The Good, the Bad, and the Runny

Holy cow, it's been a while since I updated this blog! Since we last met, I've done a smart thing, a dumb thing, and some running things:

1. Smart thing: I finally finished my PhD! After almost seven years of grad school, I defended my thesis and officially became Dr. RyRuns.
2. Dumb thing, part 1: I challenged Alex to race me up a downward-moving escalator the day before the NJ Marathon and Half Marathon (her A race for the spring).
3. Dumb thing, part 2: On the last step of the escalator, I gave her a playful push from behind and sent her sprawling out on the razor sharp steps. Her big toe took the brunt of the impact. Hilarity did not ensue (she's okay though).
4. Running things: It's been a busy couple of months - NJ Marathon (5/1), Mayapple 100K (5/21), Tough Mudder Philly (5/22), RVRR "Train"ing Run (6/4), Goat Butt 10K (6/12), TGNY 100 (6/18), and Revolutionary Run 10K (7/4).

Done!!

Here's a quick report on the highlights...

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NJ Marathon (5/1)

After a fitful 3 hours of sleep in a smoky motel room, Alex, Julie, Dave, and I arrived at Raceway Park around 6:30am. The weather was a mild 50 degrees and overcast - perfect running weather for someone like me. After my vicious escalator attack the previous night, Alex was nervous about running with a sore toe. On the other hand, I was feeling weighed down by my guilt. So in a way, we were both victims.

Anyway...

My goal for the race was 3:20 (7:38/mi), which would be a 5 minute PR and a 15 minute improvement over last years NJ Marathon time. After a mad dash from the porta potty line, I settled in behind a 1:40 half marathon pacer just before the national anthem began. At 7:30, the elite wave left, and two minutes later I crossed the starting line.

Miles 1-6: 7:30, 7:21, 7:38, 7:33, 7:27, 7:33

The first few miles of a marathon are always... interesting. After a two week taper, my legs were feeling fresh and my breathing was easy. However, my last two speed workouts had been terrible, and I began the race with lingering doubts about my ability to run "fast" miles. After a few miles, these thoughts began to subside and I got into a decent rhythm, running just ahead of the 1:40 pacer.

Miles 7-13: 7:31, 7:30, 7:24, 7:29, 7:27, 7:29, 7:33

I was in a pretty good groove in this section despite the fact that we seemed to be running directly into the wind the entire way. Somewhere in here, it began to rain, and I was glad to have my arm sleeves keeping me somewhat warm. I crossed the half way point in about 1:39, a minute ahead of schedule.

Miles 14-20: 7:45, 7:30, 7:30, 7:25, 7:23, 7:15, 7:22

The half marathon group peeled off and finished their race, leaving me to run by myself. My first solo mile was a bit slow as I attempted to set my own pace. Still feeling good, I regained my rhythm and rattled off a series of sub-7:30 miles. The rain and wind both became more intense, but I loved every minute of the cool weather. Mile 19 marked the end of the out-and-back section of the race, and we turned northward for the final stretch. As I neared mile 20, I was conscious of the fact that the final 10K of the marathon was historically difficult for me. I was anxious to see how my legs would respond to the dreaded "wall."

Miles 21-26: 7:21, 7:29, 7:14, 7:23, 7:13, 7:09

Once I hit mile 20 feeling strong, I decided to push the pace a bit. Now running with the wind. I opened up my stride and hammered out my fastest miles of the race. A few miles from the finish I felt my right hamstring starting to tighten up, and I decided not to increase my speed any further. A brief, but amusing internal dialogue went through my head:

"My legs hurt. Maybe I should slow down."

"Oh yeah? Well at least no one tripped you on an escalator, dumbass!"

"Touche."

Despite all this, mile 26 was my fastest mile of the day, and the last few tenths of a mile were under  a 7:00/mi pace. I crossed the finish line in 3:17:09 (7:31/mi) and 163rd out of 1,953 finishers.

Still feeling strong at the end of the race!

Thoughts: If I ever had any doubts that I'm a cold weather runner, this race sealed the deal. The temperature at the finish was 47 degrees with driving rain, and I felt fantastic. This was also my second consecutive marathon running negative splits, so I feel like I'm finally figuring out the distance. Most importantly of all, Alex's toe didn't bother her during the race, and she finished with a huge PR. Disaster averted! Julie and Dave also ran strong races despite the nasty weather. A good day all around.

Strava and official results.

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Mayapple 100K (5/21)

This was my first run as a PhD, so I felt like I needed to prove that my degree wasn't weighing me down. As the only finisher of the race last year, I also felt the need to defend my humble title (and amusingly enough, the NJ 100K trail champion title that came with it).

The 100K division was a small but experienced field. Aside from myself, there was Shawangunk Ridge Trail 70M course record holder Jason Berry, ultra veteran Joe Limone, obstacle course racer Billy Richards (who was running while carrying a full sized American flag), and the ever cheerful Roger Jones. In the pre-race briefing, the race director singled me out as the previous year's only finisher. While I was proud of the accomplishment, I didn't like the idea of having a target on my back for the rest of the day.

Milling around before the start while displaying my typical race-day intensity

The course consisted of three figure-8 loops of about 21 miles each. We would run through the start/finish area at the beginning and middle of each loop, meaning that I only had to carry 10 miles (about two hours) worth of food and water.

Loop 1: We set off at 6am in cool but extremely humid weather. The 2015 edition of Mayapple had featured 90 degree heat, which sapped my energy over the course of the day. I was hoping for a solid performance in the relatively mild weather this year. My expectations changed quickly as I had to scurry into the bushes not once, not twice, but three times in the first 15 miles to answer the call of nature.

My day was very literally starting out shitty.

Nevertheless, I finished the first 21-mile loop in 4:17 for an average pace of 12:16/mi. This loop also included a three minute intermission while I and several other runners couldn't find the course markings, which were either removed by vandals or were never put up in the first place (we didn't ask).

