginative. They typically just tell you which two towns are being connected, which I guess was useful in the days before Google Maps. "Heya Jimbob, how do I get to Bloomsbury?" "Well, yer in Asbury right now, so you might could take Asbury-Bloomsbury Road down a ways. When you git to the end of it, then I reckon you'll be in Bloomsbury." I'm not sure why these hypothetical past New Jerseyans speak like Old West prospectors in my imagination.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But I digress.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After passing through Asbury, I reached my crew at the base of Iron Bridge Road. I first "discovered" this monster of a hill on a training run with Andrew and Scott, whom you'll meet later on. Scott had specifically requested a flat recovery run, so we took a detour from our usual hilly route down some local roads at Andrew's suggestion. We turned a corner and before we knew it we were half way up a 500 foot climb. Scott has never quite forgiven us since that day. Now at mile 47 and feeling every one of those miles, I knew that I would need a little extra courage to conquer this hill. With a toast to my fearless crew, I downed a mini bottle of fireball.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0cNPoEJxcD1AFGETeKMfLOBo1DODBgJhWY-iCEN-pG1iYHipXts3Oq_EAFBz53MXFV0MV2BnnrnKF_EtkeI34Fp9E8-812N85s5gm8NF5soWgj823OzVs6WfJqSmJkHqL2ItFqwUA9g/s2048/Fireball.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0cNPoEJxcD1AFGETeKMfLOBo1DODBgJhWY-iCEN-pG1iYHipXts3Oq_EAFBz53MXFV0MV2BnnrnKF_EtkeI34Fp9E8-812N85s5gm8NF5soWgj823OzVs6WfJqSmJkHqL2ItFqwUA9g/w300-h400/Fireball.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's 5 o'clock (a.m.) somewhere!<br />(Alex came up with that joke first, but I'm gonna steal it.)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">With a fire in my belly and cinnamon on my breath, I hunkered down and hiked up all 500 feet of Iron Bridge Road. My pit stop had lasted long enough that my fingers were going numb, so I put a little extra effort into it to get my blood flowing again. I was rewarded for my efforts with a few more easy downhill miles, but my quads let me know with each step that they were unhappy with the way I was treating them.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">An unremarkable climb and descent brought me to Hot Rod's Hot Dogs on Rt. 31. It was 6:30am and my buddy Scott was waiting to get in his morning run with me. Just days before, Scott had also agreed to run an eggnog mile with me and Tim, which proves that he's the kind of friend who will gladly jump off a bridge with you if you ask him nicely enough. Thanks for enabling all my crazy ideas, Scott!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1Qjl__RBimmUOZXBxtNFcnuCUWk4Bzfk1DQkCcJzk9IOzK975mX0zjk7eo7Yf1CIHp7rFa_KSjyjmtCOB9ySZgvVdNyd1noF2BjWyetVpv-m_qNL15qd_zZl1NPluSiGNJHLub9I9xA/s2048/Hot+Rods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1Qjl__RBimmUOZXBxtNFcnuCUWk4Bzfk1DQkCcJzk9IOzK975mX0zjk7eo7Yf1CIHp7rFa_KSjyjmtCOB9ySZgvVdNyd1noF2BjWyetVpv-m_qNL15qd_zZl1NPluSiGNJHLub9I9xA/w400-h300/Hot+Rods.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two hot dudes at Hot Rod's Hot Dogs.<br />...I'm very sorry I wrote that.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />With my new pacer in tow, I hobbled away from Hot Rod's. My legs were now well and truly rebelling, which is not something I wanted to admit to myself with 50 miles left in this run. I knew I was going to finish, but boy did that finish line seem far away at this moment. I really should have done a training run. Maybe two training runs. Live and learn, kids.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thankfully Scott is good company, and he was extraordinarily patient as I found increasingly inane reasons to stop running. First I wanted to check a map, which is not a terrible reason. Then I had to adjust my pack. Then my gloves. Then my gloves again. You know what, fuck it, let's go ahead and adjust those gloves one more time just for good measure.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was clearly stalling.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Despite my best efforts, we made reasonably good time through this five mile section until we hit Scott's turnaround point at the intersection of the Columbia Trail and Hoffman's Crossing. Here we found my loyal crew sound asleep in their cars. I tapped on the window of our SUV and a bleary-eyed Alex sat up and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch/7nQ2oiVqKHw">took a second to come back online</a>. She was apologetic, but I was happy to have another excuse to stop running.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7rjK_VeReqSBPiG9XvBwjfIqtLZgq6HWx5C4hYn6DGIrDYpoLE_6TQGftnQ6oK2eGomXHSO9WdbsqReUJGGh62EGa5R39b5BzNTaabJ-P6Yy1-_eF9tcuO32usF80IW3l-5gNku8QGA/s2048/Scott+and+Me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7rjK_VeReqSBPiG9XvBwjfIqtLZgq6HWx5C4hYn6DGIrDYpoLE_6TQGftnQ6oK2eGomXHSO9WdbsqReUJGGh62EGa5R39b5BzNTaabJ-P6Yy1-_eF9tcuO32usF80IW3l-5gNku8QGA/w400-h300/Scott+and+Me.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take your time. No, seriously.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Mama Always Said Weird is as Weird Does (Miles 59-76)</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">The sun was up and I was alone with my thoughts again. Time for my two favorite pastimes: weird intrusive thoughts and existential dread!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The dread part was first. Despite the common wisdom that sunrise will breathe new life into a weary ultrarunner, I had now been awake for 24 hours and I was starting to feel the repercussions. I found myself doing long blinks and then opening my eyes to find that I was walking down the middle of the road. What the hell was I doing with my life? I could have been inside eating Christmas leftovers between naps. (This is all pretty standard ultrarunner internal monologue.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My spirits were lifted, if not a bit unnerved, by a woman who drove by and shouted:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"This is God's country!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I paused for a moment. <i>Was she reprimanding me for that pee break I took a few minutes earlier? Or for snot rocketing during a pandemic? Or for picking my wedgie? Wow, ultrarunning is extraordinarily disgusting.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"It's so beautiful out here. I love driving through this area. Truly God's country." she elaborated.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Ah, so that was meant as a positive comment.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"Yes," I concurred, "it's a great area to run." (I was clearly walking, but that was a nice thought, wasn't it?)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She drove away, but that brief interaction had started to change my mindset a little bit. I reminded myself to look around and enjoy the views of pastures and the sound of the songbirds. God's country. Maybe Cthulu's country too. Either way, very scenic.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My spirits were further lifted when I got to the next aid station and Alex was blasting <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOb8-C6jw0M">Guns and Ships</a> from Hamilton. We've both grown quite proficient at doing Lafayette's legendary double-time rap, and that's exactly what we did, loudly, in the middle of sleepy little Mountainville at 9am on a Wednesday morning. Rise and shine, everyone! We're taking this horse by the reins!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Slowly but surely, the clouds were starting to part, both metaphorically and literally. Running in actual sunshine was lovely, and I picked up the pace accordingly. I turned onto Bissel Road, which I've passed many times before. The name Bissel always sounded like something out of Snoop Dogg's vocabulary, except if he were German. So to commemorate this turn, I shouted loudly and to no one in particular, "Ja, for shissel mein Bissel!" Minutes later, I passed a donkey standing in a field and greeted it with a merry "Hee Haaaww!"</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Life was good.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Life got even better when Alex appeared at the next aid stop with a hot coffee and an everything bagel. Gentlemen, find yourself a woman who knows how to procure an everything bagel at a moment's notice. This was heavenly, and I allowed myself to walk the entire next mile while savoring a hot breakfast.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9siQ6X0jL5UQaYvhHfFfWOANyIBfK93q67xgR1ni3XwMU8FG6Ec0ydjQHvqjd2A0fexIY1utqjtl5j9E49bB0hNw1BaqoXFU0Ow0yzzstO2iTs5XyJq-Zcfo0KqM3-pdGdKG2Z0WZOQ/s2048/Bagels%2521+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9siQ6X0jL5UQaYvhHfFfWOANyIBfK93q67xgR1ni3XwMU8FG6Ec0ydjQHvqjd2A0fexIY1utqjtl5j9E49bB0hNw1BaqoXFU0Ow0yzzstO2iTs5XyJq-Zcfo0KqM3-pdGdKG2Z0WZOQ/w300-h400/Bagels%2521+%25232.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bagel + coffee = happy runner</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Incidentally, that mile was along Hill and Dale Road, which is just adorable.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Okay, enough breakfast. Let's get back to work.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My head was in a good space, but my legs were no more cooperative than before. I was barely able to hold a 13:00/mi pace on downhills, and the uphill miles were certainly no better. But I'm no stranger to walking in the latter half of a race and I was prepared to muscle through it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Fatigue Loves Company (Miles 76-103)</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">My mom and her friend Beth were able to jump in for this next section, and it was looking like I might have company for the rest of the run! The two of them have been doing long distance virtual races since the pandemic started and have logged hundreds of miles in pursuit of those goals. So in a way I was also pacing their virtual race. You're welcome, ladies.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We hobbled down Cold Springs Road together, enjoying the scenery and the moderate grade. A few turns later we found the corresponding 500' climb up Hollow Brook Road, and we all got to commiserate about how steep these roads were. Never underestimate the power of having someone to complain to.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Back at the top Beth called it a day and my mom decided to stick around for another descent and climb. After a quick sock change (my first of the day at mile 81), we made our way down the shoulder of Rt. 512. At around 15:00/mi, my downhill pace was starting to be almost indistinguishable from my uphill pace. Once again I would like to emphasize that I really should have trained for this. We turned onto Black River Road and had a leisurely mile alongside the Lamington River. Then it was time for - you guessed it - another steep climb!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWVOnx0RNl844pkSvrW6fLoJn-uEVBsL89nrwn9vM4oa3xJcg0dyc8o1vmihuyIn9MgJvdbAXHHEi67uOnve4D0Ue1ZByXiRrphmL-6wFNRgOMNblsWLs7OXH0-fcXNsPNcCZusKhqW4/s2048/Mom+and+Me+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1486" data-original-width="2048" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWVOnx0RNl844pkSvrW6fLoJn-uEVBsL89nrwn9vM4oa3xJcg0dyc8o1vmihuyIn9MgJvdbAXHHEi67uOnve4D0Ue1ZByXiRrphmL-6wFNRgOMNblsWLs7OXH0-fcXNsPNcCZusKhqW4/w400-h290/Mom+and+Me+%25232.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking and talking with my mom</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My mom is never at a loss for words, which was fantastic because I needed someone to distract me from the rebellion that my body was staging. I could occasionally convince my legs to run for a few minutes at a time, but my feeble little steps meant that I was running at a walking pace. The perk of me being the only competitor was that no one passed me here. So that's something. Silver linings and whatnot.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We reached the top of the climb and my mom's pacing duties were done after almost 14 miles and 3.5 hours. Thanks mom!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were now 14 more miles from the finish line and Andrew was waiting to take me the rest of the way. We started with a few downhill miles, and I probably got his hopes up by cobbling together some 13 minute miles. This wouldn't last long.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipGzdXqZjSkwJ5L2H2KUMSU70X25nY7p1a00cnlAwl-uGHsU5wTGGeaVW3NNncvCjW6g0Ls7yGPnWZLE4lgO0vEP3I5Lxi7YtvFnsNfE3qIlKvPc0OjPybImAKn5SRXh2C3X1F6Ug3H4I/s2048/Andrew+and+Me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1910" data-original-width="2048" height="373" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipGzdXqZjSkwJ5L2H2KUMSU70X25nY7p1a00cnlAwl-uGHsU5wTGGeaVW3NNncvCjW6g0Ls7yGPnWZLE4lgO0vEP3I5Lxi7YtvFnsNfE3qIlKvPc0OjPybImAKn5SRXh2C3X1F6Ug3H4I/w400-h373/Andrew+and+Me.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last pacer of the day!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We were in Long Valley and needed to get back to Mansfield where I had started the previous day. As you might expect from the theme of this route, there is a long mountain chain that separates these two towns. The most common route between them is Schooley's Mountain Road, which is infamous for being one of the most dangerous roads in the state. But slightly southwest from there is a lesser known and similarly steep route called Middle Valley Road. At about 500 feet in a mile, it's not the steepest climb on the course, but the fact that it's at mile 94 makes it exponentially harder than the ones before it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We absolutely crawled up this hill, netting my first 20+ minute mile split since Iron Bridge Road. But we eventually crested the summit and had a couple flat miles to regroup for the descent down Stephensburg Road, a detour thrown in purely to add elevation gain to an already hilly route. My quads were shredded. I probably could have walked faster than the pitiful 16:00/mi trot that I managed for the this descent. Andrew was a good sport thankfully.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At the bottom of the hill, we were finally left with the last climb and descent of the route. Just 400 vertical feet separated me from the Mount Lebanon ridge, and from there a 400 foot descent to the finish. The sun had set and I was once again running through the dark. So much for getting all the night running out of the way early!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mercifully, the entire climb was done in the span of a mile. My watch beeped and displayed 99 miles elapsed. I considered doing just one more mile and then calling it quits. After all, I was free to define this adventure any way I wished, and 100 miles was a nice round number. But there were still four miles left to complete the full loop, and momma didn't raise no quitter!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We walk-shuffled along Mount Lebanon Road in silence. In the distance I spotted headlights. Was this an impromptu crew stop? Had Alex driven out to pace me? Nope, some friends of Alex's had heard about my run and came out to cheer me on in a 20 degree night. How cool is that?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At long last, we made the final turn onto Point Mountain Road. Alex had run up to meet us there, and she informed me that there were two miles left to run. I told her that I wanted that it to be much less than two miles and that I was very disappointed in her for telling me otherwise. She was unmoved by my pleas.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I debated whether to hammer this last descent, as I so often do, but decided that my legs had already suffered enough. Plus there was black ice all over the road and the thought of slipping and faceplanting this close to the finish was not appealing. So we jogged along and I attempted to tell them both, in between gasps for air, how thankful I was for their support.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As the finish came into view, I gave a final burst of speed (read: 9:00/mi), and hugged the Point Mountain sign after 23 hours and 39 minutes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Adventure accomplished.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowYURtcSEyobs_KA-bHgeJzjQSFZhgCWs91ok6GiGNdVQ1aBhJpnO4aZjRRgfpNUWkJ1WF8X0BWsQZMv32eUGh3i0EJPWQlt74Hn-2sKcgZZrayQ29v9Q51LNP3kzr-dpPYnEHEhEebQ/s2048/Finish_LI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowYURtcSEyobs_KA-bHgeJzjQSFZhgCWs91ok6GiGNdVQ1aBhJpnO4aZjRRgfpNUWkJ1WF8X0BWsQZMv32eUGh3i0EJPWQlt74Hn-2sKcgZZrayQ29v9Q51LNP3kzr-dpPYnEHEhEebQ/w300-h400/Finish_LI.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chilling with a victory beer</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h3 style="text-align: justify;">Thanks!</h3><div style="text-align: justify;">It never ceases to amaze me how lucky I am to have family and friends who support these strange challenges that I design for myself. Alex and my mom followed me through the entire loop, spending 24 hours straight driving, running, and sleeping in 15 minute increments in the back of their cars. And because they're responsible adults during a global pandemic, they did this all in separate cars. I love and appreciate you both more than I can express. Alex's mom Julie also tagged along for the first and last few hours of the adventure, which was fun for me and great company for the main crew.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tim, Scott, Beth, and Andrew provided valuable company and navigational help during crucial moments of the run. I had anticipated doing this entire run solo because I couldn't imagine convincing other people to come run in the dark and freezing cold. Thank you all for your support!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Final stats:</div><div style="text-align: justify;">23:39:01</div><div style="text-align: justify;">102.89 miles</div><div style="text-align: justify;">13,070 feet of elevation</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Unofficially my 11th 100+ mile race.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/4542198703/overview">Strava data</a></div></div>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-13331658966989178502020-10-07T19:22:00.005-04:002020-10-07T19:22:53.053-04:00Adventure Report: Manitou's Revenge 100<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Relentless. </div>
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That's the one word that comes to mind when I think of the Manitou's Revenge 100 route.</div>
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Absolutely. Soul crushingly. Relentless.</div>
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That's how I would elaborate on that thought.</div>
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Let's back up a second for historical reasons. This adventure was painfully long, so it deserves a race report that is equally so.</div>
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I'm sorry in advance.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zEBh4wCcIdnD4ThR7eMsFrGwJB2fI3Beq8V_DTyRGtjb9WABiXrHnH5k7zbNOIVRaj-_LNThVPGxQq8_nxpVLzsdGv__KU4Cj3lsBHuO9exdPYtdvRQcceAudtS4flxqoLyRk4CZ12Q/s1600/Rocky.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zEBh4wCcIdnD4ThR7eMsFrGwJB2fI3Beq8V_DTyRGtjb9WABiXrHnH5k7zbNOIVRaj-_LNThVPGxQq8_nxpVLzsdGv__KU4Cj3lsBHuO9exdPYtdvRQcceAudtS4flxqoLyRk4CZ12Q/s400/Rocky.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making a new friend on Windham High Peak</td></tr>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The History of the Manitou's Revenge 100</h3>
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The <a href="http://www.manitousrevengeultra.com/">Manitou's Revenge <b>54</b> mile race</a> is widely considered one of the toughest endurance events on the east coast. Known for its heart pounding climbs, quad burning descents, and hours between aid stations, it is a challenge only attempted by the hardiest of mountain athletes.</div>
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But before Manitou's Revenge was a 54 mile event, it was proposed as a 100 miler by the twisted mind of Charlie Gadol. It wasn't until he described the course to local runners that he was convinced to shorten it to its present day length to avoid killing his entrants.</div>
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Ever since hearing the origin story of this race, the idea of running the original 100 mile route has haunted me. But the thought of running past the finish line and missing the post race festivities on race day never sat right with me. With the official race canceled for 2020 due to Coronavirus, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally try my luck.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manitou's Revenge 100 course map</td></tr>
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With the help of my Catskill guru <a href="https://northeasttrailrunning.wordpress.com/"><b>Mike Siudy</b></a>, I put together a <a href="https://caltopo.com/m/FEK7">route</a> based on the original course. The concept we settled on was simple and elegant: run the full length of the <a href="https://www.nynjtc.org/region/long-path">Long Path</a> through <a href="https://www.visitthecatskills.com/catskill-park">Catskill Park</a>, from the northern border to the southern border (or "blue line to blue line," as Mike puts it).</div>
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When we totaled up the numbers for the course, there was no question that it was a burly route: 93 miles, 25,000 feet of climbing, and nine high peaks (summits 3,500' or higher). And naturally it would include some classic Catskill terrain, notably most of the <a href="http://escarpmenttrail.com/articles/ultimate-test.html">Escarpment Trail</a>, eight miles of the <a href="https://www.backpacker.com/trips/new-york-city-devils-path">Devil's Path</a>, and the entire <a href="https://mountain-hiking.com/wittenberg-cornell-slide/">Wittenberg-Cornell-Slide traverse</a>.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_Vf0EGoykGhJ7mCtBL8JiZCu_YY-dYzv524hyphenhyphentY-1SUl-2X5JL_CqRBKPVB0ngn3GnNB2fxClDxsHkXU8aHkTQhGV2kqGXTmZAk9xydR64VSiEAD04oPTEyD3mzAUlZh0T8Z6dyoglg/s1600/Manitou%2527s+100+Profile.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_Vf0EGoykGhJ7mCtBL8JiZCu_YY-dYzv524hyphenhyphentY-1SUl-2X5JL_CqRBKPVB0ngn3GnNB2fxClDxsHkXU8aHkTQhGV2kqGXTmZAk9xydR64VSiEAD04oPTEyD3mzAUlZh0T8Z6dyoglg/s400/Manitou%2527s+100+Profile.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manitou's 100 elevation profile with water sources and summits labeled.<br />Splits shown here were based on a ~26 hour finish.</td></tr>
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Shortly before the day of my run, I found out that <a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/fkt/thomas-dehaan-long-path-ny-2020-05-17">a local runner named Tom DeHaan had run a similar route</a>, which he called Wings of Manitou. His route covered all of the high peaks but left off the first mile and the last twelve miles of the Long Path. His time of 29:48 provided a good benchmark, and I hoped to cover his mileage plus the extra sections in less time. After some back of the napkin math, I decided that 25 hours might even be possible in good conditions.</div>
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Two Dopes on a Slope (Start to Mile 24)</h3>
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I asked a handful of my craziest friends to join me for this adventure, but only <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Devang&lname=Patel" style="font-weight: bold;">Devang Patel</a> was <strike>stupid</strike> brave enough to accept the invitation. So off we went into the darkness at 4am on a humid Saturday in June. With social distancing in mind, we each had one person crewing for us. In my case, it was my infinitely patient wife Alex, and in Devang's case it was the legendary Grand Slammer <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Otto&lname=Lam">Otto Lam</a></b>. Alex and Otto would spend the weekend driving to strategic locations and often hiking up overgrown mountain trails to find us on the course.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Ryan, do you have any idea what we're in for?"<br />"No sir, do you?"</td></tr>
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The first few miles were totally new to me, and we took them very slowly in the dark. We summitted our first high peak - Windham - just as the sun was starting to peak out. We paused for a few pictures at the summit, sharing the view with Rocky the wonder pup pictured above. Not understanding social distancing, Rocky spent most of our two minutes together gnawing on my hands and elbows. I guess I was already working up a good salty sweat.</div>
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The weather was a mild 50ish degrees, but the forecast called for alternating periods of stifling humidity and thunderstorms. We did our best not to think about the conditions that awaited us, but inevitably the conversation drifted back to the weather whenever a new set of clouds drifted overhead. We knew we could be in for rough conditions if the rockiest sections of the course were wet.</div>
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About two hours in, we merged with mile 4 of the original Manitou's course, meaning that the additional mileage and elevation had added about an hour to our route. That was fine with me, but I had neglected to add that time onto the pace sheet that I gave our crew. Sorry about that, guys!</div>
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I've always been thankful that the climb up Blackhead comes early in Manitou's. With 1,071' of rocky climbing packed into just 0.81 miles of trail, it is one of the most difficult sections of the entire course. But doing it at mile nine meant that we got to enjoy the all-four-limbs scrambling like a couple of kids playing on a jungle gym.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuW-dVZnpBwruZJBidXQp9ojyu1f_UZ-zBc0LMy6pXjrbj404VdzTVVIQvQfqGG6ZVmiUQSymFO6fnlA4jebUwoLrtbQgAsohxzXO6kyDFWXlziZuRF5pszHG7LC4RSRmvxwIE9xiRGLA/s1600/105593150_276103380376853_3932545735818961484_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuW-dVZnpBwruZJBidXQp9ojyu1f_UZ-zBc0LMy6pXjrbj404VdzTVVIQvQfqGG6ZVmiUQSymFO6fnlA4jebUwoLrtbQgAsohxzXO6kyDFWXlziZuRF5pszHG7LC4RSRmvxwIE9xiRGLA/s400/105593150_276103380376853_3932545735818961484_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Devang's view for most of the day.<br />I apologize profusely for the beer farts.</td></tr>
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We reached our crew for the first time at Dutcher's Notch, running an hour behind our goal splits thanks to me being bad at math, but otherwise feeling good and moving well.</div>
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We cruised up Stoppel Point and had an easy meandering descent to North Point, where I lost the trail for a moment on the rocky slabs and Devang got us back on track. I'm pretty sure I make the same mistake every time I run Manitou's and I'm always lucky enough to have another runner correct me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As we passed over Newman's Ledge I told Devang the story of the Escarpment trail runner who absentmindedly ran straight off a ledge and landed in the bushes 50 feet below. He thankfully survived but became a cautionary tale for future Catskill runners. The inaugural member of the Escarpment diving team.</div>
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"I mean, I wouldn't even want to fall off one of these little ledges," I added as we descended toward North-South Lake. "You wouldn't die, but you could definitely *<i>oof*!</i>"</div>
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I had fallen off a ledge.</div>
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Thankfully it was a short ledge with dirt at the bottom, so I only bruised my ego. The timing could not have been more perfect though.</div>
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Anyway, we made it to North-South Lake in one piece, having covered the <a href="http://escarpmenttrail.com/bs/">Escarpment Trail Race</a> route in 5:16 (incidentally we would have placed 164th if it had been race day). We then had a short climb to South Mountain and a long runnable descent to Palenville. It was on this descent that the rain first started, just a drizzle at first but then a steady downpour.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chasing Devang into Palenville</td></tr>
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The Hard Part (Miles 24-56)</h3>
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The thing about the Manitou's Revenge 54 course is that each section gets progressively harder. The Escarpment Trail is just a warm up for the long wet climb up Kaaterskill High Peak, which itself is just an easy hike compared the the Devil's Path. Now with an additional 40 miles tacked onto the end, we knew we had to not just survive this section but to make it to the end intact enough to tackle the sections beyond.</div>
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The rain proved to be a mixed blessing since it provided some much needed relief from the usual heat on the climb up Kaaterskill. We made steady work of the ascent, trying to motivate each other despite the increasingly muddy trails. The Snowmobile Trail that skirts the summit was, as usual, a sloppy mess. Even in the best of weather that trail has been known to steal the shoes right off a runner's feet.</div>
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The rain grew more intense and the air cooler as we climbed. I was comfortable while we were moving, but I was starting to get concerned about the risk of hypothermia later on. After topping out, we made quick work of the 1,000' descent and rolled into Platte Clove with a sense of urgency.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I do enjoy running in a rain storm though.<br />Yes I'm aware that my shirt is totally translucent and my belly is hanging out. Sue me.</td></tr>
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I took a few minutes to refuel and put on a rain jacket, but I opted not to change my socks since the next section was guaranteed to soak us anyway. I was back on the trail in less than five minutes, and Devang was shortly behind me.</div>
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Now it was time for the infamous Devil's Path section, known as one of the most strenuous sections of trail in the country.</div>
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With food in our bellies and some warmer layers on, our spirits were starting to recover. We made the summit of Indian Head in just over an hour. The descent to Jimmy Dolan Notch was treacherously wet, but thankfully the sticky rubber soles of my new <a href="https://www.hokaoneone.com/mens-trail/speedgoat-4/1106525.html?dwvar_1106525_width=regular&dwvar_1106525_color=BIEP">Speedgoats</a> worked like a charm.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixb5lc5cybjwRvSv1JzMkRPVBeJLetHHWyIuNcAUopfraZ2mA5KcWH1xjVmfiF5VhH-fLw6Sl7muKUP2F0ITr85t45eIRRM-122MeSdubuCZFKSO4WwdfICTal0kPQFugyW6Ed1yAam24/s2048/20200627_170314.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixb5lc5cybjwRvSv1JzMkRPVBeJLetHHWyIuNcAUopfraZ2mA5KcWH1xjVmfiF5VhH-fLw6Sl7muKUP2F0ITr85t45eIRRM-122MeSdubuCZFKSO4WwdfICTal0kPQFugyW6Ed1yAam24/w300-h400/20200627_170314.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two dopes in the mountains</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div>The rain settled a bit and turned into more of a mist as we progressed across Twin and Sugarloaf, but the trails would stay wet for the remainder of the weekend. After a hair raising descent into Mink Hollow (-1,149' in 0.79 mi) we had warmed up enough that we could take off our rain jackets for the ascent of Plateau, which is the mirror opposite climb (+1,112' in 0.79 mi). Normally this is the last uphill scramble of the race and it turns into a heart pounding affair, but today it was time to settle in and conserve some energy. My 43min/mi pace on this section reflects, I will argue, my amazing patience rather than a total lack of climbing ability. Sigh...</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, the top of Plateau offers some decent running for a few minutes before turning sharply downhill toward Warner Creek. We met up with mountain badasses <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Aaron&lname=Stredny">Aaron Stredny</a></b> and <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/m_results_participant.aspx?fname=Shamus&lname=Nugent" style="font-weight: bold;">Shamus Nugent</a> who were running the 54 mile course self supported. We spent a talkative few miles together, all of us happy to have more company during a long stretch between aid. We then added a fifth member to our party, whose name I didn't quite catch. Here's a video of him though.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzyblnj0LRwfzG-2K5hDFTe891ctcr1MV3DA3wdvVEBz-XeikSpu2Dq38PEX02ynh6-PUXplpmzW-raIs-CeQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div>Needless to say this was the highlight of the day for all of us.</div><div><br /></div><div>We refueled at Silver Hollow Notch and smooched up our crew members (or at least I did; I didn't keep tabs on Devang and Otto), and then it was time for the last two climbs and descents before Phoenicia.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUxNJEjeaukdBE_1D0OLPth1V_UI-_OLp49OGmXpENinjR_ActTrULOB9b5KPsCblhGsy4eWx5oFmTFiEvq6eb5fz7OJFa9JC13ztzxMAU_gqTeMISdqKNVmtSq90b6ObJDLgdQutQY4/s1080/106453175_10101358147383762_7802865309760187403_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUxNJEjeaukdBE_1D0OLPth1V_UI-_OLp49OGmXpENinjR_ActTrULOB9b5KPsCblhGsy4eWx5oFmTFiEvq6eb5fz7OJFa9JC13ztzxMAU_gqTeMISdqKNVmtSq90b6ObJDLgdQutQY4/w400-h300/106453175_10101358147383762_7802865309760187403_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goons on parade</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We all got split up on the climb and descent to Warner Creek, and for the first time all day I found myself alone and able to take the climb up Mount Tremper at my own pace. And with 40 miles left to go, I was in absolutely no rush.</div><div><br /></div><div>After some uninspiring 25 minute uphill miles, I met Mike Siudy at the summit where he offered an assortment of beverages. Then it was time for some equally uninspiring 15 minute downhill miles in the fog as the sun set and my headlamp batteries died. Not cool, headlamp, not cool.</div><div><br /></div><div>I survived the descent intact, but I was becoming increasingly aware that my feet were waterlogged after being soaked most of the day. I trotted into Phoenicia at a leisurely pace and arrived at the Parish Hall with 17:39 elapsed. Accounting for the extra hour long climb up Windham High Peak, that's a 16:39 Manitou's Revenge 54 finish, which was just about on our target pace and would have placed us 57th of 113 starters in the 2019 race.</div><div><br /></div><h3>The Even Harder Part (mile 56 until my gruesome death)</h3><div>Now it was time to reset and get my head on straight for the Wittenberg Cornell Slide traverse. Unfortunately Devang's feet were too shredded to continue on and there would be no crew access for the next 25 miles, so I would have to prepare for a long night alone. A full change of clothing made me feel like a new man, and a beer and half a pizza didn't hurt either. Alex and Mike walked me to the next trail head while I ate, and then I was off on my own.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67CTtTC-SbujKuEfO67EjzF7Mx9NmixnWGxWl28Evue6HbDsqzW4mMf1UhjKXSsJTiH7OAQ7uMzgShW5tyR_f2ctUF_fPlRwt2unnaEyh1oukCoDhhUphWu4JCJ2AL0iL7sU2T9Rm2iY/s1080/74209875_10101358349618482_2196264392085059280_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67CTtTC-SbujKuEfO67EjzF7Mx9NmixnWGxWl28Evue6HbDsqzW4mMf1UhjKXSsJTiH7OAQ7uMzgShW5tyR_f2ctUF_fPlRwt2unnaEyh1oukCoDhhUphWu4JCJ2AL0iL7sU2T9Rm2iY/w400-h400/74209875_10101358349618482_2196264392085059280_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portrait of the author blissfully unaware of what he's about to go through</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />I had run this section of the Long Path in 2019 as part of the Cat's Tail Marathon but that was 1) in the reverse direction, 2) during daylight hours, and 3) on relatively fresh legs. The point I'm trying to make is that I didn't really know what I was in for. What I learned is that this section of trail is surprisingly difficult to follow and doesn't have a single water source for 13 uphill miles. Yeesh. I should have at least had a second beer before I left Phoenicia.</div><div><br /></div><div>It took almost 4 hours of climbing through wet grass and leaves to reach the open summit of Wittenberg. My feet were soaked through and I was totally out of water. Thankfully I had a beautiful panoramic view to raise my spirits.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFP500V0c-1kUp4F4CXL05hoOnoS8w4kC1Mayl5gJPO_pkmuzfUa5KwG0DY5uIz-J5Fw4D3nafF22CMFHHpRjsC3RMe84Ez1kzOlwgJdzgcHiYvrOIwz61QFNpPFOrRjABDUamUHAFjAE/s2639/Wittenberg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1191" data-original-width="2639" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFP500V0c-1kUp4F4CXL05hoOnoS8w4kC1Mayl5gJPO_pkmuzfUa5KwG0DY5uIz-J5Fw4D3nafF22CMFHHpRjsC3RMe84Ez1kzOlwgJdzgcHiYvrOIwz61QFNpPFOrRjABDUamUHAFjAE/w400-h180/Wittenberg.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from Wittenberg might be the best in the Catskills</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />Ha! Just kidding, it was 2 in the morning and still raining/misting. I couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction.</div><div><br /></div><div>My pace suffered as I grew increasingly dehydrated along the rocky traverse. In the col before Cornell, I finally gave in and scooped up a puddle of muddy water in my filter. I chugged it down eagerly, trying not to pay attention to how murky the it was. Then I figured that two bottles worth of puddle water wouldn't get me any sicker than one bottle. Down the hatch!</div><div><br /></div><div>The summit of Cornell came fairly quickly. The summit of Slide did not. I was thankful for a bright headlamp and a good pair of shoes as I clambered through the dark over some of the most difficult on-trail terrain the Catskills has to offer.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFXhodaWXTdqv-9baXcUqE6UzNymrGwb2SbT8zasTFCx7OSnBJZhS0URx7HdQShTdWx1nRm3rKScrmx4uUjgPCmzN4CU0nlkgSHvJhb-1OB22Lmqwp_cyOMGJPJbWpW5W5NruCj0tmR0/s1000/Cornell+Crack.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFXhodaWXTdqv-9baXcUqE6UzNymrGwb2SbT8zasTFCx7OSnBJZhS0URx7HdQShTdWx1nRm3rKScrmx4uUjgPCmzN4CU0nlkgSHvJhb-1OB22Lmqwp_cyOMGJPJbWpW5W5NruCj0tmR0/w400-h300/Cornell+Crack.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allow me to introduce you to the Cornell Crack. Picture doing this at 3am in the rain by the light of a headlamp.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />Five and a half hours after leaving Phoenicia, I reached my first real water source, the spring on the east flank of Slide. I guzzled down bottle after bottle of the freezing cold water. Finally hydrated enough, I was able to take in some food, but my rest break ended abruptly when I realized that my core temperature was plummeting. I scrambled the rest of the way to the summit, stopping for a moment to mentally visualize what the view normally looks like.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLI5Nhyphenhyphen9O6z1bu98A32xj3Em2m6A5N71F9HRyFVb0QqHknxLdZ-65qFolWMk3ltpog08pCS1f9YM33yUWxp4uy8A7LKOUxpGe46_8PNjPuuG3qcHnl_RhQ_NuWoMeDEbywelHJ2GpELuU/s2048/Slide.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLI5Nhyphenhyphen9O6z1bu98A32xj3Em2m6A5N71F9HRyFVb0QqHknxLdZ-65qFolWMk3ltpog08pCS1f9YM33yUWxp4uy8A7LKOUxpGe46_8PNjPuuG3qcHnl_RhQ_NuWoMeDEbywelHJ2GpELuU/w400-h300/Slide.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slide Mountain view in better weather</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br />Now at the high point of the course, I could make up some time on the downhills, right? Wrong! My feet were totally shot. 23 hours of mud and water had exacted a ghastly toll. My soles were hamburger meat. I gently tiptoed down the Curtis-Ormsbee Trail, watching my goal finish evaporate into the foggy air. The pain was so bad that I attempted to call Alex and tell her to meet me at the nearest trailhead. I was certain that I wouldn't make another 11 miles to our next aid station. Unfortunately, despite teasing me with a bar of reception, my phone could not connect to make a call or send a text.</div><div><br /></div><div>The only thing I could keep doing was to move forward. An excruciating four mile descent brought me to the Neversink River, where I refilled my bottles again. I found that my uphill hiking was unaffected by my foot issues, and I made it to the summit of Table as the sun was starting to come out 26 hours into my adventure. A short traverse brought me to the summit of Peekamoose, the ninth and final high peak.</div><div><br /></div><div>All that was left was a 2,500 foot descent to reach Alex and tap out. I soldiered forward, the skin on my feet threatening to slide off with each step. I envisioned pulling my shoes off at the finish and finding that they had taken all the skin and muscle off with them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I heard a woman screaming softly in the distance and realized with horror that the sound was coming from my own mouth. I'm glad no one else was around to hear me. Let's just keep this part of the report a secret, shall we?</div><div><br /></div><div>I counted down the miles until I could stop moving. Each one took an eternity. I would walk for what felt like an hour and look down to realize that 30 seconds had gone by.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just when I started to come to terms with the fact that I had clearly died and was in purgatory descending this god forsaken mountain forever, I rounded a final bend and saw the parking lot. I gave a feeble call for Alex and she cheered me in through the last few weak strides of my Catskill adventure.</div><div><br /></div><div>Final time: 27:50:58</div><div>Distance: 81 miles</div><div>Evelation: 24,022 feet</div><div><br /></div><h3>Postmortem</h3><div>I announced to Alex that not only was I done for the day, but I never wanted to come back and try this route again. Then I sat down and told her all the things I would do differently when I attempted the route again. So I guess that settles it. If I couldn't even swear off the Manitou's Revenge 100 five minutes after dropping out, I suppose I'll come back again and do it right. I'm not sure when that will be, but you can rest assured that I'll check the weather reports before I start.</div><div><br /></div><div>Technically, this could be considered an FKT since I replicated Tom DeHaan's route two hours faster (though notably, he was self supported and I had a crew). But I find it much more aesthetic to add on the last 12 miles of the Long Path and run the "blue line to blue line" as Mike originally proposed.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3686642197/overview">Strava data</a></b></div><div><b><a href="https://caltopo.com/m/FEK7">Route on Caltopo</a></b></div></div>
