Manitou's Revenge 54 Miler

"When you have two rocks for every dirt, you are in the Catskills." — old saying

Scouting the course with Alex the weekend before the race

A Brief History of the Catskills

• 375 Million BC: The shattered remnants of the ancient Central Pangaean Mountain Range fuse together and are lifted up by tectonic forces, forming a massive plateau over present day New York.
• 1 Million BC: Ice sheets repeatedly carve this plateau into a series of mountains with impossibly steep slopes. The eastern boundary of these mountains forms a dramatic wall, which drops 2,000 feet to the valley below. The Algonquins will later name this formation "The Wall of Manitou" after a great spirit that is said to inhabit the mountains.
• 2017 AD: One hundred men and women attempt to traverse these inhospitable mountains on foot, and Manitou has his revenge.

The Course

The brainchild of New England ultrarunner Charlie Gadol, Manitou's Revenge is a 54.3 mile point-to-point course across some of the most difficult terrain the Catskills have to offer. The course begins innocently enough with three miles of flat pavement and ends with another 1.5 mile stretch of pavement. In between is over 14,000 feet of relentless climbing and descending on jagged rocks, slick roots, and shoe sucking mud. Portions of the course are nearly vertical, requiring the use of all four limbs.

Manitou's Revenge Course Map

Manitou climbs five of the Catskill high peaks (Blackhead, Indian Head, Twin, Sugarloaf, and Plateau) and traverses nearly eight miles of the infamous Devil's Path, named by early settlers who believed only the devil himself could scale its precipitous cliffs.

Without a doubt, this course is one of the most difficult 50 milers in the country and perhaps the world.

Manitou's Revenge Elevation Profile

Start to Dutcher's Notch (Miles 0-10.3)

The morning of the race dawned and I found myself standing in the parking lot of CD Lane Park waiting to be called to the starting line. The weather was mild for June with overcast skies and temperatures in the mid-60's, but I was already starting to sweat in what felt like 110% humidity.

To prevent the narrow trails from getting too clogged with runners, we started in waves of 15 based on seeding. I was placed in wave 5 of 8 and started at 5:22am, 20 minutes after the elite runners. I was hoping to finish in the top 20, so my seeding ensured that I would have plenty of other racers to chase through the woods. Better to be the hunter than the hunted.

The early road miles were a good warm up, and I killed time by making conversation with the other runners in my wave. Knowing that I could be on the course for up to 24 hours, I tried to maintain a conservative pace. There was a lot of race left to run.

Three miles in, we made an abrupt left onto the Black Dome Range Trail and began our first climb of the day: 600 feet up in about a mile. I was immediately thankful for my waterproof socks, as we crossed several creeks and trudged uphill through a waterlogged trail. The past several days had seen a few thunderstorms pass through, and the lingering humidity ensured that none of the water evaporated from the trails.

View from the Escarpment Trail the week before the race.

After a mile of hands-on-knees hiking, we reached the Escarpment Trail and had a few miles of fun semi-technical single track along a ridge. The day was foggy, and the ridge offered none of the panoramic views that I had seen while marking the course the prior weekend. Fortunately, navigating through the pointed rocks in the trail required most of my attention anyway.

Around mile six, we began climbing the first and highest High Peak of the day: Blackhead. One mile and a thousand vertical feet of rock scrambling separated us from the summit. I made quick work of the climb, occasionally using both hands and feet to pull myself up the steep slope while trying to keep my heart rate in check.

Marking Blackhead with RD Charlie Gadol before the race

I caught up to Mountain Peak Fitness athletes Julian Vicente and Elizabeth Azze near the summit, and we exchanged a few words of encouragement before I left to bomb down the descent. As is their annual tradition, they would run the entire race together, finishing just after dark.

The descent to Dutcher's Notch was slick from the humidity, but my legs were still fresh and I was able to make good time coming into the aid station. I arrived to find my wife and crew chief Alex Thorpe waiting for me with fresh water bottles and a Coke. She had hiked almost 2 miles with 1,400 feet of climbing to get there, and she still had the energy to cheer wildly as I emerged from the woods. What a wife!

2:16 elapsed, 28th place of 97 starters

Dutcher's Notch to N/S Lake (Miles 10.3-17.5)

From Dutcher's Notch, we began our ascent of Stoppel Point. The climb consisted of three pitches of 200-300 feet each, the last of which was marked by the wreckage of a Piper PA-28 plane that crashed in 1983 just feet from the trail. The young pilot, John T. Grace, was killed in the accident, one of dozens of air traffic fatalities in the Catskills over the last few decades. These mountains are unforgiving.

The wreckage of John T. Grace's' Piper PA-28 on Stoppel Point

From there, the course descended 1,400 feet over the next four miles, skirting the edges of several cliffs. I recalled a story that Charlie told me about the Escarpment Trail race a few years back. A runner was lost in thought and ran right off the side of these cliffs. Miraculously, he had landed in some trees and survived with only minor injuries. Determined not to be that guy who flung himself off a cliff, I kept my eyes on the trail in front of me. The dense clouds that had settled over the valley obscured the view anyway.

View from one of the overlooks on the Escarpment Trail from the week prior. It's a long way down.

Sixteen miles in, we pulled into the aid station at North/South Lake Campground. Once again, Alex was there waiting for me with two bottles in her hand and a smile on her face. She had made it with only seconds to spare. I swapped out bottles, inhaled a few slices of watermelon, and was on my way.

Om nom nom
Photo by Alex

3:53 elapsed, 28th place

N/S Lake to Palenville (Miles 17.5-21.5)

I had been running with a small group until this point, but I left the aid station before them and ended up running almost the entire next section solo. A quick 250 climb took me up to a ridge above the lake, and then a four mile long runnable descent brought me to Palenville, the low point on the course. For the first time in a few hours, I was able to open up my stride and I managed a few sub-9:00 miles en route to the aid station. I emerged from the fog at the bottom of the hill to once again find my wife waiting for me.

4:39 elapsed, 25th place

Palenville to Platte Clove (Miles 21.5-31.5)

I knew the next section had some tricky turns, so I was happy to leave the aid station with Mendy Gallo, who lived a few towns over and knew the course well. I had met Mendy the previous Sunday at Rock and Snow, an outdoor sporting goods retailer in New Paltz where I'd had to make an emergency stop after realizing I left my trail running shoes at home 2 hours away. The shoes she recommended ended up being perfect for the technical Catskill trails, and I ended up wearing them for Manitou's Revenge after a single training run.

The first half mile from the aid station had us hopping over a barrier to find a hidden gravel road, and then making an abrupt right turn onto a fire road. Mendy navigated us both expertly through this section, and we began the long ascent of Kaaterskill High Peak. The course directions called this "the worst climb of the day," and Charlie had even recommended that I use trekking poles for this particular section. I had wondered to myself what could be so bad about this ascent. At 1,700 feet, it was the longest sustained climb, but it didn't appear to be as steep as many of the other climbs based on the elevation profile.