Crewed by my wonderful wife (who ran the 10 miler and made it back just in time to help me), I made quick work of the aid station and headed out for my second loop. Thankfully, my digestive issues subsided, and I found myself running alone with no idea what place I was in. Perfect! This allowed me to zone out and just enjoy the run for a bit.

Starting loop two by myself

Loop 2: The next 20 miles were fairly uneventful, and I remained blissfully unaware of my standing among the 100K competitors for the entirety of the loop. Running mostly alone, I was able to relax and enjoy the semi-technical single track and rolling hills of South Mountain Reservation. The weather was pleasantly cool, hovering in the mid-60's all day, and the sky was overcast. I finished the second loop in 4:12 (12:00/mi) still feeling strong. Now 2/3rds into the race, I asked Alex if she knew what place I was in. She wasn't sure (due to some "creative" tracking by the race organizers), but she had a sneaking suspicion that I was in first.

Loop 3: I had another quick turnaround at the aid station and headed out, determined to maintain my lead. My legs were starting to feel tired, but this was the part of ultrarunning that I loved. See, I'm not fast by any standard. But I have an incredible ability to suffer (thanks grad school!).

One by one I grinded out the remaining miles, forcing myself to run all but the steepest climbs and pushing the pace on the flats and descents. With a few miles left, I pushed the pace even harder, determined to get the very best from my tired legs. I crossed the finish line in first place for a total time of 12:51:31 (12:15/mi) and a 4:22 final loop (12:29/mi).

Posing with my second USATF medal

Thoughts: This was the strongest I have ever felt at the end of a 100K+ race, and a good indicator that my training was going well. Funny enough, it was also my third win out of three 100K's. That's right folks, I am undefeated at the 100 kilometer distance. Ha!

I tested my post-race recovery by running the Philly Tough Mudder with Alex and her family the next day. I hobbled a bit at the start as my muscles and joints warmed up, but ended up feeling pretty good all day - a good sign for my 100 miler in 4 weeks.

Strava and official results.

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The Other Races

RVRR "Train"ing Run: After two weeks of recovery, I ran a 34 mile "Train"ing Run with the Raritan Valley Road Runners, which followed the length of the Delaware-Raritan Canal Path from Trenton to New Brunswick. The goal of this event was take a bunch of runners of varying abilities and have them all finish the run together. Starting times for 34-mile pace groups were staggered with slower groups starting earlier than faster groups. Each pace group then formed a "train" which would stop at designated points along the path and pick up more runners.

I felt bold and signed up for the 8:30/mi pace group, which ended up being myself and one other runner. Neither of us knew the course very well, so we got off course and were almost immediately 5 minutes behind our scheduled arrival times at the "stations." We tried to make up for it my running 8:15-8:20 miles, but the added effort made me hit the wall hard. My last five miles were all around 10:00, and I learned a valuable lesson about pacing. On the other hand, the food and beer at the finish line were fantastic. So, all around, not a bad day!

Strava

Goat Butt: With a week left before TGNY100, I decided to get one last trail run in. Goat Butt was a 10 miler through the forests of Mendham, NJ. To be honest, the main reason I signed up was for the awesome shirt, designed by local ultrarunner Elaine Acosta.

I mean, how can you not sign up for this?

I pushed the pace hard on the first climb up a paved road before permanently losing the lead to Paul Denunzio (who would go on to win the race) as we left the road and followed a powerline cut. The course climbed continuously for the first three miles, and I wound up running in fourth, just a few steps behind the third place runner. Unfortunately, we took a 15(!!) minute detour on the wrong trail after missing a switchback (are you sensing a theme here?). In an ultra, this would be a small mistake. But in a race this short, there was no time to recover. I finished in 1:48, twenty-six minutes off the lead and three minutes behind 3rd place. Oh well.

Strava

TGNY100: Race report coming soon!

Revolutionary Run: My annual pilgrimage to Washington Crossing State Park to celebrate the birth of my country by wearing outrageously short American flag shorts.

Sky's out, thighs out!

This would likely be my only chance to race a 10K this year, so I wanted to make it count. I went out aggressively with a 6:34 first mile, but faded a bit with splits of 6:45, 6:51, 6:53, 7:00, and 6:55. I finished in 42:44, just 46 seconds faster than my previous best. Coming only two weeks after my hundred miler and having done no speed work this year, I'm pleased with the result.

Breakneck Point Half Marathon

View of the Hudson River from Breakneck Ridge
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

Question: what do you do when you have a marathon scheduled four weeks after a tough 100 miler? Do you (a) take some time off to let your body heal or (b) try to maintain your weekly mileage to stay fit? The answer, if you are me, is (c) sign up for a crazy-ass half marathon on some of the steepest terrain in the region. YOLO!

This is the story of the Breakneck Point Half Marathon.

Background

In the Revolutionary War era, the Hudson Highlands were heavily mined for copper and iron ore, the latter of which was used to make cannons at the nearby West Point Foundry. Quarrying at the base of Breakneck Ridge exposed massive vertical rock faces, giving the mountain a ridiculously steep elevation profile.

An exposed rock face on Breakneck Ridge
Photo by Quincy Koetz at The Pursuit of Life

I've hiked the Breakneck Ridge Trail a few times over the years with Alex and our families. The scenery is amazing (see above), and the rock scramble up to the summit is reminiscent of our rock climbing days. The first half mile of the Breakneck Ridge Trail climbs over 950 feet, an average grade of 37%, through boulder fields and massive rock slabs. The NY-NJ Trail Conference website describes the trail thusly:

"Despite its relatively short length, this is generally considered to be the most strenuous hike in the East Hudson Highlands. It involves steep climbs over rock ledges that can be very slippery when wet. You'll need to use both your hands and your feet in many places along the way."

A climb like this requires a cautious, slow approach. It would be absolutely crazy to try to run up it. So of course when we heard about the Breakneck Point Races, Alex and I had to sign up.