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Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-84331561494798231342020-09-18T17:48:00.001-04:002020-09-18T18:36:04.745-04:00Ten Fuel Commandments<p>One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine</p><p>🚨 It's the Ten Fuel Commandments 🚨</p><p>🚨 It's the Ten Fuel Commandments 🚨</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2iIkq5PCJm59l6Z0cPDy_FnOBW1tRPfDpfeu2rQtUh_qahr0teWe-JjXXv9gAJ7c6JbPd5GMDeh4wSpFpTwbAx-TgorRJTWAiXRwPdW-NL-UQohPb646bSa6kaMtpUPqyDadWF7c9Tk/s959/hamilton+duel.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="959" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2iIkq5PCJm59l6Z0cPDy_FnOBW1tRPfDpfeu2rQtUh_qahr0teWe-JjXXv9gAJ7c6JbPd5GMDeh4wSpFpTwbAx-TgorRJTWAiXRwPdW-NL-UQohPb646bSa6kaMtpUPqyDadWF7c9Tk/w400-h213/hamilton+duel.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your gels taste like salted butthole<br />I have the honor to be<br />Your obedient servant,<br />R. Runs</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;">Number one</h3><p>The challenge, to run while you're eating</p><p>If you got this down already</p><p>Then no need for further reading</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Number two</h3><p>If you don't, grab a snack, call it "real food"</p><p>Post on Instagram nonstop</p><p>About how it makes you feel good</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Number three</h3><p>Have a second food ready in place</p><p>Tailwind, gels, or soda</p><p>In case you think you might puke out your face</p><p>This is commonplace, 'specially for new recruits</p><p>Most nausea subsides, and no one boots</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDURjzH4VHLAjLV0s9kAa01Ff5uYweuT2DUVb0FuknuPz8zD68JXWLE2fuARgCB693eMNLB-mrcp_PI1klqbXi-7s-WFwaBbklxb5tCJghZnkGakwZff-lEbVHDVTBdHrc4ZN7sdJRTPs/s1024/hamilton+dying.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="669" data-original-width="1024" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDURjzH4VHLAjLV0s9kAa01Ff5uYweuT2DUVb0FuknuPz8zD68JXWLE2fuARgCB693eMNLB-mrcp_PI1klqbXi-7s-WFwaBbklxb5tCJghZnkGakwZff-lEbVHDVTBdHrc4ZN7sdJRTPs/w400-h261/hamilton+dying.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hot wings were a bad idea"<br />"Shh, I know, I know"<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><h3 style="text-align: left;">Number four</h3><p>If you don't know what to eat, that's okay</p><p>Pack a variety, train for half a day</p><p>You nibble this and that, you eat to your ability</p><p>You make a mental note how it affects your agility</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Five</h3><p>Fuel before the sun is in the sky</p><p>Find a place to poop before you toe the line</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Number six</h3><p>Leave a drop bag with your next of kin</p><p>Tell 'em where your runnin'</p><p>Pray that Hardrock some day lets you in</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcuzi2c8TIzQXNmjmvLzu8P6AayRpPBXz2thX-hI54hCH3lDQA9-yp25VPXSbo7P6JLSTIXf54aLk6a6RoSz__0ua4OP8KZMJltQGHHz5bPZWzE9D-f_2wwwor9rU3hpaEXKwM_aQymo/s1300/work.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="1300" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcuzi2c8TIzQXNmjmvLzu8P6AayRpPBXz2thX-hI54hCH3lDQA9-yp25VPXSbo7P6JLSTIXf54aLk6a6RoSz__0ua4OP8KZMJltQGHHz5bPZWzE9D-f_2wwwor9rU3hpaEXKwM_aQymo/w400-h225/work.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And when I meet Dale Garland<br />I'mma compel him to include more new runners in the lottery<br />Work!</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Seven</h3><p>Race briefing, force a grin</p><p>Ready for the moment of adrenaline when you finally face your opponent</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Number eight</h3><p>Your last chance to get your head on straight</p><p>Talk to your crew, see if they can talk some sense to you</p><p>"Hey crew member"</p><p>"Yo Ry Runs, son"</p><p>"Can we agree that ultras are dumb and not always fun?"</p><p>"Done"</p><p>"But it's either face my demons or run"</p><p>"All damn day? We both know that's absurd, son"</p><p>"Hang on, how many men cope in ways that are even more financially ruinous?"</p><p>"Okay, so we're doin' this"</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Number nine</h3><p>Shoot for your stretch goal, aim no higher</p><p>Summon all the barf bags you require</p><p>Then count</p><p>One two three four</p><p>Five six seven eight nine</p><p>We'll need</p><p>Ten pacers</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Fuck it</h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6v3g1bcVLyIesK7FPK4vnK-C2AlpyyMF8tDptjwxww_xS0r4RSLjEQGv1fLW13yxtv74qeT-VjkwRIw0qM9OO5mRu_UWeliT_F6RyLw62UzBcPFj1hD-cUDGFI1deT7A_ewIpytdbuk/s1280/you%2527ll+be+back.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6v3g1bcVLyIesK7FPK4vnK-C2AlpyyMF8tDptjwxww_xS0r4RSLjEQGv1fLW13yxtv74qeT-VjkwRIw0qM9OO5mRu_UWeliT_F6RyLw62UzBcPFj1hD-cUDGFI1deT7A_ewIpytdbuk/w400-h225/you%2527ll+be+back.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You say this race is draining and you can't go on<br />You'll be the one complaining when it is gone</td></tr></tbody></table>Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-84756372258157354392020-04-26T12:16:00.002-04:002020-04-26T12:16:19.827-04:00Virtual Race #2: Arrowhead 19 Hour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"Run away, but we're running in circles / Run away, run away, run away" —Post Malone, Circles</blockquote>
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"Sounds like a plan, dude." —Ryan Thorpe, shitty blogger / mediocre runner</blockquote>
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Okay so here's the thing. I like running long distances through the mountains, but this whole global pandemic thing has turned out to be wildly incompatible with that hobby.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMpojoghOKPK1oXihUFzgreyA4KigLeMMJKkXjG62gKL-cSr5NpRgiHtZVCIQtGSUk5IZeIgAKXHVlQAJLol-1dX2DoJy3zMkC4JnOAFXqsB7NK4wFkNDcCn5mk6RtoNPWvmabVZ3ep0/s1600/IMG_20200412_111920_227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMpojoghOKPK1oXihUFzgreyA4KigLeMMJKkXjG62gKL-cSr5NpRgiHtZVCIQtGSUk5IZeIgAKXHVlQAJLol-1dX2DoJy3zMkC4JnOAFXqsB7NK4wFkNDcCn5mk6RtoNPWvmabVZ3ep0/s400/IMG_20200412_111920_227.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who has two hands and likes to spend his weekends climbing mountains? This guy.</td></tr>
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First, race cancellations and travel restrictions meant that I couldn't leave NJ to run in any "real" mountains. Then my <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2020/04/virtual-race-1-springathlon-vert-is.html">local trails</a> were shut down because of massive overcrowding. Lastly, to add insult to injury, the only (non-highway) road leading out of town was <a href="https://www.roundvalleyproject.com/2020/03/26/progress-update-03-26-20/">closed for construction for the next 12 months</a>.</div>
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So here I sit in my <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lebanon,_New_Jersey">0.886 square mile town</a>. What is an ultrarunner to do?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8lhayWY85S-g5fcE4sZnx5P84h0JRQa5RSyYSbXVeNFB6ot202_OCvob01CFz76FyaIpW3GgJAOUUhM33xZ1GQ375awmgERyZ2JL3zdyIJngdbqZeDpxisBq2-db43eKruNFLutcc70/s1600/Lebanon+map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="710" data-original-width="939" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8lhayWY85S-g5fcE4sZnx5P84h0JRQa5RSyYSbXVeNFB6ot202_OCvob01CFz76FyaIpW3GgJAOUUhM33xZ1GQ375awmgERyZ2JL3zdyIJngdbqZeDpxisBq2-db43eKruNFLutcc70/s400/Lebanon+map.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah it's a tiny little town</td></tr>
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A Beacon of Hope</h3>
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That's when the RD of <a href="https://www.facebook.com/arrowheadendurancerun/">Arrowhead Endurance</a> posted to the ultralist about a new virtual 19 hour timed event. It was free to enter, could be started at any point in April, and could be run on a course of the runner's choosing. Highest total distance in 19 hours would win. From the grumblings of the elder curmudgeons on the list about how stupid virtual races were, I knew I had to run it. After all, spite is my most powerful motivator (aside from boredom).</div>
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Within days, a plan came together in my mind. I put together a two-ish mile figure-8 entirely within my town. I would never be more than half a mile from my house. How's that for staying local?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgfO3RQUe-6SjucXH0YoMQKGnG1dDSLzxihMJR0dG66n1w3KNy4hRUb7PDRjmJ2B1Ix_BiVggegNiWh-C6xRL5olRn-95cHNQ_eTREboFQppetrLJDRCn3a_mWnsvEJV3yMkXiNmL_jU/s1600/Arrowhead+map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="700" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgfO3RQUe-6SjucXH0YoMQKGnG1dDSLzxihMJR0dG66n1w3KNy4hRUb7PDRjmJ2B1Ix_BiVggegNiWh-C6xRL5olRn-95cHNQ_eTREboFQppetrLJDRCn3a_mWnsvEJV3yMkXiNmL_jU/s400/Arrowhead+map.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Course map. Just 52 laps of this baby and I'm done!</td></tr>
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The weather report for Saturday April 11 showed clear skies and a high of 50. It would be a little breezy but at least I wouldn't get rained on. A midnight start would have me done in time for dinner and a virtual game night with some friends.</div>
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So there it was. A dumb fucking idea for a dumb fucking pandemic.</div>
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Goals</h3>
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What's the point of running around in circles all day if you can't geek out on some data? (I realize that the previous sentence is totally incomprehensible to most people. Just bear with me.)</div>
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Not many people realize this, but <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1wdrZ5ps51aSzsSlb3tY21CRlpZG-skxSArexTK4ATdY/edit#gid=477160160">I ran a 19:39 100 miler on roads back in the day</a>, which is far from elite, but it's a better indicator of my road running ability than, say, my <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/09/the-ouray-100-just-fourteen-climbs.html">48 hour performance at Ouray</a>. Even fewer people know that I once ran a <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/453075736">solo 50 miler on a track in 7:45</a>.</div>
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Those two benchmarks suggested that I could probably run 100 miles in 17-18 hours under ideal conditions. I decided that I would stop at 100 and reward myself with some well deserved day-drinking with whatever time was left on the clock.</div>
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Go Time</h3>
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So there I was, a short-shorts-clad doofus standing in the middle of sleepy little Lebanon Borough at midnight.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVn65UDSlhvM2ZG-XHgx9VPsJSSbRRkavFagDFd87zLk4-EGwUsoVUigl322WuwSdDGdQE9-E8lc2Y76TYUcCOojE4GYmn54Wp_RASCCFeyFtwKOH4lycgKAVAO5bnWjhuirdxMZc_vUk/s1600/download_20200412_103438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVn65UDSlhvM2ZG-XHgx9VPsJSSbRRkavFagDFd87zLk4-EGwUsoVUigl322WuwSdDGdQE9-E8lc2Y76TYUcCOojE4GYmn54Wp_RASCCFeyFtwKOH4lycgKAVAO5bnWjhuirdxMZc_vUk/s400/download_20200412_103438.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whaddya gonna do?</td></tr>
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I gave Alex a kiss and wished her pleasant dreams, since she had work in the morning. Then I was off into the night.</div>
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Immediately, a few facts became apparent to me. First and foremost, my legs were not feeling very fresh, having had too little time to recover from <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3229828030">13 hours of hill repeats</a> two weeks prior. Second, the little 85 foot hill that I had to climb in each loop was slowing me down more than I anticipated. Third, the steady 10-20 mph wind was blowing directly in my face during this climb.</div>
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I made a mental note of these potential issues and filed it away in a drawer labeled "Shit that Ryan can deal with later." Instead of focusing on the negatives, I tried to enjoy seeing my town from a totally new perspective.</div>
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For the first hour or so, a little fox would dart across the road in front of me at the same spot in each loop. I asked him repeatedly <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jofNR_WkoCE">what he said</a>, but evidently he was not feeling very conversational. Given the fact that I was a headlamp-wearing neon yellow intruder in his part of the neighborhood, I couldn't fault him for that.</div>
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The second hour was marked by a state trooper patrolling the neighborhood, looking for people violating the order against group gatherings I guess. He was driving essentially my race loop but in reverse, so we passed each other every five minutes. I wondered what I would tell him if he stopped me and decided that I could say I was running a marathon. That seemed more plausible than the truth.</div>
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The remaining night hours were unremarkable. Just plodding along in the darkness at a steady pace trying to ignore the fact that my legs were complaining just a little bit too loudly at this point in the run. I hit the 25 mile mark at 4:10, or exactly 10:00/mi. If I could just hold that pace and not stop for any breaks, I'd have a 16:40 100 miler in the bag. Ha!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBrtYxUExR-mZ37EAVqCEpwIz24tbws1vUjgiI7MynS0aFWRLqd-dbZNGXYWO6ncW4p1b9avXBu6jH91TSfcdbQmFeCN3lTAegByXgtn66hQOauQRl-N2NgstYvQbhSoz40WsYvp2Qis/s1600/download_20200412_103454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBrtYxUExR-mZ37EAVqCEpwIz24tbws1vUjgiI7MynS0aFWRLqd-dbZNGXYWO6ncW4p1b9avXBu6jH91TSfcdbQmFeCN3lTAegByXgtn66hQOauQRl-N2NgstYvQbhSoz40WsYvp2Qis/s400/download_20200412_103454.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least there were messages of encouragement painted on the road!</td></tr>
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My nutrition was a motley assortment of leftover stuff from prior races: Gu waffles, gels, Coke, Ensure, and a few backup bags of Tailwind, which I wanted to avoid using since it has given me issues with <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyponatremia">hyponatremia</a>. Unfortunately, the freezing conditions overnight turned the waffles into inedible hockey pucks, and my supply of gels was quickly depleted. I chugged an Ensure and chased it with a swig of coffee to help keep it down. That did the trick although it left me feeling bloated. But as the old saying goes, better bloated than depleted. I'm pretty sure Ben Franklin said that.</div>
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As the sun rose, the town started coming to life. The birds began to sing and the first early morning runners took to the streets. I swapped out my headlamp for a hat and sunglasses, which immediately made me look ten times cooler. And as we all know, a cool runner is a fast runner.</div>
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Around 7:30, my friend Scott stopped by to run a few loops with me (well, to run across the road from me maintaining a responsible distance). Scott had just run a solo 50K as his first ultra, so we compared notes:</div>
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"How are you feeling?"</div>
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"My legs are kinda shitty."</div>
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"Yeah"</div>
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My pace was beginning to slip into the 11:00/mi range, but Scott pulled me through the 50 mile mark in 8:40. That meant that a 17 hour finish was out of the question but it left me over ten hours to do the final 50 miles. That time seemed very doable, barring catastrophe. My reward for 50 good miles was a shot of Fireball which went down pleasantly.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0xrypr77FRU45HA8NW7z9A6F_hnmj5VuQawJtSJQ_P7c_FxnJJgXmLqNkJ5-TsBk0PELQq4Sw2hoc4SO1v8NB8u8DW-7fKKLRK5c2IxRXEodib0-c75TldwzzstDlnPyKnsgaByQpX8/s1600/download_20200412_103451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0xrypr77FRU45HA8NW7z9A6F_hnmj5VuQawJtSJQ_P7c_FxnJJgXmLqNkJ5-TsBk0PELQq4Sw2hoc4SO1v8NB8u8DW-7fKKLRK5c2IxRXEodib0-c75TldwzzstDlnPyKnsgaByQpX8/s400/download_20200412_103451.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I forgot that bottle in my pocket for hours and then handed<br />it off to my very surprised wife when she came out to see me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Scott left, but the town was still coming to life. One side effect of the stay at home order is that everyone and their mother has taken up running or walking. I began to pass other groups regularly, only occasionally revealing to them the true insanity of my intentions. Mostly the conversation went like this:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"You've been running for a long time. Are you running a marathon or something?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Something like that."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Fortunately, Alex was more forthcoming with the details of my run, and by mid-morning the family next door was cheering for me whenever I passed by. A few others caught on, and before I knew it, I had regular cheering squads all along my route. That was a nice way to meet my neighbors.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I passed the 100K mark in 10:56, which was a 40 minute improvement over my previous best. However, I had to stop repeatedly to stretch my increasingly grouchy IT bands, and it was getting more and more difficult to start running after these breaks.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwonySnyDR5JZ-nQX7wy1vKYvqjQuPRUjAhcnqXfMEMbq6GmmHTsQv0EN5FpkNShMBtFrMOnkpfkkCuKpcy9O0kPv1MHUjZsftNewA4y_jLHEcWLLf_7ELqk8ke2PrZsu5Gwt_M3E15E/s1600/download_20200412_103456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwonySnyDR5JZ-nQX7wy1vKYvqjQuPRUjAhcnqXfMEMbq6GmmHTsQv0EN5FpkNShMBtFrMOnkpfkkCuKpcy9O0kPv1MHUjZsftNewA4y_jLHEcWLLf_7ELqk8ke2PrZsu5Gwt_M3E15E/s400/download_20200412_103456.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But on the bright side, I also smelled terrible</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />Alex had a break from work somewhere in here and was able to crew for me for a little bit. I was able to eat a single bite of the bagel that she made for me, but she also filled a few bottles with Tailwind, which thankfully went down easily.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As morning turned to afternoon, my pace continued to slip. I hit mile 75 in 13:35, having averaged close to 12:00/mi over the prior 25 miles. This was cutting into my buffer. I couldn't afford to slow down much more than this.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Around mile 80, Alex finished work for the day and was able to run the occasional loop with me. My mom also stopped by and alternated loops with Alex. It was fantastic to have some company for the first time since Scott left. Despite the pain in my legs, I still had plenty of energy. To pass the time Alex and I happily reminisced about all the meltdowns we have seen at races over the years (mostly my own).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLRTCiiC618m2PFpoi63_2zPeOpimmtuOOR_d6fIChUuaUnzE66B3jimBR9wzA1zwMoTduKSFZ79dwgxDSZOYPMkuSqPG-VKGGlEHd-wAtJIdd0Eoy9CPcGo9c1uq83q83WdsRDVTu54/s1600/download_20200412_103436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLRTCiiC618m2PFpoi63_2zPeOpimmtuOOR_d6fIChUuaUnzE66B3jimBR9wzA1zwMoTduKSFZ79dwgxDSZOYPMkuSqPG-VKGGlEHd-wAtJIdd0Eoy9CPcGo9c1uq83q83WdsRDVTu54/s400/download_20200412_103436.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Remember that time I was so cranky that you thought<br />I was going to ask for a divorce at the finish line?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That damn 85 foot hill was getting more imposing with each loop, and my pace dipped into the 12:30s. It was now looking like I would barely squeak in under 19 hours. A new plan materialized in my mind: If I could bank 20 minutes, that would allow me to walk the final two mile "victory loop" with a beer in my hand and Alex by my side. That sounded wonderful.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With Alex able to grab food and water for me, I powered through mile after mile without stopping. After every loop I recalculated the pace that I needed to average to finish under the 19 hour cutoff. It was looking like I would just make it. With 96 miles elapsed, Scott came back out and we all ran one last loop together.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I reached mile 98 with 18:18 on the clock. I had 42 minutes left to do the final two miles, and I intended to use every minute of that time. Alex grabbed me a beer from the house and I was finally done running for the day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPv7vJ7p4ovlT1l9FkO6zFz8ostDGyke9XjjmLFt6hOfyIRLO4CVk1XaTksghxo_51_fubij7Up9fyCVgad_8hfVMZr5npJB0RTKtDk_8H9MxX8wKamPdjzGUvDiy8FCqOhJYO7yRYs8/s1600/IMG_20200412_111920_226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPv7vJ7p4ovlT1l9FkO6zFz8ostDGyke9XjjmLFt6hOfyIRLO4CVk1XaTksghxo_51_fubij7Up9fyCVgad_8hfVMZr5npJB0RTKtDk_8H9MxX8wKamPdjzGUvDiy8FCqOhJYO7yRYs8/s400/IMG_20200412_111920_226.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victory beer in hand. Time to walk it in!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They say the best reward at the end of a 100 mile race is that you get to stop running, and boy was that ever true for me. These stout mountain legs were not built for running on asphalt!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With 100.08 miles showing on my watch, I reached my house for the final time, crossing the makeshift finish line that Alex set up for me. Final time 18:57:41.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWuEaZLDqSEGFu_qI41uYQtWJS4vKy62wf7_2IBSkPonT81udvZnvivo1Emfke_-mZOrJ5u1Voihux56wbmMY8f5_HICDbIfBxqBcn_brj5o9thyphenhyphenKMhMeikthYMFyXYzXepzH0USmLt8w/s1600/26835.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWuEaZLDqSEGFu_qI41uYQtWJS4vKy62wf7_2IBSkPonT81udvZnvivo1Emfke_-mZOrJ5u1Voihux56wbmMY8f5_HICDbIfBxqBcn_brj5o9thyphenhyphenKMhMeikthYMFyXYzXepzH0USmLt8w/s400/26835.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That was dumb.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Postmortem</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm happy to come away from this with a 40 minute PR in the 100 mile distance despite not setting myself up with ideal conditions. Another week of tapering and a flatter course would have done wonders for my pace, but maybe that just leaves some meat on the bone for my next 100 mile PR attempt. I'm not sure when that will be though. I really dislike running on roads.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One interesting aspect of a month-long race is that it is still going on as I write this, so I have no idea what place I will finish in. Good luck to all the other runners!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3287226618">Strava data</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=76649">Full results (when available)</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
25 mile splits</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1st 25: 4:10</div>
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2nd 25: 4:30</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
3rd 25: 4:55</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
4th 25: 5:22</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-66736440888815288122020-04-15T19:24:00.001-04:002020-05-01T19:34:04.172-04:00Virtual Race #1: Springathlon Vert Is Real Challenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unless you've been living under a rock for the last month, you are aware that COVID-19 has pretty much shut down the entire earth, meaning that races are cancelled indefinitely. Thankfully for the running community, companies like <a href="https://springathlon.com/">Spring Energy</a> have stepped up to create virtual challenges for those of us who need some external motivation.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In mid-March, Spring announced their Vert Is Real challenge, a virtual competition to rack up as much vertical gain as possible in a single activity. Seeing as <a href="https://www.strava.com/athletes/10027961">hill repeats feature prominently in my training</a>, I figured a long hill session - say 20,000 feet of climbing - would put me near the top of the leader board. That wouldn't be my best ever total, but <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2570378622">I wasn't willing to spend 48 hours racking up elevation gain again</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The Route</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In keeping with the social distancing spirit of the event, I needed to find a route that was close to home, lightly trafficked, and had a lot of elevation change per mile. Thankfully my local hill fit the bill perfectly. Packing 685' of gain into a 1.31 mi out and back, this climb up Cushetunk Mountian was just about perfect. In fact, I have used it so often in training that I created a Strava segment for it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On clear sunny days, this trail sees a good amount of hikers who come out for a view of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Round_Valley_Reservoir">Round Valley Reservoir</a>. I found myself hoping for some rain to keep the trails clear, and thankfully that's exactly what happened.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The "Race"</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Usually in race reports, I focus on the people I met or the interesting parts of the course. Unfortunately, there was really none of that. This is the view that I had most of the day:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://dgtzuqphqg23d.cloudfront.net/2G2NUxC6DzyrrzZRx3VBggkl1NWtVDapzcpTG-__xmE-1536x2048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://dgtzuqphqg23d.cloudfront.net/2G2NUxC6DzyrrzZRx3VBggkl1NWtVDapzcpTG-__xmE-1536x2048.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gray skies and a brown forest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And the only person I talked to was my wife when she came out to hike a "lap" with me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
While that probably sounds pretty dull, it actually became meditative after a while. I just focused on my breathing, made sure to eat once in a while, and churned out 25 minute laps like clockwork.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As rain showers passed through, the moss and shrubs took on that fluorescent green color, which in my mind signifies that they're pretty happy with life. Squirrels rustled around in the brush just out of sight as I huffed my way up each climb, and a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pileated_woodpecker">Pileated woodpecker</a> headbutted its way into a dead tree next to the trail.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One by one I checked off each of the 30 laps required to get me to my goal of 20,000 feet. Every 5,000 feet or so, I had an Ensure and a swig of coffee from my mug (which thankfully was still pretty warm at the end of the day). My reward to myself for hitting 10,000 feet was to text some friends.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After almost 13 hours, I reached the end of my journey.</div>
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<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Final Stats</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
39.53 miles</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
20,552 feet</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
12:55:17 elapsed</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This would turn out to be good enough for 10th place, which juuuust made me eligible for a sweet 20% off code for Spring products (race winners got store credit). But more importantly, it resulted in a ridiculous looking elevation profile on Strava that I can look at whenever I need a reminder that I'm not right in the head.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UGQPJOsgFaZvpYAwT0BQnanP9wfJrKj0nMhz8C9GjueN96hcPHXwxY-qd7sQB69-qkDbkdIbdswoRTgQLsIyaTc-_65z0RJAoM5ykq6E3imLqrsOgnJPu3Kv43HlaNvJ2M3Jv7C0Q1A/s1600/Vert+is+real+profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="857" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UGQPJOsgFaZvpYAwT0BQnanP9wfJrKj0nMhz8C9GjueN96hcPHXwxY-qd7sQB69-qkDbkdIbdswoRTgQLsIyaTc-_65z0RJAoM5ykq6E3imLqrsOgnJPu3Kv43HlaNvJ2M3Jv7C0Q1A/s400/Vert+is+real+profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So I got that going for me, which is nice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Future Plans</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unfortunately, NJ state parks closed down shortly after this event, so my trail running will probably be on hold for a while.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However, I did manage to run a 19 hour virtual timed event two weeks later, so stay tuned for that report.</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-79105026909543275502020-03-20T21:35:00.001-04:002020-03-20T21:43:48.219-04:00Frozen Snot 2020: 2 Snot 2 Furious<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
You ever run a race where there's a totally bullshit rocky steep section that makes you want to quit running forever? The Frozen Snot is what happens when you create a course entirely out of these sections. And then schedule the event for the coldest weekend of the year.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In other words, it's my dream race.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivP57zGwZS2_8vhVcUamqIubJHZ2K3Ask_wg3Q7Exre96TlPWrBYGXoaz0OO0-3OgddjuMufEpUYvXrlNyTwnN_sAPhQKtkjVcyEMiigZAT1fXmytQ5jh9obXRPbCfzJr-IBEYHOVRgsU/s1600/20190202_101346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivP57zGwZS2_8vhVcUamqIubJHZ2K3Ask_wg3Q7Exre96TlPWrBYGXoaz0OO0-3OgddjuMufEpUYvXrlNyTwnN_sAPhQKtkjVcyEMiigZAT1fXmytQ5jh9obXRPbCfzJr-IBEYHOVRgsU/s400/20190202_101346.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2019 mid-race selfie. Too good not to share again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There are four major climbs and descents, each with their own distinct "personality," that is to say, their own unique way of kicking my sorry ass. I'll break them down below, but first let's recap my 2019 performance to set the stage...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5p7aITPGQDHMId0FGwsNWzYINxcj9Z6Tl71IAIZrtO7rPq6q-yNuEDSl30snF96D-8lNoK2wSCcNXJLULUdN6PK_7pdMcb51uqQsXfM3dmB0thiUb2ekZXDLF5Zz8ixX270P_qvwTBs/s1600/Profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="1600" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5p7aITPGQDHMId0FGwsNWzYINxcj9Z6Tl71IAIZrtO7rPq6q-yNuEDSl30snF96D-8lNoK2wSCcNXJLULUdN6PK_7pdMcb51uqQsXfM3dmB0thiUb2ekZXDLF5Zz8ixX270P_qvwTBs/s400/Profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ugly climbs. Cute names.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The short story is that I came down with a stomach bug 12 hours before the start of last year's race and spent 4.5 miserable hours on course dry heaving whenever I attempted to run. The long story can be found <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/03/dry-heaving-my-way-to-finish-at-frozen.html">here</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Needless to say, I went into the 2020 event looking to improve significantly upon my time. This course is, after all, right in my wheelhouse (in the sense that I am absolute garbage at anything involving real running but somehow marginally competitive at rocky bullshit courses).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Okay, here goes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Three, two, one, go!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Climb 1: Barb's Kiss My Ass</h3>
<div>
<i>+1,022 feet in 0.47 mi (+40% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A mile and a quarter of road running helps the field spread out a little bit. I spend the first quarter mile weaving through the crowd and then settle in around 50th place in the field of 300 people.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Barb's KMA starts on what appears to be an old logging road but then quickly turns into a rocky leafy section of woods. My pulse is already audibly pounding in my ears as I exhale a frozen cloud into the 5 degree morning air with each breath. Awesome.<br />
<br />
After the longest quarter mile ever, we emerge into an open boulder field. The sun is rising and the mountains are turning a pale red in the distance. I can feel frost forming on my eyelashes. I remind myself to take a look around once in a while. This is a special place.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9uqQttmNV3RFP-rHa0GFC0j6DEL8kJw87ZIQEj72YtoVVSBmAmI613c-O3O9ZrhBPFf7ssfObSxuQUiI9uYStNjWez-6PYunWfDyhYCltDzXVXh3w3cOzlN9FfThlyaxURyNmLqbrd4/s1600/2020+pic+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9uqQttmNV3RFP-rHa0GFC0j6DEL8kJw87ZIQEj72YtoVVSBmAmI613c-O3O9ZrhBPFf7ssfObSxuQUiI9uYStNjWez-6PYunWfDyhYCltDzXVXh3w3cOzlN9FfThlyaxURyNmLqbrd4/s400/2020+pic+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Step. Breathe in. Step. Breathe out. Repeat.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
There are volunteers at the top of the climb cheering wildly for us. I think to myself that the only thing crazier than running this race is hanging out on the course to watch people run it. I am eternally grateful for their support.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Descent 1: Unnamed</h3>
<div>
<i>-751 feet in 0.36 mi (-39% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My thoughts during this can be best summarized as:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Inhale.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This section is the first of many to have ropes strung up for runner safety. I find that I can do an awkward sideways run while firmly holding the rope with both hands. I still manage to lose my footing occasionally.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I leave the safety of the rope a few times to pass people. I can feel my life insurance rates go up by the minute. I trip and take a few big downhill strides to catch myself. I'm pretty sure I have briefly become the fastest moving human being on the planet during that stumble.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The end of the descent arrives and I have never been happier to start climbing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Climb 2: Goat Path Extension</h3>
<div>
<i>+817 feet in 0.44 mi (+35% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Back to hands-on-knees hiking. The weather is still below freezing but I am already overheating. I remove the Buffs that are over my ears and around my neck. I unzip my shirt. I consider taking off my gloves but know that I need them for protection on the ropes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Over the sound of my own ragged breathing, I hear a runner speaking calmly to his GoPro. How is he still able to form words? I immediately hate him for having this superhuman ability.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
From somewhere above, I hear the deep clang of an enormous cowbell every few seconds. After another minute of climbing, I see that it is hanging from a tree, and a woman is swinging an enormous stick at it like a baseball bat every time a runner passes her. Pennsylvanians truly are a different breed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She welcomes me to the top of the second climb and I respond with something profound, like "Uhhh." Nailed it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Descent 2: Lightning Bolt</h3>
<div>
<i>-1,002 feet in 1.32 mi (-14% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
This is one of the few runnable sections in the entire race. That is, unless you are puking your everloving brains out. In 2019 I was only able to eke out a sad little trot in between depositing little puddles of last night's dinner on the course. This year I redeem myself and hammer out a seven minute mile on this fucker.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPnxtEmeFanoDtAIXEGtmQa-Uz3m217g-D3a8nAvnyUY5JtNLK_sart44bOKWQAxcwbPGzzQHGZKWh9qxNqc2UTnDwUFPMDHT1jI-mopDB1nHgFUDV7mpV8X3I8qOz4YWJKjlVxA_hb8/s1600/Lightning+Bolt+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPnxtEmeFanoDtAIXEGtmQa-Uz3m217g-D3a8nAvnyUY5JtNLK_sart44bOKWQAxcwbPGzzQHGZKWh9qxNqc2UTnDwUFPMDHT1jI-mopDB1nHgFUDV7mpV8X3I8qOz4YWJKjlVxA_hb8/s400/Lightning+Bolt+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Runners descending the last part of Lightning Bolt via fixed rope in 2019</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I realize that my legs feel really good. It's too early to tell, but this might be one of those magical races where things go well all day. I haven't had one of those in a long time. This thought bolsters my energy, and this energy leads to more positive thoughts. Is this the mythical runner's high that those assholes always talk about?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A bit of rolling single track brings us to the first aid station, where I am greeted by the smell of fresh bacon. I think to myself that life is good, and that if there is a god, I think he wants us to be happy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I leave the aid station with a mouthful of bacon and a heart full of gratitude. This race is simultaneously the dumbest and coolest thing in the world.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Climb 2.5: The Avenue</h3>
<div>
<i>+335 feet in 0.13 mi (+48% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
In my bacon-induced euphoria, I take a few running strides up this climb before the burning sensation in my lungs reminds me that that's way too goddamn quick. I settle into a pack of racers who are moving well, and we discuss life, the universe, and everything. The whole climb lasts six minutes, but we are all best friends by the top, although we don't know each other's names.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This climb is the shortest on the course but it packs a punch.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Descent 2.5: Debbie's Drop</h3>
<div>
<i>-342 feet in 0.16 mi (-40% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
The mirror opposite of The Avenue.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More fixed ropes. More slipping and sliding. Someone is trying to tell me a "hilarious" story about being an EMT and finding a dead body. I move quickly to pass him. My heart rate spikes. It's worth it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Climb 3: Backside of the Beast</h3>
<div>
<i>+1,048 feet in 0.84 mi (+24% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Compared to the rest of the course, this section is pretty tame, though it would easily be the steepest climb in almost any other race. <i>Matt Lipsey probably runs this thing</i>, I think to myself. But he is (1) very fast and (2) a crazy person, in the best sense of the phrase. I'm content to do more hiking, but I make sure to push myself pretty hard. This is, after all, the second to last climb of the race.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The climb tops out at the summit of Mount Logan. At only 2,200 feet, we're still high enough that there is a dusting of snow on the rocky ground. I glance at the microspikes in my chest pocket and decide that it's not worth the trouble to put them on. The next section will make me question this decision.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Descent 3: Mt. Logan Direct</h3>
<div>
<i>-1,148 feet in 0.82 mi (-27% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The ground is littered with loose snow, loose leaves, loose rocks. Nothing wants to stay in place when I plant my feet. Consequently, my feet don't particularly want to stay in place when I plant them. <i>Should I put on my spikes? Nah, that would take too long.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I end up on my butt twice despite having a white-knuckle grip on a safety rope. The runner in front of me does a half somersault and lands hard on his shoulder with an audible crunch. I stop to help him but he insists he's fine in between a stream of four letter words. We're all in this together, but no one wants to be a charity case.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>Why did I sign up for that high deductible insurance plan?</i> I think to myself, because apparently these are the thoughts that go through your head mid-race when you reach your 30's.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I complete the most hair raising 17 minute mile of my life and arrive at the Zindel aid station, where I quickly refill on water and pose for a picture from a volunteer who is impressed by my ice beard. (Incidentally, ma'am, if you could send me that picture I would really appreciate it!)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Climb 4: The Beast</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>+1,126 feet in 0.66 mi (+32% grade)</i></div>
<div style="font-style: italic; text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<i>Prepare Ye to Meet The Beast</i> warns a sign at the base of the climb. You know when a race organizer breaks out olde English that they're not fucking around.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6htk5oWR5-Llr2Qs6P9-G1SbTCVGs9YAWcBDsQJqaBjD2FAygql4w32lCST1qTMt0apBOCjz2-HfIJTKBGNGCJ6AIFyd35-cnxunFKsSkYQ6Igu14Ke9mVD3R5TbtN1pXhIFXejkrSs/s1600/KMA+McNeil+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="969" data-original-width="1215" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6htk5oWR5-Llr2Qs6P9-G1SbTCVGs9YAWcBDsQJqaBjD2FAygql4w32lCST1qTMt0apBOCjz2-HfIJTKBGNGCJ6AIFyd35-cnxunFKsSkYQ6Igu14Ke9mVD3R5TbtN1pXhIFXejkrSs/s400/KMA+McNeil+1.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic from 2019 by Mike McNeil</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Beast gets right down to business as I immediately find myself staring up at a thousand foot long nearly-vertical boulder field. There is no defined trail, so it's up to each runner to find the most efficient path through.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I pass a young runner who is cramping badly and offer him a Gu.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Will it help?" he asks.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I shrug. "It couldn't hurt." What the hell do I know?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wish him well and continue on my way. We will all need to get ourselves off this mountain one way or another. Food and water are the best medicine at this point in a race.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The boulder field ends but the climb is still only half done. We enter the woods and clamber over downed logs, mossy stones, and piles of wind blown leaves. My legs are feeling increasingly like a bowl of jello, but they only need to last a little longer.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We reach a small aid station near the top of the mountain where a boisterous volunteer informs us that we're done climbing: "They don't put aid stations <i>near </i>the top of mountains! You're there boys!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We still have another 100 feet of climbing along the rocky ridge line. I'm not pleased about this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My feet are getting clumsy as my legs tire, and I begin tripping over small rocks, but it's just a little further and I'm still moving well.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Descent 4: The Sluice</h3>
<div>
<i>-702 feet in 0.53 mi (-25% grade)</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
One last downhill. <i>Let's go quads! Let 'er rip!</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hammer this descent, high stepping over snowy logs and off-camber stones. There's nothing left to save my legs for, so I just need to survive this next half mile. Easier said than done though. Millions of sharp loose rocks are hidden under a layer of leaves, waiting to grab my feet with every step.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I come up behind another runner and he hits the gas pedal to stay ahead. Now that I have someone to follow, it's much easier to decide on each foot placement. We're running the same pace, but he's doing most of the work.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I pass him briefly on a short climb and he passes me back a minute later as the trail levels out. It looks like it's going to be a sprint to the finish, and I'm game. Unfortunately, he stops at the last aid station, while I fly through knowing that there are only two more flat miles to go. The 30 seconds he spends there prove to be insurmountable as I am able to hammer out the last two miles in 15 minutes (which is pretty quick for me).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I cross the line with a beard full of ice and a big dopey grin on my face.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
10th place of 300ish starters, 3:31:43 elapsed for an almost hour improvement over last year's time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-44vqOlDBQkl5MA-YXu_6Hn12UPWncQBh85i5nnkODoMaNxHFycADsOYB5Rt7zlg_Px7XWQ_mHNCqkhe3cYj_qpTrLaq8qx3p2LlfTeYyKih_-74u6VZy_QIyW__zFEc_VCobY20YZkQ/s1600/DSC_0864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-44vqOlDBQkl5MA-YXu_6Hn12UPWncQBh85i5nnkODoMaNxHFycADsOYB5Rt7zlg_Px7XWQ_mHNCqkhe3cYj_qpTrLaq8qx3p2LlfTeYyKih_-74u6VZy_QIyW__zFEc_VCobY20YZkQ/s400/DSC_0864.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finisher pic from 2019 when I caught my wife on the final stretch of road</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hell yes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Global pandemics aside, I'm excited for some good running in 2020.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3103110802/overview">Strava</a><br />
<a href="https://falconracetiming.com/racetimes/Frozen%20Snot%20Overall%202020.htm?fbclid=IwAR2t3VOBACMpsvmUYe9nxVIw5YzDI2_3JtJraNsspMMmz3E2b9g7cEvQbCo">Official results</a></div>
</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-54807531221538139072020-02-06T16:57:00.002-05:002020-02-06T16:57:56.759-05:002019: A Year of Sufferfests<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
With so many <strike>terrible decisions</strike> adventures over the past year (plus a job change), it's been tough to keep up with my regular blog posts. So here is a quick run down of some of my crazier runs and hikes from 2019.</div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi776V0yPYhsFQ3jD4m-XwyramruTrhpeu__CIDyVfcn9tbCiHTBAGvLZ0Yl2d__JWoSq94Joc3Ve4PdI4TVr73nR83sMCVn3No3yCBNBFVJ6FSgquHo-Hvyr-93djKCh8bIVFWLjpM6EE/s1600/20190720_055821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi776V0yPYhsFQ3jD4m-XwyramruTrhpeu__CIDyVfcn9tbCiHTBAGvLZ0Yl2d__JWoSq94Joc3Ve4PdI4TVr73nR83sMCVn3No3yCBNBFVJ6FSgquHo-Hvyr-93djKCh8bIVFWLjpM6EE/s400/20190720_055821.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise from the slopes of Long's Peak</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Lenape 55K</h3>