On race day, I found out exactly what Charlie meant. That 1,700 feet of climbing is over the span of only two miles of deeply rutted fire road, and the grade is relentlessly steep. It also starts just as the day is beginning to heat up. A few minutes into the climb, my calves were already screaming, and I wished I had taken Charlie's advice and brought trekking poles. Live and learn, I guess. After 40 minutes of climbing, Mendy and I knew each other's entire life stories, so it was time for us to part ways. She would end up dropping out later on with injury concerns, but I have no doubt she'll come back to finish what she started.

As the trail leveled off, I took off running on the rocky single track, sweat now pouring off me. I was getting uncomfortably hot, and the climb had been demoralizing. As luck would have it, the trail crossed several streams in this section, and I took every opportunity to lie down in the cool water. I splashed water in my face and washed the grit and grime off my legs. It was wonderful. Each 30 second stop added a little more pep to my step. After a few miles of this, I arrived at the final pitch of the High Peak ascent which rose 900 feet in just over a mile. Knowing that I had a long runnable downhill to look forward to, I powered ahead.

Near the top of the climb, the trail leveled out again and it became tricky to navigate the mud and standing water that filled the trail. Once again, I was thankful to be wearing waterproof socks, which meant that I didn't have to expend too much energy trying to avoid muddy sections. I spotted a woman ahead of me who turned out to be Debbie Livingston, an elite runner who had won Grindstone in 2011 and was planning to run Hardrock this year. What a badass!

We chatted for the next mile or so until the trail began to descend steeply. Until that exact moment, I had always thought of myself as a good technical downhill runner. Descents are where I typically pass other runners in a race. My ability to descend quickly and efficiently is both a strength and also a source of pride. Debbie made me completely re-think my abilities. She dropped me as if I was standing still. I was amazed.

After a few miles of running by myself and trying to piece the remnants of my ego back together, I reached the 50K aid station. It had been nearly 2.5 hours since North/South Lake, so I took some time to refuel before leaving.

After leaving Platte Clove aid station
Photo by Alex

7:02 elapsed, 18th place

Platte Clove to Mink Hollow (Miles 31.5-38.5)

"The Devil's Path is a lot like climbing Blackhead, except there are four of them." — Charlie Gadol

This next section was the crux of the course. These seven miles would separate the men from the boys and the women from the girls. This was the start of the Devil's Path.

I had scouted this section with Alex the week before the race (wearing my fancy new shoes, as you may remember), and I found it both fun and horrifying. Our seven mile trek that day had taken us over four and a half hours. It was a lot of fun, but those were hard earned miles, one of which took us almost an hour to cover. I was nervous about "running" that section after 50K of rocky trails had already tenderized my legs.

Around this section, I caught back up to Debbie and also ran into Alex Papadopoulos, the race director of the Tammany 10. Having run HURT 100 multiple times, he is no stranger to technical trails, and I was sure he would enjoy the upcoming carnage. I offered some advice based on my limited experience with the trail:

"It's really really ridiculously technical," I said.

"As technical as the Escarpment trail?" he asked.

"Much worse," I cautioned.

The climb up Indian Head started mildly with only 400 feet of ascent in the first mile. I was even able to run some short sections. However, this did not last long. As we climbed, the trail grew steeper, and the rocks grew larger. The first sections of real rock scrambling began as I hoisted myself over car sized boulders on all fours.

Alex playing on the rocks during our scouting mission

My mile pace dropped into the 20's, which is slower than a moderate walking pace on flat ground. However, a strange thing happened. I realized I had a big dopey smile on my face. This was fun! Maybe it was Stockholm's Syndrome, or maybe Alex had spiked my water, but I was really enjoying myself. After an hour of climbing, I finally reached the first summit. I had gone three miles.

The descent was equally steep and treacherous, dropping 400 feet in 0.3 miles over giant slick rocks. Clearly I would not gain any time back on the downhills in the Devil's Path section. The ensuing 400 foot climb up Twin Mountain was my favorite stretch of the entire race since it included a few low grade bouldering problems using roots as hand holds.

Alex climbing a V1 problem on the Devil's Path

After a short runnable traverse, I headed back down the other side of the mountain. The 800 foot 0.6 mile descent from Twin was painful, as my toes kept slamming into the front of my shoes. Somehow, I was still having fun though. I passed a number of day hikers in this section, as well as a handful of other runners. One runner inadvertently paid me a great compliment as I squeezed past him.

"Are you a relay runner or just cruising?"

"Just cruising," I responded, my ego starting to mount a comeback.

I reached the bottom of the descent and immediately set to work on the climb up Sugarloaf. The clouds were still too dense to get a descent view, but I had recent memories to draw upon for inspiration.

View from the Devil's Path during course recon

The mile long climb up Sugarloaf ascended 1,000 feet and took me 33 minutes. Believe me when I say that my pace was not indicative of my effort level. That was rough. After another short summit traverse, I had a mile long 1,200 foot descent. Once again, my toes slammed into the front of my shoes with each step. The old spirit Manitou must have been cackling in delight.

Finally, after 7 miles and almost three hours on the Devil's Path, I reached the Mink Hollow aid station. I had averaged 23 minutes per mile since Platte Clove at my "cruising" pace. Alex was excited to see me and informed me that I was on track for a 14 hour finish if I could keep up my pace. I quickly refueled and set out on the last climb of Devil's Path.

9:46 elapsed, 18th place

Mink Hollow to Silver Hollow (Miles 38.5-43.5)

The climb up Plateau Mountain is the steepest on the Manitou course, rising 1,200 feet in only 0.8 miles. Unsurprisingly, this climb coincided with my slowest mile split of the day. Brace yourself for this: 36 minutes. And I'm proud of that 36 minute mile split. I worked hard for it.

I reached the top of Plateau still feeling good (all things considered) and still enjoying the race, and I was delighted to find that the summit was runnable. After a half mile of running, the course took a hard left turn and exited the Devil's Path for good. Now following the Long Path, the course plummeted 1,400 feet downhill over the next few miles. Somewhere in this section, I starting running with Hyun Chang Chung, who I had shared some miles with at Breakneck Point a few months earlier. We would end up spending most of the rest of the race together, keeping each company and working together on navigation.

We chatted during the steep descent to Silver Hollow, where Alex was waiting with more water and Coke. She had once again hiked up a steep trail to meet me in the middle of nowhere.

Running into Silver Hollow with Chang and another runner
Photo by Alex

11:10 elapsed, 17th place

Silver Hollow to Willow (Miles 43.5-48.5)

"If you're feeling good, don't worry. It will pass soon." — old saying among ultrarunners

We were finally off the Devil's Path, but we weren't home free. We still had a 500 foot climb up Silver Hollow Notch Mountain, a 1,000 foot climb up Tremper Mountain, and two very long descents before we were done.