The Course

Half Marathon course map

The Breakneck Point Half Marathon is a lollipop shaped course, consisting of three big climbs and descents. The total elevation gain is about 4,500 feet, or 340 feet per mile. This is comparable to some of the most extreme ultramarathons in the world, such as Hardrock 100 (330'/mi) and Ultra-Trail Mont Blanc (305'/mi). It also happens to be almost exactly the same as the Barkley Fall Classic (340'/mi), which Alex and I both ran last year. Not bad for an east coast race!

Elevation profile for the Breakneck Point Half Marathon

The first climb is a long meandering ascent that skirts the side of South Beacon Mountain, topping out at 1,300 feet before plunging back down to Route 9D at the bank of the Hudson River. From there, the course makes its ascent of Breakneck Ridge, by far the steepest climb of the day. After summiting, the course then descends the back side of the ridge on the rocky Breakneck Bypass Trail, which completes the looped part of the course. The last five miles are then the same as the first five, but in reverse.

Goals and Strategy

It's always hard to come up with a time goal for a course that I haven't run before, especially only two weeks after running the hardest race of my life. Nevertheless, it's nice to have a general idea of how long a race will take. Here's what I came up with, based on the race results from 2015:

• Finish faster than my full marathon PR (3:25ish)
• Don't die on Breakneck Ridge
• Seriously, don't die on Breakneck Ridge. To quote the race directors:

"We'll have EMT's and/or physicians [...] but there's not too much they can do if you take your eye of the climb or trail and fall hundreds of feet off a cliff."

Other than that, I just wanted to enjoy the course and see whether my legs still worked. I figured that if this race took as long as a full marathon, I should aim for about a 7:38/mile effort (my goal marathon pace) for as long as possible.

I opted not to carry any water on the course since I didn't want to restrict my movement on the Breakneck Ridge ascent. Instead, I stuffed a few Gu packets into the pockets of my shorts and decided to chug water at the three aid stations along the course. The weather was very mild, and this ended up being a good decision.

The Race

After a 90 minute drive, we got to the starting line at 6am, just as the sun was coming up. This gave us an hour to check in and mill around before the race start. I caught up with the ever-cheerful Charlotte Dequeker and the human mountain goat Jason Friedman who were running the full marathon. I also spotted Cheryl Wheeler, whom I had just raced against at the NJ Ultra Festival. As the race director gave his final (completely inaudible) set of instructions, I squeezed my way toward the front of the pack at the starting line. A few minutes after 7am, we were off!

The start of the race
Photo by The Ascent Collective

The first 200 yards of the course crossed an open field before funneling all 300 runners into a narrow section of single track. I attempted to sprint out to the front to avoid the ensuing bottleneck, and ended up in a comfortable position with about 50 people ahead of me. After a quarter mile of single track, the course turned onto a wide jeep road and then onto the rocky Notch Trail as we made our continuous first ascent. My GPS showed 10:48 and 9:51 for the first two miles, which climbed 700 feet in total. Strava tells me that this is equivalent to a 7:36 pace on flat terrain - perfect! However, I would find out afterwards that my heart rate was screaming at 170 bpm during this section. Apparently I'm still not good at climbing.

After 2.5 miles and 1,100 feet of continuous climbing, we topped out on a rocky ridge near South Beacon Mountain and began our steep, technical descent down to Route 9D. Usually the downhills are where I can really open up my stride and pass people, but the loose rocks that littered the trail slowed me down to a shuffle in most spots. I passed a few people here and there, but did not move up significantly in the field.

At mile 5, we hit the first aid station and I threw back a cup of Tailwind, a cup of Coke, and a cup of water in rapid succession. I also ate an espresso Gu for good measure. Time to see how my stomach handles some sloshing! Luckily I didn't have any issues with this fueling strategy. I made good time on the runnable decent down to Route 9D at the base of Breakneck Ridge, hitting 8:19 for my mile split.

This is where the course got crazy...

Eventual marathon winner Ben Nephew climbing Breakneck Ridge
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

The first pitch of the Breakneck Ridge Trail climbed up a steep boulder field to a false summit. A few sections actually resembled bouldering problems, requiring careful hand and foot placement to scale the rocks. At the top of this section was a flat landing with a flagpole where I remember stopping to have a snack during previous hikes. This section also provides one of the best vistas of the climb, offering a spectacular panorama of the Hudson River as well as Storm King Mountain on the opposite side of the river. I stopped for a moment to appreciate the view before resuming my climb.

Slab climb on the Breakneck Ridge Trail (not me)
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

The next pitch involved sections of slab climbing, which is my favorite type of rock climbing. This is where the soles of your shoes are put to the test. We scrambled up several 10-20 foot sections of 45 degree rock slabs on our hands and feet. A few of these scrambles brought us precariously close to the quarried cliffs, where we could see 500+ feet straight down to the riverbank. This climb brought us to another false summit, where a bagpipe player was just starting to play a jaunty tune. I would later find out from Alex that a local running club had brought a case of beer up to this area and was handing out Dixie cups of Yuengling to runners. As the saying goes, races are like mullets: business in the front and party in the back!

This felt a little like a funeral, which seemed appropriate.
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

Despite the views, anyone who is unfamiliar with Breakneck Ridge was bound to be disappointed at this stage of the climb. After more than 900 feet of climbing and many apparent summits since leaving the road, there was still 300 vertical feet separating us from the true summit. Luckily, I remembered that there were a ton of false summits, and I soldiered on as quickly as I could. Somewhere around this part, I hit mile 7. My GPS showed 28:21 for that mile alone! I'm somewhat comforted by the fact that even the marathon winner, elite mountain runner Ben Nephew, took 20:00 to cover the same stretch of trail.

A line of runners forming behind me. Slowpoke.
Photo by Katherine Hawkins

Near the apex of the climb, the half marathon and full marathon parted ways, and I found myself alone at the rocky summit. The hardest part of the race was now over, and I just had to descend down the mile 8 aid station (same as the mile 5 aid station) and then backtrack along the first five miles of the course.