</div>
<div>
Date: March 2<br />
Distance: 35 miles<br />
Elevation: 4,000 feet<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHp5hF1nuaa9aqY5xqmxQ1u780k8PDHaFcf1cqRVi5tu7MwzySYjvT623cRK4wBIcbv2ydBQvEstJ2SBZ0N6dfN2x501Qm2gphMniLEdXNio6mce5EcJHJu8SSJdXTdXgKdOWnoMThjw/s1600/Lenape+2019+pic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1218" data-original-width="1600" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHp5hF1nuaa9aqY5xqmxQ1u780k8PDHaFcf1cqRVi5tu7MwzySYjvT623cRK4wBIcbv2ydBQvEstJ2SBZ0N6dfN2x501Qm2gphMniLEdXNio6mce5EcJHJu8SSJdXTdXgKdOWnoMThjw/s400/Lenape+2019+pic.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lemos, Kolb, and myself on the way to the race</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My annual pilgrimage to northeastern NJ. The Lenape Run is a <a href="https://outthereoutdoors.com/fat-ass-runs-a-brief-history/">Fat Ass</a> ultra whose entry fee is a $5 train ticket from Millburn to Newark. The course follows the yellow trail blazes through city streets, park bike paths, and eventually single track. While a flat-ish 55K on roads isn't exactly in my wheelhouse, I have come back each year because of the fantastic community around the race.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I started off running 8:00/mi pace through 4" of fresh snow, trying desperately to keep up with speed demons <b><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jay&lname=Lemos&age=29">Jay Lemos</a></b> and <a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jayson&lname=Kolb&age=32" style="font-weight: bold;">Jayson Kolb</a>. Then I wised up and jogged it in for a 4th place finish. The beauty of "shorter" ultras is that there is plenty of time to eat pizza and drink beer afterwards. And that's exactly what I did.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2187335437">Strava</a><br />
<a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=64917#id800937">Results</a></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Suffern to Bear Mountain Trail</h3>
<div>
Date: March 9</div>
<div>
Distance: 23 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation: 5,000 feet</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUDaNL8l43GuOmiznstxAtZdCGARIYi6WNnD3OtDc_koPea29YRlK7NQu4aq-OEX9vMTIKhmBnvIFPppCzt_Dr-CZtw4s0tWtXdnymjOalmt189r5HmOl9t155RwQntnKDidgGxSpDhE/s1600/20190309_060137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUDaNL8l43GuOmiznstxAtZdCGARIYi6WNnD3OtDc_koPea29YRlK7NQu4aq-OEX9vMTIKhmBnvIFPppCzt_Dr-CZtw4s0tWtXdnymjOalmt189r5HmOl9t155RwQntnKDidgGxSpDhE/s400/20190309_060137.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise early in the run</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not having suffered enough in the snow, Jay and I linked up with <a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Alex&lname=Galasso"><b>Alex Galasso</b></a> and <a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Nicholas&lname=Mamrak" style="font-weight: bold;">Nich Mamrak</a> the following weekend for an attempted double traverse of the Suffern to Bear Mountain Trail. Known for its rocky and hilly terrain, the S-B Trail is difficult under the best of circumstances. As luck would have it, a recent storm had dumped a foot of fresh powder on the trail shortly before our run. Nevertheless, we set out for our attempt at 3:22am on a frigid March morning.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We didn't admit it to each other at first, but it quickly became clear that we would not finish this attempt in any reasonable time frame, as the snow slowed our pace to a crawl. Despite the slow going, it was surprisingly fun to run through fresh powder in the dark. The descents felt like skiing, and each of us took a turn sliding downhill on our backsides. By the time we reached Bear Mountain State Park over 8 hours had elapsed, so we crawled into Jay's Sprinter van and called it a day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2202270252">Strava</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The Catskill Nine</h3>
<div>
Date: May 11</div>
<div>
Distance: 19 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation: 6,000 feet</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLlOJqxqzUZ9iPfT7-kGrgzfpEWF_x625ewXf8vQYjfGRKOdC3hk2XUlgbcauqRmHdNqaSeoaqfce54AZgttoQaWT-nHu7bwTuDqXaBNO2M25xKwIQGy3z8cBCCS5MCqqKLdwonNPcBWo/s1600/20190511_185042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLlOJqxqzUZ9iPfT7-kGrgzfpEWF_x625ewXf8vQYjfGRKOdC3hk2XUlgbcauqRmHdNqaSeoaqfce54AZgttoQaWT-nHu7bwTuDqXaBNO2M25xKwIQGy3z8cBCCS5MCqqKLdwonNPcBWo/s400/20190511_185042.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Slide Mountain on a perfect day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The "Nine" is a classic Catskills bushwhacking route that summits - you guessed it - nine peaks in just 19 miles. This was my first attempt at bushwhacking solo, and I wanted to see if I could navigate the route efficiently following a track on my phone.</div>
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The first five miles followed a marked trail to the summits of Peakamoose and Table. Then I immediately made a navigational error in my first step off the trail, following a northwest heading instead of northeast toward Lone Mountain. After correcting my mistake, I found the summit canister, then thrashed my way through dense pine forest to the summits of Rocky and Balsam Cap. The canister at Friday eluded me for 15 minutes, since I didn't realize that it was 100 yards away from the true summit. After walking in circles, I finally located it, then followed the ridge line to the Wittenberg-Cornell-Slide Trail to summit the last three peaks. A rocky but marked trail took me back to my car, where I was pleased with my 6:41 total time, two hours off the FKT but not bad for a first attempt at navigation in the Catskills.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2360201438">Strava</a></div>
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<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
WTF Solo Loop</h3>
<div>
Date: May 18</div>
<div>
Distance: 28 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation: 10,000 feet</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghMzk8sgiicwMw3fMU_MMt9khFj3u3DKvWo5K_pcyQ-PEBN2sMLiWxJwhvrdKX4_kin3QzaNoHDGAWPZHOj1PA-Utr9371rG9K1_HaIl6DMR4Wq8SLbIfeq1tsrBRcSatW5LlmJruA_so/s1600/20190518_180345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghMzk8sgiicwMw3fMU_MMt9khFj3u3DKvWo5K_pcyQ-PEBN2sMLiWxJwhvrdKX4_kin3QzaNoHDGAWPZHOj1PA-Utr9371rG9K1_HaIl6DMR4Wq8SLbIfeq1tsrBRcSatW5LlmJruA_so/s400/20190518_180345.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A friendly Ent near the summit of Rusk Mountain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now for some real Catskill navigation. The WTF Loop circumnavigates the Spruceton valley, following a ridge line over 12 summits, including six <a href="http://catskill-3500-club.org/peaks.php">High Peaks</a>. 75% of the loop is off trail through brush, dense pine forest, and slick leaf covered slopes. I had completed this loop in 2018 with Catskill expert <a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/blog/2018-siudy-catskill-35-fkt" style="font-weight: bold;">Mike Siudy</a> as my guide, but now it was time to leave the nest and venture out on my own.</div>
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The hike up to the ridge line was uneventful. As a general rule, it's always easier to navigate during a climb than a descent (there is only one summit of a mountain, but multiple ways <i>off </i>the summit). The day was sunny and warm, and I easily followed the ridge line using my shadow as a compass (pro tip, at noon your shadow points due north).</div>
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My only major error of the day was on the first descent to Spruceton Rd, where I followed the wrong drainage and ended up thrashing around a brier patch before ending up on the shoulder of Rt. 42. A mile jog later, I was back on course, having lost about 20 minutes. The crux of the route is Diamond Notch, which descends 1,000 feet and climbs another 1,000 feet all in less than a mile. I got cliffed out on the descent a few times but otherwise emerged unscathed.</div>
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I ended up back at the car in 10:47, which will be more than an hour under the cutoff if/when this loop becomes a race (look for the WTF 100 to start in 2020).</div>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The Devil's Path</h3>
<div>
Date: May 25</div>
<div>
Distance: 23 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation: 9,000 feet</div>
<div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNPPLuZxWZb4ACTzp_U7gQN4MeDrJDS6gDCv19MnbPgNzWy26FzCeGtxImd8GBJRdXX7USLeEysGf7yogDvfF4gGzd1ieG6ArA2v59cO26dVV6uqQW_7h5lwrgFjdpFVA51-lVTtH-Uw/s1600/20190525_095544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNPPLuZxWZb4ACTzp_U7gQN4MeDrJDS6gDCv19MnbPgNzWy26FzCeGtxImd8GBJRdXX7USLeEysGf7yogDvfF4gGzd1ieG6ArA2v59cO26dVV6uqQW_7h5lwrgFjdpFVA51-lVTtH-Uw/s400/20190525_095544.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bunch of really fast dudes. And me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Another weekend in the Catskills, and another weekend chasing Lemos and Kolb. This time, the addition of ultra phenom <a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Steven&lname=Lange" style="font-weight: bold;">Steve Lange</a> added an additional pair of fast legs to the mix. The result was a lot of sweating and panting from yours truly. Luckily they were nice enough to stop at summits so we could snack, take pictures, and goof off. All in all a great day in the wilderness with some friends.</div>
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2397194169">Strava</a></div>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Great Range Traverse</h3>
<div>
Date: June 8</div>
<div>
Distance: 25 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation: 10,000 feet</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUcyQl_TW0lpyRB0J4PWiQfene4u4mdVtwZlhTCc57fpkgwdLT0RxYs-WRIdTMgig8kuUBQJiZex2YNKw8eAkOE9_dpUK4i2wBRqCYE4XNXWxU_Kq-KrmAixccDOtzc-0pqGxRV0_SEU/s1600/20190608_093556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUcyQl_TW0lpyRB0J4PWiQfene4u4mdVtwZlhTCc57fpkgwdLT0RxYs-WRIdTMgig8kuUBQJiZex2YNKw8eAkOE9_dpUK4i2wBRqCYE4XNXWxU_Kq-KrmAixccDOtzc-0pqGxRV0_SEU/s400/20190608_093556.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from one of the many summits</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The northern cousin of the Devils Path, the Great Range Traverse links up ten of the gnarliest peaks in the Adirondacks. Alex Galasso and I drove up on a Friday night after work, then met <b><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jim&lname=Jansen">Jim Jansen</a></b> at the Rooster Comb Trail head at 5am on a bluebird day.</div>
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We made quick work of the first few peaks but settled into a relaxed pace, talking and taking lots of pictures. The trails were still slick and overgrown after a rainy spring, and I began to understand the meaning of "mud season" in New England when the trail attempted to steal my shoes. The descent off Gothics was aided by the use of cables, which thankfully prevented me from sliding straight off the mountain.</div>
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The final miles up Mt. Marcy were completely overgrown, and Jim's broad shoulders plowed a path straight through pine boughs that stretched across the trail. Finally at the highest point in NY at 5,344 feet, we decided to sit and eat lunch before dealing with any more trails. Never one to miss an opportunity to take off his shirt, Jim even got a few minutes of sunbathing in.<br />
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Then it was a muddy and overgrown ten miles and 4,000 vertical feet back to the car, where we indulged in some post run beer and a well deserved dinner at the local diner. Adventure accomplished!<br />
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2440414782">Strava</a><br />
<br />
<h3>
Manitou's Revenge</h3>
<div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Date: June 22</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Distance: 54 miles</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Elevation: 14,700 feet<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN3INumdDKn5SI2n2OGyOmYebeNyxxbu5UYmUp6edAPeTjeAIUOi7znY12_pCqJzm8mNKq9R_eAJwNlkD1ZH98WSqDM5_vsCkcbRH9835smx2COg358DoyKoMzOJiuUnddVkMnlATksvA/s1600/65147681_10111129611116989_5475358268970762240_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1416" data-original-width="1414" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN3INumdDKn5SI2n2OGyOmYebeNyxxbu5UYmUp6edAPeTjeAIUOi7znY12_pCqJzm8mNKq9R_eAJwNlkD1ZH98WSqDM5_vsCkcbRH9835smx2COg358DoyKoMzOJiuUnddVkMnlATksvA/s400/65147681_10111129611116989_5475358268970762240_o.jpg" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My happy place</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
My favorite official race on the planet, Manitou's Revenge seeks out some of the most challenging terrain in the Catskills. Runners must contend with slick boulders, mud, humidity, and a massive amount of elevation change over the 54 mile course.</div>
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Much to my chagrin, I was placed in the first starting wave, which meant that I got to watch a dozen people take off ahead of me while I trotted along the first three miles of road at a 10:00/mi pace. Slow and steady, as they say. My the time I reached the first section of trail, two runners from wave 2 had passed me.</div>
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Around the first aid station, Alex G. caught up to me, having erased a five minute time delay in the span of ten miles. We would go on to run most of the race together, with him running a bit faster but stopping a bit longer at aid stations. The ascent of Kaaterskill High Peak was a solemn affair, and we didn't speak a word to each other as we slogged through slick muddy trails. Once off the mountain, Alex worked up the nerve to say what we had both been thinking:</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
"So Ryan, that climb up Kaaterskill--"</div>
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"Fucking sucked!" I responded.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Yeah okay, I thought so too."</div>
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Happy to be in agreement, we made quick work of the Devil's Path before he crushed me on the descent of Plateau, passing a few other runners and finishing in a very solid 8th place with the third fastest split on the final section.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
As for myself, I trotted in for 10th place with a nine minute PR, thanks in part to the mild weather. I'll be back next year!</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2474378611">Strava</a></div>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Swan Song Loop (Dumbass Variation)</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Date: July 4</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Distance: 30 miles</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Elevation: 16,500 feet</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmjoScrtS8x1I5B9E9hdLlJ8WfnmnSx1yx-UdLge7Ezv9vySY23ho_eOOmwi6MAspSjP7z1_DjDmENEafx-WzqZqlJfWsfcNlz_7853q2tTEl49WX7j-tyunGEieturxC-oPykVMWRAw/s1600/20190704_054814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmjoScrtS8x1I5B9E9hdLlJ8WfnmnSx1yx-UdLge7Ezv9vySY23ho_eOOmwi6MAspSjP7z1_DjDmENEafx-WzqZqlJfWsfcNlz_7853q2tTEl49WX7j-tyunGEieturxC-oPykVMWRAw/s400/20190704_054814.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King's Ravine at sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/08/adventure-report-swan-song-loop.html">I have written pretty extensively on why I like this route so much.</a> Suffice it to say, it requires rock climbing skills more so than running skills. It feels like a true alpine mountain adventure despite topping out at 6,300 feet.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Alex T. and I drove overnight to get to the White Mountains, parked at the Appalachia Trail Head, and bid farewell as I started my initial climb at 4:30am. I almost immediately made a wrong turn and followed the Valley Way instead of the Airline Trail. This mistake was quickly corrected, but it was a sign of things to come.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The trails were dry, so I made good time up Huntington Ravine to the summit of Adams. The Buttress Trail was, as usual, an overgrown rocky mess, but I made it down to the intersection with the Great Gulf Trail without any major blood loss. Then on the climb toward the Great Gulf Headwall, I inadvertently turned onto the Sphinx Trail. Instead of summitting Washington, I found myself on the northern slopes of Clay. This added another two miles and 500 feet of climbing onto an already very strenuous route, and I texted Alex to let her know that I might be delayed.</div>
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I stopped just long enough at Washington to fill up my water bottles before making the completely ill advised descent down Tuckerman Ravine, which was still covered in a thick but tenuous layer of icy snow. It took 30 hair raising minutes to slip and slide my way down the bowl, wondering with each step if the snow would give way and send me falling into the freezing meltwater below. Definitely one of the sketchier things I've done in the mountains.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
At last I was back on dry ground, and I climbed up Boott Spur Link and back down to Pinkham Notch without issue. The climb up Huntington Ravine was as thrilling as ever. I don't think I'll ever get tired of scrambling up the headwall, which rises 1,322 feet in just 0.55 miles. After crossing the Auto Road, I bombed down the Wamsutta Trail, high stepping over rocks and routes for 2,000 vertical feet before turning back onto the Great Gulf Trail again.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The final climb of the day was the Madison Gulf Trail to the summit of Madison. Due to wilderness regulations, the fading blazes on this trail cannot be repainted. That's bad news for people who are unfamiliar with the trail or have poor navigational abilities. I meet both of those criteria, so it took an eternity to find my way to the summit of Madison despite using my GPS app extensively.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The sun was starting to get low in the sky, so I plummeted off the summit of Madison after just a quick picture and a celebratory energy gel. The Watson Path doesn't allow for much running, but I did my best, and after 14.5 hours of running, I found myself back in the parking lot where Alex was waiting for me. God damn, do I love that route!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2505155268/overview">Strava</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Presidential Traverse</h3>
<div>
<div>
Date: July 5</div>
<div>
Distance: 19 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation: 9,000 feet<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf4hrVS4BcmPhJOWMk0W9VkQ8IbZGgImb6ZwYHDGl5qSm07zZqyu7036kmEe0uLJxHkwxD3LPZSz6VfUgHmLV1WhyL2Xw5Yswtg2TaOBeAC5m2z64DZhiYB7wp5FNBisFYwsbFwoGP0o/s1600/20190705_183907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf4hrVS4BcmPhJOWMk0W9VkQ8IbZGgImb6ZwYHDGl5qSm07zZqyu7036kmEe0uLJxHkwxD3LPZSz6VfUgHmLV1WhyL2Xw5Yswtg2TaOBeAC5m2z64DZhiYB7wp5FNBisFYwsbFwoGP0o/s400/20190705_183907.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex and I celebrating the final summit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Twelve hours later, I found myself back at the Appalachia Trail head, this time carrying a backpack full of food and joined by Alex T., Alex G., Virginia, and Devang. The objective was to summit all of the Presidential peaks over the course of the day (and to destroy my legs in the process, what with <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/09/the-ouray-100-just-fourteen-climbs.html">Ouray 100 looming on the horizon</a>).</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
We made pretty quick work of Madison, with the ladies taking the lead and the guys goofing off and periodically getting separated behind them. The scramble off the mountain is particularly rocky, and Alex G. and Virginia decided to call it a day and live to hike another day. The rest of us pushed on and made it to the summit of Adams despite my best attempts at getting us lost. Then it was on to the Gulfside Trail and over the summits of Jefferson and Clay.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
On the climb up Washington, Alex starting to lose steam, so we decided to stop for a nice long lunch at the summit house to eat our body weight in pizza and hot dogs. This put a pep in our step for the descent on the Crawford Path, especially knowing that we were mostly done with climbing for the day. Devang ran ahead, leaving Alex and me to finish the rest of the hike together. The climbs up Monroe and Franklin was painless, but Eisenhower packed a punch with its endless switchbacks through a pine forest.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Finally we reach the summit of Pierce, where we snapped a celebratory picture, and started the long descent to Crawford Notch. Several long miles later, we set foot onto Rt. 302 and we had completed a single day Presidential Traverse!</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
This day was made complete by a porcupine sighting on the drive back to our Airbnb. With a beep of our horn, every quill on the porcupine's body stood on end and it quickly scampered off the road. In our depleted state, Alex and I both agreed that it was the funniest thing we had ever seen.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2507599236">Strava</a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Long's Peak</h3>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div>
Date: July 20</div>
<div>
Distance: 14 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation: 5,000 feet<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG-h7zpa9c2uKBA58K0cJOTs_ot7BsLhu0KIJnfd738ALNPQwP7dnw2DTpKso4dWzRgGxKeSoQhgfP1SvnGITFs95or-UZ5ythMJoiBJ3L7HLS6gSGp-N7ftFdxxusjmhU7J7d-nY34ts/s1600/20190720_055821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG-h7zpa9c2uKBA58K0cJOTs_ot7BsLhu0KIJnfd738ALNPQwP7dnw2DTpKso4dWzRgGxKeSoQhgfP1SvnGITFs95or-UZ5ythMJoiBJ3L7HLS6gSGp-N7ftFdxxusjmhU7J7d-nY34ts/s400/20190720_055821.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise from Long's Peak</td></tr>
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Alex and I flew out to Colorado in late July for a week of hiking and the Ouray 100. After just one day of acclimating in the thin air, I convinced her to climb Long's Peak. What better way to prepare myself for the race the next weekend, right?</div>
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We arrived at the trail head at 4am to find a line of cars that stretched a quarter mile down the road. Clearly we were not going to be the only people on the mountain that day. The initial miles were gradual, and we made it easier on ourselves by stopping constantly to take in the scenery as the sun started to peak over the horizon.</div>
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Five miles in, we reached the boulder field, which is a fitting if unimaginative name for the rock garden that decorates the northern slopes of the mountain. We scrambled for a while before reaching the infamous Keyhole, a narrow gap in the pass between Long's Peak and Storm peak. Now 13,000 feet up with the most difficult terrain still ahead, Alex made the wise decision to turn back. This is why women live longer than men.</div>
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The final mile to the summit followed rocky ledges along the western flank of the mountain before climbing up a chossy chute known as The Trough. With hikers above me periodically dislodging cantaloupe sized rocks, I wished I had worn a helmet or at least had longer hair to protect my skull. Five hundred feet of climbing then brought me back to solid rock for The Home Stretch, a granite slab with a series of cracks that led to the summit.</div>
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The views from the top were amazing, but I didn't want to keep Alex waiting so I snapped some pictures and turned around to retrace my steps. The descent down the Trough was even sketchier than the climb, but I made pretty quick work of it thanks to good shoes and a general lack of concern with my personal safety. Once back on groomed trails, I just had to contend with the pounding in my head (altitude sickness is not fun) as I jogged back to the car. Definitely one of my favorite adventures ever!</div>
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2552291670">Strava</a></div>
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Mt. Mansfield and Camel's Hump</h3>
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Date: August 17</div>
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Distance: 20 miles</div>
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Elevation: 8,500 feet<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwiQZEUCPuKxjPs9MyV44e2mRum-WIP7LmdN-5Orf0yrIbkxWN8Jdgro5KJi3gof5aH0Ck0imRtYXMRlgRHvV9-JPbCnd_8J-cOTT8u6tGBNag83UYx6bK5lfD5FxsDaKypmz3xfJdm-s/s1600/Camel%2527s+Hump.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="935" data-original-width="1447" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwiQZEUCPuKxjPs9MyV44e2mRum-WIP7LmdN-5Orf0yrIbkxWN8Jdgro5KJi3gof5aH0Ck0imRtYXMRlgRHvV9-JPbCnd_8J-cOTT8u6tGBNag83UYx6bK5lfD5FxsDaKypmz3xfJdm-s/s400/Camel%2527s+Hump.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset from Camel's Hump</td></tr>
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A few weeks after Ouray, I drove up to Vermont for a weekend to help support <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Aliza&lname=Lapierre">Aliza Lapierre's</a></b> FKT attempt on the Long Trail. Unfortunately, she would drop out before I had a chance to run much with her, so I decided to spend the weekend exploring some of the most prominent peaks in the Green Mountains.</div>
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First up was Mount Mansfield, which I ascended by way of the Hellbrook Trail, which rises over 2,000 feet to the Adam's Apple in less than a mile. From there, I picked up the Long Trail and scampered south to The Chin, The Nose, and The Forehead (in case you couldn't tell, the subpeaks of Mansfield resemble the profile of a face). At the intersection of the Wampahoofus Trail, which is one of the best trail names I've ever heard, I turned around and ran back to The Chin, descending back to my car via the Long Path.</div>
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2627788042/overview">Strava</a></div>
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After a quick bite to eat and a beer (and then another beer), I drove to the Camel's Hump trail head, and began a rainy ascent just before sunset. This might not seem like fun, but I'm the sort of person that enjoys doing stupid and not fun things. So it was perfect.</div>
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The rain stopped when I was just shy of the summit, and six miles of wet trails and 4,000 vertical feet after leaving my car, I was treated to one of the most dramatic sunsets I have ever witnessed. I texted Alex a few pictures, mostly just to let her know I was alive, and then scrambled off the mountain as quickly as possible so I could find a place to get dinner.</div>
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2628481956">Strava</a></div>
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WTF Loop Overnight</h3>
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Date: September 6</div>
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Distance: 29 miles</div>
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Elevation: 11,000 feet</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6ttRQ0ueckILtbDpkzjVGDNSu2NvXFosQWqXac8DcuH51X2dR9ZGtGVlwo0xwvpXh9nKlCkPEnllfB9Y8gitSNQYmtuIBdqiWCbSFzdrEYgZOZXbpkccht4Qqg39869vWVfy1DFg5Zs/s1600/WTF+overnight.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1041" data-original-width="1433" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6ttRQ0ueckILtbDpkzjVGDNSu2NvXFosQWqXac8DcuH51X2dR9ZGtGVlwo0xwvpXh9nKlCkPEnllfB9Y8gitSNQYmtuIBdqiWCbSFzdrEYgZOZXbpkccht4Qqg39869vWVfy1DFg5Zs/s400/WTF+overnight.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise from Westkill Mountain</td></tr>
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Same route as last time, but now starting at 9pm on a Friday night after a long day of work. If I'm ever going to finish the race, I need to work on my night time navigation.</div>
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This did not go well.</div>
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The first quarter of the loop was uneventful. The climb from the brewery was straightforward, as climbs usually are. Then I just needed to maintain the ridge line westward over several unmarked summits before turning south back into the valley. So far so good.</div>
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Now for the southern part of the loop: Balsam was steep but manageable, and I was able to stay on line through the col to Sherrill. But somehow at Sherill's summit canister, I got turned around and started backtracking toward Balsam again, losing a few hundred feet of elevation, but more importantly losing motivation to be out there.</div>
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After tagging Sherill for the second time in an hour, I oriented myself in the right direction, but totally botched the descent into the col leading to North Dome, heading too far south and losing a few hundred more feet of elevation than I needed to. This additionally put me on steeper and more wooded terrain than my intended path, which cost me a lot of time and energy.</div>
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The descent from North Dome was more of the same, and I somehow couldn't maintain my eastward heading, trending south down the steepest part of the mountain. I additionally started to have issues with stinging nettles in this section, which made me want to pack it up and go home just half way through the loop.</div>
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At long last, I reached the Devil's Path at the base of St. Anne's peak and I have never been happier to be on real trails. By the time I reached West Kill, the sun was rising, which was a welcome sight since the hardest descent and climb were yet to come. Diamond Notch is the crux of the route, and despite ending up slightly off line, I impressed myself by not falling off any ledges to my death. Well done, me!</div>
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From Southwest Hunter, I was back on easy trails and then to East Rusk and Rusk, which are pretty straightforward. My final issue for the day (night) was on the descent from Rusk, where I once again ran into nettles and blackberry bushes. My shins have still not recovered.</div>
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After 14 hours of thrashing around in the woods, I emerged at the West Kill Brewery and treated myself to a well earned beer.</div>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Cat's Tail Marathon</h3>
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Date: September 28</div>
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Distance: 25 miles</div>
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Elevation: 7,000 feet</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5078313ae4b0e7addb844764/1545957402252-Q93UDZ247KFKP1QF9ZUF/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kBZw6jF4_OvU-ddo_vwqGhp7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z5QPOohDIaIeljMHgDF5CVlOqpeNLcJ80NK65_fV7S1Ub61YCrK70I7JIpWiI8ho4Yi1WvVNQtDE81xuRbL1MFKm0sD-Bab7E9MY8W31A7zMQ/PA140384.jpg?format=1000w" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5078313ae4b0e7addb844764/1545957402252-Q93UDZ247KFKP1QF9ZUF/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kBZw6jF4_OvU-ddo_vwqGhp7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z5QPOohDIaIeljMHgDF5CVlOqpeNLcJ80NK65_fV7S1Ub61YCrK70I7JIpWiI8ho4Yi1WvVNQtDE81xuRbL1MFKm0sD-Bab7E9MY8W31A7zMQ/PA140384.jpg?format=1000w" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Runners descending a rocky ledge at the 2017 Cat's Tail<br />Photo by Elizabeth Azze at <a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/blog/2017-catstailmarathon?rq=cat%27s%20tail">Mountain Peak Fitness</a></td></tr>
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Back to the Catskills! This time for some actual running on some actual trails.</div>
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The Cat's Tail course starts with a meandering ascent of Panther Mountain, makes a gentle descent, and then climbs Slide, Cornell, and Wittenberg in rapid succession on some classic Catskill terrain. The final miles are rolling single track down to the town of Phoenicia.</div>
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I again started in wave 1 and again had immediate regrets as every other runner disappeared from sight in the first tenths of a mile. My first step onto the trail resulted in a slip and fall that left my right butt cheek wet for the rest of the race. Dynamite start!</div>
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Eventually I caught up to <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Kelly&lname=Macdonald" style="font-weight: bold;">Kelly MacDonald</a>, who had just won Manitou's Revenge a few months earlier. Our climbing pace was similar, and it was nice to have someone to run with. We reached the summit of Panther together and started the descent. Suddenly a thunderous stomping sound reverberated through the woods behind us. A herd of buffalo? No! It was the legendary Catskill Clydesdale himself <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Ivan&lname=Milan" style="font-weight: bold;">Ivan Milan</a>, storming through the early miles of the race like a man possessed. We let him pass but continued to hear his footsteps for some time afterward. I don't know how a giant can move that quickly!</div>
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The descent was buttery smooth by Catskill standards, and I passed through the first aid station in good spirits, stopping to tell Mike Siudy how much I liked his course. Then I set to work on the Slide Cornell Wittenberg section. The climb up Slide is one of the easiest in the Catskills despite this summit being the high point in the range. However, things quickly got more difficult from there, as the col between Slide and Cornell has numerous rock ledges, ladders, and other treacherous obstacles that require 100% concentration and often the use of all four limbs. It was an absolute joy!</div>
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The climb and descent of Cornell were uneventful, but I was greeted at the top of Wittenberg by a pair of men wearing nothing but pink thongs. Or at least, that's what I saw. Maybe some other racers can confirm this so I know I wasn't hallucinating?</div>
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Anyway, the vision of naked hairy men at the last summit was all the motivation I needed to finish the race. Unfortunately, there were still ten miles of rocky single track separating me from the finish line. With a long season of racing on my legs, I decided to jog it in, and I crossed the line in 5:49 for 14th overall.</div>
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2747347106">Strava</a></div>
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WTF Race!</h3>
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Date: October 18</div>
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Distance: 29 miles</div>
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Elevation: 10,700 feet</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi410si71vOmAFg02rdeRu4Eza-BvYo3rwFWyjHhdxEaQ37bPKwP7JeTTbxAbzX4BJXn_aR7xmmLYukfBsx5pjQixVjZgN-K_jKQc213n_HeUqATyfMTTdVZfJ6OJVM4MCA5jW3UZpdxB0/s1600/WTF+group.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1055" data-original-width="1435" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi410si71vOmAFg02rdeRu4Eza-BvYo3rwFWyjHhdxEaQ37bPKwP7JeTTbxAbzX4BJXn_aR7xmmLYukfBsx5pjQixVjZgN-K_jKQc213n_HeUqATyfMTTdVZfJ6OJVM4MCA5jW3UZpdxB0/s400/WTF+group.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mendy, Mike, and me, the only people dumb enough to attempt multiple WTF loops</td></tr>
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Having completed two WTF loops solo, it was time for the main event. Of the dozens of people Mike invited to take part in the inaugural event, only <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Mendy&lname=Gallo">Mendy Gallo</a></b>, Mike, and myself were <strike>dumb</strike> brave enough to toe the line.</div>
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Since the group was so small, we decided to stick together for a loop and then decide how to proceed after that. Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate with us, and we were treated to rain, fog, and then freezing fog for almost the entire time we were out. We didn't make any major navigational errors, but route finding was too slow for us to finish the loop under the 12 hour cutoff.</div>
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We reached our cars just under 14 hours and called it a night. With the next edition of the race scheduled for May 2020, maybe we will see a multi-loop finisher!</div>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Shawangunk Ridge Trail FKT Attempt</h3>
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Date: November 2</div>
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Distance: 42 miles</div>
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Elevation: 6,000 feet</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://northeastexplorer.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/Shawangunk-Ridge-Trapps-Cliff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://northeastexplorer.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/Shawangunk-Ridge-Trapps-Cliff.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many cliffs on the Shawangunk Ridge<br />Photo from <a href="https://northeastexplorer.com/wordpress/hiking-the-shawangunk-ridge-trail/">Northeast Explorer</a></td></tr>
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My last adventure of the year was perhaps the most ill advised. On the Friday night before the Sunday that Alex was supposed to run the NYC Marathon, I decided that I would attempt an FKT on the 71 mile Shawangunk Ridge Trail, having never seen most of the route. Why?</div>
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<ul>
<li>Because I wanted to squeeze one more adventure into an action packed year</li>
<li>Because 71 miles is right in my sweet spot distance-wise</li>
<li>Because the annual SRT race is unsupported but still charges $145, and I think that's ridiculous</li>
<li>Because I'm overconfident in my ability to navigate after three WTF loops</li>
<li>Because I'm a dumbass</li>
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Anyway, I think you can see where this is going. After being dropped off at High Point by my very patient and very concerned-with-my-mental-health parents-in-law, I almost immediately screwed up my navigation, making a three mile loop and ending up right back where I started. Thankfully, the beauty of an FKT is that you can start whenever you want. So I called that a warm up loop and started the trail again 45 minutes after starting it the first time.</div>
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However, navigation issues would plague the rest of this run. The SRT was cobbled together from a series of singletrack trails, fire roads, and pavement, so the route is not intuitive at all. At times, it drops off the ridge and into random valleys to avoid privately owned land, and the turns are seldom marked. Basically, the route is a nightmare in the dark if you are not intimately familiar with it.</div>
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I made the decision to pull the plug while trudging through knee deep water on the flooded D&H Canal Corridor. I knew I wouldn't be able to finish in time to get home for dinner with Alex, and there was a pretty slim chance of getting the FKT in these conditions. But I didn't want to make anyone drive up to meet me early in the morning, so I spent another 15 miles hiking through Wurtsboro Ridge State Forest as the sun came up and the mist burned off in the valley below me.</div>
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After almost 50 miles on the day, I ended up in Ellenville, where I inhaled a pizza and waited for my mom to pick me up. The next day, Alex crushed the NYC Marathon, and I was able to walk around the city and cheer her on, which made me glad that I didn't destroy my legs any further. Maybe I'll try this route again this year now that I know where all the wrong turns are.</div>
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2836451978">Strava</a></div>
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Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-27716268999803830702019-10-16T19:30:00.000-04:002020-03-25T14:55:31.821-04:00Race Reports: Historical and Hysterical<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm a sucker for a good race report, in case you couldn't tell.</div>
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The list below is a compilation of my favorite race reports from other runners. Some are from important races in ultrarunning history, some are heartbreaking DNFs, and some are just plain funny.</div>
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Let me know if there is anything else I should add to this list, and I will keep it updated (In particular, I have had a hard time finding reports from elite <i>women</i>. Please send these my way if you find them.)</div>
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Entries marked with a 🔒 require a subscription to Ultrarunning magazine.</div>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Western States</h3>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b><a href="https://subscriber.ultrarunning.com/archive/article/the-trail-of-misfortunes-that-created-the-western-states-100-mile">1974 Gordy Ainsleigh (23:42)</a> 🔒</b>: The backstory of the legendary race that started the sport</li>
<li><b><a href="https://subscriber.ultrarunning.com/archive/article/the-first-mass-assault-on-the-western-states-trail">1977 Dave Niederhaus (DNF)</a> </b><span style="color: #0000ee;"><b><u>🔒</u></b></span>: A retrospective of the first multi-runner WSER</li>
<li><b><a href="https://ultrarunning.com/features/how-western-states-was-won/">1984 Jim King (14:54)</a></b>: Then the course record on the old shorter course</li>
<li><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2018/05/ann-trason-and-the-1995-western-states-100.html" style="font-weight: bold;">1995 Ann Trason (18:40)</a>: A retrospective report by AJW about her battle with Tim Twietmeyer</li>
<li><b><a href="http://akrunning.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-day-western-states-race-report.html">2010 Geoff Roes (15:07)</a></b>: The legendary battle between Geoff, Anton, and Kilian</li>
<li><b><a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20100712234832/http://www.runningtimes.com/Article.aspx?ArticleID=20048&PageNum=1">2010 Anton Krupicka (15:13)</a></b>: Anton's report from the same race</li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2012/06/patience-ellie-greenwoods-2012-western-states-100-race-report.html">2012 Ellie Greenwood (16:47)</a></b>: An unbelievable run for the women's course record</li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2012/07/laughing-out-loud-timothy-olsons-2012-western-states-100-race-report.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+irunfar%2FwAAy+%28iRunFar%29">2012 Timothy Olsen (14:46)</a></b>: The first runner ever to break 15 hours</li>
<li><a href="http://sharmanian.blogspot.com/2013/07/western-states-2013-and-start-of-grand.html" style="font-weight: bold;">2013 Ian Sharman (16:20)</a>: The first leg of his Grand Slam record</li>
<li><b><a href="http://pixieninjarunning.blogspot.com/2016/07/third-times-charm.html">2016 Kaci Lickteig (17:57)</a></b>: The rise of Pixie Ninja</li>
<li><b><a href="http://andrewpaulmiller.blogspot.com/2016/06/western-states-100.html">2016 Andrew Miller (15:39)</a></b>: The youngest ever winner at age 20</li>
</ul>
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</div>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Leadville</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq986wFzkR3HkZ4TfbXFafDzM6XcchDVhHg1bF-A2Ir2l4gisEn8HirxANJAPfRyUrhylub_qFKgLxHAAPwUEM81bILUekaZiD6GTV2ewXQYj7aw5NPNgw08scDaMs2s-rbFXR4tFNrSg/s1600/206-Leadville-100-Anton-Krupickia-Twin-Lakes-outbound-40mi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq986wFzkR3HkZ4TfbXFafDzM6XcchDVhHg1bF-A2Ir2l4gisEn8HirxANJAPfRyUrhylub_qFKgLxHAAPwUEM81bILUekaZiD6GTV2ewXQYj7aw5NPNgw08scDaMs2s-rbFXR4tFNrSg/s400/206-Leadville-100-Anton-Krupickia-Twin-Lakes-outbound-40mi.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b><a href="https://ultrarunning.com/archives/running-across-the-sky/">1987 John Demorest (22:58)</a></b>: An account from the early days of the race</li>