So close, and yet so far
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

The first climb was uneventful, and I kept careful track of our elevation with my altimeter, so I knew exactly how much longer we needed to keep ascending. My energy levels were starting to fade, and I was working hard to stay with Chang on the climb. The 1,500 foot descent was more technical than I expected, and I made things worse for myself by misreading the elevation profile I was carrying and underestimating the decent by 500 feet. Oh well.

At the bottom of the descent, we reached Warner Creek, a knee deep crossing through cool flowing water. We both took a few minutes to lay down and cool our core temperatures a few degrees before starting the next climb. I could have stayed in the Creek for a few more hours, but thankfully Chang suggested that we leave and finish the race.

We started climbing and my core temperature immediately skyrocketed again. Thankfully there were a few streams coming down the mountain, and I was able to splash more water in my face a few times along the way. I knew this was the last climb of the day, so I tried to push hard. However, my legs did not want to cooperate.

I knew I would be close to a 14 hour finish, but I was losing hope that sub-14 was possible. With each slow uphill mile, I could feel my goal slowly slipping away. The first mile from the river took 21 minutes, and the next took 19. I wondered if I should just relax and enjoy the last few miles of the run.

Then I reconsidered. I'd had fun relaxing finishes at a few races this year. It was time to crank up the intensity. I didn't have another real race for a month, and I could afford to do some damage if I needed to. I pushed hard and felt my heart start to race. My breathing grew ragged.

A burning tiki torch appeared on the side of the trail. I hoped that it was a sign of the last aid station and not just a hallucination. A few minutes later, I was relieved to find myself in the final aid station of Manitou's Revenge, where I hastily chugged some water and continued on my way.

12:54 elapsed, 14th place

Willow to Finish (Miles 48.5-54.3)

"Let’s get flying... this ain’t no sob story" — Nick Hollon, Barkley finisher

I had just over an hour to cover the last five miles if I wanted to go sub-14. It was possible, but it was going to hurt. I was prepared to completely bury myself to make it happen. Unfortunately, I still had 300 more feet of climbing before the final descent, and my uphill pace was flagging.

Once again, I pushed myself hard, but I could not find the energy to run uphill any more. I told myself that I could walk the last few tenths of a mile to the summit of Tremper Mountain, but then I had to bomb the final downhill to the finish.

I reached the fire tower with 13:20 elapsed on my watch. How far was it from the tower to the finish? I thought it might be four miles, but I wasn't sure. Could I run four miles on trail in 40 minutes? I wasn't even sure if I could run a single 10:00 mile, let alone four in a row. I had to try though.

I took a second to collect myself, took a deep breath, and then hurled my body downhill as fast as my legs would carry me. My breathing grew frantic as my heart rate soared. I was darting through rocks and logs that littered the trail, unsure of whether I had the coordination to stay upright at this speed. After an eternity, my watch beeped and I saw 8:28 for that mile. That was a good start, but I needed more.

I passed several hikers from behind. I never had to say "on your left" or "excuse me" because my huffing and puffing announced my presence from hundreds of feet away. My watch beeped again, but I couldn't look at it without risking a face plant. I hoped it was displaying another fast split.

I passed a woman who was hiking uphill toward me.

"How far to the road?" I asked.

"Oh, about fifteen minutes," she responded.

I wasn't sure what that meant. Did it take her fifteen minutes to hike up from there? Would it take me fifteen more minutes of frantic sprinting on tired legs? This was too much for my brain to process, so I just focused on running hard.

A few minutes later I heard cars. The road must be close! Once on the road, I knew I would only have 1.3 miles of easy running to the finish line. The trail rounded a corner and I was sure this was it. Unfortunately, all I saw was more trail. I continued to push hard, but my adrenaline rush was starting to subside. I stole a glance at my watch and saw that I had less than 20 minutes left to break 14 hours. This was going to be close.

Finally, with 13:42 on my watch, I hit the road. For the first time, I allowed myself to think that I was going to break 14 hours. However, I still would not allow myself to slow down. I was still breathing hard, and 1.3 miles had never felt so long before. Every time I rounded a bend, I expected to see the finish line.

At long last it came into view. The spectators and other runners cheered as I came through, crossing the finish line in 13:53:55. I had covered the last four miles in 36 minutes and ran the 6th fastest split from Willow to the finish.

Trying hard to smile as I finished
(Note: I started the race with 20:00 elapsed)
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

Final time 13:53:55, 14th place

Official Results

Ben Nephew's Strava track

Epilogue

It took a few minutes for me to recover enough to express any thoughts other than "Ow!!" Thankfully, Jay Lemos quickly brought me a beer, which perked me up immediately.

"Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke."
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

My recovery was not as bad as I expected, and I was able to hike and run in the San Juan Mountains with Alex only a week later.

Starting to feel better with my wife and a recovery beverage.
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

Thinking back on this event after a few weeks, I consider it one of the best race performances in my short running career. Starting around the middle of the pack, I slowly but surely moved up through the field of runners, even passing a few of people from the first wave before the finish. I was told to consider Platte Clove (mi 31.5) the half way point in the course due to the difficulty of the terrain in the second half. By that metric, I ran a negative split (7:02 first half, 6:51 second half) and I finished with some of my fastest miles of the day.

Manitou's Revenge is one of the hardest events I have ever participated in, ranking near the Barkley Fall Classic and the Presidential Traverse in the critical suffering-per-mile metric. I averaged 15:21 per mile, and I was ecstatic with that pace given the fact that I ran multiple miles slower than 30 minutes.

Manitou is also the most fun race I've ever done, and it appeared to be tailor made to match my strengths as a runner. It had bouldering sections that brought me back to my old rock climbing days. It had many technical yet runnable descents where I could put my quads to good use. And it got progressively harder the further as the race progressed, which tested my ability to run an evenly paced race.

I would be remiss if I didn't thank a number of people who made this race possible. First and foremost, Alex was a stellar one-woman crew. I think this was her first time crewing me solo, which meant that she was totally responsible for navigating to the aid stations, prepping my food and water, and hiking in with all the gear I needed. She ended up hiking 6 miles with 2,200 feet of elevation gain and loss, not to mention driving dozens of miles on rural mountain roads with no GPS reception. She's a rock star. Thank you Alex!!

I also have to thank Charlie Gadol for being crazy enough to organize an ultramarathon in the Catskills, particularly one that uses 8 miles of the Devil's Path. I hope this race continues for many years, and I intend to be there for all of them.

"Charlie, what the heck was that!?"
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

Lastly, a big thank you to the aid station and start/finish line volunteers who poured water, offered encouragement, and dealt with stinky cranky runners all day.