The descent down the Breakneck Bypass Trail was scattered with bowling ball sized rocks, deep piles of oak leaves, and downed tree trunks. This was the most technical descent of the day, and this mile of trail took over 13 minutes to complete despite losing 700 feet in elevation. This section also included my only real wipe out of the day. I snagged my foot on a log and pitched forward in slow motion. I managed to contort my body in mid-air and landed softly on my side in a pile of leaves. Crisis averted!

Once back at the aid station, I again swigged a few cups of water, tailwind, and soda before beginning the long trek back to the start/finish. There's not much to write about the next few miles, except that they were slow and hot, and my feet started to ache from the accumulated punishment of the past few weeks. It took 46 heart-pounding minutes to climb the three miles to the final summit. I passed one other runner along the way, but otherwise saw no one the entire time.

Near mile 11, I passed a couple of race volunteers, who informed me that I had two miles of downhill running left. I was able to open up my stride a bit in this wide semi-technical double track, and hammered out 9:49 for mile 12, and 8:13 for mile 13 (my fastest of the day).

At the final turn, a little kid was standing with his mom at the side of the trail. His hand was outstretched, pointing toward the finish line.

"Is this the high-five station?" I asked him, reaching out to slap his hand.

"No," he replied firmly, pulling away and furrowing his brow. His mom cracked up. I smirked to myself.

Swallowing my feelings of rejection, I flew down the final few tenths of a mile, happy to still have some life left in my legs. I crossed the finish line in 2:54:29 in 21st place.

Post Race

The post race festivities were some of the best I've experienced at any race. The organizers had a great selection of sandwiches, salads, smoothies, and - best of all - kegs from a local brewery. The weather was gorgeous and I staked out a spot to eat and drink while I waited for Alex to finish.

Since I finished a little faster than my marathon time, I expected her to come through only a little faster than her marathon time. So when she called me only 4:09 into the race, I was concerned that she had dropped out. In fact, she had had a great race, and was calling me from only 20 feet away. I had completely missed her crossing the finish line! Oops.

We sat around for a little while and watched the half marathon runners trickle in. At 5:04 into the race, a cheer erupted from the crowd as marathon runner Ben Nephew came tearing out of the woods. Sprinting to the finish, he looked more like an 400 meter runner than a marathon finisher. He crossed the line in 5:05:08, breaking his own course record by seven minutes.

All in all, this was a fun little race. The volunteers were excellent, the course was spectacular, the weather was perfect (finally!), and the food and drinks at the end just sealed the deal. Despite dealing with some lingering pain from the NJ Ultra Festival, I feel like I ran a strong race. Meanwhile, Alex reaffirmed her belief that she's a much better trail runner than a "real runner" (in her own words), finishing in the top 20 women.

We will definitely be back next year.

Official results and Strava data.

NJ Ultra Festival 100

Running over the Bass Lake spillway midway through the race

5:00 AM, April 3 [20 hours into the race]

The wind roared through the trees, driving half-frozen raindrops into our faces. Trees creaked and groaned as branches dropped from high above.

"Is that... Is that a train?" Alex asked.

The howling wind was playing tricks on our ears. The ground, soaked with water from the ongoing storm, had long since turned to mud. A particularly strong gust pushed us almost completely off the trail, our feet unable to get any traction.

"What the fuck, Alex?" I yelled. "I mean... just... what the fuck!?"

8:00 AM, April 2 [1 hour before race start]

We set up an EZ-Up shelter next to the starting line of the race. This would be our race headquarters for the next 24+ hours. The course was a 5.75 mile figure-8 loop, consisting of the 3.35 mile "Woods Loop" and the 2.40 mile "Lake Loop." The 100 mile distance consisted of 17 Woods Loops and 18 Lake Loops, meaning that I would pass through the starting area 34 times before the race was over. Each full loop contained 1024 feet of cumulative elevation gain and an equal amount of loss, for a total of about 18,000 feet of climbing.

My morning crew consisted of Alex (crew chief), my mom, and my father in law Dave. We chatted for a bit, while I sorted through my gear and vaselined the soles of my feet in preparation for the 105 water crossings (yes, really!) along the course.

Settling in for a long day. Bass Lake is in the background.

From my seat, I spotted elite ultrarunner Sebastien Roulier, who was the favorite to win the race. I had first heard of Sebastien when he set the fastest known time for a double Presidential Traverse in March of last year (in winter and unsupported). He then went on to place 3rd in the prestigious Vermont 100 in July, finishing in a blindingly fast 15:42. Also in attendance were 18:41 100-miler Pablo Espinosa, 24-year old speedster Chancell "Tyler" Condie, elite masters runner Sheryl Wheeler, and Frozen Fools 50K race director Dan O'Keefe. Needless to say, I regretted listing "Win the damn thing" as one of my race goals when I saw the depth of the starting field.

9:00 AM, April 2 [race start]

Back when I was young and naive. Dan O'Keefe is behind me in the blue jacket.

After a course briefing by race director Rick McNulty and a kiss from my crew chief, we were off. Sebastien and Tyler immediately sprinted to the lead as we crossed the dam over the Bass Lake spillway. I hung back and chatted with Dan about our early season races while we got a feel for the course. The Woods Loop contained most of the elevation gain in the course, so we trotted along at an easy pace.

Elevation profile for the Woods Loop (heart rate shown in red)

The course gradually climbed up to a ridge before plummeting 200 feet back down hill. A mile into the loop came our first creek crossing of the day. I had planned to avoid getting my feet wet for as long as possible, but I immediately slipped on a mossy rock and dunked my left foot into the chilly water. Oh well, only 99 miles to go... Another climb and descent brought us to our second creek crossing, just past the 2 mile mark. Here, a scattering of large boulders allowed me to hop across unscathed. One for two - that's a hall of fame batting average! Yet another climb brought us to a flat fern-covered section of woods where I was able to open up my stride a bit before descending back down to a suspension bridge crossing of Blair Creek around mile 3. From here, the course followed the creek upstream to the beautiful Bass Lake spillway (see above).