<li><a href="http://skyrunner.com/story/2005lt100.htm" style="font-weight: bold;">2005 Matt Carpenter (15:42)</a>: His account of one of the stoutest course records in the sport</li>
<li><b><a href="http://antonkrupicka.com/blog/leadville-100-2007-race-report/">2007 Anton Krupicka (16:14)</a></b>: Also check out his ridiculous <a href="http://antonkrupicka.com/blog/pre-leadville-training-summer-2007/">training logs</a></li>
<li><b><a href="http://sharmanian.blogspot.com/2013/08/leadville-quick-race-report.html">2013 Ian Sharman (16:31)</a></b>: The third leg of the Grand Slam record</li>
</ul>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Hardrock</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEQdKyXrimgQGUO-Wh0not1pChLB6jy7kvVwilMTW6XhPD5iz7i5QgAIhctPtq-akyWcReibnobLFzgNs2PcCqebzh0z1reVXCWRlqtsM1gGMdItR1vBDI3uhauO-_xI58StRCkgG-PE/s1600/photo-2-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEQdKyXrimgQGUO-Wh0not1pChLB6jy7kvVwilMTW6XhPD5iz7i5QgAIhctPtq-akyWcReibnobLFzgNs2PcCqebzh0z1reVXCWRlqtsM1gGMdItR1vBDI3uhauO-_xI58StRCkgG-PE/s400/photo-2-7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b><a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20190602192800/https://microserf.lanl.gov/bpw/N14/N14-99-phls.html">1994 Blake Wood (38:20)</a></b>: His first of 22 (and counting) Hardrock finishes</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.run100s.com/reports/hr99bw.txt">1999 Blake Wood (30:10)</a></b>: A highly detailed report of his then-course-record run</li>
<li><b><a href="https://hardrock100.com/files/runreports/HR100-2006-Run-Report-Peter-Bakwin.pdf">2006 Peter Bakwin (42:50)</a></b>: A double Hardrock run</li>
<li><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2012/07/hardrock-2012-and-the-rocky-mountain-slam.html" style="font-weight: bold;">2012 Darcy Piceu (29:54)</a>: Her first of three career wins</li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2012/07/surprising-myself-and-others-hal-koerners-2012-hardrock-100-race-report.html">2012 Kal Koerner (24:50)</a></b>: There's a short list of people who have won WSER and Hardrock</li>
<li><b><a href="http://youngrenepics.blogspot.com/2013/07/counter-clockwise-redemption-2013.html">2013 Rob Youngren (31:19)</a></b>: Including a sprint to the finish with Jamil Coury</li>
<li><a href="http://runningjohn.blogspot.com/2014/07/2014-hardrock-race-report.html" style="font-weight: bold;">2014 Johnny Burton (30:03)</a>: Not the fastest racer, but maybe the most entertaining</li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2014/07/falling-off-edges-hardrock-2014.html">2014 Dakota Jones (DNF)</a></b>: A hilarious account of crewing Tim Olson after dropping</li>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Nolan's 14</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWuWMYQAJjgzpuuZ6HmpQYymJyuYDaWYSNq3GEaQXIAwuGcXd3jrH2hYASrwZetRGRz6dKokHczYlSW0zQgCCtp6CTvRB9I4EVD5X73de_Bp9CKwj3Yt6zyvxx3JTqqXBANtxtjvIeK0Y/s1600/99-Shavano-from-S-saddle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="517" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWuWMYQAJjgzpuuZ6HmpQYymJyuYDaWYSNq3GEaQXIAwuGcXd3jrH2hYASrwZetRGRz6dKokHczYlSW0zQgCCtp6CTvRB9I4EVD5X73de_Bp9CKwj3Yt6zyvxx3JTqqXBANtxtjvIeK0Y/s400/99-Shavano-from-S-saddle.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b><a href="https://microserf.lanl.gov/bpw/N14/N14-99-phls.html">1999 Blake Wood (7 peaks)</a></b>: The inaugural attempt</li>
<li><a href="https://door5.com/2012/08/22/1195/" style="font-weight: bold;">2012 Jared Campbell (58:58)</a>: Lots of maps and other info about the route</li>
<li><a href="http://blog.ultimatedirection.com/failure/"><b>2013 Anton Krupicka (6 peaks)</b>:</a> An introspective look at his failed attempt to break 30 hr</li>
<li><a href="http://pikespeaksports.us/profiles/blogs/nolan-s-14" style="font-weight: bold;">2014 Brandon Staponowich (56:19)</a>: A detailed account with amazing pictures</li>
<li><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2016/10/carrying-joy-meghan-hickss-nolans-14-report.html" style="font-weight: bold;">2016 Megan Hicks (59:36)</a>: First woman to complete the route car-to-car under 60 hr</li>
</ul>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Barkley Marathons</h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFhZzVMjfoVFZ5aM3BGWyU5l0YN987BEWv1Rl1tzMf3x40T7qhHRa5ccwi-3vyo-yRKbCX3hKnnNMNc8lZEinMWcFiWpkSc-Uo9E_Gh9V8xlM1FDBOu-3YIR9eiN_Zjrlgjk2tsaHZjA/s1600/ratjaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="232" data-original-width="317" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFhZzVMjfoVFZ5aM3BGWyU5l0YN987BEWv1Rl1tzMf3x40T7qhHRa5ccwi-3vyo-yRKbCX3hKnnNMNc8lZEinMWcFiWpkSc-Uo9E_Gh9V8xlM1FDBOu-3YIR9eiN_Zjrlgjk2tsaHZjA/s400/ratjaw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><a href="https://ultrarunning.com/featured/the-trail-wins-the-barkley-marathons/" style="font-weight: bold;">1986 The "Trail" Wins the Barkley Marathons</a> by Lazarus Lake</li>
<li><a href="http://www.extremeultrarunning.com/barkhist.htm" style="font-weight: bold;">They Call It the Barkley</a> by Lazarus Lake</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/bark100.txt">1995 Mark Williams (59:28)</a></b>: First ever 100 mile finisher<b> </b></li>
<li><a href="https://microserf.lanl.gov/bpw/Barkley-Report-2000.pdf" style="font-weight: bold;">2000 Blake Wood (DNF)</a>: Turned back by a flood after 4.5 loops</li>
<li><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/03cave.txt" style="font-weight: bold;">2003 Ted "Cave Dog" Kaiser (56:57)</a></li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/2005/andrew.html">2005 Andrew Thompson (DNF)</a></b>: One of the most epic DNFs in the history of running</li>
<li><b><a href="http://flyinbrianrobinson.blogspot.com/2008/04/barkley-2008-full-measure-of-fun.html">2008 Flyin' Brian Robinson (55:42)</a></b>: The old course record</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/09at.pdf">2009 Andrew Thompson (57:37)</a></b></li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/2010/basham.pdf">2010 Jonathan Basham (59:18)</a></b></li>
<li><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/11maune.pdf" style="font-weight: bold;">2011 Brett Maune (57:13)</a>: His first 100 mile attempt</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/12maune.pdf">2012 Brett Maune (52:03)</a></b>: The (possibly unbreakable) course record</li>
<li><b><a href="https://door5.com/2012/04/13/barkley-100-2012/">2012 Jared Campbell (56:00)</a></b>: His first of three (and counting?)</li>
<li><a href="http://lakewoodhiker.blogspot.com/2012/04/2012-barkley-marathons-race-report.html" style="font-weight: bold;">2012 John Fegyveresi (59:41)</a>: As chronicled in the Barkley Marathons documentary</li>
<li><b><a href="https://docs.google.com/file/d/1A-solyCNmngsnEVaPilpHB1LRhaX2CJFUgYCcZwCf7W2xAYEptewjqEr50Rp/edit">2013 Nick Hollon (57:20)</a></b>: The youngest finisher ever at age 22</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/13wildeboer.pdf">2013 Travis Wildeboer (58:41)</a></b></li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2014/04/silver-linings-at-the-barkley-marathons-jared-campbells-2014-report.html">2014 Jared Campbell (57:50)</a></b></li>
<li><a href="https://door5.com/2016/04/16/barkley-2016-act-4-the-guide/"><b>2016 Jared Campbell (59:30)</b></a>: His record breaking third finish</li>
<li><b><a href="http://www.randomforestrunner.com/2017/04/2017-barkley-marathons-race-report/">2017 John Kelly (59:30)</a></b>: The most recent finisher</li>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Other Reports</h3>
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<a href="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5078313ae4b0e7addb844764/1527809508586-2KWWCQ5W4FB8QJR9U6JI/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kKT96-mTqGc-stp-zZRIm9p7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z5QPOohDIaIeljMHgDF5CVlOqpeNLcJ80NK65_fV7S1UTNp7wJXdR1xX66M6thRzqrQ6_o4HcW8ZfkNO26r5aioETgZ1M0luSsj-o69URGWyw/IMG_6103.jpg?format=750w" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5078313ae4b0e7addb844764/1527809508586-2KWWCQ5W4FB8QJR9U6JI/ke17ZwdGBToddI8pDm48kKT96-mTqGc-stp-zZRIm9p7gQa3H78H3Y0txjaiv_0fDoOvxcdMmMKkDsyUqMSsMWxHk725yiiHCCLfrh8O1z5QPOohDIaIeljMHgDF5CVlOqpeNLcJ80NK65_fV7S1UTNp7wJXdR1xX66M6thRzqrQ6_o4HcW8ZfkNO26r5aioETgZ1M0luSsj-o69URGWyw/IMG_6103.jpg?format=750w" width="300" /></a></div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><b><a href="http://pbakwin.altervista.org/jmt2000/story_buzz.htm">2000 John Muir Trail FKT, Buzz Burrell</a></b>: An FKT report from Mr. FKT himself</li>
<li><b><a href="http://pbakwin.altervista.org/jmt2000/story_peter.htm">2000 John Muir Trail FKT, Peter Bakwin</a></b>: See above</li>
<li><b><a href="https://microserf.lanl.gov/bpw/Badwater-Whitney%20article.pdf">2002 Badwater-Whitney Run, Blake Wood</a></b>: His cross country version of Badwater</li>
<li><b><a href="http://ajwsblog.blogspot.com/2007/08/vermont-my-first-win.html">2007 Vermont 100, Andy Jones-Wilkins</a></b>: His first ever win at the 100 mile distance</li>
<li><a href="http://pbakwin.altervista.org/fkt/LT_Wildeboer2010.pdf" style="font-weight: bold;">2010 Long Trail Unsupported FKT, Travis Wilderboer</a>: Amazingly detailed breakdown</li>
<li><b><a href="http://garyrobbinsrun.com/blog/2010/01/hurting-in-hawaii-100-mile-tale.html">2010 HURT 100, Gary Robbins (20:12)</a></b>: A new course record</li>
<li><b><a href="http://longdistancevoyager.blogspot.com/2011/05/race-report-3-days-at-fair-48-hour-race.html">2011 3 Days at the Fair 48 hr, Phil McCarthy</a></b>: Then an American record of 257 miles</li>
<li><b><a href="http://sharmanian.blogspot.com/2011/02/rocky-raccoon-100-course-record.html">2011 Rocky Raccoon 100, Ian Sharman (12:44)</a></b>: One of the fastest 100 mile trail runs ever</li>
<li><b><a href="http://footandpedaldisease.blogspot.com/2011/05/get-him-to-jemez.html">2011 Jemez 50, Nick Clark</a></b>: A hilarious account from his pacers point of view</li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2012/11/performing-under-pressure-ellie-greenwoods-record-setting-jfk-50-report.html">2012 JFK 50, Ellie Greenwood (6:11)</a></b>: The women's course record</li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2012/03/geoff-roes-2012-iditarod-trail-invitational-350-miles-race-report.html">2012 Ititarod Trail 350, Geoff Roes</a></b>: Epic does not adequately describe this race</li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.irunfar.com/2013/01/gary-robbins-hurt-100-race-report.html">2013 HURT 100, Gary Robbins (19:35)</a></b>: Breaking his own record</li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/blog/2018-siudy-catskill-35-fkt">2018 Catskill Direttissima, Mike Siudy</a></b>: Climbing all 35 Catskill high peaks in a weekend</li>
</ul>
<div>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Other Collections of Race Reports</h3>
<div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><a href="http://www.run100s.com/reports/index.htm" style="font-weight: bold;">Run100s.com</a>: A huge collection of 100 mile reports</li>
<li><a href="http://www.mattmahoney.net/barkley/" style="font-weight: bold;">Matt Mahoney's Barkley Page</a>: Probably the closest thing in the world to an official Barkley website</li>
<li><b><a href="http://mattmahoney.net/nolans14/">Matt Mahoney's Nolan's 14 Page</a></b>: Ditto for Nolan's</li>
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Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-76672799951693291112019-09-24T19:28:00.002-04:002019-09-27T13:10:13.284-04:00FKT Report: A Bunch of Dix in the Dacks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Adirondacks are a beautiful mountain range. With a lot of silly names:</div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li>Dix</li>
<li>South Dix</li>
<li>East Dix</li>
<li>Nippletop</li>
</ul>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
After running the <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2440414782">Great Range Traverse</a> with <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Alex&lname=Galasso"><b>Alex Galasso</b></a> in June, we exchanged a few ideas about ways to link up the funnier sounding peaks and create an <a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/">FKT route</a> that would tell the world, once and for all, that we had stopped maturing emotionally some time during middle school.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
The result was the Giant-Dix Traverse.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOYRg016uBCliKG-RKCHOKGCVOQM-Pura4x10PNiTSG-x_UAukacH3pqVsUdFRW9ktXte2jlxK3fegJpkuIWhLvpZOBwolBe7GyjHCX1CZUPKd6Otnt_lu_WP4YaWsUJxcK1NlRmNeHE/s1600/20190831_100509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOYRg016uBCliKG-RKCHOKGCVOQM-Pura4x10PNiTSG-x_UAukacH3pqVsUdFRW9ktXte2jlxK3fegJpkuIWhLvpZOBwolBe7GyjHCX1CZUPKd6Otnt_lu_WP4YaWsUJxcK1NlRmNeHE/s400/20190831_100509.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Group photo from the summit of Giant<br />
From left to right, Ryan Thorpe, Devang Patel, and Alex Galasso</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The Giant-Dix Traverse</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The final route was an aesthetic 25 mile point-to-point through the Giant Mountain Wilderness and the Dix Mountain Wilderness, summitting nine peaks, including six <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adirondack_High_Peaks">High Peaks</a>: Rocky Peak Ridge, Giant, Dix, Hough, South Dix, and Macomb. We discussed whether to add East Dix (aka Grace Peak), but decided that we didn't want any out-and-back sections (We would then go on to make a massive navigational error that added an out and back. Best laid plans, and all that.).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJL1lX1Y5Ygx8euMgrJIyXjZuTYGNRtEQDFwcVpEiRFZn58_g6yS1Z8Mxzh3ADZwg4O3VESj-929MjoLpvuO3gXqiDb85yPEIcUjdi4AZ7Gm0bS7wjRM6tm0QQp2TSHgjFc4hOvoQcpeM/s1600/Giant-Dix+Map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1451" data-original-width="1600" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJL1lX1Y5Ygx8euMgrJIyXjZuTYGNRtEQDFwcVpEiRFZn58_g6yS1Z8Mxzh3ADZwg4O3VESj-929MjoLpvuO3gXqiDb85yPEIcUjdi4AZ7Gm0bS7wjRM6tm0QQp2TSHgjFc4hOvoQcpeM/s400/Giant-Dix+Map.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GDT map, including our wrong turn late in the day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9dRY7SHLAhjeZdk1lVTf_Hn5AffQaxgiTfy2UOIqVT6aYVvdC4cHTwedXltU0a3N2C3ZOxOn1j6-troLbXRP8GkpouJ6jIdQE3Q92e9u8Y9aEmm_Rw2x3cx9MYd9UDcsnWJw4lJNg1so/s1600/Giant-Dix+Profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="1600" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9dRY7SHLAhjeZdk1lVTf_Hn5AffQaxgiTfy2UOIqVT6aYVvdC4cHTwedXltU0a3N2C3ZOxOn1j6-troLbXRP8GkpouJ6jIdQE3Q92e9u8Y9aEmm_Rw2x3cx9MYd9UDcsnWJw4lJNg1so/s400/Giant-Dix+Profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GDT elevation profile. Note the long, unnecessary descent between Dix and Beckhorn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The total elevation gain for the route was about 11,000 feet over a mix of single track and exposed technical ridges, putting this route roughly on par with the Great Range Traverse or the Presidential Traverse, at least on paper.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Goals for the Trip</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Alex, <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Devang&lname=Patel&age=28">Devang Patel</a></b>, and I decided before this inaugural attempt that we were not going to red-line during this run. Devang was just coming off Eastern States 100 three weeks earlier, I had just run <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/09/the-ouray-100-just-fourteen-climbs.html">Ouray 100</a>, and Alex didn't want to interrupt his Grindstone 100 training block.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Or, to put this in terms that are consistent with the route name, we were going to dick around a lot. That meant taking lots of pictures, stopping to eat, and just generally enjoying the scenery.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It also meant that we didn't do a whole lot of research on the route, aside from plotting it on Caltopo and saying, "yeah, that looks fun!" We then told our significant others that we would take "about ten hours" and asked them to meet us at the finish around then.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Giant Mountain Wilderness</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We started at the East Trail parking area in the little town of New Russia. From there, it would be a 4,000 foot net climb westward to the summit of Giant Peak.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The first two miles were an easy ascent of Blueberry Cobbles, which was below tree line and offered no views. From there, the trail grew increasingly steep and rocky as we climbed Bald Peak and got our first good views of the day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXDGDNZYdCjLPqDt3dPqdD1zP07kEei0xXqhKn0AyUSrCdqd3AQpNvaeJwd4IJD1fB0xzCrGrl-0VezqViVLdXZYop65pX8oFmpjJDDHIAbmQub9VHu5vZQshtz1wSwMZuhO5fQ9vk54/s1600/20190831_074220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXDGDNZYdCjLPqDt3dPqdD1zP07kEei0xXqhKn0AyUSrCdqd3AQpNvaeJwd4IJD1fB0xzCrGrl-0VezqViVLdXZYop65pX8oFmpjJDDHIAbmQub9VHu5vZQshtz1wSwMZuhO5fQ9vk54/s400/20190831_074220.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Having a snack at the summit of Bald Peak</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A short scramble then brought us to Rocky Peak Ridge East Peak. If not for the howling wind and chilly morning air, this would have been a perfect spot to stop an enjoy the views.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpdMRbWSHuJg9yBxGLjj53QP-8Bxqa0ohG5F-6cFwsQNmzCqG4JiyG8k1pXOxwvDlHiopzgZJPsPpOVpYR8h0GcPV09FAKIll1RV9bguwFxr4Nvd9l6lscXBOwWGKeh7Wa9r-GYTBInw/s1600/20190831_084434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpdMRbWSHuJg9yBxGLjj53QP-8Bxqa0ohG5F-6cFwsQNmzCqG4JiyG8k1pXOxwvDlHiopzgZJPsPpOVpYR8h0GcPV09FAKIll1RV9bguwFxr4Nvd9l6lscXBOwWGKeh7Wa9r-GYTBInw/s400/20190831_084434.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Lake Champlain from the ridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some easy running brought us to Marie Louise Pond, whose trees were a welcome shelter from the elements. Alex and Devang sat by the water while I made use of the privy just off the trail. Then it was time to scramble up Rocky Peak Ridge proper and tag our first High Peak of the day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyNURNkwUFQu6ppLO1C6bX0h8YmrdtpzTbyxhvk4MEMNgx7nUDpYx1-6_Oa29hCJsFRIZQvYM3iCbjjVrm-LA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And another short scramble later, we were standing on Giant Mountain with 3:30 elapsed. We waited five minutes for a cloud to pass over, took a whole bunch of pictures (see, for example, the top picture in this post), and then started the 3,000 foot descent to Route 73.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yvEqLcUIYZTaNbdP6INe02fJVbOGd0j1huUGdjxY5Z7f8WHRLAw-Q8Ip2b437WuIFm2dYo7McobM0-CcwL2nxgzo-cA4LwTqELlj9_FQw2bUr61oGHMHMpcYeaE0EQ-3AOyFwlwdjvA/s1600/20190831_100843+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yvEqLcUIYZTaNbdP6INe02fJVbOGd0j1huUGdjxY5Z7f8WHRLAw-Q8Ip2b437WuIFm2dYo7McobM0-CcwL2nxgzo-cA4LwTqELlj9_FQw2bUr61oGHMHMpcYeaE0EQ-3AOyFwlwdjvA/s400/20190831_100843+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending off the summit of Giant Mountain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Ridge Trail was steep, but the footing was pretty good in the dry late summer weather. In the spring, this would have been a miserable slog with mud and overgrown trees. If nothing else, we had chosen the right weekend to run this route.<br />
<br />
We got separated shortly below the summit as Devang and Alex stopped to take some pictures and I took a detour out to "The Bump," a side trail with some nice views. But eventually, we all met up again at Route 73.<br />
<br />
Thus concludes the scenic but relatively uneventful first half of our adventure. Now let's get to the good stuff.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Dix Mountain Wilderness</h3>
<div>
We hopped onto the Dix Trail with 4:38 elapsed and about 11.6 miles into our 25 mile day. We were feeling good about finishing in under 10 hours and I briefly considered texting our loved ones that we would be done early. Thankfully, I never sent this text.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We stopped shortly after the trail head to filter water at Round Pond, then made quick work of the climb up to the intersection of the Old Dix Trail (ha!) as well as the three miles of rolling single track beyond that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mile 16 marked the beginning of the hardest climb all day, a 2,000 foot scramble up a rock slide and a boulder strewn gully.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjghHQNLf-RNDCveAoqtnR2lZmemiDzssS-hAufan3Bz_89x8YedcMV3tkXlZxL2UVrA8VmIdE2Okku1IA4nlEf1XS8C-lVgBuk3kNrcVHLUrQO_A6znx600vRhGzEbGvNeaIN-iJtB3q0/s1600/20190831_131421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjghHQNLf-RNDCveAoqtnR2lZmemiDzssS-hAufan3Bz_89x8YedcMV3tkXlZxL2UVrA8VmIdE2Okku1IA4nlEf1XS8C-lVgBuk3kNrcVHLUrQO_A6znx600vRhGzEbGvNeaIN-iJtB3q0/s400/20190831_131421.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up the slide on Dix Mountain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We stopped at a creek part way up to have a snack. As we were getting up to go, Alex lost his footing and ended up sitting in the knee deep water. Unfortunately, I had started up the trail too early to see this in person and Devang wasn't able to capture the moment on camera. So it will just have to live on in our imaginations.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7F3S2GKCuaW3GsgvpECb5Z0elcSfTPJ1UR0awTql2I52hSAohDGYofczmkFyTgd7GVOFo2u5J9hv1SnB70Gpfr6IgSvEBdK1rJkM5E5-OL4JMXuor2RWEGsiAtk3LOh4zbit8ZGb5KgQ/s1600/20190831_132359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7F3S2GKCuaW3GsgvpECb5Z0elcSfTPJ1UR0awTql2I52hSAohDGYofczmkFyTgd7GVOFo2u5J9hv1SnB70Gpfr6IgSvEBdK1rJkM5E5-OL4JMXuor2RWEGsiAtk3LOh4zbit8ZGb5KgQ/s400/20190831_132359.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex looking more than a little sullen after his creek incident</td></tr>
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<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After a seemingly endless climb, we finally reached the summit of Dix Mountain, the high point of our route at 4,840 feet. From here, it would just be a few miles of ridge running and then a steep descent to the finish.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Or so we thought.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIeVPssQd5mR7IemQCkbUeXBW6dpohf-0UBwpcq7wso8_oQaNbNkJiOafXnYo4asSH4FGjJDUqTVXcn8TVzdLYom5kMQfUAP87LHXxtoEylKFneI5a8MFpZsmAQ5b_o8IFUEvCfG_M0KA/s1600/20190831_140111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIeVPssQd5mR7IemQCkbUeXBW6dpohf-0UBwpcq7wso8_oQaNbNkJiOafXnYo4asSH4FGjJDUqTVXcn8TVzdLYom5kMQfUAP87LHXxtoEylKFneI5a8MFpZsmAQ5b_o8IFUEvCfG_M0KA/s400/20190831_140111.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking west toward the Great Range from the summit of Dix</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr8t_iIZh18fZNrrhOLAVtbEjUT3Sikyw5y6S-5rAmbvuGQgpUUcXB8twlID-csVYkFac6pfR8Io5aZJ_xepZC8NAOXFTQs_3RHWfavA2o8JOfEO3ZhmD7zmJL7i4R-1bE87LZCeutlA/s1600/Dix+Mountain+selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr8t_iIZh18fZNrrhOLAVtbEjUT3Sikyw5y6S-5rAmbvuGQgpUUcXB8twlID-csVYkFac6pfR8Io5aZJ_xepZC8NAOXFTQs_3RHWfavA2o8JOfEO3ZhmD7zmJL7i4R-1bE87LZCeutlA/s400/Dix+Mountain+selfie.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dicking around on Dix</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After the requisite amount of dicking around, we made the quick traverse over to Beckhorn, took a few more pictures...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxNCsVlYW-hrnfYJHbaJ3LOyveiAueAirFOHNbn3bWNjcB-vZmXzNob06mKHFIz_OHgr_Y9y-p6Nx9hn0GK8golWeSrjPf77gZLpXhCg6fv2lM_uB-L9gbMdpuMXTzk5D0GOKQVXkWao/s1600/20190831_141211+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="1600" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxNCsVlYW-hrnfYJHbaJ3LOyveiAueAirFOHNbn3bWNjcB-vZmXzNob06mKHFIz_OHgr_Y9y-p6Nx9hn0GK8golWeSrjPf77gZLpXhCg6fv2lM_uB-L9gbMdpuMXTzk5D0GOKQVXkWao/s400/20190831_141211+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foot selfie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...and then promptly fucked up our navigation beyond all hope.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You see, unbeknownst to us the Dix Range Trail, which continued over the remaining summits, is a separate entity from the Dix Trail. And, in fact, it is not an official trail at all but instead an unblazed herd path. None of this is clear from the cursory view of Caltopo which comprised our research into this route.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Consequently when I continued following yellow blazes after the summit, as I had been doing for the previous three hours, I inadvertently led us a mile and 1,700' vertical feet down the wrong trail.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Shit.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Silver linings: the Beckhorn Trail (our detour) was a beautiful and very pleasant trail to run on. But this didn't make up for the fact that we had budgeted our mental energy for another 2-3 hours, rather than the 4+ that it would now take us to complete the route. The slog back to the summit of Beckhorn was slow and very quiet. When we got back to the top, we just sat without looking at each other for 30 minutes.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGFeTc44u7iVHUmW0uNfQYpjNJsbGGDNlxwBlUcsSShjsCvTYf1g3svNfANOrPTCF1i-ENbHJu0cA1BWLGaNSE0DR7Lra5sVRoPPamSlcaV4hmg9qTbrPJlP_KTqXZS2qa7VrJVg9cAk/s1600/20190831_154940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkGFeTc44u7iVHUmW0uNfQYpjNJsbGGDNlxwBlUcsSShjsCvTYf1g3svNfANOrPTCF1i-ENbHJu0cA1BWLGaNSE0DR7Lra5sVRoPPamSlcaV4hmg9qTbrPJlP_KTqXZS2qa7VrJVg9cAk/s400/20190831_154940.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This sums up our feelings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We debated calling it a day, but decided that it would be stupid to drop out this close to the end. So with heavy hearts and heavier legs, we set to work on the Dix Range Trail.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now on unmaintained trails, our path was choked with overgrown tree limbs, and we found ourselves working for every step forward.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNl_aObWqNfgeWrRjcU4CyM_l1R6jftCiGqzJWhn5Qrqyga7JLhVi-geiZvVzfcM4XG72iSMHF8YZNo5PCcrcZqwMH88ft0fpBlgju3e8Uig3Q8Yl9esbX8ECFbEsZUraGqXcHst-D3WI/s1600/20190831_163044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNl_aObWqNfgeWrRjcU4CyM_l1R6jftCiGqzJWhn5Qrqyga7JLhVi-geiZvVzfcM4XG72iSMHF8YZNo5PCcrcZqwMH88ft0fpBlgju3e8Uig3Q8Yl9esbX8ECFbEsZUraGqXcHst-D3WI/s400/20190831_163044.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Beckhorn from Hough</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Devang put his head down and charged ahead, only to run smack into a fallen tree. We made sure he was okay and resumed our run, only to stop two steps later when I smacked <i>my</i> head on the same stupid tree.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Spatial awareness and short term memory are not my strong suit.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl36wJX2CWqYiUk3Gw1hYIoLFR7ij_atcLmWUSg_y0O85L50cLzGKYPHDVt9M3_PJCZPtJ_YVJKR8zyA5Pc_1tHACwNT9H1O8hm1GT5SYKNGcbAi_K8h7cXMQBVYmNoRjdxXZfBYQsJVo/s1600/20190831_155754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl36wJX2CWqYiUk3Gw1hYIoLFR7ij_atcLmWUSg_y0O85L50cLzGKYPHDVt9M3_PJCZPtJ_YVJKR8zyA5Pc_1tHACwNT9H1O8hm1GT5SYKNGcbAi_K8h7cXMQBVYmNoRjdxXZfBYQsJVo/s400/20190831_155754.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from somewhere along the ridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Dix Range had now exacted a toll on all of our egos and added a few scrapes and bruises for good measure.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuceyZINOEZyzuItUZfR18ZNlIQSleyDo1TUDmpjOYFTXXZqg1VbBSV_q_fPFUW0oBw67Y7epQ8olm5DAKqOwJGE17cC2HtVj1_vVse-AJu0agry23gNG-fJan4jqUbaYRXEqoz6rvAUY/s1600/20190831_163100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuceyZINOEZyzuItUZfR18ZNlIQSleyDo1TUDmpjOYFTXXZqg1VbBSV_q_fPFUW0oBw67Y7epQ8olm5DAKqOwJGE17cC2HtVj1_vVse-AJu0agry23gNG-fJan4jqUbaYRXEqoz6rvAUY/s400/20190831_163100.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But at least the scenery was nice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We tagged Hough, South Dix, and Macomb without further incident, stopping to commemorate each summit with some food and pictures.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8GKcSM3pHuAbV2Npbv0b7_wgMfF_-EQ9N3zYWXT0fzU3VifrQt31TTh_XYNMfSY6_AAzI_O2TDQZd3VYNKUJmkiQp-5jwXolUEoRbAHsQ0stujTckj5fIY1QJlzelBb61ALMWYmhTSk/s1600/20190831_173031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8GKcSM3pHuAbV2Npbv0b7_wgMfF_-EQ9N3zYWXT0fzU3VifrQt31TTh_XYNMfSY6_AAzI_O2TDQZd3VYNKUJmkiQp-5jwXolUEoRbAHsQ0stujTckj5fIY1QJlzelBb61ALMWYmhTSk/s400/20190831_173031.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Devang "celebrating" at the final summit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We then started the long steep descent down the Slide Brook Trail, which is more slide than trail. As a matter of fact, it was just about the worst terrain we were on all day, strewn with loose dusty talus which threatened to dislodge and chase us down the mountain with each step.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWJm_JhYmFAMneRl25KmJJmRhW6I8i89GyKwWvXJqY9wd9BM3s7byan9dStnbt_iexpOb6a2xZ7oZKb5wADYlW6Up6RJYheILNUOgHLsK-uMdRQPo46pH6ogigaFhK5G-tZP994tOH8Y/s1600/20190831_175348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWJm_JhYmFAMneRl25KmJJmRhW6I8i89GyKwWvXJqY9wd9BM3s7byan9dStnbt_iexpOb6a2xZ7oZKb5wADYlW6Up6RJYheILNUOgHLsK-uMdRQPo46pH6ogigaFhK5G-tZP994tOH8Y/s400/20190831_175348.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slide Brook "Trail"<br />
See video below for a better perspective.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzy9ViR0YxVYiGS303idt1WFOa3_tw3-cHtIeCI6bg3UpA_rfBL3Vlc1ZMM5oSryX-5KN16N9Wj-9pThz1dnQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After picking our way through the 1,000' half mile descent, we were finally back on a real trail. Devang celebrated by breaking into a run and immediately slamming into another tree so hard that I thought he knocked himself out cold.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Dix Range Wilderness would not permit us to have the last laugh.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With renewed purpose (and ignoring my nagging questions like "do you know what day it is?") Devang sprang back to life and took off sprinting. Not wanting our concussion addled friend to wander off trail into the wilderness, Alex and I gave chase. Devang would go on to lead us to a string of 9 minute miles to end the day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After 12 hours, 20 minutes, and 33 seconds, we collectively smacked the hood of Virginia's truck in the Elk Lake parking lot, signifying the end of our run. We had taken 2.5 hours longer than anticipated, and probably lost a few brain cells along the way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But in the end, we achieved our goal of establishing an Only Known Time on a ridiculous and tough route.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Giant-Dix accomplished!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2668927514/overview"><span id="goog_1188615599"></span><span id="goog_1188615600"></span>Strava Track</a></div>
<div>
<a href="https://caltopo.com/m/G4TE">GPX on Caltopo</a></div>
<div>
<a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/route/giant-dix-traverse-ny">FastestKnownTime.com post</a></div>
<div>
<br />
[<b>Edit</b>: I have since learned that <a href="https://www.adkhighpeaks.com/forums/forum/hiking/adirondack-trip-reports/26579-to-grace-from-new-russia-with-love-aug-28">this route was previously done by a hiker in 13:50 on 8/28/2014 with the addition of Grace Peak (East Dix)</a>. This should be considered the original FKT, with ours being a slightly faster but slightly shorter variant.]<br />
<br /></div>
<h3>
Thanks!</h3>
<div>
...to Alex (Thorpe) and Virginia for waiting patiently for us at the finish, not knowing whether we were lost, dead, or had just decided to tack on another summit. These ladies even had a cooler full of beer waiting for us when we finished, which was vital to helping us forget the abuse we had just survived.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Thoughts on This Route</h3>
<div>
After some navigational issues and a lot of down time at summits, our final time was not at all competitive. A fast and motivated runner could easily cut this time in half. Best of luck to anyone who attempts it. We look forward to passing on the crown to the new Giant-Dix King or Queen.</div>
</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-14791738286876954812019-09-04T19:06:00.002-04:002019-09-05T15:32:43.302-04:00The Ouray 100: Just Fourteen Climbs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Ouray 100 is the hardest trail race in North America.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now I'm not just saying this so I can feel like a badass (that is, however, a major consideration).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The justification for this claim will become apparent in the report that follows.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZzXdkAqI9uPA3FSF2kreoAQPepkx3_N54E7x70d2Y9o6ogEEAR7Lqk9bh0bNsIC2haMtIFyYzz6jt3pLHLkEOKbd0bxW16wCjT5G_CweavDgrATZvLM4Vc3roGFBHpvdakdDG1rnFi4/s1600/82365726-HS900461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZzXdkAqI9uPA3FSF2kreoAQPepkx3_N54E7x70d2Y9o6ogEEAR7Lqk9bh0bNsIC2haMtIFyYzz6jt3pLHLkEOKbd0bxW16wCjT5G_CweavDgrATZvLM4Vc3roGFBHpvdakdDG1rnFi4/s400/82365726-HS900461.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Imogine Pass, 13,365'<br />
Photo by <a href="https://www.howiestern.com/2019-Events">Howie Stern</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<h3>
Background and Training</h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"The Sisyphean dreamer</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
My fibula and femur</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Hold the weight of the world</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Over and over"</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
—Jack White, Over and Over and Over</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
Those of you who are regular readers of this blog will no doubt recall that I have a particular affinity for rugged mountain races. After years of trying to be a shitty version of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sage_Canaday">Sage Canaday</a> (#anysurfaceanydistance) I finally set aside all of 2019 to focus on mountain running and decided that Ouray would be the culminating performance in my year of mountain adventures.<br />
<br />
With no road marathons or even particularly runnable trail ultras to prepare for, my training consisted almost entirely of hill repeats. If I wanted to do a VO2-max or lactate threshold workout, I just ran uphill a little harder. A typical training week was 40 miles with 12,000 feet of elevation gain, but the month leading up to race day was when I turned the intensity up a notch.<br />
<br />
After proving that I still had some speed at "shorter" races with a <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2474378611">9 minute PR at Manitou's Revenge 54 miler</a> in June, I started off July with a series of long back-to-back efforts in the White Mountains and then back in NJ, including:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2505155268">Swan Song Loop, 29 miles 16,500'</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2507599236">Presidential Traverse, 19 miles, 9,000'</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2533041277">Lots of repeats on my local hill</a></li>
</ul>
<div>
<br />
All told, this two week block totaled 110 miles with over 52,000 feet of climbing. After an easy recovery week, Alex and I flew out to Colorado and I got in another 46 miles with 14,000 feet of vert at altitude in the seven days leading up to the race, including my first ascent of Long's Peak.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
By the time I toed the line on the morning of July 26th, my legs felt strong, if not entirely fresh.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(Incidentally, I think feeling "fresh" at the start of a 100 mile race is overrated. How long does that fresh feeling last anyway? Maybe ten miles?)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
The Hardest Trail Race in North America</h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Please allow me to introduce myself / I'm a course of death and pain" </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
—Sympathy for the Devil, as sung by the Ouray 100 course</blockquote>
<br />
The Ouray 100 is a monstrously difficult course in the heart of the rugged <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Juan_Mountains">San Juan Mountains</a> of southwestern Colorado.<br />
<br />
As a baseline for comparison, let's recap some of the harder races I've done over the years:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-barkley-fall-classic-50k.html">Barkley Fall Classic</a>: 35 miles, 12,000' of elevation gain</li>
<li><a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/08/manitous-revenge-year-older-and-bit.html">Manitou's Revenge</a>: 54 miles, 15,000'</li>
<li><a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/11/anatomy-of-meltdown-grindstone-2018.html">Grindstone</a>: 101 miles, 23,000'</li>
<li><a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/06/heaven-and-hellbender.html">Hellbender</a>: 99 miles, 26,000'</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br />
Now let's look at the race I was about to attempt</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><a href="https://www.ouray100.com/home">Ouray 100</a>: 102 miles, <i>42,000'</i> of elevation gain</li>
<li>...at altitude</li>
<li>...across remote and technical mountain trails</li>
<li>...with the possibility of lightning and hail</li>
</ul>
</div>
<br />
...Well shit.<br />
<br />
Clearly this race was in a different league than anything else I had ever attempted. In fact, Ouray's 42,000' of climbing is over 25% more than the neighboring Hardrock 100 (33k'), which has been the standard bearer for hard mountain races since its inception. The only North American trail races that approach this amount of elevation gain are some of the harder <i>200</i> mile races (<a href="http://www.tahoe200.com/">Tahoe</a>, <a href="https://www.bigfoot200.com/">Bigfoot</a>, <a href="http://www.trailracingovertexas.com/the-franklins/">Franklins</a>).<br />
<br />
This elevation change is spread out over 14 distinct climbs and descents. Here's what that looks like on an elevation profile.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYILUuZs0PNI6kEeRmFZSh3wsj7CRcAEpLHzdyQ5oPwGw-tCCOA4QxeU1z8u9lmSzVffqS-w9-5WuI9LMiuhp3ICIadIYfF6by1xV-FadOQfCtkOY3tqmIt4H2viD8j_qDCdFQ871mbQ/s1600/Ouray+Profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="1600" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKYILUuZs0PNI6kEeRmFZSh3wsj7CRcAEpLHzdyQ5oPwGw-tCCOA4QxeU1z8u9lmSzVffqS-w9-5WuI9LMiuhp3ICIadIYfF6by1xV-FadOQfCtkOY3tqmIt4H2viD8j_qDCdFQ871mbQ/s400/Ouray+Profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ouray 100 elevation profile with estimated 40 hour splits</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Due to its multiple out-and-backs and loops, the Ouray 100 course has been (often derisively) described as a cracked windshield. Here is my best attempt at annotating the course map to make it decipherable. The start and finish are in the town of Ouray, which is the little patch of gray in the upper right, while the main artery of the course is Camp Bird Road, which runs southwest from the town. Good luck interpreting!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsRYnOgli_hgWyDE-3V3eUgvJWiOyyDRvV0YGEUqWrb9tLStAScSlLKlhbJ5Ba1jwjQZpf9qmcYYktU5pNPeNb3K9PvUaI8FrQeQRZxhhR1dgCmI6q19GDCfwBEmOZQP7niX-pnpsNkOw/s1600/Ouray+Map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1489" data-original-width="1600" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsRYnOgli_hgWyDE-3V3eUgvJWiOyyDRvV0YGEUqWrb9tLStAScSlLKlhbJ5Ba1jwjQZpf9qmcYYktU5pNPeNb3K9PvUaI8FrQeQRZxhhR1dgCmI6q19GDCfwBEmOZQP7niX-pnpsNkOw/s400/Ouray+Map.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ouray 100 course map with 14 climbs labeled</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Each of the sections labeled on the map is a significant climb and descent. Most of these sections are hard enough to be considered the crux of any other mountain race, which probably explains Ouray's 34% historical finisher rate.<br />
<br />
Oh, and the altitude. Lest we forget the altitude...<br />
<br />
The <i>average</i> altitude of the Ouray 100 is 10,239 feet above sea level. At this altitude, the <a href="https://www.wildsafe.org/resources/outdoor-safety-101/altitude-safety-101/high-altitude-oxygen-levels/#targetText=Use%20the%20table%20below%20to,a%20lower%20percentage%20of%20oxygen.">effective oxygen content of the air is 30% lower</a> than it is in my home state of NJ at 200 feet above sea level. And while my week of training at altitude helped a bit, I have since learned that it takes about <i>three weeks</i> for the body to produce new red blood cells. So despite being the fittest I've ever been, I was entirely un-acclimatized to the high altitude of this race.<br />
<br />
The only way I could wrap my head around this race was to break it down into its constituent climbs. If I could convince myself that I was just doing a series of hard day hikes, then maybe I could maintain my sanity long enough to finish.<br />
<br />
In that spirit, here is the story of my fourteen climbs at the Ouray 100.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Climb #1: Silver Basin</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 11.5 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 4,459 / 2,080</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of the many great things about the Ouray 100 is that it starts at the very civilized hour of 8:00am, as opposed to the ungodly 4 or 5am starts favored by most 100 mile races. This allowed me to get an unprecedented six hours of sleep the night before the race, which was critical since I would be awake for the next 50+ hours straight.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the start of the race, a wave of 73 runners surged forward. I jogged slowly behind them and almost immediately found myself in last place. Similar to the start of <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/06/heaven-and-hellbender.html">Hellbender</a>, I was comforted by the caliber of the runners nearest to me: <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Eric&lname=Hodges&age=70">Eric Hodges</a></b> (13 Hardrock finishes), <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Chris&lname=Twiggs&age=48">Chris Twiggs</a></b> (14 Hardrock finishes), and <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Kirk&lname=Apt&age=57">Kirk Apt</a></b> (record 24 Hardrock finishes). These dudes knew how to pace a 100 miler in the San Juans, so I was happy to be hiking at their pace.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh201-_yCP1HnH5z0IhPzt-YWBXpcc0vM6-au5cHrqNkWPagcnCfbpvDFGuPr9waOZ6KgOSQgEAYA4KVPI_qOOJaY_hFZaWeUxvc024tywwexBQAoIOxD0ZYFqVVqew4FzSArFiWOt7wA/s1600/67199696_10217498270982713_7094709562611073024_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh201-_yCP1HnH5z0IhPzt-YWBXpcc0vM6-au5cHrqNkWPagcnCfbpvDFGuPr9waOZ6KgOSQgEAYA4KVPI_qOOJaY_hFZaWeUxvc024tywwexBQAoIOxD0ZYFqVVqew4FzSArFiWOt7wA/s400/67199696_10217498270982713_7094709562611073024_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A trio of badasses, followed by a solo dumbass<br />