Gear and Training

I used some new gear for this race which worked spectacularly. I don't think there's anything I would do differently:

• Shoes: Altra King MT
  The King MT's have a Vibram sole which is perfect for gripping rocks and roots, and the thin mesh upper drains much better than previous Altras I've used. They also appear to be much more durable than the Altra Lone Peak or Olympus models and showed no signs of wear after 54 miles of hard usage. The Velcro straps look a little funny, but they keep the laces secured nicely.
• Pack: Ultimate Direction SJ 2.0
  My trusty old race vest. I bought this a few years back and it has served me well ever since. With a few exceptions (the rear pockets are not accessible while running and the inflexible nylon chest straps are not terribly comfortable), this pack is perfect for long runs. It holds two 500ml bottles and/or a 2L bladder and has plenty of room for jackets, food, micro-spikes, or other gear in the back pockets. The 3.0 has some minor updates but seems to be pretty similar.
• Shirt: Tesla Cool Dry compression shirt
  It's cheap, it wicks moisture, and it prevents armpit chafing. What more could you ask for in a shirt? I have three of these, and I wear them exclusively for races.
• Shorts: Salomon Trail Runner Short
  By law, every trail runner must own at least one piece of Salomon gear. I found these shorts on sale at REI a few years back, and have been very pleased with their performance. The material is lightweight and the rear pocket is large enough to hold a few gels, which makes these useful for shorter road races as well. The liner mesh is pretty comfortable but I use underwear or compression shorts underneath anyway.
• Underwear: Saxx Quest 2.0 boxer
  This brand is geared specifically toward men and claims to reduce chafing in sensitive areas. I'm happy to report that they worked as advertised. They might be a little pricey, but it's worth it for a little extra protection during long runs.
• Liner socks: Injinji Trail Midweight
  Yes, these are the weird toe socks that you've probably seen people wearing. They feel strange at first, but they prevent me from getting blisters between my toes. For wet or humid races, they are worth their weight in gold. For colder races, I recommend using Injinji's wool socks.
• Waterproof socks: Showers Pass Waterproof Crosspoint WP
  I was skeptical that waterproof socks would work during a run. But after using them for a very wet and muddy 50 miler in February and finishing with immaculately clean feet, I am hooked. Not only do they keep out water, they also shield your feet from dirt and grit that would otherwise lead to blisters. Since discovering them, I have not had a single foot issue in a race. These were a total game changer for me.
• Nutrition: Tailwind (Naked + Green Tea, 200 cal/hr)
  My tried and true nutrition. Liquid calories seem to be the only thing that doesn't upset my stomach during a race. A 200 calorie pack mixed with 500ml of water provides all the fluids, calories, and electrolytes you need for about an hour of running. I have run entire 50 milers fueled only by Tailwind, and the taste is mild enough that I don't mind it after 10+ hours. At Manitou's Revenge, I supplemented with Coke and watermelon because, let's face it, those are both delicious.

My training leading up to the race focused almost exclusively on elevation gain and loss. A typical workout consisted of 3 hours of hill repeats on a 0.5 mile 500 foot hill, with a focus on maintaining even exertion on the uphills and downhills. My mileage and elevation gain for the three weeks preceding the race were:

• 5/22-5/28: 72.6 mi, 12,189 ft
• 5/29-6/04: 53.8 mi, 15,148 ft
• 6/05-6/11: 41.9 mi,   9.970 ft

The summer league ultimate frisbee season just started up, so I've also been mixing in 2-3 hours a week of ultimate as my "cross training." I don't know if it helps my running at all, but it's fun.

Next Up

Look for a trip report of our adventure in the San Juan Mountains exploring the Hardrock 100 course, coming soon!

Then I'm running the Vermont 100 on 7/15 and shooting for sub-20 hours as my stretch time goal. Wish me luck!

Softrock 100 Planning and Logistics

From June 24-29, Alex and I are planning to hike the Hardrock 100 course. This multi-day trek is colloquially known as the Softrock 100 (not to be confused with a new race in Ontario). There isn't much information available online about the logistics of doing a Softrock hike/run, so I thought I'd make a series of posts explaining our itinerary and planning.

View of Island Lake from Grant Swamp Pass (mile 85)
Photo by Bryon Powell

The Course

The Hardrock course is a 100 mile loop through the rugged San Juan Mountains in southwestern Colorado. The race starts and ends in Silverton and switches directions each year.

Softrock course map

We will be going counterclockwise, which front loads a lot of the mileage and lets us relax a little on our last few days. Our itinerary roughly follows the one that Jason Schlarb and others used for Skiing Hardrock:

• Day 1, 29 miles, 9,350' gain, Silverton to Lake City
  This leg starts with a 4,000' climb out of Silverton and up to Dives-Little Giant. We then descend 2,500' to Cunningham before climbing Green Mountain, Buffalo Boy Ridge, and Cataract Lake. We finish with a 2,000' descent to Sherman where we catch a hiker shuttle into Lake City for the night.
• Day 2, 28 miles, 8,023' gain, Lake City to Ouray
  Days 2 and 3 might be switched depending on how we feel after Day 1. This day starts with a 7 mile, 4,500 foot ascent of Handies Peak, the high point of the course at 14,058 feet. We then descend to Grouse Gulch before climbing Engineer. A 5,000' descent brings us to Ouray, where we will spend at least one night.
• Day 3, rest day in Ouray
• Day 4, 16 miles, 5,508' gain, Ouray to Telluride
  This is the "easy" leg of the trip. We climb 5,000' to Virginius Pass (a.k.a. Kroger's Canteen), take a shot of tequila, and then descent 4,000' into Telluride.
• Day 5, rest day in Telluride
• Day 6, 28 miles, 10,169' gain, Telluride to Silverton
  The last push. First comes a 4,000' climb to Oscar's Pass followed by a 3,000' descent to Chapman Gulch. Another 3,000' climb brings us to Grant-Swamp Pass with a view of Island Lake. After another 2,000' descent and 2,000' climb, we reach Cataract-Porcupine Pass and Putnam Cataract Ridge. From there, we make our final descent to Silverton.

Softrock elevation profile

The totals for the trip are 101 miles and 32,000' of elevation gain and loss. If we're lucky, we'll spend a total of about 48 hours hiking/running over the course of 6 days.

Scheduling

The easiest plan would have been to do this hike a few days before the Hardrock 100 race in July since the course would be marked and well maintained at that point in the year. Due to work conflicts, our choices for this trip were either late June or late August.

The benefit of going in August is that much of the snow would have melted from the course by then. However, afternoon thunderstorms are common in the mountains in mid-late summer, and lightning strikes become more of a threat. With this in mind, we chose to go in June and deal with the snow on the course.