Elevation profile for the Lake Loop (heart rate shown in red)

After a quick but steep climb to the top of the spillway, we were back at the start. I waved at my crew as I passed without stopped and began the Lake Loop. This section of the course was flat and minimally rocky, allowing me to run a "fast" 11:00 mile as I circumnavigated Bass Lake. At the far end of the lake, we came to the hardest water crossing on the course: a knee deep section of the Blair Creek spanned by a rope bridge.

The rope bridge. Imagine doing this at 5AM in a snow storm.

With my left foot still drying out from my first failed river crossing, I attempted to walk across the bridge. The flexibility of the hand ropes made the crossing feel like an abdominal workout, and I decided that I was done with rope bridges after this loop. After the water crossing, the course completed its loop around Bass Lake before heading down a steep hill and back to Blair Creek. After another climb up the Bass Lake spillway again, I had finished my first full loop in about 1:12 (12:30/mi average). As I came back to our camp, I informed Alex that my 22 hour goal was completely off the table since I would have had to maintain this same pace for the rest of the day in order to hit that goal. Not gonna happen.

1:30 PM, April 2 [4.5 hours into the race]

As the day went on, I began to get into a rhythm. Following my race strategy, I walked the uphills and made up time on the flats and downhills. I didn't know what place I was in, nor did I want to know. The first 50 miles were just about conserving energy.

Around the 20 mile mark, I heard footsteps rapidly approaching from behind. As is customary, I stepped off the trail to let the faster runner pass. I recognized the bright orange shirt as soon as I saw it.

"Sebastien, right?" I called out.

"Yes...And you are?" he questioned.

"Ryan," I shrugged. I didn't expect him to recognize a lowly midpacker like myself. Struggling to come up with something witty to say, I blurted out "Nice pace!"

Nailed it.

"Thanks!" I heard him say as he sped off.

Thus ended my brush with greatness. I had just been lapped by an elite runner. Rather than let this discourage me, I did some quick math and determined that he probably should have lapped me sooner, which meant I was running pretty quickly. If he was around mile 25 and I was at mile 20, then he was only going 20% faster than me. Usually a world class runner will beat me by 40-50% at any given distance. Small victory!

Climbing up to the aid station at the end of a loop.

6:15 PM, April 2 [9 hours into the race]

The weather ended up being very mild during the day, with temperatures in the low 50's and just an occasional sprinkling of rain. I maintained an even pace throughout the daylight hours, stopping only at 25 mile increments to change my wet socks. I still had no idea what place I was in, and I wanted to keep it that way.

As the race went on, various friends and family members stopped in to see how I was doing. Unbeknownst to me, Alex had invited them to come, so each new person was a huge surprise. My dad showed up early in the day and stayed for a loop. My mother-in-law Julie drove up from Philadelphia after running a 15K that morning and stayed for the remainder of the race. My sister-in-law Kelly rode with her and helped crew me until late that night. College friends Derek and Kate, who had both paced me at TGNY100 last year, surprised me later in the day. My brother Eric and future sister-in-law Sara came by for a few hours. Each friendly face gave me a new burst of energy. This was one of the coolest things Alex has done as my crew chief, and I owe her a lot of credit for her effort.

My awesome crew! Mom and Kate in front. Eric, Dave, Sara, Kelly, Julie, Derek, and Alex in the back.

Near the beginning of another Woods Loop around mile 40, I again heard footsteps behind me. Expecting to be passed by Sebastien (or one of the other fast runners) I stepped off to the side again.

"No, I want to run with you," the runner said, as they slowed down to keep me in front.

It was Tyler Condie, who had shot out to an early 2nd place position, but had faded badly as the relentless hills took their toll on him. He informed me that he had stayed in second place (male division) until I passed him at the previous aid station, thus putting us in a virtual tie for second. We picked our way through the course for the next few miles, talking about previous races we had done. This was Tyler's first 100 miler and my first trail 100, so we had a bit in common.

We ran most of the Woods Loop together until we caught up to Sheryl, who informed us that she was the first woman and second place overall. The three of us were now effectively tied for second. Tyler mentioned something about racing, but Sheryl and I both agreed that it was too early to make a move. Having just said that, I ended up passing both of them on the next downhill to take sole possession of second place (I meant what I said about not racing yet. I just like going fast on downhills.).

Cruising on a flat section before the last hill of the loop

As I pulled into the aid station at the end of another loop, I whispered to Alex "Am I in second place?" She offered to ask the race director, but I decided that I still didn't want to know for sure. There was a lot of race left to run. Still, I couldn't shake the thought of being in second place. Second place meant that I only had one person in front of me. And ultramarathons are unpredictable. A nutrition mistake, a headlamp malfunction, any small break in my favor could put me in first. But Sebastien is a seasoned ultrarunner, I reminded myself. Don't bet on him faltering.

9:00 PM, April 2 [12 hours into the race]

I passed the half way point somewhere around 11 hours, which would have placed fourth in the 50 mile race if I had stopped there. In retrospect this was probably a bit quick on this hilly course, but I felt strong and wanted to rack up some miles before the sun set.

As the sky grew darker, I put on my headlamp and prepared myself mentally for a long night of running. I had done an 11 mile night training run with Alex a few weeks prior and decided that I liked running trails in the dark.

At night, your entire world is confined to the beam of your headlamp. How long is the next climb? Which runners are in front of me? How far until the next aid station? All of these questions become irrelevant. The only thing that matters is the next step you take. In a way, this is a microcosm for the way I approach ultrarunning in general. Sure, you can plan ahead and come up with a race strategy, but the only thing that really matters in the end is taking the next step.

Although sometimes your headlamp just becomes a spotlight for your nasty waterlogged feet.

Now that I've gone all poetic on you, this is a good time to mention that I got completely lost on my first night time Woods Loop. I missed a switchback just after the first water crossing and found myself off the trail with no blazes in sight. As I thrashed around looking for the trail, I saw a headlight coming downhill from across the river.

"Don't follow me!" I shouted as the runner crossed the river. "I'm lost."