Photo by Chris Twiggs (center)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Kirk and Chris pushed ahead while Eric and I hung back and enjoyed the scenery. Over the next hour or so, he pointed out various rock formations, avalanche paths, and points of interest along Camp Bird Road. But eventually, even this 70-year-old's pace felt too aggressive for me, so I let him go ahead, much to the dismay of my fragile male ego.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I would eventually catch up to <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Benjamin&lname=Foreman&age=39" style="font-weight: bold;">Ben Foreman</a>, who was running his first 100 mile race (go big or go home, I guess), and we would keep each other company for the rest of the climb. Ben and I only spent a few miles together, but we would pass each other in opposite directions for the rest of the race, and I was always struck by how positive he seemed to be, even during low points. He would go on to finish in 50 hours. Note to self: be as positive as Ben.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi337pxiIiOoQdSobkTBTCisBWRYufrn57ug_XRxzbJe1IzCjrikgyZu2nAcfaA2xzoqNURDiWpZFhvovdalJhy4OkRp3PvuDEYByTcsLz1gOg7_wkoM2-WkoskOMwkVlRezlIaRIHbiDA/s1600/20190726_092341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi337pxiIiOoQdSobkTBTCisBWRYufrn57ug_XRxzbJe1IzCjrikgyZu2nAcfaA2xzoqNURDiWpZFhvovdalJhy4OkRp3PvuDEYByTcsLz1gOg7_wkoM2-WkoskOMwkVlRezlIaRIHbiDA/s400/20190726_092341.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canyon creek still filled with avalanche debris from the spring</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A few miles in, we passed <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camp_Bird_Mine">Camp Bird Mine</a>, which famously produced $1.5 billion worth of gold and silver from 1896 to 1990. As the town names in the region suggest (Ironton, Silverton, Telluride), the San Juans were once the epicenter of metal production in the United States, and the abandoned mines, railways, and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tailings">tailings</a> can still be seen throughout the mountain range.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was during this section that we crossed the first of the major snowfields that the course would throw at us,. The midday weather was warm, and we were easily able to kick steps into the snow. I was even able to <strike>glissade</strike> buttslide back down, to the amusement of the runners around me. The wet butt that resulted from this stunt was well worth the 10 seconds of amusement.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4hRtZmGRE1g0MCTmenNfV-JHtHFjDmPMEXZ3hW0XSCzDiTBtXarU2MxVjvXm9z41Zud9f89kRYEfbr-XEpThVVY-2f5KUB79vGZdRqpTL6Qvvmg98gmTpYsLTJBVIvHRQ0apagjC3zk/s1600/Silver+Basin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1113" data-original-width="1600" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4hRtZmGRE1g0MCTmenNfV-JHtHFjDmPMEXZ3hW0XSCzDiTBtXarU2MxVjvXm9z41Zud9f89kRYEfbr-XEpThVVY-2f5KUB79vGZdRqpTL6Qvvmg98gmTpYsLTJBVIvHRQ0apagjC3zk/s400/Silver+Basin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snowfield on the trail to Silver Basin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Before I knew it, I was back at Camp Bird aid station and ready to start the second climb. I had a bit of an altitude headache, but it wasn't affecting my pace or mental state just yet.<br />
<br /></div>
<h3>
Climb #2: Chicago Tunnel</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 4.4 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 2,218 / 781</div>
<div>
<br />
The climb to Chicago Tunnel was when I finally started to catch up to the rest of the runners after their aggressive start. Having other people to enjoy the scenery with made this climb fly by, despite the increasingly rocky trail conditions. This would end up being a theme of the race: the trails get increasingly more difficult from the start to the finish.<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik37jyPnDl3uPitQxXnAMylbSnYomzTR3EaP0av4Imk_TQFWa0JxnCaun_lvln5BmtWxyhUFkVnmW_rRxYPzdEu3YiFlWGF4-UoC9ZZPoOlWV8VVScbD8CgWkry_Jid8VaL_cZE81ELm8/s1600/Chicago+Tunnel+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="1600" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik37jyPnDl3uPitQxXnAMylbSnYomzTR3EaP0av4Imk_TQFWa0JxnCaun_lvln5BmtWxyhUFkVnmW_rRxYPzdEu3YiFlWGF4-UoC9ZZPoOlWV8VVScbD8CgWkry_Jid8VaL_cZE81ELm8/s400/Chicago+Tunnel+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bib punch at Chicago Tunnel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
Chicago Tunnel was the site of an old mine shaft, and I took a minute to inspect the railway tracks leading deep into the heart of Chicago Peak.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVKNFFFqiLJZHB2jBJ8O1pca0Zam1fK1HW1co-Au5Rg5KALUpnN2RzrimlLVC30aayi6xOcxAnn6puAYSawFbrezkkADlPVN6xyF99nGH7p96jaTzQRWw2YeO1TbKHrcdNOmH4uyK8cFg/s1600/20190726_124750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVKNFFFqiLJZHB2jBJ8O1pca0Zam1fK1HW1co-Au5Rg5KALUpnN2RzrimlLVC30aayi6xOcxAnn6puAYSawFbrezkkADlPVN6xyF99nGH7p96jaTzQRWw2YeO1TbKHrcdNOmH4uyK8cFg/s400/20190726_124750.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old tracks leading into Chicago Tunnel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It boggles the mind imagining that people spent years of their lives in narrow tunnels like these, filling carts with ore by lamplight.</div>
<br />
<h3>
Climb #3: Fort Peabody</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 5.9 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 2,063 / 2,309<br />
<br />
The climb to Fort Peabody was the high point of my race, literally and figuratively. Imogene Pass Road, which connects the towns of Ouray and Telluride, had just been cleared of snow the day before the race. The plows had left behind a massive snow canyon that was just wide enough for a Jeep to drive through.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJY_dzALJdHXnhEJcum1Qg9yP3hN7GmRXxUniWETnMHwB3C7nWyaGH_Sc0ZoS4D1pX9cNEFG36SS22fC07NTW1mcIw3mFeSXUxCjRDtW4rtKqhdpjGb7QPr2JhVvCs3roriSWqzmyqzsQ/s1600/Imogine+Pass+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJY_dzALJdHXnhEJcum1Qg9yP3hN7GmRXxUniWETnMHwB3C7nWyaGH_Sc0ZoS4D1pX9cNEFG36SS22fC07NTW1mcIw3mFeSXUxCjRDtW4rtKqhdpjGb7QPr2JhVvCs3roriSWqzmyqzsQ/s400/Imogine+Pass+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow canyons on Imogene Pass Road</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
I had seen pictures of roads like this before, but I had always wanted to walk through one. Let me tell you, it was just as cool as I had hoped. I took dozens of pictures and spent long stretches brushing my hand against the snow wall as I hiked up to the pass.<br />
<br />
Once at the top of the pass, we left the road and made a sharp turn onto a knife edge rock formation. From this precarious spot, we could see Telluride to the west and Ouray to the east, both more than 5,000 vertical feet below us. Thunderstorms rumbled softly in the distance, and the sky turned an ominous shade of gray.<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz893BP7H72k6sqqILS2Q-LaWQHU54kV3cPZXLUxB8GAe-sf-0ym7OtI3kZYgfTUwuQzYgjSN0XjBmnNdRw3MCSU8EwtAOhtL-BVdH985CQsJWaY2RPa-oU-79DEcWpw9tBEPIZyVjsX8/s1600/Imogine+Pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1193" data-original-width="1600" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz893BP7H72k6sqqILS2Q-LaWQHU54kV3cPZXLUxB8GAe-sf-0ym7OtI3kZYgfTUwuQzYgjSN0XjBmnNdRw3MCSU8EwtAOhtL-BVdH985CQsJWaY2RPa-oU-79DEcWpw9tBEPIZyVjsX8/s400/Imogine+Pass.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Knife edge from Imogine Pass to Fort Peabody</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Legendary race photographer and mountain racer Howie Stern was perched on the ridge taking pictures. He is responsible for the shot at the top of this post, which is possibly the best picture ever taken of me.<br />
<br />
I stopped at the top of the ridge to punch my bib at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Peabody">Fort Peabody</a>, the highest military post in the US at 13,365'. Back in 1904, it served as a Colorado National Guard sentry post during a statewide labor dispute between the Western Federation of Miners and their employers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7f5f7V5hnb8k1l52g35TYoaFs8iplHfBtrL-yfzPVTwEiaxnySJjp8McNYFuyE5Ho-aOizOtY7tsbVv_0CH4CXZC_N7ifGXfJglzifhAmx1rzZVLk8nNnrtQicYLzZZCm3FZwHwLJsw/s1600/20190726_142028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7f5f7V5hnb8k1l52g35TYoaFs8iplHfBtrL-yfzPVTwEiaxnySJjp8McNYFuyE5Ho-aOizOtY7tsbVv_0CH4CXZC_N7ifGXfJglzifhAmx1rzZVLk8nNnrtQicYLzZZCm3FZwHwLJsw/s400/20190726_142028.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also got to pet Howie's pet Malamut, Miki. So things were going pretty well all around.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I felt so invigorated by the view from the pass that I hardly even noticed the 2,300 foot descent. I reached Richmond aid station, fueled up, and charged up Richmond pass, excited to see Alex for the first time since the start of the race.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #4: Richmond Pass 1</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 6.0 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 1,763 / 3,024</div>
</div>
<div>
<br />
As I began the climb up Richmond pass, I contemplated how best to inform Alex that I was actually a superhero who was impervious to pain and fatigue.<br />
<br />
That's when the terrain got rough.<br />
<br />
The lower slopes of Richmond Pass were covered in loose talus, making the footing difficult. The upper slopes were still blanketed in a thick layer of snow after a historically bad winter. Softening in the afternoon sun, the snowfields had the consistency of mashed potatoes, and my trekking poles occasionally sunk in up to their handles.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAWwqf832cWMqLdls_PU8IiCTCJzZeq2RcSngWOx-Ib2lJv8PY5wfeEob17V40HsviChp80kowt2Y9ai3r9r6Vhl6hErpNO7n1aqpwB0ERe2UpymaqV7pBSYAK0ADwKiIG9NyRP2CFbiM/s1600/20190726_153647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAWwqf832cWMqLdls_PU8IiCTCJzZeq2RcSngWOx-Ib2lJv8PY5wfeEob17V40HsviChp80kowt2Y9ai3r9r6Vhl6hErpNO7n1aqpwB0ERe2UpymaqV7pBSYAK0ADwKiIG9NyRP2CFbiM/s400/20190726_153647.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "trail" up Richmond Pass. Note the runners in the snow field ahead.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I passed <a href="https://www.facebook.com/HalfHundredHundreds" style="font-weight: bold;">Walter Handloser</a> in this section, who as you may remember from my <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/06/heaven-and-hellbender.html">Hellbender</a> report, is attempting to run fifty 100 mile races in a calendar year. He was sitting on the side of the trail working through a rough patch, and my offerings of food and shitty jokes were not enough to pry him from his perch. Seeing someone so strong struggle with the climb made me nervous, but it was a small comfort knowing that I wasn't the only one who wasn't enjoying this section.<br />
<br />
(Ever the model of consistency, he would go on to pass me hours later and finish his 28th 100 miler. As of this writing, he has completed 33 in the first 35 weeks of the year. Go get it buddy!)<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78iKYjYOx6GMaO3CQEqiiafmXgEln6NGR3zJ4lD_cvZqilweqwVo_wLejKLXDfpw3ahvPTQsw4BgbhzLBO9UwSLBFsTZsvO5x-Ii6SrjI43jTBAEQg7ZA58vkNpTKvpqKmjppQeQ3sJo/s1600/Richmond+Pass+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1181" data-original-width="1600" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj78iKYjYOx6GMaO3CQEqiiafmXgEln6NGR3zJ4lD_cvZqilweqwVo_wLejKLXDfpw3ahvPTQsw4BgbhzLBO9UwSLBFsTZsvO5x-Ii6SrjI43jTBAEQg7ZA58vkNpTKvpqKmjppQeQ3sJo/s400/Richmond+Pass+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Red Mountains from Richmond Pass</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
At the top of the pass, we were greeted by a jaw dropping view of the Red Mountains. I paused for a few photos before tiptoeing down the incredibly steep 3,000 foot descent to Ironton. I reached the aid station in fine physical condition, but feeling a bit less invincible than I had felt two hours earlier.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #5: Corkscrew Gulch (CCW)</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 8.2 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 2,782 / 2,782</div>
</div>
<div>
<br />
Seeing Alex at Ironton immediately put a pep in my step. With a kiss, some new socks, and a handful of food (avocado wraps - yum!) I was on my way around Corkscrew Gulch for the first time, ready to circumnavigate <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Mountain_(Ouray_County,_Colorado)">Red Mountain Number 1</a>.<br />
<br />
The Red Mountains looked spectacular in the early evening sunlight, and I paused frequently for pictures. even wandering a quarter mile off course at one point because I was so distracted by the scenery.<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8Dv4ni3ATypRuAoVO74QtkyPYUREApEKFO-PF3MJyEYCw95n6kEd6lqaz7FCMKv6SB4px_i75JYbOTigJytYgpDIpZ_CunyGjqvIaNHJjoyfWvPxCgaSz5Q3faHZxtdxYskIZ3-eAKI/s1600/Corkscrew+Gulch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8Dv4ni3ATypRuAoVO74QtkyPYUREApEKFO-PF3MJyEYCw95n6kEd6lqaz7FCMKv6SB4px_i75JYbOTigJytYgpDIpZ_CunyGjqvIaNHJjoyfWvPxCgaSz5Q3faHZxtdxYskIZ3-eAKI/s400/Corkscrew+Gulch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Late afternoon view in Corkscrew Gulch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
Normally, going off course would bother me, but it was only a three minute excursion, and the resulting photo (see above) was worth the lost time.<br />
<br />
I took the descent back down to Ironton slowly, still recovering a bit from Richmond Pass. I got to the aid station just as the last rays of sun disappeared for the night.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #6: Corkscrew Gulch (CW)</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 8.2 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 2,782 / 2,782</div>
</div>
<div>
<br />
Now to do the exact same loop, but in reverse and in the dark...<br />
<br />
Within minutes of leaving the aid station, thunder rumbled overhead and a light rain started to fall. Within a few more minutes, that light rain had turned into a steady downpour. I put on my rain shell and kept moving.<br />
<br />
By the time I reached the top of the climb, a full fledged thunderstorm was raging in all directions, and the rain and fog were so intense that I could barely see the ground in front of my feet. I caught up to Chris Twiggs, and we almost immediately lost the jeep road that we were following.<br />
<br />
"Do you see the trail?" I shouted to him through buckets of rain.<br />
<br />
"It's a jeep road, not a trail," he shouted back.<br />
<br />
"Well I don't see the jeep road either," I informed him.<br />
<br />
He pondered a moment and then offered the kind of sage wisdom that only comes from 14 years of racing experience in the San Juans...<br />
<br />
"SHIT! I hate this shit!"<br />
<br />
We pulled out our phones and checked the course, map, realizing to our shame that we were right next to the road. The fog had made it indistinguishable from the random rock piles in all directions.<br />
<br />
It has been pointed out to me that my sense of direction is lacking, to use a generous term. But losing a jeep road while running with a 14x Hardrock vet might have been a new low.<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEila3UMOZlNccczwHIhY4-YbLCWZuvnkbNG35KjghRY1yyYaRuTQ7M_9O1lYG0c9MZL9AyDXvDxSc04HiPskpal8FXQ7DfMwrGUI9LNh68TFR78Canl8hbgZR2h_BudpZNMCR5ASeD1bIE/s1600/Corkscrew+Gulch+%2528Avery+Collins%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="960" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEila3UMOZlNccczwHIhY4-YbLCWZuvnkbNG35KjghRY1yyYaRuTQ7M_9O1lYG0c9MZL9AyDXvDxSc04HiPskpal8FXQ7DfMwrGUI9LNh68TFR78Canl8hbgZR2h_BudpZNMCR5ASeD1bIE/s400/Corkscrew+Gulch+%2528Avery+Collins%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow canyons on Corkscrew Gulch<br />
Photo by Avery Collins in much nicer weather</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now back on course, my primary concerns were to reach Ironton without being struck by lightning or dying of hypothermia. I put my legs into high gear and hammered the next three miles. As I reached our rental car, I shouted to Alex to turn on the engine and blast the heaters.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #7: Richmond Pass 2</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 10.2</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 3,125 / 4,075<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Yeah, the wind is blowing</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Volcanoes blowing, my lungs are blowing</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Over and over"</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
—Jack White, Over and Over and Over</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
It was time for some damage control.<br />
<br />
Safely inside our monstrously oversized SUV, I set to work removing every article of clothing and replacing it with something warmer. When I at last emerged into the night, I was bundled from head to toe in thermal and waterproof layers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CqBjgkJ2p73fVEjM7sGObT_C97yeYeoLOX7aBR0F6WPhgNBskXIY4jObWxKELJdGLZqwCXuqsmoAwyx03_TazT40ab2WWQt20v8680uKL_oWi8QpKrlmI2qzGSYEYV6FAINzqgjiRLY/s1600/Richmond+Pass+2+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CqBjgkJ2p73fVEjM7sGObT_C97yeYeoLOX7aBR0F6WPhgNBskXIY4jObWxKELJdGLZqwCXuqsmoAwyx03_TazT40ab2WWQt20v8680uKL_oWi8QpKrlmI2qzGSYEYV6FAINzqgjiRLY/s400/Richmond+Pass+2+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charging off into the storm<br />
Photo by Alex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I grabbed some solid food from the aid station and waddled slowly toward the Richmond Pass trail head. This section had been rough during the mild sunny daylight hours, and I expected nothing less than a full fledged sufferfest on the way back.<br />
<br />
I was quickly joined by two other racers, whose names I have since forgotten. They had wisely hunkered down at the Ironton aid station to wait out the storm. Now that it was starting to clear up, they were ready to charge up the climb.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for my slow ass, they decided that the pass was too dangerous to travel over alone, and they informed me authoritatively that we were all going to climb over it together.<br />
<br />
"I'm not moving well," I pleaded with them, "I'll be fine. Just go ahead and someone else will catch up to me."<br />
<br />
But they wouldn't hear my excuses, and I was too tired to resist any further. Over the next two hours, I red-lined to keep up with them, stopping every 10 minutes to politely ask them to fuck off and let me die on this mountain alone.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMib6N0eexWjrwbcYGIB41f1iVbrZquagS_PZOHjuAEsagdcxhQhs8glxoEnCtYVXL8o4bTKa2pQNxQNnX0HbyC3mNn2nwOtaoedWBKMFjsIAsb5XNteXFryQ5UklNjJRpn6lmnOMhMA/s1600/Richmond+Pass+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMib6N0eexWjrwbcYGIB41f1iVbrZquagS_PZOHjuAEsagdcxhQhs8glxoEnCtYVXL8o4bTKa2pQNxQNnX0HbyC3mNn2nwOtaoedWBKMFjsIAsb5XNteXFryQ5UklNjJRpn6lmnOMhMA/s400/Richmond+Pass+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snowfields on Richmond Pass as seen during the day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
When we finally reached the top of the pass, I celebrated by emptying the contents of my stomach directly onto the trail in front of me. I had been breathing so hard for so long that I actually pulled an abdominal muscle, which I didn't know was possible. For the remaining 30 hours of the race, I would not be able to run without feeling like my stomach was tearing itself in half.<br />
<br />
The snowfields had frozen over in the chilly night air, but the footing was still manageable thanks to the footsteps that runners had left the previous day. When we reached the end of this technical section, the other runners pushed ahead and I was finally allowed to run on my own.<br />
<br />
To my well-intentioned guardian angels: Thanks for looking out for me, but I am pretty comfortable being alone in the mountains. Please just let me go my own pace next time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #8: Alpine Meadow Overlook</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 5.1 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 2,361 / 2,361<br />
<br />
I staggered into the Weehawken aid station almost five hours after leaving Ironton. I had not been able to eat or run at all since the top of the pass, and it looked like my race finish was in jeopardy.<br />
<br />
I would find out later that dozens of runners dropped out at Ironton, either unwilling to go out in the storm or too hypothermic to continue.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijes64FdW4SVd96g4IUo-oL405qoCtwtHqBDTCM5qiyLwE-u010Jl60lfgLOhRR_3ae9MvLjq9-pfwBqznv56uD3k1xoheBeeNx7vGR0-xFRd5M8QW8d8tmHM44G6mfY8tKQ7nx9NaqEY/s1600/Chief+Ouray+Mine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijes64FdW4SVd96g4IUo-oL405qoCtwtHqBDTCM5qiyLwE-u010Jl60lfgLOhRR_3ae9MvLjq9-pfwBqznv56uD3k1xoheBeeNx7vGR0-xFRd5M8QW8d8tmHM44G6mfY8tKQ7nx9NaqEY/s400/Chief+Ouray+Mine.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise over Ouray from Alpine Meadow Overlook</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
I spent ten minutes sitting in a camp chair trying to force down a bowl of ramen and a cup of Coke. I then informed a volunteer that I was going to take a quick nap and try to reset myself a little bit. She responded that I was too close to the cutoffs for a nap, and I needed to get moving.<br />
<br />
"<strike>Go fuck yourself, I'm taking a goddamned nap.</strike> Okie dokie!" I responded<br />
<br />
For the second time that night I lost an argument, and I soon found myself heading up the Alpine Meadow Overlook. Despite being a bit overgrown, this climb was one of the milder sections of the course. The footing was good, and I had a nice view of the sunrise over Ouray before trotting back down the way I had come.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #9: Hayden Pass 1</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 7.1 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 3,611 / 2,749<br />
<br />
Hayden Pass was another hellishly steep section of trail, but at least the views made the time go by pretty quickly. Long portions of the trail traversed an exposed ridge line, and the early morning sunlight was a welcome break from the long night.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihPkKLqwIG-eWYF4LI40CuBV8MT3q7Z9bWJSMDZmNZidinE_Idvz6eCW_rU6lhyTpGjIViG-S-wLaoZCfjWFKzBegTNgDbmj_IsV8Tsqs8JrNiiewfbJ6M_TS-Ob104icaMku7cKRk4-U/s1600/Crystal+Lake+2+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihPkKLqwIG-eWYF4LI40CuBV8MT3q7Z9bWJSMDZmNZidinE_Idvz6eCW_rU6lhyTpGjIViG-S-wLaoZCfjWFKzBegTNgDbmj_IsV8Tsqs8JrNiiewfbJ6M_TS-Ob104icaMku7cKRk4-U/s400/Crystal+Lake+2+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking a little frazzled after a long night<br />
Photo by Alex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I stopped at a few streams to filter water, but otherwise just marched on, seeing only a handful of runners passing in the opposite direction. I reached the Crystal Lake aid station at 10am on Saturday morning, 26 hours elapsed in the race, but still with 36 miles left to go.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip1yEFpH8V8mzn4cnl-MAaxXwShwTKMSe-51ETjv8D3IEAHVn0Oa1w7rjypMp2nDyU2HFG2F5ftglVjILCUY6iySVVH2cZe1j4RKHeMH_YfkoFlnjhST8Jm4CjRsaLPsGP0P5rkkRD3PU/s1600/Crystal+Lake+3+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="987" data-original-width="1600" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip1yEFpH8V8mzn4cnl-MAaxXwShwTKMSe-51ETjv8D3IEAHVn0Oa1w7rjypMp2nDyU2HFG2F5ftglVjILCUY6iySVVH2cZe1j4RKHeMH_YfkoFlnjhST8Jm4CjRsaLPsGP0P5rkkRD3PU/s400/Crystal+Lake+3+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning view of Crystal Lake<br />
Photo by Alex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
Alex greeted me here with a bagel and coffee, because she is a perfect being sent from heaven who knows exactly what I need at all times.<br />
<br />
I gratefully accepted her divine offering of breakfast food, and followed it up with some Coke and other snacks from the aid station while I enjoyed the view of Crystal Lake.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMEdznefNw9nG78w9n55bQFmfqsnjvsDJgdMoPAWltpPkmaWaw5ke4nK5QC7NA4aKGP0FiwHvi5P_aVMkgnj2td_ZoPTSkd-NvOW4_p-qrSkRebk-C41vtzuzXxDAP6Wnz9xNbJQUmV4/s1600/Crystal+Lake+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMEdznefNw9nG78w9n55bQFmfqsnjvsDJgdMoPAWltpPkmaWaw5ke4nK5QC7NA4aKGP0FiwHvi5P_aVMkgnj2td_ZoPTSkd-NvOW4_p-qrSkRebk-C41vtzuzXxDAP6Wnz9xNbJQUmV4/s400/Crystal+Lake+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Want to make a NJ boy happy? Find him a bagel in rural Colorado.<br />
Photo by Alex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
With some calories finally in my system, I left the aid station in good spirits but still unable to run consistently due to my various stomach issues.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #10: Hayden Pass 2</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 8.6 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 2,628 / 4,553<br />
<br />
More steep climbing, more panoramic views. You get the idea. Oh and I got to pet Howie Stern's dog again!</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTDAuvVTEMVP8HrkbTfJEOd-pgK1kwYPXz3TBY8Ia5wGL1FdT4igyDMvp0yleqVdGfviiHJpkGpeus12vXBNt-1uoOP06A2qcZH_dARffSntq3Uy07Q0yjfSOc4AdR7vch2Hp3R9Y7T4/s1600/Ultrasignup+Pic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaTDAuvVTEMVP8HrkbTfJEOd-pgK1kwYPXz3TBY8Ia5wGL1FdT4igyDMvp0yleqVdGfviiHJpkGpeus12vXBNt-1uoOP06A2qcZH_dARffSntq3Uy07Q0yjfSOc4AdR7vch2Hp3R9Y7T4/s400/Ultrasignup+Pic+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views from Hayden Pass<br />
Photo by Howie Stern</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
However, once again nature decided to throw a wrench in our race plans. With a sudden loud BOOM, a light show played out directly overhead just as I had crested the high point of the pass. Rain poured from the sky as if god himself was powerwashing us feeble runners off his mountain. A few minutes later I noticed that the raindrops were stinging my skin as they hit, and realized that I was being pelted with hail.<br />
<br />
I needed to get below treeline fast! Once again I found myself hammering downhill as fast as my ragged respiratory muscles would allow. The trail turned into a river of muddy water, carrying debris and little hail pellets past me as I ran. It was downright apocalyptic.<br />
<br />
Then, as quickly as it began, the storm ended, the sun came out, and birds started chirping.<br />
<br />
Mountain weather is weird.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #11: Twin Peaks</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 6.3 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 3,450 / 3,505<br />
<br />
The descent from Hayden Pass finally took us back to the town of Ouray, from which we would begin each of the remaining out-and-back sections. Now over 30 hours into the race, I felt like I had just finished a 100 miler, but I still had <i>at least </i>15 hours and four climbs left to go.<br />
<br />
The first of these was an extremely steep and technical climb up Twin Peaks. At this point in the report, I'm sure the words "steep" and "technical" have lost their meaning, but portions of this climb were legitimate rock scrambles.<br />
<br />
Check out <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jay&lname=Lemos">Jay Lemos</a></b> climbing this thing back in 2017 (skip to 1:23 for the Twin Peaks scramble).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Z8cMz7ergCY/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Z8cMz7ergCY?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
Having done plenty of rock scrambles in my training, I was pretty happy to have the opportunity to use some different muscles. However, I will say that it's crazy to make runners pull legitimate rock climbing moves at mile 77.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiXd7wSRJODybN9RaQx1rrw2_PaIapG53Pt9yeWbV04_MlTUVMxv7BlCdln6Sgi2Bv_McdKTr4FqeIsUMoOr_KhkAa-lyuLKOAuIjMfSu7DV0VwV1ApwnC3OHuN6kwkLTWcwhHvW-wPU/s1600/Twin+Peaks+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="1600" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiXd7wSRJODybN9RaQx1rrw2_PaIapG53Pt9yeWbV04_MlTUVMxv7BlCdln6Sgi2Bv_McdKTr4FqeIsUMoOr_KhkAa-lyuLKOAuIjMfSu7DV0VwV1ApwnC3OHuN6kwkLTWcwhHvW-wPU/s400/Twin+Peaks+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hole punch at the top of Twin Peaks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
I took a minute at the top to appreciate how cool that section of trail had been and to take in the amazing views one more time, and then scampered down to the Silvershield aid station.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #12: Silvershield</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 4.0 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 1,968 / 1,919<br />
<br />
I refueled quickly, gave Alex another big sweaty kiss, and then headed back up. I was starting to smell the barn (incidentally, also starting to smell <i>like</i> a barn), and I wanted to get this thing done.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOE0CrH7g8sSY2UhscG_raK_uJh5L2du3-Pmk3oT18RAlhhbKe_56lX3K8CAgutBVpca-68ST00SmWf0Qi7M-h9h-ln8IHM6CILVE_wi2VZn8uUXo_dq2MnLzjQq4FnFTzKbxngkD3dMw/s1600/Silvershield+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOE0CrH7g8sSY2UhscG_raK_uJh5L2du3-Pmk3oT18RAlhhbKe_56lX3K8CAgutBVpca-68ST00SmWf0Qi7M-h9h-ln8IHM6CILVE_wi2VZn8uUXo_dq2MnLzjQq4FnFTzKbxngkD3dMw/s400/Silvershield+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coming into Silvershield Aid Station<br />
Photo by Alex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Silvershield was an easy climb by Ouray standards, but it was also the least scenic climb in the race. Aside from a set of dinosaur tracks (no, really!) near the top, this trail didn't offer any benefits other than making the race an even 100 miles with 40,000+ feet of gain.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6kUKVvXwyAHWATP3Z1eLxyq39lcj6icarQpAHBvx5OtluV2KhfcRqRwJcz_IZJmSFA5FCle7SImeZ1zq27M0UnUuTHNuNYs8_ldb4VJ1hQjDMqfp0DQRvhij4F1kHAuGQXi-Z-VEIjg/s1600/Silvershield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6kUKVvXwyAHWATP3Z1eLxyq39lcj6icarQpAHBvx5OtluV2KhfcRqRwJcz_IZJmSFA5FCle7SImeZ1zq27M0UnUuTHNuNYs8_ldb4VJ1hQjDMqfp0DQRvhij4F1kHAuGQXi-Z-VEIjg/s400/Silvershield.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinosaur tracks on the Silvershield Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
With no distracting scenery, I powered through and reached Fellin Park 30 minutes ahead of schedule, feeling more energetic than I had in a while. The sun had just set for the second time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #13: Chief Ouray Mine</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 6.7 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 3,399 / 3,399<br />
<br />
Chief Ouray Mine probably would have been a very pretty trail in daylight. At night, however, it was just an endless series of switchbacks with no views and only the occasional 50 mile runner zooming by me. I quickly began to feel the accumulated effects of 40+ hours with no sleep.<br />
<br />
My sleep deprivation expressed itself in a few ways. The most obvious of which was that I literally started to fall asleep while walking. At one point I went to plant both poles and briefly lost consciousness before they hit the ground. I missed completely and my arms swung back wildly. I woke up just in time to save myself from face planting into the ground. Thankfully the adrenaline rush from this almost-swan-dive was enough to keep me awake for the remainder of the section.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_UnJhNDffERaYgdcE4acd1uvAXUdQzgZXk9YKgn4tZnvremAZXELzvHpBCrRaeuH2NSFpJX4-kzGTpsrBQO2pfTW5GwBP_JFp-pmw6NMrsYVOmW6eiaRpUe2TxmtbYKb4l-dV4laj6I/s1600/Chief+Ouray+Mine+%2528katerunscolorado%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_UnJhNDffERaYgdcE4acd1uvAXUdQzgZXk9YKgn4tZnvremAZXELzvHpBCrRaeuH2NSFpJX4-kzGTpsrBQO2pfTW5GwBP_JFp-pmw6NMrsYVOmW6eiaRpUe2TxmtbYKb4l-dV4laj6I/s400/Chief+Ouray+Mine+%2528katerunscolorado%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chief Ouray Mine during daylight hours<br />
Photo by <a href="http://www.katerunscolorado.com/2012/08/upper-cascade-falls-chief-ouray-mine.html">Kate Runs Colorado</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
The more subtle (to me) effect of sleep deprivation was that I began to hallucinate. At first I thought there were smiley faces drawn on every single rock on the trail. I thought maybe some local artists had hiked up and decorated the rocks as a hobby. It also looked like the trees and bushes had been trimmed to resemble smiling faces or animals. Every tree stump became a moose or a lion crouched on the side of the trail.<br />
<br />
It was not until after the race, when I excitedly asked another runner about all the smiley painted rocks, that I realized just how vivid and prolonged my hallucinations were. But at least they were fairly benign compared to the stories I've heard from other runners.<br />
<br />
Somehow I made it back down from this climb without sleepwalking off the mountain or being committed to an insane asylum. Now all that was left was one last climb.<br />
<br />
One. Last. Giant. Climb.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div>
<h3>
Climb #14: Bridge of Heaven</h3>
<div>
Section distance: 10.6 miles</div>
<div>
Elevation gain/loss: 4,844 / 4,844<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy." —Albert Camus,<i> The Myth of Sisyphus</i></blockquote>
<br />
As if the course wasn't difficult enough, race director Charles Johnston threw us one last gut punch at the end of the race. Bridge of Heaven is the longest single climb on the entire course, ascending a whopping 4,800 feet from the town of Ouray to a mountain pass at 12,308'.<br />
<br />
With nothing else to save my legs and lungs for, I charged into this climb... and still only managed 50 minute miles. I think my lungs were pretty spent even though my legs still felt strong.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTAMVfB-rWxobYXQx2tuLF0-GJ-CaYUuYuzOmQASqaAzL3wjHAavZQirBpTMG-0_NboQjQ6lOLicxukpQ_8cxJmjseYs0Ord-yOHEH9-Pa-3WxVmZj-SJIka3EESDejWu8a6itCyLKC0/s1600/Bridge+of+Heaven+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1192" data-original-width="1600" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTAMVfB-rWxobYXQx2tuLF0-GJ-CaYUuYuzOmQASqaAzL3wjHAavZQirBpTMG-0_NboQjQ6lOLicxukpQ_8cxJmjseYs0Ord-yOHEH9-Pa-3WxVmZj-SJIka3EESDejWu8a6itCyLKC0/s400/Bridge+of+Heaven+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last few switchbacks on Bridge of Heaven</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
The lights from Ouray faded into the distance as we ascended into the cloudy night. Five miles and four full hours later, I finally reached the top of the pass, just as the sun was peaking over the horizon. The scenery was breathtaking. I had a snack, took pictures in every direction, and then set to work on the descent.<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCnsafDq3uPeEeEn2T9URstGeE71q2eVkE_ptppiBACrTQITlqyvVR7ExTSeKDsQbC1AzxOA8QQuGH0qoOOBF6iW3IGDvnF2IGON5537194tPcVttnue3UvTVOzIadrm5rIOZIUS4pfl8/s1600/Bridge+of+Heaven+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="954" data-original-width="1600" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCnsafDq3uPeEeEn2T9URstGeE71q2eVkE_ptppiBACrTQITlqyvVR7ExTSeKDsQbC1AzxOA8QQuGH0qoOOBF6iW3IGDvnF2IGON5537194tPcVttnue3UvTVOzIadrm5rIOZIUS4pfl8/s400/Bridge+of+Heaven+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise from Bridge of Heaven</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
There were 46 hours and 15 minutes elapsed in the race, which meant that I had 1:45 to cover almost a vertical downhill mile if I was going to finish in 48 hours. For the first time in many hours, I started to run, stomach spasms be damned!<br />
<br />
I passed a handful of runners, some still climbing, some descending, but all very supportive of me and of each other. One of the overlooked aspects of this race is that the out-and-back sections mean that the mid-pack runners can cheer the elite runners on, and vice versa.<br />
<br />
With 30 minutes left, I still had another 1.5 miles and 1,000 vertical feet to get to the finish line. I hammered the rocky downhill, thankful for the many hours of hill repeats that had battle hardened my quads over the previous months.<br />
<br />
I reached the road and had 12 minutes to go the last half mile. All I needed to do was jog it in. And jog I did, hoping desperately that I wouldn't vomit as I entered Fellin Park for the last time.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSg9zPrDLse1T2Jq3p3O06pVKzQNeMqxYBAEffNNRJHEbenvwOtGpuO1_p_3IVWb_hBtJOBatO5FLXAg00nuvVE2NUi__A5epsyWOElSVCO9wmni8QLY_iHrmVF_1Lp0feVLw9LGqZP0/s1600/Finish+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSg9zPrDLse1T2Jq3p3O06pVKzQNeMqxYBAEffNNRJHEbenvwOtGpuO1_p_3IVWb_hBtJOBatO5FLXAg00nuvVE2NUi__A5epsyWOElSVCO9wmni8QLY_iHrmVF_1Lp0feVLw9LGqZP0/s400/Finish+%2528Alex%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Got that sweet hardware!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, after 47 hours, 55 minutes, and 48 seconds, I crossed the finish line of the Ouray 100 in 19th place and 3rd among East Coasters. Of the 73 runners that started, only 32 would go on to finish.<br />
<br />
I had beaten my distance PR by a mile, my elevation PR by 18,000 feet, and my time on feet PR by 19 hours. What a goddamned ridiculous beautiful adventure!</div>
</div>
<br />
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2570378622">Strava data</a><br />
<a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=59747">Official results</a><br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Post Race Thoughts</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have to start by thanking my beautiful, wonderful, supportive wife Alex, who crewed me by herself for 48 hours. Although we rented a house close to the course, she was not able to sleep because she was too busy watching my SPOT tracker beacon move slowly on a map.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Even after the race was over, her crew duties were not, as she had to pack our gear and herd my bloated sleep deprived corpse to a new hotel, reminding me periodically to stop squishing my swollen cheeks and put on my shoes already.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm proud of the fact that I became one of a handful of east coasters to finish this race, although I certainly left some time on the course due to my own lack of warm clothing on Corkscrew Gulch and my inability to go my own pace over Richmond Pass. I also realized that I need to acclimate for more than a week if I ever get a chance to run Hardrock. Day hiking at 10,000 feet and running for 48 hours at 10-13,000 feet put very different amounts of strain on the body.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The one thing that I'm absolutely pleased with is how well my legs held up. At no point in the race was I limited by muscle pain or fatigue, and even afterwards I was able to go up and down stairs comfortably (though I did get out of breath very easily). Clearly my steady diet of hill repeats had their intended effect. Now I just need to get faster!</div>
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The Hardest Race in North America?</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Let's come back to my opening statement for a moment.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I believe that Ouray is the hardest trail race in North America, based on it's insane elevation gain, high altitude, and technicality. However, there are a handful of <i>off-trail</i> races or adventure runs that are certainly harder.</div>
<ul>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Barkley Marathons</b>: 130 miles, 66,000' of gain, almost entirely off trail, and runners can only use a map and compass to navigate. This is the original impossibly hard race, and it gets harder every year. But it's not a trail race.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Baldy Marathons</b>: 100 miles, 50,000'. Billed as a west coast version of Barkley, Baldy has only seen one finisher in 8 events.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Highlander 100</b>: 100 miles, 63,000'. So difficult that the race will be canceled if anyone ever finishes it. There can only be one! (finisher)</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>WTF 100</b>: 108 miles and 48,000', with about 80 miles off trail. A new Catskill race from the twisted mind of Mike Siudy. I'll let you guys know whether this is harder than Ouray when I attempt it in October. Still not a trail race though.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Nolan's 14</b>: ~100 miles, 40,000'. On paper, it might look similar to Ouray, except that large portions are on class 3 or class 4 terrain, and the average elevation is much higher (every summit is at least 14,000 feet up!).</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The only <i>trail</i> races that I believe come close to Ouray are:</div>
<div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Hardrock</b>: 100 miles, 33,000'. The older, more prestigious brother of Ouray. Hardrock's trails are more remote and slightly higher on average. However, Ouray's 9,000 feet of additional climbing probably give it the edge. If I ever get into Hardrock, I'll let you guys know for sure.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Cruel Jewell</b>: 106 miles, 33,000'. Low altitude, but humid and no views. This race sounds more mentally challenging, but its 48 hour cutoff is generous.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>HURT</b>: 100 miles, 25,000'. Humid, muddy and root covered trails, and a 36 hour cutoff give this race a very low finisher rate.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>Plain</b>: 100 miles, 20,000'. Not the hardest trails, but entirely self supported. Runners have access to their drop bags once during the race, but are otherwise on their own for up to 36 hours in the Cascade Mountains.</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you know of a race that's harder than Ouray, be sure to leave an angy profanity-laden comment below. Thanks for reading this stupidly long report!</div>
</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-63504117260703339032019-07-02T12:31:00.000-04:002019-07-02T12:31:58.244-04:00Why I Run<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I often get asked why I run long distances. Why do I choose to put my body through so much pain? I usually struggle to respond because there's no simple answer to that question. In fact, there are dozens of answers which rotate through my head depending on the circumstances of my life.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWiXNSgbt6nY1Cr7fZ5DuXhKu4wNBop_aXhw17ES2AtdAabfcOQ5JQT5wlPPKB60D18RKEeH6B7n_8ARaHEgKUGILBr_3pwjj96BlkwnpdB_DqI0DDa0P_w48zrYYWs2K8WzmKu4Ltao0/s1600/944914_10100391205842362_6959864935712193278_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWiXNSgbt6nY1Cr7fZ5DuXhKu4wNBop_aXhw17ES2AtdAabfcOQ5JQT5wlPPKB60D18RKEeH6B7n_8ARaHEgKUGILBr_3pwjj96BlkwnpdB_DqI0DDa0P_w48zrYYWs2K8WzmKu4Ltao0/s400/944914_10100391205842362_6959864935712193278_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes I asked myself the same question</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Here, in no particular order, are the reasons why I run.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Because I'm competitive</b> and athletic options are limited when you're a short dude with no fast twitch muscle fibers.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHJbohrhFlibM1xuXjnor8mMBfVZ2BhmYRtj1Ltn8bEXdeOk07Kp1FRXMKgWsTiucSxEf2u-bjGGqRPYdOw9UKHrNJakxywKMk9dDBWYHGDx42D9wbMIaI7Hy5p3iWFUCbU6tKns6iZM/s1600/dunk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHJbohrhFlibM1xuXjnor8mMBfVZ2BhmYRtj1Ltn8bEXdeOk07Kp1FRXMKgWsTiucSxEf2u-bjGGqRPYdOw9UKHrNJakxywKMk9dDBWYHGDx42D9wbMIaI7Hy5p3iWFUCbU6tKns6iZM/s400/dunk.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictured: one of the many athletic things I can't do</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>2. Because I love spending time outdoors </b>and a 12 hour run on single track is a great way to scratch that itch.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYAJZwBL1p3U_oRsD-_-Fju2PmDmQW2rxIII4fK1iXf6-QXXdydd_bs-L2XuuMl39680StuFhDW1gFPWyshsAK_OuayXzKI77LpZ_BE4euCKzHlTIRh1WxWU8yKjS0_U97aRbqGAly-Y/s1600/9546.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYAJZwBL1p3U_oRsD-_-Fju2PmDmQW2rxIII4fK1iXf6-QXXdydd_bs-L2XuuMl39680StuFhDW1gFPWyshsAK_OuayXzKI77LpZ_BE4euCKzHlTIRh1WxWU8yKjS0_U97aRbqGAly-Y/s400/9546.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Especially if it's with someone I like</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>3. Because it helps me process the thoughts in my head.</b> I mean think about it. How often do you get to unplug from the world for more than a few minutes at a time. No phone. No internet. Alone with your thoughts.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42h3NWYlxR5zUkLY48hMQ7PuG9UudIHggKbJS6UVeF6Rncpww7z8jtVhIJ0LXpHiZ_NqFEAbFXDqxMsRCvHaMFzdf_J_ihW78Kb-FvfIuFWBbW2aNYqrlwjdXa2LMVym6H25u3Mb2LMo/s1600/IMG_20160127_001212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj42h3NWYlxR5zUkLY48hMQ7PuG9UudIHggKbJS6UVeF6Rncpww7z8jtVhIJ0LXpHiZ_NqFEAbFXDqxMsRCvHaMFzdf_J_ihW78Kb-FvfIuFWBbW2aNYqrlwjdXa2LMVym6H25u3Mb2LMo/s400/IMG_20160127_001212.jpg" width="388" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And passing photographers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>4. Because anything worth doing is worth overdoing</b>, and as far as addictions go, running is fairly benign.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrXG1XvUg5iFW20OZskKU1-WkZ94pdHyJQK7V-anNqC0hHfhadZIziJ0f1dK5xqojX1zGJUMQunJVROB_v2WNU6dTOeVo_WoX4Ssdec348JrGZlmxRqPjl2B2DH5CNSsTbmFk5S84I2w/s1600/IMG_20170401_114313_907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrXG1XvUg5iFW20OZskKU1-WkZ94pdHyJQK7V-anNqC0hHfhadZIziJ0f1dK5xqojX1zGJUMQunJVROB_v2WNU6dTOeVo_WoX4Ssdec348JrGZlmxRqPjl2B2DH5CNSsTbmFk5S84I2w/s400/IMG_20170401_114313_907.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This hurts less than a hangover</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>5. Because some day I won't be able to run.</b> I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, or I could live until 100 and run every day until then. Either way, the amount of time allotted to me is finite, and I intend to make the most of it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="224" src="https://i.imgflip.com/1os5aa.jpg" width="400" /></div>