Lodging and Transportation

In an attempt to keep this trip as inexpensive as possible, we are staying in hostels as much as possible. This is tougher than it sounds since most of these mountain towns have tourism based economies, so lodging is expensive.

More info to come!

Out of the Darkness: The Bear Mountain 50

Ultramarathons, by their nature, take a long time to run. They take so long, in fact, that you can have a great day and a terrible day all in the same race.

Early miles just before sunrise
Photo by Ryan Espulgar

A perfect example of this was the Grindstone 100 last October, where I had a very positive experience for 80 miles before my mental state succumbed to a combination of exhaustion, sleep deprivation, nutrition issues, and the abysmal weather. I finished the race, but not before subjecting my wife and pacer Alex Thorpe to 20+ miles and six hours of relentless negativity.

Race Day

When I got out of bed on the morning of The North Face Endurance Challenge Bear Mountain 50 miler, the parallels to Grindstone were immediately apparent:

• Tough course - check! Bear Mountain is known for being one of the rockiest and most technical 50 milers in the NYC area.
• Bad weather - check! A Nor'easter had just rolled in, and the forecasts called for temperatures in the high-40's with rain all day.
• Sleep deprivation - check! Due to a 2 a.m. wake up and pre-race nerves, I managed to get a grand total of zero hours of sleep the night before the race.

Alex was was battling her own demons. This would be her third attempt at the 50K distance (although the first two don't really count since they were both The Barkley Fall Classic), and she was struggling to find the confidence that had led her to sign up for this race.

We got to the starting area around 4:30 a.m. and found our friends Harry and Eileen Uberti. Harry was running the 50 miler, and Eileen was crewing and pacing him. Alex was a bundle of nerves, and I reminded her to trust her training, to have fun, and to stalk Timmy Olson at the starting line.

Pre-race pep talk

At 5:02, I took off in the 3rd wave. In retrospect, I should have sneaked into an earlier wave because I immediately had to pass a few dozen people in order to run the pace I was aiming for. After a few minutes of weaving through the crowd, I settled into a comfortable 9:00/mi effort.

They're off!

The 50K would start two hours later, and I knew that if Alex and I both had good races we would finish within a few minutes of each other. Since the last 15 miles of both courses were the same, there was a good chance that we could see each other somewhere during the race. This would be my motivation for most of the day.

The first three miles meandered slowly but steadily uphill, gaining about 600 feet of elevation. The sky was still pitch black, and my headlamp illuminated the raindrops as they fell in front of me. I managed to run most of the climb while keeping my heart rate in check. At the top, the sun started to peak over the mountains, and I happily switched off my headlamp. The ensuing descent was rocky and muddy, and I was limited to an 11:00/mi pace. I knew that I was in for a long day if I couldn't run the downhills quickly.

Douche grade hill for a douche grade runner

I passed through the Anthony Wayne aid station at mile 4 without stopping, but I did catch a glimpse of Eileen, who was waiting for Harry to pass through. I waved to her and thanked all of the volunteers for standing out in the rain to help us out.

The next three miles were another steady climb, gaining 700 feet. Somewhere in this section, Joe Limone caught up to me. We had run together at Lenape 50K, where you may remember I went off course repeatedly and ended up passing the same people multiple times. We tend to run at about the same pace, so we hung together for a little while, chatting about upcoming races and the usual stuff. We reached the top of the climb and I pulled ahead a bit on the downhill that followed.

It's hard to smile for a picture without wiping out on this course

While tiptoeing through the boulders and mud, my stomach started to growl at me. And not because it was hungry. Three hundred vertical feet later, I was at the Silvermine aid station at mile 8.7 and very much in need of aid.

"What can I get you?" asked a volunteer.

"Well, I could use some water, and uh... is there a bathroom nearby?" I asked.

He poured some water into my bottles and motioned to a bathroom facility only a few hundred feet away. I thanked him profusely and hobbled over. My pit stop was lightning fast, and I only lost a few minutes despite taking some additional time to wash my hands.

The course once again resumed climbing, and after a few minutes I found myself directly behind Joe.

"Hey!" I said as I caught up.

"Ryan..." he paused, "Are you doing bonus miles again?"

"Only a few hundred feet to the bathroom and back," I explained.

He seemed relieved (although not as relieved as I felt), and we resumed hiking uphill together. We topped out on a rocky undulating ridge line. As we did, the air seemed to grow colder, and the rain fell a little harder. We were only at an elevation of 1,200 feet, but it felt much higher. Thankfully, my body is a furnace when I run, and I still felt warm despite the nasty weather.

There are at least several rocks on the course.

We descended from the ridge, and I once again pulled away from Joe and the rest of the group I was with. Again, my stomach began to complain as it sloshed around on the descent. Crap! (literally) The course popped out of the woods and turned onto Arden Valley Road. A quarter mile douche-grade climb on pavement brought us to the mile 14.2 aid station, where I once again saw Eileen as well as ultrarunning friends Elaine Acosta and Wayne Pacconi who were running the aid station. They offered a few words of encouragement which brought a smile to my face.

I didn't need any water, but I was once again in desperate need of a bathroom. I waited my turn next to the occupied porta potty for a few minutes before finally giving up. The person in there was clearly taking their time, and I had places to be. With a heavy heart and a heavier stomach, I descended the hill and ran back into the woods.

I spent the next two miles looking desperately for a bush or a large rock to hide behind, all the while tripping over the rocks and roots that littered the trail. The Bear Mountain course is not conducive to sight seeing, and I was not able to focus on the trail. Finally, I spotted a massive boulder a hundred feet to my right. Grabbing my stash of paper towels from my pack, I hid behind it and desecrated the wilderness in true ultrarunner fashion.

Finally feeling normal, I got back to work on the task at hand: relentless forward progress. The course climbed and descended multiple small ridges, the tops of which were strewn with large jagged rocks and the bottoms of which were filled with mud and ankle deep standing water. Progress was slow, but I resisted the urge to push harder and expend too much energy this early in the race.

At mile 19.8, I reached the Skannatati aid station on the scenic bank of Lake Skannatati. The volunteers were friendly and enthusiastic, and they quickly refilled my bottles and sent me on my way. The next section was some fun rocky single track with a few stream crossings. I was wearing waterproof socks and brazenly splashed through the water knowing that my feet were well protected.

The Middle Part

A couple more miles of pavement and dirt roads brought us to the Camp Lanowa aid station at mile 23.2 where my drop bag was waiting. It had only been about 40 minutes between aid stations and I didn't need my warmer clothing yet, so I passed through quickly, pausing only to say "hi" to Eileen again and to hand off my headlamp to Philip Pagdanganan, another ultrarunner friend who was working the aid station. From running the race in 2015, I knew that I only had to complete a six mile loop on fire roads before I would be back at the same aid station.

"See you guys in about an hour!" I shouted as I left.

"Yeah, probably not," said a grim looking runner who was changing his clothes.