"Okay," replied a familiar voice, as the runner veered off onto the correct path.

It was Sebastien, who had lapped me for the second time. Or so I thought. I followed him back onto the trail and tried to keep pace for a bit.

"You're doing great!" I said, in awe of his ability.

"Thanks, but I'm dropping down to the 100K," he replied with a hint of disappointment.

My heart raced. Did this mean I was in first place? Sebastien explained that he had an 8-hour drive back to Quebec in the morning and needed to get some sleep. He hadn't anticipated the race taking this long, so he was dropping down in distance. I must have passed him at back at some point because I was still only a loop behind him. I was genuinely disappointed for him, but I knew that this was the exact opportunity I needed.

We ran together for most of the Woods Loop. He complimented me on still running strong at this stage in the race, although I kept losing him on the climbs. Near the end of the loop, he slowed to talk to a friend of his on the course while I went on ahead. Suddenly, I was by myself in first place with 45 miles left to run.

Have I ever mentioned that I hate running out in front? Because I do. It's like being hunted.

I don't like being hunted.

I debated whether to tell my crew what I had just learned. I assumed that they already knew I was in first, but I kept it to myself - almost as if saying it out loud would make it more true.

12:00 AM, April 3 [15 hours into the race]

This is where shit went downhill.

There are no words to describe how severe the weather became, nor how quickly it turned from pleasant to nightmare hellscape. It was as if someone flipped a switch from "Good Weather" to "Bad Weather."

At the stroke of midnight, the temperature dropped to 30 degrees. The wind picked up to a brisk 40 mph with gusts of up to 60 mph, putting the wind chill in the teens or single digits. The light sprinkling of rain from earlier changed to a violent driving downpour. The kind of rain that stings when it hits your skin.

I quickly changed shirts and put on my rain shell. Each raindrop now made a loud *pop* as it hit the thin material. The footing on the flat dirt trail of the Lake Loop became unstable, prompting me to ask for my trekking poles (which I have never used before on a run). The downhill sections, which had been my strengths for the first 15 hours, turned into slip 'n slides. Instead of gaining time on these sections, I was forced to tip-toe gingerly while poking and prodding the ground with my trekking poles to find stable spots. I ended up on my butt more than once during these descents.

The worst effect of the weather, though, was that I was unable to eat or drink while running because my hands were occupied by my trekking poles. I tried my best to gulp down my Tailwind bottles and an occasional cup of hot chicken broth (sweet nectar of life!) at aid stations, but my stomach did not appreciate the sudden influx of liquids. Slowly but surely, my body became depleted of its precious glycogen stores. With each lap, my legs became more tired and my breathing more labored. My mile splits dropped from 13:00/mi to 15:00, then 17:00, then over 20:00. I heard from my crew that Sheryl and Tyler were working together to try to catch me. I had just a 3 mile lead on them with 40 miles left to go.

This picture perfectly sums up my mood during this part of the race

3:00 AM, April 3 [18 hours into the race]

I'm usually pretty good at staying positive during races. I understand that any race is going to hurt. The only thing we can control is how we deal with the pain. I repeated my usual mantras...

Embrace the suck.

This is what you came here for.

If you're going through hell, keep going.

I'm just gonna shake shake shake shake shake. Shake it off! Shake it off!

But even the immortal words of T-Swift were unable to bring me out of this low point. I was in a funk, and there was only one person who could bring me out of it.

"Alex," I inquired, while shivering at an aid station, "How many miles do you think you could pace me for?"

Alex had originally agreed to come out to pace me for the last 15 miles of the course. At this point, there were 25 miles left to run, and they would all be in apocalyptic weather. I told her to think about it and let me know while I ran another half-loop. She worried aloud that she wouldn't be able to keep up with me for that long.

"For Chrissakes, he's hiking the course!" advised race director Rick McNulty.

By the time I came back to the aid station, Alex was dressed and ready to go. She would have to pace me for 22 miles.

Heading out with my pacer!
(Incidentally, I tripped over those orange cones Every. Single. Time I left the aid station.)

5:00 AM, April 3 [20 hours into the race]

The storm raged on, and we made slow, steady progress on the course. One by one, I heard that the other runners were dropping out or succumbing to the time cut offs. Sebastien had long since finished the 100K in an impressive 12:26 (the unofficial first place finisher). Dan O'Keefe would last 16:33 before dropping out due to injury concerns. Despite my slow pace, Sheryl and Tyler were unable to make up ground on me. They would finish the 100K in 14:42 and 14:44 respectively.

It was looking like I was not going to be caught. The only question was now whether I could finish.

Alex did her best to stay positive in the storm.

"He's going the distance! He's going for speeeed!" She yelled out the Cake song she had memorized.

"Uhhh," I responded, attempting to form a coherent thought.

"Creeeeeeak," added the tree trunks around us as they swayed violently in the wind.

Our pace hovered in the 25:00-30:00/mi range. Each mile took an eternity, but we just kept taking one more step. On every climb, I would stop and hunch over to catch my breath, and Alex would dutifully rub my back and offer encouragement. The rain turned to snow, and the muddy ground began to freeze, making the footing a little more stable.

My comments to Alex, few and far between, mostly consisted of "I just can't believe this weather!" Or during particularly strong wind gusts, I phrased this thought in simpler terms: "What the fuck?!"

7:00 AM, April 3 [22 hours into the race]

Sunrise! Sweet merciful daylight! And with it came a reprieve from the rain.

Finally able to see the ground, we picked up the pace and ran a few laps.

Ha! Just kidding. I had absolutely no energy left after many hours of neglecting my nutrition. We trudged along at hiking pace while the wind threatened to sweep us completely off the trail. At this point, I was the only 100 mile runner left on the course. I would win even if it took me the full 30 hours to finish.

At least it was prettier in the daylight. Check out the whitecaps on the lake, by the way.

One by one we ticked off the remaining laps in the race while Alex sang and told me stories to distract me from the cold. I didn't realize it, but she was getting dangerously cold whenever my pace slowed. Ever the dutiful pacer, she didn't complain to me once.