<br />
<b>6. Because I get to meet new people and spend time with old friends. </b>The running community is one of the most positive and welcoming groups that you'll ever find.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs5Y5lFRD3x4U8wHtsGF_86A9k2pnTiLUjwRfMWe_SKImn-YaLQYhJo5ObiOr53F-p1tokMdz4_uzuuudKiySCTYFV53b7rxiXsjDXcoNRNb0i5xCoj1VRXdnYGLB6x23c4D1kxuryNAg/s1600/12825.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs5Y5lFRD3x4U8wHtsGF_86A9k2pnTiLUjwRfMWe_SKImn-YaLQYhJo5ObiOr53F-p1tokMdz4_uzuuudKiySCTYFV53b7rxiXsjDXcoNRNb0i5xCoj1VRXdnYGLB6x23c4D1kxuryNAg/s400/12825.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These people are all pretty cool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span id="goog_663860663"></span>
<b>7. Because I get to be alone. </b>This probably sounds like it contradicts the previous point. Well it does. Life is all about finding balance, and running strikes an excellent balance between community and solitude.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAA2JRAl4cp2wkQCCvXXZzZJd3AMpipSAiwTwRx_ACGwzFX1Oad_YbUHhr3d-6mWzWzKnA_DAQVlJmoB3aJVzTXL7PZDr4AtyUaFUPeCOU-KMKzauYl-vTf4HTWIcHjqDg2F5wdIXQac8/s1600/IMG_20160115_073014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAA2JRAl4cp2wkQCCvXXZzZJd3AMpipSAiwTwRx_ACGwzFX1Oad_YbUHhr3d-6mWzWzKnA_DAQVlJmoB3aJVzTXL7PZDr4AtyUaFUPeCOU-KMKzauYl-vTf4HTWIcHjqDg2F5wdIXQac8/s400/IMG_20160115_073014.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quiet morning run at Round Valley Reservoir</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>8. Because it keeps me in shape. </b>Let's be honest here. The reason why most of us exercise is because we want to look good naked.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDSjv2ryhX1ptDlFB3dLnw_PVJwx4BmLXk9f1mSz4jqfSI49nn5u30jD1mJww6jxPRk6HjKZo8QoY6gU3VG3MjmnVtWCfN-a5UUqPTvBxuF4vG3JPiwAEBHAVH2I2q4HO9AjQBk-8q7c/s1600/12823.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDSjv2ryhX1ptDlFB3dLnw_PVJwx4BmLXk9f1mSz4jqfSI49nn5u30jD1mJww6jxPRk6HjKZo8QoY6gU3VG3MjmnVtWCfN-a5UUqPTvBxuF4vG3JPiwAEBHAVH2I2q4HO9AjQBk-8q7c/s400/12823.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It doesn't make me any less awkward though</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>9. Because it's easy to be sort-of-good at it.</b> At least compared to other sports. At any given distance, a mid-pack runner can run about half as fast as world record pace. 50% of a world record is equivalent to some average Joe hitting 36 home runs in the MLB or throwing 27 touchdown passes in the NFL.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5n1Ep8pG0xkheGa7afdddFA28C1ufgDF7esBNH8ZSlST8xcCAknubzSxr5uqSQ45sjOAa0ubKTJqgbAaWhDk7xEtIe0JzCl5HMRb_9Obw9-wczHZMtbw9bke2wQypxTNiYkH2mJ7S6g/s1600/home+run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5n1Ep8pG0xkheGa7afdddFA28C1ufgDF7esBNH8ZSlST8xcCAknubzSxr5uqSQ45sjOAa0ubKTJqgbAaWhDk7xEtIe0JzCl5HMRb_9Obw9-wczHZMtbw9bke2wQypxTNiYkH2mJ7S6g/s400/home+run.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictured: another thing that I can't do</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>10. Because it's hard to be <i>really</i> good at it, </b>and that gives us all something to work toward.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZQJHGK-jb9-6uGutry_2gfhr3dKSiGJWrN2LY8H7vW5OZwbKPGcHZImMUVUpqBoecF5Cmqxi3V7dAYl8Kjg80IOfEkJmvgVXPAawHo5hAgPxXKi3SMpxydA4Vq-yyD_lBZJpjKRWEek/s1600/kipchoge.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZQJHGK-jb9-6uGutry_2gfhr3dKSiGJWrN2LY8H7vW5OZwbKPGcHZImMUVUpqBoecF5Cmqxi3V7dAYl8Kjg80IOfEkJmvgVXPAawHo5hAgPxXKi3SMpxydA4Vq-yyD_lBZJpjKRWEek/s400/kipchoge.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I will never be as fast as this man, but that won't stop me from trying</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>11. Because a little bit of suffering is good for the soul. </b>Most people would be better off if they felt a little more discomfort in their lives. After experiencing a heinous climb at mile 85 of a race, you realize that the minor annoyances in life aren't so bad.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdxUZf_XGa2iwmjB1-u1GcoTYqgXymixGxDNsp1BOzjJLyWH9IQ26rbvsh6bAWIBGo5umQIzwGm431LsIgWQINlsEnEHN0O3BxvDRzwU1KvhpaILudxM7-xiM6WcINme8_9IkW6S8oG4/s1600/TGNY+2015+Finish+Line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdxUZf_XGa2iwmjB1-u1GcoTYqgXymixGxDNsp1BOzjJLyWH9IQ26rbvsh6bAWIBGo5umQIzwGm431LsIgWQINlsEnEHN0O3BxvDRzwU1KvhpaILudxM7-xiM6WcINme8_9IkW6S8oG4/s400/TGNY+2015+Finish+Line.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictured: a large amount of pain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>12. Because it lends itself to analysis</b>, and I have an unhealthy obsession with Excel spreadsheets.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrXPdk_KhKh1hos-oS-wFabnEsoxT6N9lZVhnWvywjDVoPiI2m-rkLsIIOfa1rqtk2LSuMZQeIaUlnM-1ntT42Pfu7PLpkKgmZIHL6nQhnE8aW5nlOEf3hxmPkfdGh2a4fGKmUGR85UM/s1600/Race+Spreadsheet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrXPdk_KhKh1hos-oS-wFabnEsoxT6N9lZVhnWvywjDVoPiI2m-rkLsIIOfa1rqtk2LSuMZQeIaUlnM-1ntT42Pfu7PLpkKgmZIHL6nQhnE8aW5nlOEf3hxmPkfdGh2a4fGKmUGR85UM/s400/Race+Spreadsheet.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behold my insanity!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>13. Because you get out of it exactly what you put in.</b> Obviously genetics are a huge factor, but in general, runners who work harder perform better. There are no shortcuts. You can't cheat the clock. No excuses, no matter how valid, will improve your time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibxVFc1hBrhC0o5HVxKs8_NfnvcUu0PBlCeZV8alXnaQeFfwhjh9JBALqx6gWTCj7Qw4q3oYZlvi5FCt4WCn_31zFZEdWxC8AHp670HjjROZYVeUJXciUTktmMJxQhMsqq7PHkzyncVeo/s1600/11384+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibxVFc1hBrhC0o5HVxKs8_NfnvcUu0PBlCeZV8alXnaQeFfwhjh9JBALqx6gWTCj7Qw4q3oYZlvi5FCt4WCn_31zFZEdWxC8AHp670HjjROZYVeUJXciUTktmMJxQhMsqq7PHkzyncVeo/s400/11384+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But my feet hurt real bad!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>14. Because beer. </b>I don't know why, but ultrarunning and craft beer are inextricably linked together, and it's a match made in heaven. Plus, the amount of calories I burn from running mean I can drink beer guilt free.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3mOr5360LM9ipEuiYg3qMPIPmXQf-om2kCaiLMiliMH3qIXYp5E7Bu6WchEdaW2cn6sM44S0VMkjDpYEwlCLEr0YEHu0T9vgqhHL2PxB-ISV2inHm4D7vLIVJn6NjD_uM4m0SjBY9AVE/s1600/IMG_20170506_165953_166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3mOr5360LM9ipEuiYg3qMPIPmXQf-om2kCaiLMiliMH3qIXYp5E7Bu6WchEdaW2cn6sM44S0VMkjDpYEwlCLEr0YEHu0T9vgqhHL2PxB-ISV2inHm4D7vLIVJn6NjD_uM4m0SjBY9AVE/s400/IMG_20170506_165953_166.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shower beer is best beer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-15574207787497560712019-06-18T16:19:00.001-04:002019-06-18T16:19:33.087-04:00Heaven and Hellbender<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
Saturday, 3:24am - 23 hours elapsed</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I walked into the Curtis Creek Campground aid station at mile 80, hours behind schedule. I was tired, sore, nauseous, and - for some reason - hiccuping uncontrollably.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"That <i>-hic!- </i>whole section was <i>-hic!-</i> bullshit," I informed my crew.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I collapsed into a camp chair and pondered how best to <i>unfuck </i>myself, while I held my breath in a desperate attempt to cure my hiccups.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I still had to complete a 4,000 foot climb and descent to get to the finish.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
What the hell is a Hellbender?</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Established in 2018, the Hellbender 100 is a rugged trail race in highest mountain range of the Eastern US. With multiple summit elevations over 6,000 feet and valleys under 2,000 feet, the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Mountains_(North_Carolina)">Black Mountain Range</a> is uniquely capable of offering the kind of massive sustained climbs and descents that are typically only found in western mountain races like Hardrock or Wasatch.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSxfjBlbxLNCSyTNs2Hh6BipatuyIl0-2iDs0smEr-s57bPQ8rijIiXiBmrS8fj94mgw5SdnT7_1otrWaZnh8JjLs1ICdod22vv-s2Md6eqXoL4PWKrnSEMDgNsXppQW32iwllmF0SN7I/s1600/Ultrasignup+Pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1500" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSxfjBlbxLNCSyTNs2Hh6BipatuyIl0-2iDs0smEr-s57bPQ8rijIiXiBmrS8fj94mgw5SdnT7_1otrWaZnh8JjLs1ICdod22vv-s2Md6eqXoL4PWKrnSEMDgNsXppQW32iwllmF0SN7I/s400/Ultrasignup+Pic.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Black Mountains from The Pinnacle<br />
Photo from <a href="http://hellbender100.com/">hellbender100.com</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With five separate climbs of 3,000 feet or more, and many smaller climbs in between, Hellbender boasts an impressive 26,000 feet of total ascent. Adding to the difficulty is the heat and humidity of North Carolina in the spring. As ultramarathon aficionado <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Walter&lname=Handloser">Walter Handloser</a></b> said, "<a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10218817885179747&set=p.10218817885179747&type=1">It's almost as if someone took a Colorado race and wrapped it in a southern skin. Then deep fried it.</a>"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RX9VbXVcWL3xpK6x1EoyCKcrZH2cx4niXOjfHvvEmONX9nIzdTQBw5PXW8Q27sJqeiQ0cn3piKj3mZ-VEdx_BPmohHZUJ1XGtitC_dRmw4KAldZ7Kvld-sArTBrdrwTk9gkSAMAUAv8/s1600/Hellbender+map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="782" data-original-width="769" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8RX9VbXVcWL3xpK6x1EoyCKcrZH2cx4niXOjfHvvEmONX9nIzdTQBw5PXW8Q27sJqeiQ0cn3piKj3mZ-VEdx_BPmohHZUJ1XGtitC_dRmw4KAldZ7Kvld-sArTBrdrwTk9gkSAMAUAv8/s400/Hellbender+map.png" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hellbender 100 race map</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The race starts in the small western NC town of Old Fort and climbs north into Pisgah National Forest, where it makes three loops before returning back to Old Fort.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkJv0vqDDsoMeKuVDdDfM7XOh0OZ9o6guO6oy5p5mG0DeozkAgNPOYVTHMu7qi5dh4bZfa-GkNV-48cDxkAr4-CZhxSSHubrQ_25BDX4WqPj5EkCWIwQwtYGABvEML9RM9DAmMjcCJKA/s1600/Hellbender+profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="1288" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkJv0vqDDsoMeKuVDdDfM7XOh0OZ9o6guO6oy5p5mG0DeozkAgNPOYVTHMu7qi5dh4bZfa-GkNV-48cDxkAr4-CZhxSSHubrQ_25BDX4WqPj5EkCWIwQwtYGABvEML9RM9DAmMjcCJKA/s400/Hellbender+profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hellbender 100 profile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The climbing and technical terrain is heavily front loaded, i.e. the highest and rockiest peaks are primarily in the first half of the race, which led me to believe that I could possibly negative split if I ran a smart race (spoiler: I didn't).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Okay, but what actually <i>is</i> a Hellbender?</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Despite sounding like a Dungeons and Dragons character, a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hellbender">hellbender</a> is a rare giant salamander found in parts of Appalachia.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLUmwyp0yypC-ZpPK0LtQmOo4TTyV2BbKjArQbxUis_KMbmuA0jIxGM6_3L7HC4gsNAkEVWTdVfmCr2yi21j4S_87vnF7UJ0Mv2AikENnzCM1ynH4DLTr4HIiDyy-NHD0L6TEyTVJSDs/s1600/snot+otter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLUmwyp0yypC-ZpPK0LtQmOo4TTyV2BbKjArQbxUis_KMbmuA0jIxGM6_3L7HC4gsNAkEVWTdVfmCr2yi21j4S_87vnF7UJ0Mv2AikENnzCM1ynH4DLTr4HIiDyy-NHD0L6TEyTVJSDs/s400/snot+otter.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wild <strike>snot otter</strike> hellbender<br />
Photo by <a href="http://ryansweeklywildlife.blogspot.com/">Ryan Wagner</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This magnificent beast is also affectionately known as the <i>snot otter</i>, <i>lasagna lizard</i>, <i>mud-devil</i>, or <i>grampus</i>. So kudos to the organizers for choosing the most badass of these monikers for their race. I don't think I would feel nearly as cool running the Snot Otter 100.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The Pinnacle of the Race</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After an 11 hour drive to NC and not nearly enough sleep, I found myself standing under a starting banner in a rural Boy Scout camp. With an understated "okay, go" from RD Aaron Saft, we were off into the darkness.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwN7L5Dk30XfRDBy6QUYkrQ8L9D2kiYirxdGIsb4KxQ9OHVMQD3p1IIaw1ru0aOIWBiKS_1e4tH8sp0eEuMi5z1Z6CgnWhxCHlKxjG790Ei16PebLaBh3Ryrw5S6LZcb7BUQ3x9sDbdPg/s1600/58419840_643481626116843_2198087674235977728_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwN7L5Dk30XfRDBy6QUYkrQ8L9D2kiYirxdGIsb4KxQ9OHVMQD3p1IIaw1ru0aOIWBiKS_1e4tH8sp0eEuMi5z1Z6CgnWhxCHlKxjG790Ei16PebLaBh3Ryrw5S6LZcb7BUQ3x9sDbdPg/s400/58419840_643481626116843_2198087674235977728_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of the Hellbender 100<br />
Photo by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/whiteblazemarketing/">White Blaze Marketing</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I started at the back of the pack and watched as dozens of headlamps disappeared into the darkness ahead of me. I settled into an easy trot and found myself side by side with <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Billy&lname=Richards">Billy Richards</a></b> and <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Walter&lname=Handloser">Walter Handloser</a></b>, who are both attempting to set the record for most 100 mile races completed in a calendar year. Let me tell you there is nothing more humbling than finding out that your "A Race" for the spring is just number 13 out of 50 for these guys.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Nevertheless, it was comforting to find myself in their company since these two know how to pace 100 miles better than just about anyone on the planet. Consequently, when we found ourselves dead fucking last at mile four, I didn't worry too much about it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At mile 5, the course began it's first climb, a 7 mile 4,000 foot ascent of The Pinnacle. Unfortunately, any momentum we had was shattered a quarter mile in, as a massive train crossing stopped us in our tracks for a full two minutes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQmRpWvrrLadgv399TlhvmbSpZ9t04NNoziVIekS1vda_Jbq7xPBM4JMFK11l4k9ILzfLcqgl71StlL7lmGgwVtzRzo9nT4jAwxuP-yEOJbEjd2qdBes8fQRaVbSZWbxk6ik6kuwHC3WU/s1600/20190412_053245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQmRpWvrrLadgv399TlhvmbSpZ9t04NNoziVIekS1vda_Jbq7xPBM4JMFK11l4k9ILzfLcqgl71StlL7lmGgwVtzRzo9nT4jAwxuP-yEOJbEjd2qdBes8fQRaVbSZWbxk6ik6kuwHC3WU/s400/20190412_053245.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To be completely honest, this is not ideal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Although two minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of a 24+ hour race, it's difficult to be patient in situations like this. I joked to the other runners that if I finished in 24:02, I was going to be pissed. Thankfully I would miss my time goal by much much more than that.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Despite the sun peaking over the mountains in the distance, the temperature dropped steadily as we climbed, and the wind became more intense on the exposed Heartbreak Ridge Trail. The weather reports had shown a chance of thunderstorms all day, and I stopped to put on a long sleeve shirt. Hypothermia is one of the leading causes for DNFs in ultramarathons, and I wasn't about to take any chances this early in the race.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I passed the time by talking to other runners about random things. I picked Walter's brain about the upcoming Ouray 100. I thanked Billy for making my frequent racing look pretty reasonable by comparison. An XOSKIN ambassador told me <i>way too damn much</i> about the gear he was wearing. That kind of stuff.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The last few pitches of the climb grew increasingly steep and technical, which was a sign of things to come. With a final 500 foot push, we summitted The Pinnacle, an island of rock overlooking a foggy green landscape.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2FjIboxrzGSIG246VNMrnnm7MqT0BbDfWkHEsNCVNU0fvkj62uluom9d4jBErxI1z3J4k375_axoaIvCIM8ttXXLhSXkOZy38hDXvLT7Kd2Ff57dypva6tsDK1Xq_m4vrZlp10AY7BzY/s1600/pinnacle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2FjIboxrzGSIG246VNMrnnm7MqT0BbDfWkHEsNCVNU0fvkj62uluom9d4jBErxI1z3J4k375_axoaIvCIM8ttXXLhSXkOZy38hDXvLT7Kd2Ff57dypva6tsDK1Xq_m4vrZlp10AY7BzY/s400/pinnacle.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from The Pinnacle on a clear day<br />
Photo by <a href="https://www.hikewnc.info/trailheads/black-mountains-toe-river/">HikeWNC</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The wind was brisk, and I only stopped for a moment to appreciate the view before heading back for the tree line. I checked in at the Blue Ridge Parkway just below the summit in 57th place of the 81 starters. The descent was a rocky, muddy, slippery mess, but it was made much more tolerable by the company of two badass ladies: <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Lee&lname=Conner">Lee Conner</a></b> and <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Michelle&lname=McLellan&age=50">Michelle McLellan</a></b>. Lee was running her third ultra in three weeks and Michelle had just paced her husband for 50 miles the previous weekend. Clearly I'm not the only trail runner that has issues with moderation.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Despite their lack of rest, these ladies pushed the pace on the descent, and we dropped a handful of 9 and 10 minute miles, which is pretty quick for me in a 100 mile race. Lee occasionally ran backwards or sideways so she could talk to me more easily while she ran. The general format of our conversation was:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lee: Hey Ryan!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: Yeah?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lee: Have you ever thought of running [race XYZ]?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Me: Maybe some day...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lee: You should do it! It's great because [many legitimate reasons].</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Needless to say, my bucket list of races has now doubled after spending a quarter of this race with these women.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuu6nYAi_w2VrE3AsgRC0LRqzP5x4xnhSP9p37wjVx2bpqmQ4cIlJuiWD8r02oZhz1PkY4LblRJIE6b-K5hvxTfb98jvmjUmyJiq3tlHHpr7qx1N3EKSBH0KnmIMotjZDWqHCPr7re5g/s1600/57070895_1320359804783890_5683901488359800832_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuu6nYAi_w2VrE3AsgRC0LRqzP5x4xnhSP9p37wjVx2bpqmQ4cIlJuiWD8r02oZhz1PkY4LblRJIE6b-K5hvxTfb98jvmjUmyJiq3tlHHpr7qx1N3EKSBH0KnmIMotjZDWqHCPr7re5g/s400/57070895_1320359804783890_5683901488359800832_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Thick thighs save lives" —Alex Thorpe<br />
Photo by Vasu Mandava</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After a two hour long 4,000' descent, we reached the Curtis Creek Campground aid station for the first time. It was now 10am, and the weather was starting to heat up, while the humidity from the storm clouds overhead made the air sticky and oppressive. I downed a few cups of the most delicious strawberry avocado smoothie I've ever had (mental note for future races), refilled my water bottles, and got back on the trail.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Meeting Mrs. Snook and Mr. Mitchell</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lee and Michelle were in and out of the aid station faster than me, which was impressive since I like to treat aid stations like a NASCAR pit stop. I caught back up to them at the trail head. Immediately I was thankful to have their company again as we began a 3,000 foot climb of the Snook's Nose Trail.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The first mile of Snook's Nose gains 1,063 feet. But it's actually much steeper than that since there are a handful of flat sections mixed into this ascent. The footing was muddy and slick, and I leaned heavily onto my trekking poles for extra traction. This single mile took 29 minutes, and it felt even slower. The trail "leveled off" after this and only gained 725 feet in the following mile, and eventually we found ourselves passing the increasingly higher summits of Snook's Nose, Laurel Knob, and Green Knob.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJaJJ-leMbKWu86wp5AEzACn08UH86ZlVDOdCiwJqOh8TV9CjfbKxoIwPkKhxKeIHQHWRyPBL1hCaVtESoz-Q2OfQZFNYUUPy4LSu-17FHh_Wm8oWFGxdn3hhiLTD6FwFTNqN9zS0iKvs/s1600/56917809_10205885811821097_722488351877234688_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJaJJ-leMbKWu86wp5AEzACn08UH86ZlVDOdCiwJqOh8TV9CjfbKxoIwPkKhxKeIHQHWRyPBL1hCaVtESoz-Q2OfQZFNYUUPy4LSu-17FHh_Wm8oWFGxdn3hhiLTD6FwFTNqN9zS0iKvs/s400/56917809_10205885811821097_722488351877234688_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easing into Neal's Creek<br />Photo by Valerie Thorpe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The ladies bombed down the jeep road descent to Neal's Creek aid station, and I happily let them go. I pulled into the aid station in 38th place, feeling a little warm but otherwise not too damaged from the first two massive climbs. I met my crew for the first time here, which consisted of my mom and mother-in-law. I was more than an hour behind the schedule that I had given them, so I made a point of assuring them that I felt fine. The terrain was just more difficult than I had anticipated.<br />
<br />
Back on the trail, we were faced with - you guessed it! - another huge climb. This time it was a 3,500 foot ascent of the Mt. Mitchell Trail to its namesake summit. Once again, I was relieved to have the company of Lee and Michelle to pass the time during this 2+ hour climb. An early highlight was Michelle's story about meeting some random guy at a race and bragging to him that she had finished 3rd at the Barkley Fall Classic. The guy would turn out to be John Kelly (<a href="http://www.randomforestrunner.com/2017/04/2017-barkley-marathons-race-report/">of Barkley Marathons fame</a>), although apparently he was very impressed by her podium finish.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5SGUCSYgSOs4S_H1WiaWMGqDb08FKjHUhOfnZW9IkHC_I0CpZR1vnGNAIGBbDyHfCPr21CENeps-GZt8G-6a_PGzYT0Dm7mvbm-iDOY6Owu_jeZmz7Wt0a0whytoNMn2Q4S5NgVc6wbA/s1600/20190412_143458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5SGUCSYgSOs4S_H1WiaWMGqDb08FKjHUhOfnZW9IkHC_I0CpZR1vnGNAIGBbDyHfCPr21CENeps-GZt8G-6a_PGzYT0Dm7mvbm-iDOY6Owu_jeZmz7Wt0a0whytoNMn2Q4S5NgVc6wbA/s400/20190412_143458.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hazy view from the Mt. Mitchell Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The other highlight of the climb was when I got enough cell reception for a quick phone call to Alex, who was working back in NJ. I let her know that I was doing well but was way behind my time estimates. Getting to talk to her was great for my mental state and helped keep my mind off the ever increasing heat (and the fact that I was working just a little too hard on this climb).<br />
<br />
After a few hours straight of 20+ minute miles, we reached the summit of Mount Mitchell, snapped a few photos of each other, and headed down to the aid station just below the summit. I inhaled an avocado wrap (another mental note here for future races), gulped down as much water as my stomach could handle, and got back on the trail for a wild traverse of the Black Mountain Crest Trail.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj75nkCJtp6ulUEm-yL5F8MFYbBc3LhYu-rqS95puowSA7zVnVNxcncZ_gQ0U7ZzxI02cG3WoMFIrcZpe3J0xfSG0E3EGPLdEdJKT6_zD7ZReTqgUrg8i9nx3VkK5kc879SoIT7pybFvNA/s1600/20190412_151848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj75nkCJtp6ulUEm-yL5F8MFYbBc3LhYu-rqS95puowSA7zVnVNxcncZ_gQ0U7ZzxI02cG3WoMFIrcZpe3J0xfSG0E3EGPLdEdJKT6_zD7ZReTqgUrg8i9nx3VkK5kc879SoIT7pybFvNA/s400/20190412_151848.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the summit of Mt. Mitchell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Black Mountain Crest Trail had a distinctly Catskill-like quality, which made me feel right at home but did not make the terrain any easier. The footing was extremely rocky, steep, and damp, and often required the use of all four limbs. The trail eschewed the use of switchbacks, essentially drawing a straight line between each of the highest summits in the Black Mountain range. Some of the particularly steep pitches had fixed ropes to aid hikers, and I made liberal use of these and any other handholds available to me.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXR0iR7TctC_9S2SrRD7tm4Bf1Ah3lRx4jNDMz80S8VALhnSHwUg2Z4JeakKeND8wqkAry-wxUOtrXe7iSFUguQfPy-NC0mr2UKcQLY8lGwsWBH079hQcJMaS5-2JQH42cjYAcIHoTJR4/s1600/58790270_643482049450134_8769464882102796288_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXR0iR7TctC_9S2SrRD7tm4Bf1Ah3lRx4jNDMz80S8VALhnSHwUg2Z4JeakKeND8wqkAry-wxUOtrXe7iSFUguQfPy-NC0mr2UKcQLY8lGwsWBH079hQcJMaS5-2JQH42cjYAcIHoTJR4/s400/58790270_643482049450134_8769464882102796288_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Billy Richards at the start of the Black Mountain Crest Trail<br />Photo by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/whiteblazemarketing/">White Blaze Marketing</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The ridge was blanketed by an ancient and dense spruce-fir forest, which retained the moisture evaporating from the ground just as effectively as it held out the rays of the sun. The summit clearings occasionally offered brief vistas into the distance, but the view was mostly the beautifully dark primeval forest.<br />
<br />
In just over three miles of trail, we had climbed and descended seven of the highest peaks on the east coast: Mt. Mitchell, Mt. Craig, Big Tom, Balsam Cone, Cattail Peak, and Potato Hill. Then it was time for a brutally steep and rocky descent on the Colbert Ridge Trail, which is perhaps best known as one of the signature descents in the Quest for the Crest 50K.<br />
<br />
It took a full 90 quad-killing minutes to reach the bottom of this 3,500 foot drop. I had gone just 15 miles since the last time I had seen my crew, but that section had taken well over 5 hours. With 13+ hours elapsed and over 15,000 feet of elevation gained in the first half of the race, I felt like I had just completed <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/08/manitous-revenge-year-older-and-bit.html">Manitou's Revenge</a>, but I still had another 50 miles of running ahead of me. I had moved up to 21st place, using the technical descent to my advantage and passing a few other runners at aid stations.<br />
<br />
It was at this aid station that the first of several strange things happened to my body. As I was fiddling with my watch, the tip of my thumb randomly started to bleed. I hadn't cut it on anything, but blood was gushing out fast enough that droplets were falling on my gear as I sorted through it. As far as I can figure, the skin was just so waterlogged and/or raw from using trekking poles that it split open. Weird. But not the weirdest thing that would happen to me before the end of the race.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Bumbling on Buncombe</h3>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
While the Black Mountain Crest Trail was difficult because of its lack of switchbacks, the Buncombe Horse Trail suffered from the exact opposite issue. Or rather, I suffered from it. This climb was 5 miles of switchback hell. Here is my GPS track from two miles of the climb.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNITBqiUK02IDGv1ERuZF6pIFw6NHjNXPWC75k1_KBbQ3nK_bF4doc-FAeIoWc_3SUMQEQ73A8Cc9FPIz4ckiufq8zuPALLAo4rRxXpizPZgA0mNLjc5ikODbGKy_qFbnIhaW7PMRifYo/s1600/Buncombe+switchbacks.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="1029" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNITBqiUK02IDGv1ERuZF6pIFw6NHjNXPWC75k1_KBbQ3nK_bF4doc-FAeIoWc_3SUMQEQ73A8Cc9FPIz4ckiufq8zuPALLAo4rRxXpizPZgA0mNLjc5ikODbGKy_qFbnIhaW7PMRifYo/s400/Buncombe+switchbacks.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buncombe Horse Trail map</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Some of these switchbacks felt like they were four steps long. Step, step, step, step, <i>turn</i>, step, step, step step, <i>turn</i>, and repeat until dizzy. At one point, I stopped to take a picture just so I had something different to do. Here you go:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmoQe7RNor2gZFcURLw7XpW4QAVu1e_iizx0B8Kzc0vAsY7_0G70ewq73NydVyoCYMAG9u0sXMlFeUyQu0lgCaPFZH2qmUpteC4wAwyjPpmNXDPcuxnWsRxMC6Kx4wou0hMf6nPCOOF4/s1600/20190412_200302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmoQe7RNor2gZFcURLw7XpW4QAVu1e_iizx0B8Kzc0vAsY7_0G70ewq73NydVyoCYMAG9u0sXMlFeUyQu0lgCaPFZH2qmUpteC4wAwyjPpmNXDPcuxnWsRxMC6Kx4wou0hMf6nPCOOF4/s400/20190412_200302.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset from the Buncombe Horse Trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
At least we had sort-of-a-view of the sunset.<br />
<br />
At the top of the climb, we were rewarded with... muddy and waterlogged ATV trails. Seriously, fuck this whole trail.<br />
<br />
Despite several miles of flat terrain after the climb, the footing was so soggy that it was impossible to run. I slogged along at a pace barely faster than a walk. Thankfully this traverse from hell was broken up by an aid station staffed by an amazing group of ladies who had hiked in a giant bowl of bacon! This was a nice little mental and physical boost since my Tailwind nutrition was starting to disagree with my stomach after 16+ hours of running, and I needed calories badly.<br />
<br />
The descent was slow and unmemorable, except that I ran into Walter again. He was taking his time, unwilling to push too hard and jeopardize his next 37 (!) upcoming 100 mile races. Unfortunately, he passed me on a small uphill, and that would be the last I saw of him in the race.<br />
<br />
I arrived at Neal's Creek aid station for the second time, now in 16th place. It was nice to see my mom and mother-in-law after such a frustrating section of the course. I sat for a few minutes to talk to them and collect myself, but apparently I was still quick enough for another crew to comment that I looked like a man on a mission.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunGf4bgKOIoKui0r1VQ6qw13FVo5qfezpV7SUvxDEbQDlCh6ZaJjjP3PJReiv2i_3DRrqOh_OX1xTnGY2xmv-mXOWoRgFBfcaorBNEhal_YOYPTS69ES0ERel0-5dGQdqkqHScMsszV0/s1600/58003908_643482319450107_3350875266057502720_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiunGf4bgKOIoKui0r1VQ6qw13FVo5qfezpV7SUvxDEbQDlCh6ZaJjjP3PJReiv2i_3DRrqOh_OX1xTnGY2xmv-mXOWoRgFBfcaorBNEhal_YOYPTS69ES0ERel0-5dGQdqkqHScMsszV0/s400/58003908_643482319450107_3350875266057502720_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cool shot from earlier in the day<br />Photo by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/whiteblazemarketing/">White Blaze Marketing</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then it was back out for a "short" 1,000 foot climb and a few "rolling hills" until I would see them again.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Lead Legs on Leadmine</h3>
I realized half way up the "short" climb that I was running out of steam. My calorie deficit was starting to catch up with me. At the top, we crossed the Blue Ridge Parkway, and I sat down on a rock and chatted with a course marshal while I nursed an energy gel, desperately trying to add some fuel to my sputtering engine.<br />
<br />
The "rolling hills" after this would turn out to be a nightmarish series of 30% grade climbs and descents on a ridge line known as the Leadmine Trail. Each one was about 100-200 feet high, which turned out to be just short enough to completely kill any rhythm I could establish. My quads screamed on every descent, and my lungs couldn't keep up on the climbs. I was falling apart.<br />
<br />
After what seemed like an eternity on this three mile section of godforsaken trail, I began the gentle descent down to Curtis Creek Campground. Unfortunately, this is where my body began to stage a full scale rebellion. For the first time in my life, I got the hiccups while running a race. And not just gentle funny little hiccups. These were violent to the point where I could barely keep the contents of my stomach in place. I tried to hold my breath to get rid of them, but my oxygen starved brain threatened to shut down. Not wanting to pass out on a remote trail, I slowly walked into the aid station.<br />
<br />
I was greeted with cheers and bright lights, but my enthusiasm for this adventure was fading.<br />
<br />
"That <i>-hic!- </i>whole section was <i>-hic!-</i> bullshit," I informed my crew.<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I collapsed into a camp chair and pondered how best to <i>unfuck </i>myself, while I held my breath in a desperate attempt to cure my hiccups.<br />
<br />
Once they subsided, I tried to eat anything and everything that was offered to me. <i>Soda?</i> Yes please! <i>Pizza rolls?</i> Why the hell not? <i>Another strawberry avocado smoothie?</i> Now we're talking!<br />
<br />
I stayed in that seat for a full 10 minutes, which probably beats my previous record by a factor of two. By the time I got up, my stomach was full and my quads and hamstrings had completely seized up. I shambled back onto the trail looking so zombie-like that my mom considered throwing me in the car and ending my race for me. Ah, a mother's love!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxeuWN5YIQw5ie7tagLZY0VcBm8AUrWgZJyHrl90q6I_Gt6xX7M4uo8ZEZFGJS3PpIAaEAl3NbdOHY2Ps3CJTOmOkQdGCL9egomEXLBFAdKum0auNIRxEMxQorlzFPt-ixscCkXcZTt0/s1600/57113103_1320367731449764_1568457211082964992_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxeuWN5YIQw5ie7tagLZY0VcBm8AUrWgZJyHrl90q6I_Gt6xX7M4uo8ZEZFGJS3PpIAaEAl3NbdOHY2Ps3CJTOmOkQdGCL9egomEXLBFAdKum0auNIRxEMxQorlzFPt-ixscCkXcZTt0/s400/57113103_1320367731449764_1568457211082964992_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shambling into an aid station late in the race<br />Photo by Vasu Mandava</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Happiness is a warm rock</h3>
The next four hours of climbing (that hurts to type) were not pretty. A quarter of the way up, I started to fall asleep while hiking. I couldn't keep my eyes open, and I started to veer from one side of the gravel road to the other. I spotted another runner behind me and decided that I would get some sleep and that he would be my alarm.<br />
<br />
I found a nice flat rock in the middle of the trail, sat down with my head on my arms, and promptly fell into a deep sleep. The sounds of the nearby river faded away, and I even had a short dream.<br />
<br />
"Hey, are you okay?"<br />
<br />
It was my human alarm clock working to perfection. I had been asleep for probably 30 seconds, and I actually woke up feeling a little refreshed. I'll make another mental note of that for future races.<br />
<br />
The two of us slogged on together in silence for the next few miles. I got ahead of him briefly, but had to stop and sit down when my hiccups returned. My body was clearly using every weapon at its disposal to tell me it wanted to stop moving.<br />
<br />
With 27 hours elapsed in the race I reached the top of the final climb beneath the summit of Bald Knob. The sun had risen on the second day of the race, and all that remained was a 3,000 foot descent on Heartbreak Ridge, following the initial climb of the race.<br />
<br />
I downed another energy gel and willed my legs to start running after four solid hours of hiking uphill. They responded slowly and painfully, but they responded nonetheless. A 14 minute first mile gave way to an 11 minute second mile and then another one.<br />
<br />
All of a sudden, I was legitimately moving well for the first time in hours. Apparently, even after 27 hours of running I'm still able to magically pull a fast downhill finish out of thin air. I passed the handful of runners who had just passed me on the previous climb, and then I picked off a couple more for good measure.<br />
<br />
With a half mile to go, I put my foot on the gas... and promptly lost sight of any trail markers. Had I made a wrong turn in my enthusiastic descent? I backtracked a quarter mile to the last intersection and spotted a pink ribbon just before the turn but nothing after it. Which way was I supposed to go? I followed the other trail for a few hundred feet but didn't see any markers there either.<br />
<br />
<i>Well screw it, might as well pick a direction</i>, I thought as I retraced my steps in the initial direction I had gone. Finally I spotted a ribbon ahead, and just beyond it was the finish line. I ran across with a big smile on my face despite the anticlimactic final mile. I was finally done!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_xEAM8SRQ_YyTz4nS72xqYtOmXFxlAIynApRWn4tN36bKG_IexUe5xOgdiQEqxuTbZ3cm3mNNayiNwYaQxFD3BkSqMHJC6az0fqyErC7Hj1TdY572oMZDdYlfcR-5ive08__Nywk6dU/s1600/57591528_10205885813821147_4730680174717173760_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5_xEAM8SRQ_YyTz4nS72xqYtOmXFxlAIynApRWn4tN36bKG_IexUe5xOgdiQEqxuTbZ3cm3mNNayiNwYaQxFD3BkSqMHJC6az0fqyErC7Hj1TdY572oMZDdYlfcR-5ive08__Nywk6dU/s400/57591528_10205885813821147_4730680174717173760_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last few steps of the Hellbender 100</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
My final time was 28:45:26, which was almost four hours slower than my goal but still good enough for 14th place.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Closing Thoughts</h3>
<div>
I cannot thank my mom and Julie enough for taking four days out of their very busy lives to support me at this race. You ladies were a huge reason why I was able to finish this monstrous race! I would also like to thank <b><a href="http://mrrunningpains.blogspot.com/">Aaron Saft</a></b> and the other race organizers for designing and implementing such an audacious event.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Hellbender 100 is a beautiful and brutally difficult race. Talking to Aaron after the race, he was proud of the amount of technical terrain that they had packed into 100 miles of trail. With some time to think about it, I'm glad that this race challenged me as much as it did. I learned how to dig myself out of some unique situations that I have never faced at a race before (random bleeding, hiccups, sleep deprivation, nutritional deficit). And in keeping with my theme for the year, I spent more time on this course than in any other race in my life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was initially disappointed with my time until I looked up the results. Had I finished in my anticipated 25 hours I would have been fourth overall, which was probably too ambitious given my lackluster training during the winter and spring. That being said, I would love to go back and give this race a more honest effort next year. With better training, better race day execution, and a little bit of luck, I think I could negative split this race some day (that's a lot of talk from someone who ran a five hour <i>positive split</i>!).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So take notice, Black Mountains: I intend to come back next year with my A Game. Better bring yours too!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2288070157/overview">Strava data</a></div>
<div>
<a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=62478">Official results</a></div>
<div>
<a href="https://hb100.livetrail.run/coureur.php?rech=82">Runner tracking</a></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-65675318220382235832019-05-31T12:37:00.001-04:002019-05-31T12:37:17.412-04:00Swimming the Sea of Rocks at Tammany 10!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<h3>
<a href="https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/felsenmeer">Felsenmeer</a>...</h3>
A sea of rocks.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuigZtn68FGtJUVnkGMmUwVgosX4XbEwMHG607WH0cJqI7uyOKK9TUzto-gAblDYorqIsMyb8_HV2suZIQrAnHwLjmIe4tvuwtKsABctQdkAPL735OhM6bUnimbuYd4l-SE67wnYR39YM/s1600/53796597_2934632883219296_2349954548136673280_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuigZtn68FGtJUVnkGMmUwVgosX4XbEwMHG607WH0cJqI7uyOKK9TUzto-gAblDYorqIsMyb8_HV2suZIQrAnHwLjmIe4tvuwtKsABctQdkAPL735OhM6bUnimbuYd4l-SE67wnYR39YM/s400/53796597_2934632883219296_2349954548136673280_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Felsenmeer<br />Photo by Elizabeth Azze, <a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/">Mountain Peak Fitness</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From that sea, a massive wave rears its head. Known as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Tammany">Tammany</a>, it dominates the region like the powerful <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tamanend">Lenape chief</a> whose name it bears.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMzHwZfa__WNHXq4gva913ESpniu50EcjjCOyAoTdPQELmoqdOzroJIbrKe1acFkXcVEBkMOSXBFBnLRfwvigDN6JsTlcV617OfLg85MHm5IBwsPAu3BvvWYIO-MzAh3Ok8qp6UBx8eo/s1600/Mount_Tammany+wiki.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMzHwZfa__WNHXq4gva913ESpniu50EcjjCOyAoTdPQELmoqdOzroJIbrKe1acFkXcVEBkMOSXBFBnLRfwvigDN6JsTlcV617OfLg85MHm5IBwsPAu3BvvWYIO-MzAh3Ok8qp6UBx8eo/s400/Mount_Tammany+wiki.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mount Tammany from across the Delaware River<br />Photo from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Tammany">Wikipedia</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=59636">Tammany 10</a> is less a race than a challenge. The concept is simple. Two trails climb to the summit of Mount Tammany from the Delaware River: the steep and rocky Red Dot Trail and the slightly-less-steep-but-still-very-rocky Blue Trail.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitR16yYKv7K_KNdzvguy3BMmVxwHsvfazebfpAfj8VtZkhC8DO7c2HTPC_vl8D2s6cJVTphJ0Cct9u4mJH4opuOli5j5X0QmgKESGYjrPKkihuKzdCodSEZM5GTTfkW6l8IwuP_7RUNdI/s1600/Tammany+course+map.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="1250" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitR16yYKv7K_KNdzvguy3BMmVxwHsvfazebfpAfj8VtZkhC8DO7c2HTPC_vl8D2s6cJVTphJ0Cct9u4mJH4opuOli5j5X0QmgKESGYjrPKkihuKzdCodSEZM5GTTfkW6l8IwuP_7RUNdI/s400/Tammany+course+map.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mount Tammany loop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
For normal people, climbing the Red Dot and descending the Blue makes for a scenic 3.3 mile day hike with about 1,200 feet of climbing.<br />
<br />
Those who are <strike>dumb</strike> brave enough to sign up for Tammany 10 must reach the summit - you guessed it - ten times. Adding in an out and back from the start/finish area every two loops makes this a 38 mile race with 12,000 feet of climbing and an equal amount of descent.<br />
<br />
The resulting elevation profile looks like a fine tooth comb:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPSHmERVCbQ5W3NNcIXb7zpAb3lY0bAqMoRpdOHl53nR4pyIss1JcJZV-1VxtFbd5BEPxd9GxeZ4mqVMVvRTfjehRYCSLsBAGO722hXYUiONrAVIHmDnuts3DVS4JsuSvCw6x2kuv2x8/s1600/Tammany+profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="863" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoPSHmERVCbQ5W3NNcIXb7zpAb3lY0bAqMoRpdOHl53nR4pyIss1JcJZV-1VxtFbd5BEPxd9GxeZ4mqVMVvRTfjehRYCSLsBAGO722hXYUiONrAVIHmDnuts3DVS4JsuSvCw6x2kuv2x8/s400/Tammany+profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tammany 10 elevation profile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Tammany 10 is the premiere trail racing event in NJ, and likely the only true mountain race in the state. I had volunteered at the aid station there in 2017 and 2018, since grilling quesadillas by the Delaware River seemed like a much more enjoyable use of a Saturday than hauling myself up a mountain ten times. In 2019, my <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fear_of_missing_out">FOMO</a> got the best of me and I finally signed up.<br />
<br />
<h3>
As is tradition...</h3>
I woke up on race day morning with a sore throat and my head in a fog. <a href="https://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/03/dry-heaving-my-way-to-finish-at-frozen.html">In what I hope will not turn into a pattern</a>, I had picked up a cold a few days earlier, but it seemed to be subsiding. I downed a shot of DayQuil, popped a zinc supplement, and hoped that my daily bucket of coffee would put some pep in my step.<br />
<br />
The weather for the race was perfect... well, by my standards anyway. It was a brisk 24°F with 29 mile per hour winds. For those of you keeping score at home, that's a wind chill of 7°. For my stocky, prone-to-overheating body, that's as good as it gets. A light snow had fallen overnight, depositing just enough powder to make the course look pretty. I started the race with a thin long sleeve shirt, shorts, and gloves. I would go on to finish the wearing less than that.<br />
<br />
At 6:35am, we set off on our challenge, 61 <strike>goddamned idiots</strike> bold adventurers.<br />