I took off down the road at a decent clip, managing a few sub-10:00 miles on the fire roads. My average pace had been hovering around 12:00/mi for most of the day, and I knew I needed to run this section quickly if I was going to finish under 10 hours and have a chance to see Alex. These miles were fairly uneventful except for two things: (1) I began to feel cold for the first time all day and (2) I had to ford a knee deep puddle that spanned the entire trail, thereby filling my precious waterproof socks with cold murky goop. There was no need for concern, I assured myself, since I had a new pair of socks and a warm long sleeve shirt in my drop bag.

I pulled back into the aid station an hour and five minutes later (take that, other runner!), and made a bee line for my drop bag. My core temperature had been slowly dropping over the last few miles, and I knew I needed to warm up. I pulled out my long sleeve Grindstone shirt, which was an intentional bit of symbolism on my part. Unfortunately, my upper body was so wet that the fabric stuck unrelentingly to my skin. Anyone who has ever tried to put on tight fitting clothing immediately after a shower can relate. This shirt just would not cooperate, and my hands had long ago lost their dexterity due to the cold. After some spastic bodily contortions and a healthy dose of grunting and swearing, I finally got the shirt on. In the two minutes it had taken me, I began to shiver uncontrollably. I knew I needed to start moving again. Gotta get the engine revving, Ry. Dry socks will have to wait.

I quickly refilled my water bottles and headed back toward the trail.

Splat!

"Oof!"

Before I could figure out what was happening, I was splayed out on my back like a starfish and I was covered in mud. I had completely wiped out in the middle of the aid station in front of every spectator and volunteer. So much for my warm dry shirt.

"Ooooooh!" they all said in unison.

Philip came over and asked if I was okay. I sat up and assessed my limbs for a second before deciding that I was probably going to live. However, my ego was severely bruised.

I ran through all kinds of crap like this only to fall on flat ground at an aid station.

For the next mile or so, I told every passing runner about my fall. Most of them just smiled and nodded (or grimaced and nodded). Not a very talkative bunch. Finally one runner responded, and we struck up a conversation. His name was Steve, and he had traveled from Ottowa to run his first 50 miler.

"Well you picked a nice easy one," I teased him.

We ran the next few miles of technical trail together. Around mile 32, he proudly announced that he had set a new distance PR. I was excited for him, especially since he still seemed to be moving well and was in good spirits.

We exited the woods and trotted up a douche-grade paved section called Lake Welch Parkway. Those of you who are paying attention might have noticed that there's a lot of this so-called douche grade climbing on this course. This was probably the worst of those sections, as we climbed for more than a mile at an uncomfortable grade on Satan's tar (aka asphalt). The fact that we were on smooth terrain and were unable to run comfortably was demoralizing at this point in the race. In fact, it was here in 2015 that a fellow runner had announced to me that he was dropping out at the next aid station because he was going too slowly (I didn't bother to mention that that was a dickish thing to say to the other runners who were going the same pace).

We finally reached the top of the climb and Steve pulled off to the side to answer the call of nature. I didn't see him again, but he would go on to finish in 10:41, which is an excellent time for the conditions we were in.

The next few miles were a sullen but uneventful affair. I was mostly running alone at this point, and the trail resuming meandering up and down rocky ridge lines. My waterproof socks, which had dutifully sheltered me from the elements for 25+ miles, were now holding a few ounces of water each, making my footsteps just a little heavier than I would have liked. The cold weather was making it difficult to stomach my Tailwind nutrition, although my energy levels felt fine.

I passed through the next aid station (mile 35.2) without stopping, which drew a round of cheers from the volunteers. I thanked them for their support as I ran by. More miles ticked by. More douche grade climbing. I just kept my head down and plugged away. I occasionally passed another 50 mile runner, which gave me a little boost of energy. The 50 mile course rejoined the 50K course around here, and I expected to see Alex any minute.

I quickly refilled on fluids at the Owl Swamp aid station (mile 38.6), ran a few muddy miles, and then passed through the Anthony Wayne aid station (mile 41.3) for the second time, where I was hoping to see my mom and in-laws, who were crewing for Alex. When they didn't appear, I knew that Alex was either doing really well or really badly. From her training and recent races, I knew she had the fitness to do well, but I was concerned that she might have fallen or otherwise gotten hurt on this ridiculous course. I picked up my pace a bit for the next few miles, running almost every hill and passing a few more 50 mile runners.

I knew the crux of the course was Timp Pass, a steep rocky climb and descent that had demoralized me back in 2015. Around mile 45, the course climbed 200 feet sharply up a rocky embankment and topped out at a bald exposed summit. Was this Timp Pass? It didn't look the way I remembered. I checked the altimeter on my GPS. We were close to 1,000 feet. How high was Timp Pass supposed to be? The descent was a wet muddy disaster. I turned my feet sideways and surfed down the slippery slope. This section resulted in my slowest mile split of the day, and I could feel a 10 hour finish slipping away.

The Grand Finale

The course descended sharply a few hundred feet more. I was still moving well, but I was ready to be done. Every time I saw a runner ahead, I expected it to be Alex, but she never appeared. Two scenarios flashed through my head. One was finishing the race and finding her waiting at the finish line with a medal around her neck and a big smile on her face. The other was finishing and not seeing her or her crew, which would mean having to run back along the course to find her and pace her in. I hoped for the first scenario.

At the bottom of the descent, the trail crossed a stream on a small wooden bridge that had collapsed into the water. I gingerly stepped across, but had to stop when the runner in front of me decided to block the path and wash his feet in the water. I gave him the ole stink eye and took a step around him.

Splat!

"Fuck!"

I was down again. This time I landed on one knee. Pain shot through my leg, and then quickly subsided. Once again, I had averted disaster.

The trail turned steeply uphill and I put my head down and power hiked. From a few hundred feet above came a familiar voice...

"Ryan!"

...accompanied by a smiling face that I'd been looking forward to all day. It was Alex! She was a switchback ahead of me and moving well. A few minutes later, I had caught up and we were finally running together. Well, we were hiking together anyway. It turns out that this was the start of the infamous Timp Pass.

Alex asked if I wanted to run ahead. I did some mental math and figured that if I really pushed hard, I would probably finish in 10 hours and a few minutes. If we ran together, I'd be just a couple minutes slower. The difference between a 10:02 finish and a 10:10 finish seemed much less important than the chance to run with my wife during her first ultramarathon. It was settled: we were going to finish the race together.

The climb up Timp Pass wasn't as bad as I remembered it being, and we passed the time swapping stories from our day of running. Slowly but surely, we finished the 400 foot climb and began our final descent toward the finish line. The early portions of the descent were filled with loose rocks and running water, and we slowly picked our way through the mess, still passing other runners from time to time. We stopped briefly at the 1777 aid station (mile 48.2), where Juliet Ciaccia and Jason Friedman were volunteering. They cheered us on and assured us that we were almost done. After gulping down some warm chicken broth and a salted potato, we were on our way.