With a few laps to go, my whole crew joined me on the trail for a short section. Their cheers and idle chatter was a huge morale boost, although I was unable to convey any happiness with my words or facial expressions.

Dave, Mom, Julie, Alex, and me on one of the final loops

My mom ended up running a full Lake Loop with me and Alex, despite a torn meniscus in one knee. And she wonders how I have the toughness to run events like these!

11:00 AM, April 3 [26 hours into the race]

With one Lake Loop left to go, I finally started to believe that I could finish this race. The only hard parts left were a water crossing and one last climb up the Bass Lake spillway to the finish line. The final (34th) knee-deep water crossing was freezing as usual, but I treated it like a mid-race ice bath. I would find out after the race was over that there was a much shallower section only a few feet from where I had crossed.

I am not a smart man.

Finally, after more than 26 hours of running, I found myself on the final climb of the race. The Bass Lake spillway was bathed in sunshine next to the steep trail. Alex cheered me on with every step. Near the top of the climb, my mom and Dave came into sight.

"I-P-A. I-P-A. We have scotch and I-P-A," chanted Dave.

I decided that I wasn't going to let the course get the last laugh. With a final burst of energy, I "sprinted" down the final hill and across the finish line with as much speed as I could muster (which wasn't much) to the cheers of my crew and Rick.

Finally done!

I threw my poles down and wrapped Alex up in a hug.

Happy Ryan

I had done it.

After 26 hours and 31 minutes of running, and with the combined efforts of my family and friends, I won the NJ Ultra Festival 100!

Getting my medal and finisher jacket from Rick

Race Statistics

• Distance: 100.25 miles
• Time: 26:31:29
• Pace: 15:53/mi
• Total elevation gain: 17,700 feet
• Average heart rate: 132 bpm
• Calories burned: 13,128
• Calories consumed: ~5,000
• Water crossings: 105
• Race starters: 15
• Race finishers: 1

Thanks!

I am incredibly fortunate to have a family and friends who are supportive of my insane hobby. In particular, Alex ended up spending 8 hours on the course with me, almost double the amount of time that she originally planned for. She was relentlessly upbeat the entire time despite the freezing cold weather and my ridiculously slow pace. I love you, Alex!

Mom, Julie, Dave, and Kelly did a great job of crewing for me. They constantly filled my water bottles, brought me food, and cheered loudly every time I came through. In fact, late in the race other spectators were cheering for me by name because they had heard my crew cheering for me all day. They were the best crew I could have asked for.

Dad, Eric, Sara, Derek, and Kate all took time out of their busy schedules to come stand in the cold and rain and cheer for me in 30 second intervals. I appreciate you guys more than I am able to express.

Photo credits: Alex Thorpe, Kelly Dresser, Valerie Thorpe, and Julie Dresser

Post-Race Thoughts

This race was originally intended to be an "easy" trail 100 to prepare me for Grindstone 100 in October. It ended up being much much more difficult than I originally imagined, but I toughed it out to become the only finisher.

Despite my win, I want to keep things in perspective - I am a medium sized fish in a small pond. I won this little race through a combination of training, toughness, and support, but also a fair amount of luck. There are still many things that I would like to improve upon before I tackle Grindstone.

What went right:

• My training volume appears to be sufficient, although I will probably try to hit 100 miles per week a few times during the summer. Had I avoided the nutrition issues, I think I could have had a very strong finish. I had very little muscle soreness in the days following the race, suggesting that I did not overtax my quads, hamstrings, and calves.
• My achilles tendons did not bother me at all during/after the race. I hope this means that these issues are over, but I will continue to monitor them over the next training cycle.
• My mental fortitude never wavered. Despite suffering more than in any other race, I never considered dropping from the race. However, I did start to wonder how many days it would take to finish.
• My stomach felt strong almost all day. I had no nausea or digestive issues (though I did have to slow down for a bit after eating a grilled cheese sandwich). The cold weather helped with this, but overall I feel like I have my food selection dialed in.
• My feet held up amazingly well despite being soaked all day. I finished the race without a single blister, despite not training with vaseline on my soles. My Injinji socks have once again proved their effectiveness.
• My crew and pacer were superb and kept me fed and motivated all day. Alex once again proved that she is the best crew chief in the country, pushing me to another victory with her endless positivity.

What went wrong:

• My nutrition was completely off for the last 35 miles, forcing me to walk much of the last third of the race. I mostly attribute this to the trekking poles, which prevented me from eating/drinking on the run. But without the poles, I would not have been able to negotiate the muddy hills of the course at night. I will have to work on a solution for future races.
• My hill training was probably insufficient. This was a major concern going into the race, since my achilles issues flared up whenever I ran on hills. As it turned out, my heart rate spiked during every climb (see elevation charts), which probably contributed to me burning off my glycogen supply faster than I should have. I need to do much more elevation training before Grindstone, which has 23,000 feet of total climbing.
• I suspect that my pacing also contributed to my late race fatigue. It took 11 hours to run the first 50 miles, and 15.5 hours to run the last 50. Part of this can be blamed on the weather, but not all of it. I just don't think I have my "all day" pace figured out yet, though hopefully running TGNY 100 in June will give me better perspective on this issue.
• My shoes completely fell apart very early in the race, and I had no replacements. I also had very sore joints in my feet afterwards, suggesting that I need a more padded shoe for 100 mile races. Immediately after the race, I ordered a pair of max-cushioning Altra Olympuses, which I will hopefully be able to use for Grindstone.

Gear

• Shoes: Altra Lone Peak 2.5's (now retired)
• Socks: Injinji socks (2x synthetic, 2x wool)
• Pack: Ultimate Direction SJ 2.0
• Poles: REI trekking poles
• Food: Tailwind Nutrition (250 cal/hour)
• Watch: Suunto Ambit2 S

Race results can be found here. GPS data can be found here and here.