<br />
I quickly fell back to the midpack as runners surged around me on both sides. It took me a few minutes to regulate my breathing since my cold had left me a little congested. Thankfully trail runners are unfazed by snot rockets and obnoxiously loud throat clearing. After an all-too-brief runnable section, I took out my trekking poles and set to work on the mile long 1,019' ascent of the Red Dot Trail.<br />
<br />
One of the nice things about Mount Tammany is that the climb has numerous vistas along the way, including a 180° panoramic view from the summit. I tried to remind myself to take in all of these sights during the climb, since the descent offers no chances to relax and look around.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcUhxRD8XFzpRLqT2o0JOU0louLPaTxfWVM6yuKNpPZn-5inWrueAZnIyTfdafNOg-U9MEbS3QMAZ2Za1Iks369hjgOwwMyRDXhd51s-Eb4oBHF-qN32k0Z9FYO-ALJKwkvnr3yHz00U/s1600/20180318_144208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcUhxRD8XFzpRLqT2o0JOU0louLPaTxfWVM6yuKNpPZn-5inWrueAZnIyTfdafNOg-U9MEbS3QMAZ2Za1Iks369hjgOwwMyRDXhd51s-Eb4oBHF-qN32k0Z9FYO-ALJKwkvnr3yHz00U/s400/20180318_144208.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Mt. Minsi from the summit of Tammany in 2018</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Once at the summit, it was time to put our heads down and focus on the ground lest we become one with it. The descent is relentlessly steep and technical for about a mile, before leveling out at the banks of Dunnfield Creek.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiquN_pLtd4Z_rIIShlthsBd1jUkzMuLke1OA67BFalQyHXrMXvmxsJVWeoV78GdfxTMA3mA_7gzNoHbFLHIm8RmUbQqRVpR97q4wxuqSGtFRwa8aAdOdFbWG7SCivTno3sVzay1blRmWI/s1600/55575736_2934632633219321_142794970963640320_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiquN_pLtd4Z_rIIShlthsBd1jUkzMuLke1OA67BFalQyHXrMXvmxsJVWeoV78GdfxTMA3mA_7gzNoHbFLHIm8RmUbQqRVpR97q4wxuqSGtFRwa8aAdOdFbWG7SCivTno3sVzay1blRmWI/s400/55575736_2934632633219321_142794970963640320_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A runner negotiating the felsenmeer at the summit<br />Photo by Elizabeth Azze, <a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/blog/2019-tammany-photos?rq=tammany">Mountain Peak Fitness</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After tap dancing downhill for what felt like hours (I just checked - it was actually 13 minutes), I reached the creek and caught up to <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Mendy&lname=Gallo&age=42">Mendy Gallo</a></b> and <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Kathleen&lname=Cusick&age=43">Kathleen Cusick</a></b>, two of the most badass ladies you'll ever meet. I knew I was pacing myself right if I was in their company. Together, we finished the descent and got to work on the second climb. They were both moving well, and their enthusiastic conversation helped pull me along the climb. We reached the summit together, and I pulled ahead for the second descent of the day.<br />
<br />
And so the pattern for the day began. Climb, descend, and repeat.<br />
<br />
After every second loop, we made a short out and back to the start/finish area to check in with the race directors and grab our nutrition. The aid station was staffed by NJ ultrarunners <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Alex&lname=Galasso">Alex Galasso</a></b> and <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Steven&lname=Lange&age=0">Steve Lange</a></b>, the latter of which holds the second fastest Tammany 10 finishing time ever. Needless to say, these guys knew how to get runners in and out of the aid station with everything they needed. If you're reading this, thanks for your help!<br />
<br />
Since the remaining loops all pretty much run together in my head, here are some highlights from later in the race:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Seeing <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Mike&lname=Siudy&age=44">Mike Siudy</a></b> just ahead of me and Mendy just behind me on every out and back. Too bad we didn't just run together since we all finished within a 20 minute window.</li>
<li>Hearing "Ay girl, you look good in them shorts!" and looking back to find <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jay&lname=Lemos&age=29">Jay Lemos</a></b> lapping me late in the race, running in first place. He had finished 2nd overall three times in his prior four Tammany attempts.</li>
<li>Chatting briefly with 2nd place runner <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Brian&lname=Rusiecki&age=40">Brian Rusiecki</a></b> on one of the final laps and realizing that he was not going to catch Jay.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCuz_yuHExRdTksehz75akt766VYUiZY_m3NL6h-qROM4jzqJ3dv1MbUToeHA6B9E1_dVpz8bie4yh66LapClcXyWCjfZlemn5ngByRXW6UjPvwYi9meX_wNdY87Fn8tKf9G68p1ynk0I/s1600/Jay+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCuz_yuHExRdTksehz75akt766VYUiZY_m3NL6h-qROM4jzqJ3dv1MbUToeHA6B9E1_dVpz8bie4yh66LapClcXyWCjfZlemn5ngByRXW6UjPvwYi9meX_wNdY87Fn8tKf9G68p1ynk0I/s400/Jay+finish.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very happy Jay Lemos after winning Tammany on his 5th attempt<br />Photo by Elizabeth Azze, <a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/blog/2019-tammany-photos?rq=tammany">Mountain Peak Fitness</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Let's finish this thing up, shall we?</h3>
<div>
After running steadily all morning, I found myself at the base of the final climb. Only 3.5 miles and 2,400' of elevation change separated me from the finish. I had 57 minutes left to finish the loop if I was going to finish under my goal of 9 hours (okay, my A goal was to beat my buddy <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Ryan&lname=Espulgar&age=34">Ryan Espulgar</a></b>'s time of 8:45, but that wasn't going to happen).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you've read my race reports before, you know the drill. Head down, ragged breathing, and probably a worse smell that usual. I wouldn't say that I red-lined on the final loop, but I was definitely orange-lining it, if that's a real thing. I didn't want to push myself too hard since I had a 100 miler in three weeks and I also didn't want to overexert while sick and end up passing out on the trail and having to be rescued.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After a 48 minute final loop, I jogged the final road section and crossed the finish line in 8:57:06, good for 7th place. Mike and Mendy both came in a few minutes behind me. Mendy had finished first woman, with the second fastest women's time in the history of the race! We quickly changed out of our gross racing clothes and spent the rest of the afternoon eating freshly grilled food, sipping on beer, and enjoying the sunshine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=59636#">Official results</a></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2235679881/overview">Strava data</a></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwrElrPfVyU">Video from Mountain Peak Fitness</a> (featuring Jay <i>sending it!</i> on his final descent)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
You gotta pay the piper</h3>
<div>
It wasn't until I got home that night that I realized just how sick I was. It turns out that I had the flu (like, the actual kills-a-bunch-of-people-each-year flu), and the race effort inhibited my recovery quite a bit. I was up all night with chills and full body aches, and I didn't run for the rest of the week. So, I guess racing was a stupid decision. But sometimes you just have to <i>send it!</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On the bright side, this race gave me some confidence going into Hellbender 100. I had gone from 21st place after two loops to 7th place by the finish, and I had the smallest differential between my fastest and slowest double loop (6min 55sec).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Three weeks later, I would run the Hellbender 100. Stay tuned for more details.</div>
</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-6427622222571601752019-03-05T16:27:00.000-05:002019-03-05T17:49:04.360-05:00Dry heaving my way to a finish at The Frozen Snot<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"<i>Aaaaaaaack!</i>"<br />
<br />
That's the sound of me dry heaving mid-run at the Frozen Snot 14 mile race.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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.</div>
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This was not going to be my day...</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBeE0fBaPnbj5BzvmZ0aefgGraMsyhQs0Sa7NRJzp9d0HHpgC0zV8_FXSnbacKEKJDaetEN6E9eCPWFwQuwZrKr6SOk3o1uCZfBVl2NOmNZv7jb-tN7DLDCPxJNXiW8P0nycQH7mliLc/s1600/DSC_4422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBeE0fBaPnbj5BzvmZ0aefgGraMsyhQs0Sa7NRJzp9d0HHpgC0zV8_FXSnbacKEKJDaetEN6E9eCPWFwQuwZrKr6SOk3o1uCZfBVl2NOmNZv7jb-tN7DLDCPxJNXiW8P0nycQH7mliLc/s400/DSC_4422.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picking my way up Barb's Kiss My Ass, mile 1.5<br />
Photo by <a href="https://michaelmcneil.pixieset.com/g/2019frozensnotalbum1barbskickmyassclimb/barbskickassclimb2/">Mike McNeil</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The Frozen Snot</h3>
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The Frozen Snot is a race whose course is as ridiculous as its name. A true <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skyrunning">sky-race</a> 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 <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mont_Blanc">Mont Blanc</a>.</div>
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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.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjryOhZztBMaZVRkX_cjBe8n6qEGodGxGowbLv9DYJ0JtpHBaP7BlynMIrZEJHqQ70b3LtDk8YntARO4wEK1j-scWmb2-5UFevN0lW3qiv8IMLv5z1o3jLUQT1Y7xzHlzHvDgR8fexpI/s1600/Profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="1600" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjryOhZztBMaZVRkX_cjBe8n6qEGodGxGowbLv9DYJ0JtpHBaP7BlynMIrZEJHqQ70b3LtDk8YntARO4wEK1j-scWmb2-5UFevN0lW3qiv8IMLv5z1o3jLUQT1Y7xzHlzHvDgR8fexpI/s400/Profile.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elevation profile</td></tr>
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</div>
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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 <a href="https://kahtoola.com/product/microspikes/">microspikes</a> or other traction devices. Perennial race winner Matt Lipsey eloquently summed up the course as "<a href="http://matthiaslipshitz.blogspot.com/2016/01/the-frozen-snot-pas-sky-race.html">14.5 miles of bullshit.</a>"</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzIYv5XhJDJJLIf_4weQEpoTHZqehoXmpCnSyrAlcfZcSoP_ytjI2IndKl_zvJ0GCQmN-0uuy8Cml7Qfj_cD7VG-bLfKoDdPW-5fA_DsGbT-zSu_oI-InkB4KrwoUr5gQI30RP-QO_DbA/s1600/Course+Map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1054" data-original-width="755" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzIYv5XhJDJJLIf_4weQEpoTHZqehoXmpCnSyrAlcfZcSoP_ytjI2IndKl_zvJ0GCQmN-0uuy8Cml7Qfj_cD7VG-bLfKoDdPW-5fA_DsGbT-zSu_oI-InkB4KrwoUr5gQI30RP-QO_DbA/s400/Course+Map.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Course map. Look at all those contour lines we crossed!</td></tr>
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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.</div>
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With all that in mind, let's get back to the action.</div>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Race Day, 3:00 AM</h3>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
A Rough Start</h3>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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).</div>
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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.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBt5xJxMEegQDKHF02Ma9MJ7JEZcw1JCcbBQEDCEHNVlJAo6EiDo3mwyu-iDSqskD5zMxQil_20TGTB1EXyb6hBsXSV0rZKMUETSbqKdUpAC6x3jSfX0YkKk2yJB7CbMF93FMr83E-cdc/s1600/51536156_10218084124195058_2971289569720270848_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBt5xJxMEegQDKHF02Ma9MJ7JEZcw1JCcbBQEDCEHNVlJAo6EiDo3mwyu-iDSqskD5zMxQil_20TGTB1EXyb6hBsXSV0rZKMUETSbqKdUpAC6x3jSfX0YkKk2yJB7CbMF93FMr83E-cdc/s400/51536156_10218084124195058_2971289569720270848_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conga line on Barb's KMA<br />Photo by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dseasholtz/media_set?set=a.10218071454678328&type=3">Dave Seasholtz</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg41sv-WlDxdX1xetgfvDnh_c-TdU9cQv9kW3P6IbgHttSmtdH5SmS84J_itsErCI7iUbPZsUGNgRPtF8bCFnh1zGyu0BiSX157eklQYoKuh9bNe5khyVinfahcTdz2tPwDdcw0UxL-H-k/s1600/Lightning+Bolt+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg41sv-WlDxdX1xetgfvDnh_c-TdU9cQv9kW3P6IbgHttSmtdH5SmS84J_itsErCI7iUbPZsUGNgRPtF8bCFnh1zGyu0BiSX157eklQYoKuh9bNe5khyVinfahcTdz2tPwDdcw0UxL-H-k/s400/Lightning+Bolt+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fixed ropes on Lightning Bolt<br />
Photo by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dseasholtz/media_set?set=a.10218071454678328&type=3">Dave Seasholtz</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNn4ACLnbvuPH9m6WFU9Z4i_qjgDJUx3hIk4DGnw0Ze4q6biU_-3xuk26W_8HjorNoloKT-ygsdNzC4ybvoq2OwYgSpccxveVoo-UXDJHY1lQ9C-LJhrF3-BPMx62i2d-vuGtns-lnPU/s1600/20171203_111122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNn4ACLnbvuPH9m6WFU9Z4i_qjgDJUx3hIk4DGnw0Ze4q6biU_-3xuk26W_8HjorNoloKT-ygsdNzC4ybvoq2OwYgSpccxveVoo-UXDJHY1lQ9C-LJhrF3-BPMx62i2d-vuGtns-lnPU/s400/20171203_111122.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bridge at the bottom of Lightning Bolt<br />
Picture from last year's training run</td></tr>
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<div>
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.</div>
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<h3>
Drowning My Sorrows</h3>
<div>
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.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7CUZ4tktGg5j_torfCHjXEBY0GNOw-LtnVFQFYbIrFUOndXV1aY-MiLhB3CoJ3F8ra_j_TLF2KmhD-ilW9uaWo6pz-FLVK2EnuAGzIM6y0Dv4X-Tyb9W1S5zpX_c1JwzPwIq_s06rvBM/s1600/Frozen+Snot+Aid+Station.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7CUZ4tktGg5j_torfCHjXEBY0GNOw-LtnVFQFYbIrFUOndXV1aY-MiLhB3CoJ3F8ra_j_TLF2KmhD-ilW9uaWo6pz-FLVK2EnuAGzIM6y0Dv4X-Tyb9W1S5zpX_c1JwzPwIq_s06rvBM/s400/Frozen+Snot+Aid+Station.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aid Station 1<br />
Photo by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dseasholtz/media_set?set=a.10218071454678328&type=3">Dave Seasholtz</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
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<div>
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.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
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!</div>
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<div>
But back to the descent...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
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.</div>
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<h3>
Prepare Ye</h3>
<div>
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:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKszYxOA7NPL5Kf18TL1xALQKj0PEckI40R3gC0vEdw61ibvOA2gfjfFTG69tq52FtCRCGHe5Hgb_uzTZSujIxtj1tTVdmvCVWFlMNMnEfXieymPBGlHKajo5p00fU7ifL38Wz_wR4D6g/s1600/The+Beast+Sign.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKszYxOA7NPL5Kf18TL1xALQKj0PEckI40R3gC0vEdw61ibvOA2gfjfFTG69tq52FtCRCGHe5Hgb_uzTZSujIxtj1tTVdmvCVWFlMNMnEfXieymPBGlHKajo5p00fU7ifL38Wz_wR4D6g/s400/The+Beast+Sign.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prepare ye to meet The Beast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
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:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbh_lJwMP6Aq_foJMr-XRTDEU5UpuKsIELbumMCroQQlBp7WAlWT4yKnMdZ2OA2e_lHjqI0oiE97DVkTcL-_qlE2eFZVia3JS9Pr3vQsiHruweicehBBdW5pZMi2dwfxy4hSSvHeXWgpU/s1600/20190202_101346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbh_lJwMP6Aq_foJMr-XRTDEU5UpuKsIELbumMCroQQlBp7WAlWT4yKnMdZ2OA2e_lHjqI0oiE97DVkTcL-_qlE2eFZVia3JS9Pr3vQsiHruweicehBBdW5pZMi2dwfxy4hSSvHeXWgpU/s400/20190202_101346.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This race lives up to its name!</td></tr>
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<div>
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.</div>
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Back to work on the climb...</div>
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<div>
Here's what it looks like when you're fully in the grasp of The Beast, taken during my training run last year.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzgIbEpCOTEbxpDiZdYHU047Y4R3qQx9QLN-cvA9Wp7qbRHXwPp82diJAsVoGxroPN0Tui67kD-TWJng_prKg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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And here is what my sorry ass looked like to everyone else.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLidHbDU1D2twdnSfOlpFwHAQY6bpQFMHmfbasWOvBn2bfu9IG1ofqYzh0nwrY8MS_t4KxdWwXJ3MQOrPHKMfz1HpI_A_nY8wIEUnqbsgh60H3D0ER6YAasBIBccbdhXR9BNy0YBKjRI/s1600/DSC_7406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLidHbDU1D2twdnSfOlpFwHAQY6bpQFMHmfbasWOvBn2bfu9IG1ofqYzh0nwrY8MS_t4KxdWwXJ3MQOrPHKMfz1HpI_A_nY8wIEUnqbsgh60H3D0ER6YAasBIBccbdhXR9BNy0YBKjRI/s400/DSC_7406.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting The Beast<br />
Photo by Mike McNeil</td></tr>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH3EXF4zDem5fR5DIfl_849lRs5q63kxOvRsI_rj0v2bK3zkl_aSRW-DeEIvVxV2nXRduJN68dG4bTwQHEhRJ58OyzUlQGjI-R7WscgnuML5OB1jrThImgEqqcahO99JuI0Nz2N8XVAqY/s1600/Alex+KMA+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH3EXF4zDem5fR5DIfl_849lRs5q63kxOvRsI_rj0v2bK3zkl_aSRW-DeEIvVxV2nXRduJN68dG4bTwQHEhRJ58OyzUlQGjI-R7WscgnuML5OB1jrThImgEqqcahO99JuI0Nz2N8XVAqY/s400/Alex+KMA+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex looking characteristically cute on Barb's KMA earlier in the day<br />
Photo by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dseasholtz/media_set?set=a.10218071454678328&type=3">Dave Seasholtz</a></td></tr>
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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.</div>
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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 <i>slower</i> than my previous training run, but I had a great experience and got to run two miles with my wife!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOm94BwDtk7WGHptQ6dfkyMdSn1UEXaFwjBc3jyzCeRhrn7yFCG1PCS9OrTg2X-ByJ6-RIMdhBmJGw-RcFvh0gmT8wp2S14YsEwUeAck1RYqwhZxyu4voLtn-5bGdkwWcV1so6P2LcxEE/s1600/DSC_0862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOm94BwDtk7WGHptQ6dfkyMdSn1UEXaFwjBc3jyzCeRhrn7yFCG1PCS9OrTg2X-ByJ6-RIMdhBmJGw-RcFvh0gmT8wp2S14YsEwUeAck1RYqwhZxyu4voLtn-5bGdkwWcV1so6P2LcxEE/s400/DSC_0862.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Done!<br />
Photo by <a href="https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipOmmdS-FLC6hX649lhOHIdsS0xCRSo6EIQYbjTcopj0MrMla8mGkHEdC5qaAl3J9w?key=ZGpCOWxYbnRlZFFNS3Z5OE03MG54REFIR3A4b09R">Kirsten Ebeling-Labant</a></td></tr>
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<h3>
Epilogue</h3>
<div>
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.</div>
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Mile for mile, Frozen Snot is right up there with the <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-barkley-fall-classic-50k.html">Barkley Fall Classic</a> and the <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/08/adventure-report-swan-song-loop.html">Swan Song Loop</a> 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.</div>
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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!</div>
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<div>
<a href="https://falconracetiming.com/racetimes/Frozen%20Snot%20Overall%202019.htm">Full results here</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2120091108">Strava data</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/1301015285">My training run with more pics</a></div>
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Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-86757978908374252382019-01-14T19:43:00.003-05:002019-01-14T19:54:18.843-05:002018 in Review and 2019 Plans<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's a new year, and I have some big plans in store. But first, let's take a look at all the crazy crap I did in 2018.</div>
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<h3>
2018 in Numbers</h3>
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<div>
Total miles: 2,138 miles (3,440 km)</div>
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Miles per week: 41.0 miles</div>
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Time spent running: 487 hours (20 days, 7 hours)</div>
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Total elevation gain: 520,113 feet (98.5 vertical miles)</div>
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Number of marathons & ultras: 8</div>
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<h3>
Highlights</h3>
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2018 was the year where I finally admitted to myself that I enjoy mountain racing more than road racing. Case in point, I ran my lowest total mileage since 2014 but did way more elevation gain than any other year, nearly hitting 100 miles of vertical gain and loss. Here's a quick recap of my racing and other adventures.</div>
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My racing season started in February with the <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/04/mount-mitchell-challenge.html"><b>Mount Mitchell Challenge</b></a>, which I treated as a long training run. This was the first time that Alex and I visited the Black Mountains, and the scenery at this race convinced me to come back again in 2019 (more on that later).</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YGEmJnV_cL3tBGPZajxQSUuPXFOawgH3l-ops46ZEi89s9EHsehJWhDS2oFj-P8SgotqbRmXeHKEmrLTqovcf0JLqRK0s5zuuVD6iAhPrQc9F85nk5c1lnGyPG3a-ync5ZEyx_hC57Y/s1600/Alex6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="512" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YGEmJnV_cL3tBGPZajxQSUuPXFOawgH3l-ops46ZEi89s9EHsehJWhDS2oFj-P8SgotqbRmXeHKEmrLTqovcf0JLqRK0s5zuuVD6iAhPrQc9F85nk5c1lnGyPG3a-ync5ZEyx_hC57Y/s400/Alex6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Starting line of the Mount Mitchell Challenge</td></tr>
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One week later was the local <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/06/spring-road-races-are-finally-over.html"><b>Lenape 50K</b></a>, where I again took it easy but still managed to hang on to 3rd place and snag a sweet home made trophy.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHkKbPfvVTMbaEQbUEGW3NKItL2xxB2IRM2fgO7CI5Hv96RSdU8AVqf_nt-V5A7wz8EvLw38SH9jsCvrZV8xDZ1hr89ng_Ii8EKYxyL3WwSoQCyBUNbitkeb93DcPnDrGaWnI_rOZRI0/s1600/27606.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbHkKbPfvVTMbaEQbUEGW3NKItL2xxB2IRM2fgO7CI5Hv96RSdU8AVqf_nt-V5A7wz8EvLw38SH9jsCvrZV8xDZ1hr89ng_Ii8EKYxyL3WwSoQCyBUNbitkeb93DcPnDrGaWnI_rOZRI0/s400/27606.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Some fast dudes. And me.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
In April, I managed to PR in the marathon distance for the sixth straight year with a 3:12:56 at the <b><a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/06/spring-road-races-are-finally-over.html">NJ Marathon</a></b>. However, I only managed to shave 2 minutes off my previous best after a full season of careful training, and this race convinced me that I don't particularly like road marathons any more. I will probably not run one in 2019.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk2ddEo2uMKykSJhXn4wKFMBTiRMHndyz1EGhfo3FaFzQRlT6WhjVN0VCau4labGAyWig3pyOF3k7KX7Tr8iYkIpdd4p_rgxFSDtAQsaVMY0Zz9wk4QpmxPpydmcK_jZVd-e9fP2mqUVI/s1600/31483943_10100877617833832_7013484768901726208_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1021" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk2ddEo2uMKykSJhXn4wKFMBTiRMHndyz1EGhfo3FaFzQRlT6WhjVN0VCau4labGAyWig3pyOF3k7KX7Tr8iYkIpdd4p_rgxFSDtAQsaVMY0Zz9wk4QpmxPpydmcK_jZVd-e9fP2mqUVI/s400/31483943_10100877617833832_7013484768901726208_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Feeling good around the 10K mark of the NJ Marathon</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Next up was the infamous <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/08/manitous-revenge-year-older-and-bit.html"><b>Manitou's Revenge 54 miler</b></a>, which was the first ultra that I had really raced since 2017's Grindstone 100. I was so nervous that I couldn't sleep at all the night before the race. On race day, I turned that nervous energy into some fast early miles, and I finished in 11th place with a 20 minute course PR despite a rough finish. Manitou's Revenge has quickly become my favorite race on the planet, and I am heading back in 2019!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5aI3kMocPFF1drtCcYgm5q6BTV7m1XVuzzfhDdmM3givWWpWFf275EKbp-M9fUZgXHG6Z69xnDDwpytPdBgfTzsvyrVyqynARnhEu49PfMkDZE80Fn_qRKpEk_sX2lk_92KvL-j8ZWc/s1600/36188748_2032266546786574_1321555862111649792_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1143" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5aI3kMocPFF1drtCcYgm5q6BTV7m1XVuzzfhDdmM3givWWpWFf275EKbp-M9fUZgXHG6Z69xnDDwpytPdBgfTzsvyrVyqynARnhEu49PfMkDZE80Fn_qRKpEk_sX2lk_92KvL-j8ZWc/s400/36188748_2032266546786574_1321555862111649792_o.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">The course at Manitou's Revenge is somewhat technical</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
In July, I headed up to New Hampshire's White Mountains for a solo adventure. I ran the <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/08/adventure-report-swan-song-loop.html"><b>Swan Song Loop</b></a>, which is a 28 mile route that seeks out the most difficult trails in the Presidential Range. Rather than shoot for a particular time, I stopped for snacks and pictures along the way and really enjoyed a perfect day in the mountains. I plan to go back and run this route a little faster in 2019.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmp089364EckHbswMO1w5JAD7i4-4xYZPRi1k8f4gqbLasJ4I2sM_f_96p6mUVE7nYwMMAa2NogNYnRs0LqJW_WnGErI87hyphenhyphenGdjwcIPVCQScBbLj6hgdUz-9HwKDyoUtfSCVXIHD_cNg/s1600/20180720_121718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmp089364EckHbswMO1w5JAD7i4-4xYZPRi1k8f4gqbLasJ4I2sM_f_96p6mUVE7nYwMMAa2NogNYnRs0LqJW_WnGErI87hyphenhyphenGdjwcIPVCQScBbLj6hgdUz-9HwKDyoUtfSCVXIHD_cNg/s400/20180720_121718.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">View of Mount Washington from Boott Spur on the Swan Song Loop</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
My "A Race" for the year was supposed to be Fat Dog 120 in August, but it was canceled at the last minute due to wildfires, which forced me to sign up for Grindstone 100 for the third year in a row. But first, I made a stopover at Frozen Head State Park to take on the <b><a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/10/les-trois-croix-barkley-fall-classic.html">Barkley Fall Classic 50K</a></b> for the third (and possibly last) time. I put in a solid effort despite poor training and even poorer heat acclimation, and I finished just under ten hours, a 15 minute personal best.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWFoEWraOJtpUK3BqcM69fia1NUrH8oJzUP2Ec91Yi9gb3GFgCMDWeX9LZAX-RSrmrhbHHMA7NC3igi3wX79Iph9j_Iwz_oT8bqhBj8fssSk67bs0swLPDI_0cc7s61heDHpLtMiUrZBc/s1600/DSC_0124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWFoEWraOJtpUK3BqcM69fia1NUrH8oJzUP2Ec91Yi9gb3GFgCMDWeX9LZAX-RSrmrhbHHMA7NC3igi3wX79Iph9j_Iwz_oT8bqhBj8fssSk67bs0swLPDI_0cc7s61heDHpLtMiUrZBc/s400/DSC_0124.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">People seem to like this picture for some reason. I'm glad my suffering amuses you.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Due to the cancellation of Fat Dog, <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/11/anatomy-of-meltdown-grindstone-2018.html"><b>Grindstone 100</b></a> became my only way to qualify for the annual Western States and Hardrock 100 lotteries. My 2017 race had gone really well, and I felt like I accomplished everything I wanted to do at Grindstone. So 2018 was an uninspired performance which was made significantly worse by a combination of poor decision making and tough race conditions. I finished in 27 hours and 59 minutes, by far my worst 100 mile performance to date. But I got those dang lottery tickets.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVRALHNBvhN8hQAUfNdRwjL4a2qvwpjLwSkV1-tK2FbnnSMvRbT_JZe8R6dX57xi3USENXQwHbtSDihs_-c_Ci89w9IHxyeBiGSci3xCQBPtGzd_2IbPZMicVmsUxIQPxVNZt7dQHGL0/s1600/20171007_160404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVRALHNBvhN8hQAUfNdRwjL4a2qvwpjLwSkV1-tK2FbnnSMvRbT_JZe8R6dX57xi3USENXQwHbtSDihs_-c_Ci89w9IHxyeBiGSci3xCQBPtGzd_2IbPZMicVmsUxIQPxVNZt7dQHGL0/s400/20171007_160404.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Grindstone in 2017 when everything went pretty well. 2018 was not so pretty.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last but not least was the <b><a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2019/01/the-jersey-crew-takes-on-hellgate.html">Hellgate 100K</a></b>. Despite only being two months after Grindstone, Hellgate was a 2020 Western States qualifier. Needing only to finish under 17 hours, I took it easy and used this race as an opportunity to meet new people and see some new trails. I finished in 14:47 and got my lottery tickets for next year, which means I don't need to run any more qualifier races for a while.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOkJF4cRcLtn1_qWDpc0-g_CViHAMcTibDui60MNEqstNJQjuv5njFItZelmCIDWFjVHsoS9pfBPd0A_Zl-mpnQXl3e5zjtRYrroLZHt7rIOWz14WkiM-WZLoWdwHJCDIigLxqOUTaQko/s1600/20181207_164249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOkJF4cRcLtn1_qWDpc0-g_CViHAMcTibDui60MNEqstNJQjuv5njFItZelmCIDWFjVHsoS9pfBPd0A_Zl-mpnQXl3e5zjtRYrroLZHt7rIOWz14WkiM-WZLoWdwHJCDIigLxqOUTaQko/s400/20181207_164249.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">View from our drive down to Virginia. This was the most scenic part of the weekend.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
2019 Plans</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So here I sit with no qualifiers needed this year (Hardrock qualifiers count for two years). I can run anything I damn well please. That means it's time to...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>...do some terrifyingly hard shit!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm planning three 100 milers this year. Each one will be the hardest race I've ever done at the time I attempt it. One of them is at high altitude. One is a brand new race which is expected to have no finishers. They are:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<ul>
<li><b><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=62478">Hellbender</a></b>: 26,000 feet of climbing and descending through the Black Mountains of North Carolina (I told you I'd be back there!). In it's inaugural race in 2018, only two runners finished under 24 hours. One of them was <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Karl&lname=Meltzer">Karl Meltzer</a>, the greatest 100 mile runner of all time.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=59747">Ouray</a></b>: One of the hardest 100 mile races on the planet. Ouray involves over 40,000 feet of climbing and descending through the rugged San Juan Mountains of Colorado. The course climbs multiple 12,000' peaks, and the first half of the race is almost entirely above 10,000'. Can I finish this thing under the 52 hour cutoff? Only one way to find out.</li>
<li><b><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=59747">WTF</a></b>: A new race from the RD's of Manitou's Revenge. WTF is an invitation-only Barkley style event which involves 108 miles, 40,000' of climbing, and long stretches of off trail navigation. It will be self supported and unmarked. May god help us all.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This schedule is extremely ambitious, and I'll admit that my heart rate spiked when I hit the "Register" button for all of these. But there's no point in playing it safe when there are so many adventures to be had. If I fail, I'll fail proudly and spectacularly. Happy New Year!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Full 2019 Race Schedule</b><br />
(100 mile races in <b>bold</b>)<br />
<b><br /></b></div>
<table 5px="" border-spacing:=""><tbody>
<tr><td><div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Date</u></div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Race</u></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Distance</u></div>
</div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> 2/2</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://frozen-snot.com/">Frozen Snot</a></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
14M </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> 3/2</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=53544">Lenape Trail Run</a></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
50K </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> 3/23</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=59636">Tammany 10</a></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
50K </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> <b> 4/20</b></td><td><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=62478"><b>Hellbender</b></a></td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<b>100M </b></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> 6/23</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.manitousrevengeultra.com/">Manitou's Revenge</a></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
54M </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> 7/??</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://fastestknowntime.com/route/adirondack-great-range-traverse-ny">Great Range Traverse</a></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
25M </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> 7/??</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/blog/2017-swansongloop-fkt-ben-nephew">Swan Song Loop</a></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
30M </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> <b>7/26</b></td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><a href="http://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=59747">Ouray</a></b></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<b>100M</b> </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> 9/28</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://catstailmarathon.wordpress.com/">Cat's Tail Marathon</a></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
26M </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> <b>10/18</b></td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>WTF</b></div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<b>100M</b> </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td> 12/7</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Frozen Fools</div>
</div>
</td><td><div style="text-align: right;">
50K </div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td><b> </b></td><td></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-13685348907021022932019-01-02T19:13:00.001-05:002019-01-03T00:02:54.548-05:00The Jersey Crew Takes on Hellgate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is your annual reminder that not only do NJ ultrarunners exist, but we are pretty damn fast!</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHVLXhxA0dg-bmIs55gKqL3MPnRAM6s8nSSr1J8tqctXqOWrmFdFRUctPATnOws4AQviCvs_Z4bhNA0y4ma9VxbD8K0ktNXQziJoEOep1LpTA7RvTFCRTbjKzLtSOs94bdBLOk5mQOpY/s1600/36086959_10100907065944582_7700356739404660736_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="803" data-original-width="1069" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHVLXhxA0dg-bmIs55gKqL3MPnRAM6s8nSSr1J8tqctXqOWrmFdFRUctPATnOws4AQviCvs_Z4bhNA0y4ma9VxbD8K0ktNXQziJoEOep1LpTA7RvTFCRTbjKzLtSOs94bdBLOk5mQOpY/s400/36086959_10100907065944582_7700356739404660736_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So fast that the cameras can't even capture us!<br />
Photo by Alex during Manitou's Revenge in June</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
The Hellgate 100K+</h3>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">The brainchild of <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=David&lname=Horton">Dr. David Horton</a></b>, Hellgate is a point-to-point invitation only 100K in the mountains of central Virginia. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">Horton, or "King D-Ho" as his pre-race name tag introduced him, has a reputation for saying controversial things and being a bit of a sadist. He also runs one of the sket</span><span style="text-align: justify;">chiest looking </span><a href="http://www.extremeultrarunning.com/" style="text-align: justify;">race websites</a><span style="text-align: justify;"> on the planet. Hence, I was not sure what to expect when I toed the line at his signature race. For the sake of those who plan to run the race in future years, here is what you will find.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yniy8Xa2zJQHU_AYL7zpnLqE4sxGLiBpTpeVm9tI5wOX_0MFjRLxOIeIgcr9gs6gmm0_Q84vFMgF7PXCekWIXcTteonNYZKoq9siaMoet4dEbV4wJYqQ3i0v0ws2p-e1QyV73Nozgq4/s1600/Hellgate+Profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="1600" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9yniy8Xa2zJQHU_AYL7zpnLqE4sxGLiBpTpeVm9tI5wOX_0MFjRLxOIeIgcr9gs6gmm0_Q84vFMgF7PXCekWIXcTteonNYZKoq9siaMoet4dEbV4wJYqQ3i0v0ws2p-e1QyV73Nozgq4/s400/Hellgate+Profile.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elevation profile that I carried with me<br />
"Horton time" is listed for each aid station, whatever that means</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">The race is measured in "<a href="http://keith-knipling.com/?p=19">Horton miles</a>," which means that each segment runs a little long. Hence, the full distance is about 66.6 miles, making the name Hellgate extremely appropriate. Nearly the entire course is run on fire roads, and even the singletrack trail sections are pretty mild by east coast standards. The difficulty of the course comes from the following facts:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">
The <b>weather</b> is totally unpredictable in December. <a href="https://ultrarunning.com/featured/hellgate-100k-snow-gate/">In 2017, the race was run in three inches of fresh snow and was hence known as Snowgate. In 2016, the temperature dropped to 8 degrees over night and the race was officially Frozengate. In 2015, it got up to 80 degrees (Heatgate). And 2014's race had perfect weather (Sissygate).</a> Runners have to be prepared for anything.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">
The trail sections are covered in <b>leaves</b>, which makes for slow running.</div>
</li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;">
The race includes about <b>13,500' of climbing</b>.</div>
</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The <b>race starts at 12:01am</b> on Saturday morning, ensuring that every runner will deal with sleep deprivation.</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Despite all this, Hellgate is a true runners course, requiring very little hiking from the fastest members of the field.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: left;">
The New Jersey Crew</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have posted before about the <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2017/03/febapple-50-lenape-50k-and-nj.html">state of NJ ultrarunning</a>, but this was a race that really showcased how competitive NJ ultrarunners can be, at least on a regional stage. Here's the cast of characters:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<ul>
<li><b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Alex&lname=Galasso">Alex "The Comeback Kid" Galasso</a></b> - Age 27, Bridgewater, NJ<br />19th place, 2018 Mt. Tammany 40</li>
<li><b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Nicholas&lname=Mamrak">Nich "The Young Gun" Mamrak</a> </b>- Age 23, Belvidere, NJ<br />11th place, 2018 North Face Bear Mountain 50</li>
<li><b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Amy&lname=Nalven">Amy "I can't think of a nickname" Nalven</a></b> - Age 40, Brick, NJ<br />1st place, 2018 Wawayanda 50K</li>
<li><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Rich&lname=Riopel" style="font-weight: bold;">Rich "The Local Legend" Riopel</a> - Age 45, Morganville, NJ<br />USA 24 hour national team member, 2017</li>
<li><b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Anthony&lname=Russo">Anthony "The Movie Star" Russo</a></b> - Age 41, Jackson, NJ<br />11th place, 2017 Umstead 100 and Featured in <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt5557700/">Running the 184</a></li>
<li><b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Konstantin&lname=Walmsley">Konstantin "Not Jim" Walmsley</a></b> - Age 48, Glen Ridge, NJ<br />17th place, 2018 Laurel Highlands 70.5</li>
<li><b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Jesse&lname=Wolfgang">Jesse "The Wolf" Wolfgang</a></b> - Age 37, Boonton, NJ<br />15th place, 2018 Laurel Highlands 70.5</li>
<li><b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Ryan&lname=Thorpe">Ryan "That guy who writes long race reports" Thorpe</a></b> - Age 31, Lebanon, NJ<br />11th place, Manitou's Revenge 54</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Speedgoat Sightings and Where to Poop </h3>
<div>
Alex, Nich, and I carpooled down to Virginia on Friday and arrived just in time to check in and get the free dinner that came with our race entry. Alex was coming off a nasty hip and hamstring issue that had sidelined him for most of the summer and fall, so he was looking to get his running back on track. Nich was stepping up to a new distance after lots of success at shorter distances in his first year of ultrarunning. And I was just hoping to take it easy and finish under the 17-hour cutoff required to get a ticket into the 2020 Western States lottery (Hellgate is too late in the year to qualify for the 2019 lottery).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjEYsiVjsDLex_-n1DEWYTSglKvR_ypZB1HJj_Yz4RNyz22BunteAJuNv6jHQ3Z22drYzX0TfTvAM70_-NESrBQngePG24uv8L_kqlorZzJd2hfK7M_mjyG4fubNvi4RXRaWFomDkfEs/s1600/20181207_164249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjEYsiVjsDLex_-n1DEWYTSglKvR_ypZB1HJj_Yz4RNyz22BunteAJuNv6jHQ3Z22drYzX0TfTvAM70_-NESrBQngePG24uv8L_kqlorZzJd2hfK7M_mjyG4fubNvi4RXRaWFomDkfEs/s400/20181207_164249.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unfortunately, this would be the best view of the entire weekend</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the pre-race briefing, we thankfully didn't learn too much information. The biggest achievement during the hour-long event was figuring out who was driving us to the start, which was accomplished by Horton asking "who needs a ride?" followed by "who can drive them?" It was a frantic system, but it did the trick.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The second biggest achievement was snapping a picture of <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Karl&lname=Meltzer">Karl "Speedgoat" Meltzer</a></b>, the winningest 100 mile runner in history (<a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/11/anatomy-of-meltdown-grindstone-2018.html">and author of my least favorite running quote</a>).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIAI-0C0IoP6GTFF0lvY0Mt2FMSEOFBF-liVOZeFa3apG4UhRG_KfwB3EwEvEAhNP8ydi7qpaRwgA7IfBoiKJ77k99iVq7Yxj7eQyqBe0KW8p4xO8v2l8g49S2H453LBXXd8zWiWw-J0/s1600/20181207_193835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="403" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIAI-0C0IoP6GTFF0lvY0Mt2FMSEOFBF-liVOZeFa3apG4UhRG_KfwB3EwEvEAhNP8ydi7qpaRwgA7IfBoiKJ77k99iVq7Yxj7eQyqBe0KW8p4xO8v2l8g49S2H453LBXXd8zWiWw-J0/s400/20181207_193835.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the Speedgoat has to attend mandatory briefings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The third biggest achievement came when Horton asked a group of Hellgate veterans what other advice they had. The first response that came back was a runner shouting "poop here!" which understandably left Horton a little rattled. After some discussion, it was revealed that there were no porta-potties at the starting line, so runners were best advised to use the facilities at the camp before our shuttles departed. Good to know!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A few short (much too short) hours later, we were standing at the starting line and singing the national anthem. Then for good measure, we also sang happy birthday to Karl, who turned 51 on race day. At 12:01 sharp Horton gave us a "ready, set, go" and we ran off into the night.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Douche Grade Climbing in the Pitch Black</h3>
<div>