The last few miles were almost entirely downhill, although the trail was essentially a river at this point in the day. I encouraged Alex to run whenever possible, although we occasionally disagreed about the definition of a "runnable" trail.

Finally, we exited the woods and began the home stretch. I told Alex that we had to finish strong and put on a good show for the spectators. She obliged and took off at an 8:00/mi clip, huffing and puffing with each step. The finish line came into view and I grabbed her hand as we passed through the crowds of spectators lining the final tenth of a mile.

Last few steps!

We crossed the finish line hand in hand and stride for stride.

Woo!

After years of training, Alex was finally an ultramarathoner! Our times were 10:09:37 for the 50 mile and 8:07:37 for the 50K, good for 42nd and 59th in our respective divisions. Alex's final effort left her completely drained of energy, and we spent a few minutes wrapped up in a hug while we both caught our breath.

A wet and muddy hug

Post Race Thoughts

Like I said, ultramarathons take a long time to run.

Leading up to this race, I had been hoping to finish around 9 or 9.5 hours. Over the course of the day, it became increasingly clear that the conditions were not going to allow that to happen. Eventually, even a 10 hour finish slipped away. The stomach issues, nutritional woes, and lousy weather conspired to put me in a sullen mood for the latter half of the race. However, being able to run with my wife for the last 4 miles of her first ultramarathon more than made up for any shortcomings I felt about my performance. In the span of time that it took for me to recognize Alex ahead of me on the trail, any feelings of disappointment or frustration evaporated and were replaced by overwhelming happiness that I could run with Alex for a while.

I hope I can carry this feeling of gratefulness and positivity into my next race. But if not, well... I'll just keep running until my mood improves.

Thanks!

Speaking of being grateful... big thanks to our crew: mom, Julie, Dave, Kelly, and Kyle who all came out to stand in the rain and support us. I didn't get to see them on course, but they drove us to and from the venue and even handled my wet and muddy clothes after I got changed afterwards. And thanks to all of the volunteers who came out to run the aid stations and direct runners on the course. You guys are the backbone of the race, and your enthusiasm is contagious.

Full race results can be found here.

My GPS refused to upload my data to Strava, but you can check out data from a similarly paced runner here.

NJ Marathon 2017

Since 2013, the NJ Marathon has been my annual attempt to set a personal best at the marathon distance. The course is pancake flat, and it's early enough in the year that the weather is usually mild. Here's a quick recap of this year's race.

Coming into the finish

Training

I followed a bastardized version of Pfitzinger's 18/70 plan (18 weeks, 70mi/wk max). Bastardized in the sense that Pftiz doesn't tell his athletes to run trail ultras in preparation for a road marathon. Whatever, man. I ended up running 980 of the prescribed 1090 miles for an average of 54mi/wk. I missed a few days of training with a brief Achilles tendon issue, a few more due to sickness, and some just for rest and recovery.

The bread and butter of the Pfitz plan is the medium-long run. There are 2-3 of these scheduled each week, and they are 12-15 miles in length. The goal is to start them 20% slower than marathon pace and finish 10% slower than MP. With 3:10 (7:15/mi) as my somewhat arbitrary goal, these runs would start at 8:42/mi and finish at 7:58/mi. I was pretty successful in sticking to this formula. However, I missed a ton of scheduled speed work (i.e. track intervals, half marathon pace runs, race pace run, etc.) for various reasons, so I was not confident in my ability to run much faster than this med-long pace on race day.

Lesson for next time: More speed work! Marathons are fast. Improve that VO2 max and lactate threshold. And get comfortable running fast.

The Race

We got to the starting line 30 minutes before the scheduled start. Normally this would be plenty of time, but it became immediately apparent that there were not enough porta potties for the amount of runners in attendance. It took - and I am not exaggerating - 28 minutes to get through the bathroom line. After one of the more stressful bowel movements of my life, I made it to my starting corral just as the gun went off. Warm up be damned, here we go!

Lesson for next time: Arrive earlier. No need to stress out any more than necessary.

Miles 1-5: 7:07, 7:00, 7:13, 7:06, 7:04

Because of my late start, I ended up about 100 feet behind the 3:10 pace group, led by US 24-hour Team member Rich Riopel. It took a few minutes and far too much effort to weave through the mass of slow moving folks who probably shouldn't have been in that starting corral. Such is life in road running.

My first impression was that the pace team was taking us out a bit too fast. However, it would soon become clear that I just sucked at running the tangents of the course and was slowly adding extra distance on to my race. My GPS splits would rapidly begin to differ from the official course markings by a few tenths of a mile.

Lesson for next time: stay far enough behind the pace group that I can run the tangents. It's too crowded when you're right next to the pacers.

My breathing was under control, and I was feeling optimistic about achieving my goal time. The weather was almost ideal, with overcast skies and temperatures in the mid-50's all day. However, my legs were not used to the pace, and it required constant concentration to stay with the pack.

Miles 6-10: 7:09, 7:08, 7:08, 7:07, 7:09

Random thoughts while running:

There are a lot of freaking turns on this course. And I'm not running the tangents on any of them.

That guy in front of me looks a lot like Otto Lam. Holy crap, it's Otto Lam!

Me: "Hey Otto!"

Otto: [blank stare]

Marathon pace is hard! I should have practiced running fast.

We were hitting our official mile splits almost perfectly, despite what my GPS was telling me. I was still moving well, but I had a feeling that I wouldn't be able to hold this pace for the entire race. A lot of negative thoughts were already forming in my mind.

This is gonna hurt...

Miles 11-15: 7:01, 7:09, 7:12, 6:59, 7:11

Still on track for 3:10. For now...

I officially split 1:35:05 for the half marathon, which was a 2 minute improvement on my (very old, very soft) personal best from 2015. That was encouraging, but I was seriously doubting that I could run another 13.1 miles at that pace.

The pacers were concerned that we were a few seconds too slow at the half marathon point, and they picked up their pace in the next mile. Hence the 6:59 split. That one hurt a bit. I suspect that the timing mat was actually in the wrong spot because we were 20-30 second ahead of 3:10 pace by the mile 14 marker.

At some point in this section, I did something that I've never done in a race before. I told off another runner. Here's what went down: he had been stopping dead in his tracks in the middle of the road at every water station, which inevitably tripped up the runners behind him. That put him on my shit list, but that's not what set me off. Rather, it was the fact that he kept sidling up to me and slowly running me off the road. I was running on the right side of the road and he sidled up to my left shoulder, gradually pushing me into the sidewalk. I backed off the pace and let him in front. A mile later, it happened again. So I moved to the left side of the road, and he sidled up to me and gradually pushed me into the median. After the 3rd or 4th instance of this, I finally barked at him, "You have the entire road to work with! Give me some space." He mumbled an apology and it didn't happen again.