NJ Ultra Festival 100: Pre-Race Thoughts

I'm in taper mode at the moment, which means that the time I would usually spend running is being spent freaking out about my upcoming race. In about a week, I will attempt to run 100 miles on a trail for the first time in my life. Yeesh! To ease my nerves, I thought it would be useful to write out my training and lay out some concrete goals for the race. Here goes...

Training

Despite some nagging Achilles tendinitis issues early in year, I ran my highest monthly mileage ever (255 miles) in February, and I'm on pace to match or surpass that mark again this month. Here's what my weekly mileage looked like for those months:

Week	Distance (mi)	Comments
2/1 - 2/7	73	First full week of running after 2 wks off
2/8 - 2/14	71	Still feeling good!
2/15 - 2/21	67	Febapple 50M (9:17, 3rd place)
2/22 - 2/28	44	Recovery week
2/29 - 3/6	70	Lenape 50K (5:49, 3rd place)
3/7 - 3/13	79	10K trail race + 35mi TGNY training run
3/14 - 3/20	62	First week of taper
3/21 - 3/27	31	Easy running from here till race day

Most of my training mileage came in the form of "medium-long" runs, as prescribed by Uncle Pete's marathon training plan. These runs were typically between 9 and 15 miles, with the first half of each run at about 9:00/mi and the second half at 8:20/mi.

I'm pretty happy with the mileage that I managed to put in over the past 8 weeks. My only concern is the lack of hill training that I was able to do. As my last hard workout on 3/19, I ran an 18 mile loop around Round Valley reservoir, which included 3,800 feet of climbing. It took my quads 4 days to completely recover, which is not a great sign considering the Ultra Festival course has 5x more elevation gain than that over its 100 miles. Oh well...

The Course

The NJ Ultra Festival has traditionally been held on flat trails, leading to blazing fast finish times over the past few years (2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015). This year, the race organizers decided to mix it up and move the course to the Princeton-Blairstown Center in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. The new course now features over 16,000 feet of elevation gain and an equal amount of descent over sixteen 6-mile loops. [Note: the course was originally supposed to be a 10 mile loop, but one of the land owners backed out at the last minute]

Elevation profile for each 6 mile loop

For comparison, the tallest mountain in the lower 48 states (Mount Whitney) is 14,505 feet tall. For further comparison, the climb from Everest base camp to the top of the mountain is a paltry 11,500 feet (although, as I understand it, it's slightly chillier there than in New Jersey). The good news is that all this climbing will be excellent preparation for my A+ race in October - Grindstone 100 - which has over 23,000 feet of elevation gain.

Since the course is located entirely on private land, I have not been able to run any of it. However, the race organizers hinted that the trails there are comparable to the ones at Febapple, minus the FUS sections. This means that it should be fairly runnable terrain for me. On the other hand, this thing is apparently part of the course as well.

This should be fun at mile 98!

So it appears that this course will be a throwback to my obstacle race origins. As fun as that rope bridge looks, it might be a bit much for me after 20+ hours of running.

Race Strategy

As with all ultras, my main goal is just to finish the race. However, after weeks of preparation and some successful early season races, I want to make sure I get my money's worth. Here are my somewhat conflicting ideas on how I'll approach the event:

1. Run patiently, but assertively: I don't want to burn out in the first half of the race and be forced to walk for the last 15 hours. But I also don't want to finish with the feeling that I didn't give 100%. This is a delicate balance in any race, but particularly so in 100 milers. Luckily, my finish at Febapple, where I maintained an 11:00/mi average pace, gives me a good indicator of my current fitness level.
2. Let the terrain dictate my pace: One of my favorite features of Strava is the "Grade Adjusted Pace" (GAP) that is calculated for each segment of a run. GAP accounts for the fact that running uphill is harder than running downhill, so your uphill pace should naturally be slower than your downhill pace. In the case of this race, I want to run at about a 10:30/mi effort level for as long as possible, which might mean a 16:00/mi pace on uphills and 9:00/mi on downhills. Some of you might recognize 16:00/mi as a brisk walking pace - that's exactly what I plan to do! Walk the ups, bomb the downs, and maintain a steady pace in between.
3. Even(ish) splits: In marathon running, the mark of a good race is running an even split, meaning the first 13.1 takes exactly as long as the second 13.1. In ultramarathon running, even splits are almost impossible because muscular fatigue eventually slows everyone down, regardless of how cautiously they ran in the first half. The most successful ultrarunners will typically slow down by 5-10% in the second half of a 100 miler. Mid-pack runners like me should usually aim for 10-20%.

Goals

In order of least difficult to most difficult

1. Finish under the 30-hour cutoff: I have the fitness to finish the race, but ultras are unpredictable. A lot can happen in 100 miles, so this has to be my bottom line. Barring injury or a lightning strike, this should be doable.
2. Sub-24 hours: This is the holy grail of ultramarathons: 100 miles in a day. Gordy Ainsleigh was the first person to do it back in 1974, and thousands more have done it since. That doesn't mean it's easy.
3. Sub-22 hours: This would be close to my TGNY100 time from last year, but on a much harder course. This is a stretch, but it's within the realm of possibility based on my recent races. If this happens, it means every part of the race has gone perfectly for me.
4. Win the damn thing: I'm not going to chase the front-runners if they set a quick pace at the beginning of the race. But you better believe I'll push hard if I'm within spitting distance of them around mile 80.

And lastly, here's my ideal pacing strategy for the race, based on the original 10mi loop course. My times will probably be slower on the new course, which has more elevation gain and river crossings. [My original #3 goal was sub-20, but that is much less likely in the new course]

Distance (mi)	Pace (min/mi)	Lap Time	Total Time
10	11:30	1:55	1:55
20	11:30	1:55	3:50
30	11:30	1:55	5:45
40	11:30	1:55	7:40
50	12:00	2:00	9:40
60	12:00	2:00	11:40
70	12:00	2:00	13:40
80	12:00	2:00	15:40
90	13:00	2:10	17:50
100	13:00	2:10	20:00