If there is one thing I despise in races, it is so-called "douche grade climbs." These are the climbs that are juuuust steep enough that running is very slow, but not so steep that you feel justified in walking. The exact grade that qualifies as "douche grade" varies between runners and race distances (e.g. in a 100 mile race Jim Walmsley will run just about everything, but my slow ass will typically walk anything remotely steep). Unfortunately, almost all of the Hellgate climbs fit this description.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The first climb gained 1,500' over seven miles, and I settled into an awkward shuffle accompanied by <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Joe&lname=Limone">Joe Limone</a></b>, a NY runner who I see at a lot of local races. The climb was made much more enjoyable than it should have been thanks to his company and the fact that we could watch strings of headlamps ascending the switchbacks above and below us. It was a pretty cool sight on a pitch black night. Near the top of the climb, we got separated and I was running on my own. This would be the trend for the remainder of the race.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The first descent was a short but steep drop of 750' on singletrack. It seemed backwards to me that we would climb on a nice runnable road and then descend on something more technical, but such is life in a Horton race I suppose.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The second major climb was another 1,500' of ascent, this time in only four miles. This was still just barely runnable at my ability level and I shuffled along at a 13:00-14:00/mi pace, occasionally passing people who were hiking. Along the highest points of the course, there was about an inch of crusty snow on the ground. This didn't effect my footing much, but it had the delightful effect of muffling almost every sound except for my own breathing. Combined with the moonless night, I felt completely isolated from the world except for the occasional headlamp in the distance.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mile 21 marked the high point of the course on the shoulder of Onion Mountain. The wind chill was a brisk 20 degrees and I wasted no time on the descent. I probably should have taken it a bit slower and I missed a turn and added two minutes and an unnecessary river crossing to my race. Classic Ryan! Thankfully my feet would dry out pretty quickly and no major damage was done.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Dayman, Fighter of the Nightman</h3>
<div>
I don't remember much about the next section (gravel roads have a tendency to all look alike in the dark), but eventually the sun peaked over the horizon as I picked by way down a 1,500' descent which marked the end of the high peaks on the course. Incidentally, this also seems backwards: why not have runners do the most scenic parts of the course during daylight instead of overnight? The answer, of course, is "because David Horton."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, I made a quick stop at an aid station here to grab a breakfast burrito (the food was amazing at all the aid stations!) and then another stop for a bio break shortly afterwards. This allowed <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Eric&lname=Anderson#">Eric Anderson</a></b>, a fellow Grindstone veteran whom I'd met at dinner, to pass me. I caught up quickly and we chatted all too briefly before he pulled away on a climb. He would go on to finish just four minutes ahead of me, which makes me think I should have pushed a little harder and had some company for the second half of the race. But I was not here to push hard. I was here to collect a lottery ticket and go home without beating up my legs too much.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My race continued uneventfully for the next few hours. I shared a few miles with Jersey boy Anthony Russo but I pulled away on a climb, finding that my easy start had left me with tons of energy to spare for the later miles. The course grew slightly more technical during these miles as the fire roads gave way to leafy single track. My <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2008916463">Grade Adjusted Pace on Strava</a> reflects this change in terrain.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Losing King D-Ho in the Forever Section</h3>
<div>
I had heard that there was a section late in the race known as the "forever section" due to its repetitive terrain and lack of any views. As I shuffled through the late miles, I kept trying to guess which section was the forever section, and I always guessed it was whichever section I was currently running. Apparently gravel roads look alike in daylight too.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally around mile 56, I reached it and understood what everyone was talking about. The "forever section" isn't a particularly hard portion of trail. It consists of three climbs and descents, each about 400 feet. The trail is covered in a thick layer of leaves and meanders aimlessly along ridges with no views while crossing nearly a dozen streams. It is slow an uninspiring terrain, and it comprises five miles out of the remaining ten on the course.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Until this point in the race, I had been roughly keeping pace with "Horton time," which is apparently the time it took King D-Ho to run each section when he initially mapped out the course. Now dealing with the only difficult terrain on the entire course, I started to fall behind. This was not a big deal of course, and I refused to push any harder than my planned "just finish the damn thing" effort level. But still, it would have been nice to say I beat Horton time without breaking a sweat.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once through the forever section (FYI: forever lasts about an hour and 20 minutes), I was left with one last 1,500' climb and descent across the Blue Ridge Parkway and over the shoulder of Blue Knob. I put my head down and got to work. The miles were slow but steady, and I finally found myself on the side of the parkway with a lone spectator saying "all downhill from here!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I took the descent nice and easy. I was going to be slightly over Horton time, but I was well under 15 hours, which sounded like a nice round number. As I cruised in to the finish, I was passed by a handful of runners who were redlining as I often like to do. As much as I was tempted, I resisted the urge to race them, and I jogged in with a time of 14:47:30, good for 44th place of 145 starters.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For a race that I didn't actually <i>race</i> (or prepare for in any way) I'm pretty happy with how I did. I'd like to think I could take 30-60 minutes off my time with better training and more effort, but I doubt I will ever go back to find out. Hellgate was extremely well organized and the volunteers were amazing, but those trails are just not my cup of Tailwind.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/2008916463">Strava data</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://extremeultrarunning.com/2018%20hellgate/results.pdf">Official results</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
So How Did NJ Stack Up?</h3>
<div>
Well I wouldn't have made such a fuss about my state if we hadn't done something special down in those mountains. Here is the full list of NJ runners who finished:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>#2 Rich Riopel (11:15)</b>: Rich finished 13 minutes behind Colorado's Darren Thomas. Darren beat Sage Canaday by 9 minutes at the Pike's Peak Marathon. Ergo Rich ≈ Sage.</li>
<li><b>#8 Nich Mamrak (12:07)</b>: Nich ran with Karl Meltzer early on and then dropped the old man like a bad habit. Nich would go on to beat the Speedgoat by 25 minutes in his first ever 100K.</li>
<li><b>#26 Konstantin Walmsley (13:52)</b>: Beat Jim Walmsley's Western States time. Suck it Jim!</li>
<li><b>#44 Ryan Thorpe (14:47)</b>: Got my lottery ticket.</li>
<li><b>#46 Anthony Russo (14:57)</b>: Got that sub-15 finish.</li>
<li><b>#51 Amy Nalven (15:17)</b>: 9th woman!</li>
<li><b>#53 Alex Galasso (15:23)</b>: Got back on the horse.</li>
<li><b>#63 Jesse Wolfgang (15:41)</b>: Beat his time from last year.</li>
</ul>
<div>
To recap, that's three NJ people in the top ten for their gender and eight in the top half of all finishers. Not bad for a little state with little mountains!</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-1954603043769075062018-11-29T19:45:00.002-05:002018-11-29T19:45:23.383-05:00Anatomy of a Meltdown - Grindstone 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
"100 miles is not that far." —Karl Meltzer, ultrarunning legend</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Fuck off, Karl." —Ryan Thorpe, mid-pack doofus</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They say suffering builds character. Well I just built a shit load of character in the mountains of Virginia. To get right to the point, I finished Grindstone in 27:59, a personal worst for the 100 mile distance and a 3+ hour positive split. Along the way I encountered more pain than I've ever experienced in a race.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5C8Ar9YMkFnINv_QFPxJtqYpatQ3G60VudI6pq1CEbUddjBV6FAVxquu_YV3ON4N9ECxg1C19z6upd5lnNcbIxOQqFRuy0BZ2K2gSuCgTJ4wx6xYxMIFICfWFPciHHLjiVJvLd98zNM/s1600/944914_10100391205842362_6959864935712193278_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb5C8Ar9YMkFnINv_QFPxJtqYpatQ3G60VudI6pq1CEbUddjBV6FAVxquu_YV3ON4N9ECxg1C19z6upd5lnNcbIxOQqFRuy0BZ2K2gSuCgTJ4wx6xYxMIFICfWFPciHHLjiVJvLd98zNM/s400/944914_10100391205842362_6959864935712193278_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not from this race, but still very accurate</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It took a while to get around to this post for reasons that will soon become clear. I contemplated burning the (mental) footage of this race, but then I figured it might be useful to list all the things that went wrong for the sake of posterity. You can think of this as an autopsy on the corpse of my race. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, here are all my mistakes in chronological order.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Mistake #1: Not Training</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
After the <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2017/12/redemption-at-grindstone-100.html">2017 Grindstone</a>, I vowed never to toe the line of a 100 mile race without a solid training block under my belt. Training obviously prepares your body for the stress of running 100 miles, but it also gives you the confidence to tackle a huge endeavor like Grindstone.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With this in mind, I put in a four week block with 15,000' of climbing per week in May and then another three week block with 20,000' per week in July. I capped this off with a 15-hour self supported <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/08/adventure-report-swan-song-loop.html">Swan Song Loop</a> in New Hampshire's White Mountains.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="878" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcdpVbe-h1GHVxoU72snm1ahlko2v7DUMp-V6uGKWKnXes-fnCY8MW9S3ANRyAEFE7H0ce85GdAtkJXgn7HGvsVpJ6lff1VCW76N0dOX2l2pzSjOKLQhyJMeqHYs4WMjuNsQ98pTFklI/s400/Peekamoose+Training.png" width="400" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elevation profile from one of my harder training runs:<br />four repeats of Peekamoose Mountain in 85 degree weather.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This would have all been excellent preparation for my original goal race, the Fat Dog 120 in August. However, Fat Dog was canceled due to horrifically bad wildfires that left the entire west coast of North America choked in hazy black smoke for months.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unable to muster the enthusiasm for another hard training block, and facing work and family commitments that I had put off for months, I slacked off on my training in August and September, and I showed up to Grindstone under-prepared and under-confident.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Mistake #2: Not Acclimating to the Heat</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This goes hand in hand with the previous mistake. Grindstone was abnormally hot this year with a heat index that varied from 70-85 degrees. <a href="https://runnersconnect.net/dew-point-effect-running/">Various</a> <a href="http://www.backatsquarezero.com/2017/06/09/how-the-heat-affects-running-pace/">estimates</a> say that this temperature range slows runners down by 10-20% unless they make a concerted effort to acclimate before race day. I did not make any such concerted effort, and therefore I suffered. See the race footage below.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/n2ZpsbGr7s8/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/n2ZpsbGr7s8?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Even before my nutritional and chafing woes later in the race, I was never comfortable with the hot humid weather on race day. When I saw <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Bryan&lname=Slotterbach">Bryan Slotterbach</a></b> around mile 55 and he asked me how I was feeling, my immediate response was "I feel like shit!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Mistake #3: Not Testing My Race Gear</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh boy, this is the big one.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As the old saying goes, "don't do anything new on race day." But as a seasoned 100 mile veteran, I of course know better. Let's break this mistake down a little further:</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<ul>
<li>Had I trained in my (relatively) new <b>shoes</b> rather than "saving them for race day," I would have realized that they were full of volcanic dust from a <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/1781782761">brief run at Mount St. Helens</a> back in August. I also would have realized that this silica rich dust has a tendency to turn my socks into sandpaper and chafe the ever-loving hell out of my feet. I finished Grindstone with blisters on the <i>top and bottom</i> of both feet, as well as severe chafing on the sock line of my ankles. My foot pain was so severe by the end of the race that I could barely walk, let alone run.<br /></li>
<li>Had I used my fancy new <b>Salomon soft flasks</b> I would have realized that they are impossible to fill with Tailwind powder, my preferred nutrition. Luckily I had packed an Ultimate Direction flask with a wider mouth. I filled it with a double strength Tailwind mix to make up for the two useless Salomon flasks. This double strength mixture proved to be nauseatingly strong later in the race, causing me to dry heave whenever I took a drink. Unable to take in calories, I hit the wall hard around mile 80 and even ended up having dizzy spells around mile 90. (Cheers to my family, who didn't know about that last part until just now!)<br /></li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTZH8-8qTCS7Sh2Rbpb9YddSdSMCtvQey4bN46MXJUtS3IKiezm7U6m2OsH3YqWfTUlxnx60nLijEeih3IGZjCa11a9fqO_Ub3Omyd5j3Ure8XMhYiHHifTBBkgxTdXMY45rI8heP8ZE4/s1600/Soft+flask.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="353" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTZH8-8qTCS7Sh2Rbpb9YddSdSMCtvQey4bN46MXJUtS3IKiezm7U6m2OsH3YqWfTUlxnx60nLijEeih3IGZjCa11a9fqO_Ub3Omyd5j3Ure8XMhYiHHifTBBkgxTdXMY45rI8heP8ZE4/s400/Soft+flask.png" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously, how TF are you supposed to get<br />anything other than water into that opening!?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Mistake #4: Not Getting Enough Sleep</h3>
Grindstone is somewhat unique in that it has a 6pm Friday start time. For night owls like me, this is not usually an issue since it gets the nighttime running out of the way early in the race. My typical pre-race plan is to drive down on Thursday night, sleep in as late as possible on Friday, and start the race feeling fresh.<br />
<br />
Well... I drove down late on Thursday as planned and arrived at 2am. To save money, I booked a room at a local Airbnb. The house was beautiful, but my "room" was an alcove that was separated from the living area by just a curtain. At 7am the owner's very friendly dog came sniffing around to inspect the new human (me) that was staying in his house. I woke up to a wet nose in my ear, which was really cute but not the best way to start a 40+ hour day.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Mistake #5: Not Having a Crew</h3>
<div>
Okay, this is not really a mistake. But I did underestimate the importance of having a crew. This was my first 100 mile race that Alex was not able to attend. I knew that crews saved me valuable time at aid stations and provided much needed moral support, but I didn't appreciate all the problem solving that a crew does in order to get a runner to the finish line.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOktYvgMMjdfYFaodfYXdgolxVjEgjVQyhpoSMtgV6hfy0dvtabFWvt3-ozxoRfhte-y7Bq8VHP2E_SypaPiWETxV91b4ZZ08Mlu4oxVSqNHZSHBIJttIdI-qC02meSm9kGer1kzUwz-c/s1600/20139692_10101306199537458_4532390821336913600_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="720" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOktYvgMMjdfYFaodfYXdgolxVjEgjVQyhpoSMtgV6hfy0dvtabFWvt3-ozxoRfhte-y7Bq8VHP2E_SypaPiWETxV91b4ZZ08Mlu4oxVSqNHZSHBIJttIdI-qC02meSm9kGer1kzUwz-c/s400/20139692_10101306199537458_4532390821336913600_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Including dealing with gross foot issues.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In 100 mile races, small problems can rapidly turn into big problems. And this race was an endless parade of small problems that I was not equipped to deal with on my own.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Alex, please come back!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Mistake #6: Killing My Car Battery</h3>
<div>
This is not really related to my race performance, but I did manage to kill my battery by charging my phone and playing the radio before the start of the race. By the time I realized what I had done, the race was about to start and there was nothing I could do to fix the issue. Some nice volunteers helped me jump it afterwards, but this stupid issue was on my mind for the entire 28 hours I was on the course.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Mistake #7: Not Fixing Small Issues</h3>
<div>
I don't like stopping during races. I typically limit myself to 1-2 sock changes in a 100 miler and otherwise I don't sit down at all. Sitting breaks up my momentum in a way that I often have trouble recovering from.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvIMY_uHo_az95KvoqX82HF-9AHYqLsH2LmZeYxgXEvu3ZrmjUXuzjNGuwGRKHy4T_OPqz2Op-re6YrC3xosIrzHd3fIXFhVCqN1_r014S9o6MJsC3yTG3k-A5HRwWIUQc2M4gD-JAEk/s1600/20171007_175735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvIMY_uHo_az95KvoqX82HF-9AHYqLsH2LmZeYxgXEvu3ZrmjUXuzjNGuwGRKHy4T_OPqz2Op-re6YrC3xosIrzHd3fIXFhVCqN1_r014S9o6MJsC3yTG3k-A5HRwWIUQc2M4gD-JAEk/s400/20171007_175735.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's plenty of time to sit after the race<br />Photo taken by Alex in 2017 (obviously happier times)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, this was one of those races where an extra 5-10 minutes at a few aid stations would have saved me a lot of time and trouble later on. I had extra socks stashed at the 66 mile aid station which I opted not to use because I didn't want to sit. I also could have taken some time to eat and drink to make up for my other nutrition issues. Instead, I stubbornly pushed on, getting progressively slower until I could barely walk forward.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Mistake #8: Doing It All Over Again</h3>
<div>
I have visited the pain cave in previous races. I would even say that <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/10/les-trois-croix-barkley-fall-classic.html">I'm well acquainted with it</a>. But this race was where I finally made a permanent residence in the pain cave. Or at least built a summer home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Despite all this, I'm already dreaming of next year's races. So, obviously I haven't learned my lesson at all. I'm not sure what 2019 will bring, but I have some big things in mind.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/1894184965">Strava Data</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://apps.eco-xsports.com/reports.php?race=1&year=2018">Official Results</a></div>
</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5497930429338275675.post-57528915206509931112018-10-19T17:03:00.000-04:002018-10-19T17:03:51.895-04:00Les Trois Croix - Barkley Fall Classic 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"It doesn't get any easier; you just get faster" <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">—</span>Greg LeMond</blockquote>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwgWZrc8VmmkBVfukHnyMyT-Z7SrPEPYk95moXX7VI0zRHoRBNTa7d7ISiIAJF3qpl2-TSTNdT8o-xQjRcCjTT_Njx702laPeD4rUiUZAzGnOryRvQ5EvChYKEz0x07qrJoQH6o-QdXw/s1600/DSC_0124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwgWZrc8VmmkBVfukHnyMyT-Z7SrPEPYk95moXX7VI0zRHoRBNTa7d7ISiIAJF3qpl2-TSTNdT8o-xQjRcCjTT_Njx702laPeD4rUiUZAzGnOryRvQ5EvChYKEz0x07qrJoQH6o-QdXw/s400/DSC_0124.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You also don't look any prettier.<br />
Photo by <a href="https://mistywong.smugmug.com/Running-Races/BFC2018/">Misty Wong</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm going to be honest with you guys. I was not in a good place after <a href="https://www.fatdog120.ca/">Fat Dog 120</a> was canceled in August. I had put months of hard training into that race, and I arrived on the west coast feeling the fittest I've ever been. Flying home without a buckle was demoralizing. I felt like I had wasted all of those long weekends that I spent logging tens of thousands of feet of climbing and descending.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I needed a win. And by that, I mean that I needed to get my ass kicked in a race.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That's where the Barkley Fall Classic comes into this story.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Background</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-barkley-fall-classic-50k.html">I have written extensively</a> about the history behind the Barkley Fall Classic, so I won't go into much detail here. Suffice it to say that the BFC is one of the hardest 50K's in the country, combining a stout 11,000+ feet of climbing and descending with extended sections of bushwhacking and a bit of navigation through the backcountry trails of <a href="https://tnstateparks.com/parks/frozen-head">Frozen Head State Park</a> in Tennessee. The winning times have varied from 7.5 hours to 9.5 hours over the years, and the top male and female receive a guaranteed entry into the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barkley_Marathons">Barkley Marathons</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had run this race in 2015 and 2016, back before the Barkley Marathons was catapulted to worldwide fame by a <a href="http://barkleymovie.com/">documentary</a>. When I tried to sign up for this year's race, I quickly learned that this little known 50K had grown up. The massive wave of people simultaneously attempting to register crashed <a href="http://ultrasignup.com/">UltraSignup</a> for several hours in the middle of the night. But when the dust settled, I was in!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Wednesday before the race, I got a text from my buddy <a href="https://www.mountainpeakfitness.com/blog/2018-siudy-catskill-35-fkt" style="font-weight: bold;">Mike Siudy</a> asking if he could drive down to Tennessee with me. He had just gotten off the wait list 11 months after signing up! Three days later, we found ourselves standing at the starting line of the Barkley Fall Classic, ready to tackle a beast of a race.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
It Begins... (Start to Salvation Road)</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At precisely 7am, Laz lit a cigarette and we were off.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmPBK-XSQfYD2Vyun3mtveuH2_FZ75AeXjVcJTKwk8Ir3n8uBIH_kxfVGhz8EDt8srghAKoS2niWHaIzWXQmndStsjrJX50bjyNOfVnfZFr2HR1yGruJ5hynVcQe5mURwQePkyWESQww/s1600/41864445_2406484719376714_5447380624371351552_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1345" data-original-width="1600" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtmPBK-XSQfYD2Vyun3mtveuH2_FZ75AeXjVcJTKwk8Ir3n8uBIH_kxfVGhz8EDt8srghAKoS2niWHaIzWXQmndStsjrJX50bjyNOfVnfZFr2HR1yGruJ5hynVcQe5mURwQePkyWESQww/s400/41864445_2406484719376714_5447380624371351552_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lazarus Lake is the conductor in a symphony of pain<br />
Photo by Kristopher Cargile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
About a week before the race, I had written a snarky condescending post titled <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2018/09/how-to-survive-barkley-fall-classic.html">How to Survive the Barkley Fall Classic (maybe)</a>, in which I recommended training hard and starting the race at an easy pace. So naturally, I showed up to the starting line in questionable shape and I hauled ass for the first 1.5 miles to get around the teeming crowd of runners.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So uhh... do as I say, not as I do.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
By the time we hit the narrow singletrack of Bird Mountain Trail, I found myself in about 50th place which seemed perfect. I was quickly passed on the first climb by Mike and <b><a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Giuseppe&lname=Cavallo">Giuseppe Cavallo</a></b> (with whom I had shared some miles at Manitou's Revenge) as well as a half dozen other runners. 60th place was fine too.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I plodded onward, allowing my heart rate to settle a bit after the frantic start. The first several hours of BFC are all on well established trails, and it's almost impossible to get lost. I say <i>almost</i> impossible because I had to correct several runners who inexplicably started to follow unmarked game trails or dry creek beds during these early miles. But then, <a href="http://ryruns.blogspot.com/2016/03/lenape-trail-run.html">who am I to judge other runners for poor navigation</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDoqPTgF16rAkBDjVF5jnNzylRK1mREG5iBID8eIglU2eSIgEYsSRoQXvfiTx47px2OCh_yXLkUFHfu8d9aEo5botpIjvndVxuseNxew5Spp4Ag8ozlOqvxOfX8krYQAvxOIStQimeYhg/s1600/DSC_9626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDoqPTgF16rAkBDjVF5jnNzylRK1mREG5iBID8eIglU2eSIgEYsSRoQXvfiTx47px2OCh_yXLkUFHfu8d9aEo5botpIjvndVxuseNxew5Spp4Ag8ozlOqvxOfX8krYQAvxOIStQimeYhg/s400/DSC_9626.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">♫ Makin' my way uphill / Walkin' fast, trees pass / And I'm Rat Jaw bound<br />
Photo by <a href="https://mistywong.smugmug.com/Running-Races/BFC2018/">Misty Wong</a><br />
Lyrics by Vanessa Carlton, sort of</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The first few climbs and descents were uneventful. As usual, I got passed or maintained my position on the climbs and then passed other runners on the descents. I reached the first aid station in just over two hours, which was about 10 minutes faster than in 2016.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The aid station volunteers were football players from Coalfield High School, and they proudly informed me that they had won their game the previous night. In fact, I found out later, they had crushed their local rivals by a score of 49-0! Despite their victory, they were extremely humble and supportive of the runners. Most of their questions and statements were followed by the word "sir."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Can I fill your water bottles, sir?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"You're doing a great job, sir!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I felt like a celebrity getting that kind of treatment, aside from the fact that I smelled and looked like some kind of drowned woodland rodent.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, back to the race. The new section of the course on Fork Mountain was covered in mud and standing water, but was otherwise pretty runnable. On the long descent down to Rt. 116 the trail became more exposed, and the heat and humidity started kicking in. I absolutely hate running in the heat, and the forecasts had called for a heat index of 98 degrees during the afternoon. I took the next few miles pretty easy to keep my core temperature down, and then I immediately doused myself in creek water when I reached the Salvation Road aid station.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ4Ev58El2z0PKzwv75L1tvJdADSdoAzBCpZAnUyi7SxsuYfKfXvZfUiBgbWHlKrvKdyijigEimZc99o23SiJoci59A2fZlmqdNyhdKRd_B_PzbZ3Dd6VnJP0oTzEK-WVebbEroURTrVg/s1600/DAC_3473.NEF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ4Ev58El2z0PKzwv75L1tvJdADSdoAzBCpZAnUyi7SxsuYfKfXvZfUiBgbWHlKrvKdyijigEimZc99o23SiJoci59A2fZlmqdNyhdKRd_B_PzbZ3Dd6VnJP0oTzEK-WVebbEroURTrVg/s400/DAC_3473.NEF.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not me, but you get the idea<br />
Photo by Mary Bogart</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Beat the Rat (Salvation Road to Decision Point)</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now four hours and 15ish miles in, we were about to begin the crux of the race: the powerlines. The next five miles would take over two hours and include more than 4,000 feet of elevation change through briers, brambles, and brush (oh my!).<br />
<br />
This was what I came for.<br />
<br />
First up was Testicle Spectacle, a mile-long 800+ foot climb with multiple pitches, making it impossible to see the top from the bottom. The course followed rough jeep tracks briefly before crossing several dry creek beds and then ascending so steeply that I had to dig my hands into the dirt to pull myself up. I passed a handful of other runners in this section, one of whom was hunched over vomiting.<br />
<br />
"You okay?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," he responded between heaves. "What's the name of this climb? I want to remember where I started puking."<br />
<br />
Forty minutes later I reached the summit and was surprised to find a birthday party in full swing.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlR6fAEgS8sLgezDQ6zDwrDEeAu918VcdDWRdhpVbc85lRfPbvcxlzLA0_MuvypGf3rKKzNnxAL1CP_nWYwC6EmJ_yeJq25eZTBdIr9F8l-zvHPlIH4Y6G56ep3A4MVexmqjCRAoOjos/s1600/41991314_10214914480448757_2273984844482478080_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizlR6fAEgS8sLgezDQ6zDwrDEeAu918VcdDWRdhpVbc85lRfPbvcxlzLA0_MuvypGf3rKKzNnxAL1CP_nWYwC6EmJ_yeJq25eZTBdIr9F8l-zvHPlIH4Y6G56ep3A4MVexmqjCRAoOjos/s400/41991314_10214914480448757_2273984844482478080_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You never know what you'll find on the trails of Frozen Head</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
"Thanks for coming to my birthday party!" cheered a woman wearing beads and a party hat.<br />
<br />
"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" I responded. The crowd seemed pleased.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8UT852p4jvqTCeqz9Mpf_B9MLvee5HNX8JhdopukRiEm080QpiegCB75VP3KR2V6o-Md784lwLEDlFuXilFKqrBkWTkkK3zSuuYTz9T4ok26e1MmjVmKmg6gL14vkFWTAQ0roR99h5c8/s1600/DSC_9390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8UT852p4jvqTCeqz9Mpf_B9MLvee5HNX8JhdopukRiEm080QpiegCB75VP3KR2V6o-Md784lwLEDlFuXilFKqrBkWTkkK3zSuuYTz9T4ok26e1MmjVmKmg6gL14vkFWTAQ0roR99h5c8/s400/DSC_9390.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That feeling when you get to stop climbing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Having gained a bunch of elevation over the past forty minutes, it was time to give it all back. The descent was down another steep slope known lovingly as Meth Lab Hill. As in previous years, there were clear butt slide marks down the steepest sections where other runners had abandoned all hope of staying on their feet. I managed to keep my footing by turning sideways and surfing down. Sadly I don't have any pictures of this. I'm sure I looked very cool.<br />
<br />
I arrived at the bottom of the hill still feeling fresh, but much hotter than I would have preferred. I found a muddy creek and splashed water on my face and neck. If I turn out to have an <i>e coli</i> infection later on, I want it known that this creek was the culprit.<br />
<br />
Having cooled off sufficiently in dirty Meth Lab Hill water, it was time to face the rarest of obstacles in the Barkley Fall Classic: a mile of running on flat pavement. How bizarre! I trotted along at a conservative pace, keenly aware of how quickly my core temperature was increasing despite being soaked in water.<br />
<br />
A short while later, I arrived at the entrance of Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary. Race volunteers directed me through the prison yard and up to the rear wall where James Early Ray had escaped decades before. Standing guard at the top of the wall was none other than Jared Campbell, the legendary ultrarunner, adventurer, and only three-time Barkley Marathons finisher.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0V-ePwntDsst1uCGU9KsgBwMik7_p2i91JuM38Vr0mBrlokFYs1aFvQp2srCwYf2mGFG_6gzP4sjKyoVyUjIHp2QEntSyREwcconawSspnw94pQQ-42DK2utpZuEkOg7TjPrUqixMOmA/s1600/Prison+Wall+-+Larry+Perry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0V-ePwntDsst1uCGU9KsgBwMik7_p2i91JuM38Vr0mBrlokFYs1aFvQp2srCwYf2mGFG_6gzP4sjKyoVyUjIHp2QEntSyREwcconawSspnw94pQQ-42DK2utpZuEkOg7TjPrUqixMOmA/s400/Prison+Wall+-+Larry+Perry.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical Saturday. Thrash around through briers and escape from prison. The usual.<br />Photo by Larry Perry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Before I left for Tennessee, Alex had told me in no uncertain terms to take a selfie with Jared. I'm not one to disappoint my wife, so I scurried over as fast as my legs could carry me and snapped a picture.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvcZ_JBuNikgsHHBEXSue81HauJmp8a9rFm-qb0LImjfEAcBJUoztYwazLgeDPo7JDZqR2_DUTyOu_xO_DRAILZU4-QUgKcotAdfmZyW76BdyFtoWbnQspSUumq4H5siJyHOjamCUfxFE/s1600/20180915_121205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvcZ_JBuNikgsHHBEXSue81HauJmp8a9rFm-qb0LImjfEAcBJUoztYwazLgeDPo7JDZqR2_DUTyOu_xO_DRAILZU4-QUgKcotAdfmZyW76BdyFtoWbnQspSUumq4H5siJyHOjamCUfxFE/s400/20180915_121205.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cool!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jared directed me and another runner toward the prison tunnel. The other runner, who shall not be named here, was very dismissive. He informed Jared that he had run this race before and didn't need directions. Naturally he wandered off course during the next climb and I didn't see him again until after the end of the race. The lesson: when Jared Campbell gives you advice on navigating Frozen Head, you listen to him! (I would end up talking to this runner later on, and he's a good guy. Hey other runner, if you're reading this, please take this in the good nature it is intended.)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The prison tunnel was a welcome break from the midday sun, but it was short lived. At the end of the tunnel, we began the hardest mile of the race: a 1,700 foot ascent of Rat Jaw.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Let's set the stage. Most runners reach Rat Jaw during the hottest part of the day. Unlike the other power line cuts, Rat Jaw has no discernible path. The lead runners have to force their way through thickets of head-high briars, and subsequent runners can (sometimes) follow the faint trail that's left behind. Rat Jaw is also significantly longer and steeper than the prior powerline cuts. Oh and it's also exposed to the sun for its entire length. In short, it's a slog.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_Vthg-1KBrbVKXrO9i-0mReswCPw2i_t2gsGDWbAzW9XK_7Im0iaizv3vHqYxeaG2nZxEMivXJU6fsiYGplzLcfYhIvqF0DDZWdGdyucP2hxsovhNUWiOjkXfm4JZSp6Oay1fC0uM50/s1600/DSC_9990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_Vthg-1KBrbVKXrO9i-0mReswCPw2i_t2gsGDWbAzW9XK_7Im0iaizv3vHqYxeaG2nZxEMivXJU6fsiYGplzLcfYhIvqF0DDZWdGdyucP2hxsovhNUWiOjkXfm4JZSp6Oay1fC0uM50/s400/DSC_9990.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spot the runner in the brier patch<br />Photo by <a href="https://mistywong.smugmug.com/Running-Races/BFC2018/">Misty Wong</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As you might expect, this was where the race really started to take a toll on the field of runners. One by one I passed people sitting or hunched over on the side of the "trail." More than once, I started leading a group of runners through the briers only to turn around and find that they had stopped when they found a small patch of shade. I knew if I rested, I would never be able to convince myself to get going again. Onward and upward, or some stupid shit like that.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As I remembered from previous years, the climb was endless. Time stood still on that mountain. I heard my heartbeat pounding in my ears as my head threatened to explode from the heat and exertion. I began to wonder if I had died and was sentenced to an eternity of climbing in this sun scorched hellscape. After weeks (months? years?) of climbing, the fire tower came into view.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
By the time I reached the top, my legs were covered in fresh blood, and the rest of me was covered in sweat, dirt, and debris. It had taken 62 minutes to cover the previous mile. Photographer Misty Wong snapped a picture of me smiling like an idiot, but she informed me that she wanted pictures of crying devastated runners, hence the picture at the top of the post.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59fszy_NbVnJNOxiKASE8K6pOvKzvI7jqxXHEOKx7D-Ic3Kr4it8glTpqTmO_wVA_Qdqp-i3g4OggTs0gwdDjtlC4tPzzHk-uYJpNRA8vIDxpxU-dL4JN1RnzSTsosPf28IEAo4Z29xo/s1600/DSC_0122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59fszy_NbVnJNOxiKASE8K6pOvKzvI7jqxXHEOKx7D-Ic3Kr4it8glTpqTmO_wVA_Qdqp-i3g4OggTs0gwdDjtlC4tPzzHk-uYJpNRA8vIDxpxU-dL4JN1RnzSTsosPf28IEAo4Z29xo/s400/DSC_0122.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Counting how many gallons of blood I spilled on the course<br />Photo by <a href="https://mistywong.smugmug.com/Running-Races/BFC2018/">Misty Wong</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The view from the fire tower was nice, but I didn't stick around any longer than necessary. I passed Giuseppe on the way down from the tower and wished him well.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sRiD1EdhoSp6eu1zZXS7oV-DtA4Q5pPqqycixmUIkSp0fHSpMLBWILGJi_Wem4eooucdoPKiODWUIkPjsCqgHY9IrA2xY2Vo9IMatVbqooB2TfqV2YGj6yx2-t5LsicmoqPwH-sla18/s1600/Rat+Jaw+-+Sword+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sRiD1EdhoSp6eu1zZXS7oV-DtA4Q5pPqqycixmUIkSp0fHSpMLBWILGJi_Wem4eooucdoPKiODWUIkPjsCqgHY9IrA2xY2Vo9IMatVbqooB2TfqV2YGj6yx2-t5LsicmoqPwH-sla18/s400/Rat+Jaw+-+Sword+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can see why they chose to build a prison in this wilderness<br />Photo by <a href="https://drinksword.com/">Sword Performance</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was time to get back on real trails and - get this! - run for a little while. The four mile descent to the decision point was pretty tame by east coast standards, but I couldn't muster anything more than a jog. Although my legs felt fine, the heat had sapped my energy. Fifty minutes later, I arrived at the decision point.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
One Last Climb (Decision Point to Finish)</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I stuffed some food and pickle juice in my mouth, refilled my bottles, and marched over to Laz for the final bib punch.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Are you continuing on, or dropping down to the marathon?" he inquired.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Laz," I responded, looking him straight in the eye, "I didn't come here to run no stinkin' marathon!"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The volunteers cheered, and I ran onward to finish the final nine mile loop: Chimney Tops. Now on it's own, the Chimney Tops loop is not particularly difficult. However, after 7.5 hours of running in the heat and humidity, this final mountain is a killer. Maybe it's the fact that there are multiple false summits along the way. Maybe it's the fact that the trails get progressively steeper the higher you go. Maybe it's the fact that there was a nest of angry hornets that decided to attack my quads half way up (yeah, that shit really happened).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Regardless of the reasoning, this climb destroyed me. In the two hours it took to reach the Spicewood Aid station, I went from a strong motivated runner to a shambling mess.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Thankfully the weather started to cool down at this point. After gulping down a bottle of water at the aid station, I realized that I had a shot at breaking 10 hours and setting a personal best for this race. I had to do the final 3.5 miles in 45 minutes. Beating my previous time (10:11) on poor training and in worse weather would be a huge accomplishment, so I left the aid station on a mission.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The 2.5 miles back to the decision point were entirely downhill, and I ran every single step. I passed through the aid station with 9:47 elapsed and couldn't remember how far it was to the finish. A mile? A mile and a half? I pictured myself crossing the finish line with 10:00:01 on the clock and decided that was unacceptable.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was time to run myself into the ground once again.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ragged breathing. The taste of blood in my mouth. Tunnel vision. The heat. Good lord, the heat. I've gotten used to all the side effects of pushing this hard at the end of a race, but that doesn't make it any easier.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I stole a quick glance at my phone. Seven minutes left. Was that good or bad? How far to the finish line?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Head down. Keep pushing. Keep breathing. Ignore the way that people are staring at you. Ignore the fact that the sun is literally baking you and every natural instinct is telling you to stop.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Six minutes left. Was that really only a minute of running?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Try to choke out a feeble "thanks" to the people clapping. Instead just snort at them like a bulldog with asthma.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Five minutes left. Holy shit, there's the finish line!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Try to compose yourself. There might be a photographer, and you can't use the picture if you're crying and/or soiling yourself.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Finally, after 9:56:19, I was done running! A 15 minute improvement on my previous time.</div>
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<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Post Race</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mike came over to congratulate me, but I made a bee-line for my cooler and doused my head in ice water. He had finished 20 minutes earlier and had overcome his own issues on the final climb, finishing 11th overall after running in the top ten for most of the day. Badass!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As for myself, I was 24th of the 400+ starters, and I was only an hour behind the winner. Not bad for a guy who didn't train and hates running in the heat.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Giuseppe came in a little while later, and the three of us posed for a picture showing how we felt about the course.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDOKI2w64OGlnP4e8_Dt2gMigy1JbEtm86CK9c3O4gYHj7unDalBAnLXTQgJ5J4u6gLM-hD3jAhcMWMLb5HZ6y8waqt0Y4AElOFB-L6gRfD9JDFKDcJf_wRc7AwEdUCSj36yXEzew2gA/s1600/20180915_185626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDOKI2w64OGlnP4e8_Dt2gMigy1JbEtm86CK9c3O4gYHj7unDalBAnLXTQgJ5J4u6gLM-hD3jAhcMWMLb5HZ6y8waqt0Y4AElOFB-L6gRfD9JDFKDcJf_wRc7AwEdUCSj36yXEzew2gA/s400/20180915_185626.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear Frozen Head, you're number one!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I received my third Croix de Barque and proudly added it to my collection when I got home. Then I threw them all in a drawer because I never know what to do with race hardware.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUY64vZ76SvLygv1e25DTr3Orm5VQttAP6h53UpdbbhUW5gga9tG9ostKrQU6gUJlAT_DzktAES6iC_mmWZ4MvK1l0okZZ8MW2mrNATKwIhi847_6IO5ZeElVvAeBC1gamszJxTGvYZ8/s1600/20180916_212112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUY64vZ76SvLygv1e25DTr3Orm5VQttAP6h53UpdbbhUW5gga9tG9ostKrQU6gUJlAT_DzktAES6iC_mmWZ4MvK1l0okZZ8MW2mrNATKwIhi847_6IO5ZeElVvAeBC1gamszJxTGvYZ8/s400/20180916_212112.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Les Troix Croix</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<h3 style="text-align: justify;">
Up Next</h3>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Three weeks later I would get well and truly destroyed by the Grindstone 100 in my worst hundred mile race ever. Stay tuned for a report.</div>
</div>
Ryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02609573551707877580noreply@blogger.com0