Basically, I'm Meb Keflezighi.

Miles 16-20: 7:17, 7:12, 7:25, 7:19, 7:45

The pace group slowly started to pull away from me around mile 18. I considered making a mad dash to re-join them, but didn't want to completely burn out with more than 8 miles left to run. More random thoughts:

Hey, someone is playing Bruno Mars! 'Cause uptown funk gon' give it to ya! 'Cause uptown funk gon' give it to ya! 'Cause uptown funk gon' give it to ya! Saturday night and we in the spot. Don't believe me just watch!

[awkwardly tries to dance while running]

Well that was a fun 30 seconds. I have so much energy now!

[30 seconds later]

And the adrenaline rush has officially worn off. Jesus, there really are a lot of turns on this course.

Mile 19 marked the turnaround, where we began to head north along the shoreline. The weather reports had predicted winds from the northeast all day, so I had been hoping to stay with the pacers and let them act as a wind break. Unfortunately, I entered this section solo and had the full force of the wind in my face. Hence the sudden drop in pace.

Miles 21-26: 7:44, 7:56, 7:59, 7:57, 7:41, 7:43

I had officially hit the wall. I was able to manage my collapse better than in previous races, and my pace only slipped by 30-40 seconds per mile (in the past, I have often lost more than a minute per mile in the last 10K of marathons).

The stretch of road from mile 20-25 is the quietest segment of the race. There were a few spectators at intersections, but otherwise I was alone with the sound of my breathing and my increasingly heavy footsteps on the pavement. I focused on my form: run tall, stay on your toes, push through the glutes and hamstrings (rather than the quads), high cadence, elbows back, shoulders relaxed... Going through this system check every so often helped mitigate the collapse.

This is not an efficient way to run.

Thankfully, I started to pass other pace groups on this out and back section. The pace leaders are mainly trail and ultrarunners from the NY/NJ area, so I happen to know quite a few of them. Paul DeNunzio shouted a few words of encouragement as he passed by. Elaine Acosta waved hello and snapped a picture of me (incidentally, she might be the only runner in the world that takes pictures of the spectators). Ken Tom, who had paced my mom and her friend to half marathon finishes earlier in the race, provided his own unique brand of motivation.

Me: "Hey it's Ken Tom!"

Ken: "Ryan Thorpe! You sexy sexy man, you!"

Me: [blushes]

All of this support helped to mitigate the meltdown that my body was having. I had known for a few miles that 3:10 was not going to happen, but 3:15 was still a distinct possibility. I would have to push hard to hit that goal though. I did a little math in my head. My last few miles would have to be under 8:00 each. Borrowing a line from Nick Hollon, I thought to myself "this ain’t no sob story, GO!!"

Around mile 25, the course turned onto Ocean Ave, and the crowds grew bigger and more lively. I saw a few ultimate frisbee friends, who had dragged a full couch onto the sidewalk and were drunkenly cheering for the runners.

Friend 1: "It's Thorpe!"

Friend 2: "Go Thorpe!"

Friend 1: "I'm gonna give you Kudos on Strava!" [he did]

The cheers were a huge mental boost. A half mile from the finish I saw Harry Uberti, a fellow ultrarunner and world class motivator.

Harry: "Is that the legend?"

Me: [Jersey fist pump]

Harry: "It is! It's the legend, Ryan Thorpe, ladies and gentlemen!"

Harry ran a few hundred feet with me and offered some much needed words of encouragement. He told me I was looking strong, and I resisted the urge to call him a goddamn liar. Then he said that he was having trouble keeping up with me, and that put a little more pep in my step.

I hit the mile 26 marker with just under two minutes left to hit my new 3:15 goal. I turned on the jets and ran the last two tenths at a 7:15 pace. I passed by my family and flashed a big smile as they cheered for me.

I kinda thought this pose would look cooler in pictures.

I finished in 3:14:51, a 2+ minute improvement on my previous PR, and 153rd of 2,045 runners. Not bad for a stocky mountain runner!

Strava data

Official results

Post Race Thoughts

It ended up being a day full of PR's for my friends and family. Alex took seven (!?) minutes off her half marathon PR, and somehow finished looking like this:

I'm still not convinced that this was taken in an actual race. It looks too good!

My mom finished the half marathon 43 seconds under her old PR, despite various training setbacks and nagging injuries. My friends and training partners Andrew and Scott both finished their first marathons, Andrew running a negative split and Scott powering through debilitating cramps over the last half of the race.

Although I was initially disappointed that to fall so short of my time goal, I'm happy to come away with new half marathon and full marathon PR's. And here's the good news: this sets me up for another PR at the NYC Marathon in November!

The Thorpe, Dresser, Finn crew with our fancy medals

Julie, Andrew, Me, Alex, Scott, Mom, and Beth after our post-race meal.
There are 5 PR's represented in this picture!

What worked:

My gear all performed admirably. I wore my Salomon shorts, a Tesla compression shirt, and synthetic Injinji socks, and had no issues with blisters or chafing. Due to Achilles concerns, I used an old pair of Brooks Glycerins, which have a larger heel drop than my usual Altras. The lack of Achilles pain afterwards suggests that this was a good idea. I also used a FlipBelt to carry my gels instead of cramming them all in my shorts or arm sleeves. This worked really well.

My nutrition worked pretty well, despite the fact that I hadn't practiced with it at all this year. I ate a Gu gel every 4 miles and was able to stomach it without any issues. I didn't carry any fluids, but still finished the race feeling well hydrated. I hit the wall at the end, but I think this was a result of pacing rather than a lack of calories.

What didn't work:

While my weekly mileage was higher than ever, my speed work was not sufficient to prepare me for race pace. I need to spend more time at marathon pace (or faster) during my training runs. Perhaps scheduling a tune up 10K or half marathon would have helped with this. But that will all have to wait a few months, because I'm now transitioning into full-on mountain mode for my summer races.

I enjoy running with pacers, but I need to stay far enough behind the pack that I can run the tangents. This probably didn't cost me much time, but it meant that I had to expend a little more energy at every turn to stay with the pace group. My pace and perceived effort in the early miles reflects this.

Worryingly, I started having negative thoughts very early in the race, as I began to rationalize why I wouldn't hit my goal time. Perhaps I was just being realistic, or perhaps this is what happens when I focus to intently on hitting exact mile splits. Either way, there were a few very depressing moments in this race, and I'd like to avoid that in future races. Maybe better race-prep would help with this.

Next Up

I'm going back to the mountains for the North Face Endurance Challenge: Bear Mountain 50 miler on 5/13. Then I get a month to recover before the daunting Manitou's Revenge 54 miler in the Catskills.