General
Overview of the Race:
I
arrived in Wellsboro and checked into the historic Wells-Penn Hotel. Huge old
building that smelled like age and generations. The room was nice and clean and
the staff was friendly. They realized that they were hosting a bunch of us
maniacs and marveled at what we were about to attempt.
I
stopped across the street and picked up my pre-race packet and loot, grabbed a
sub from subway and spent a quiet evening in my room. I packed and unpacked my
gear. Too heavy and cut ½ of it out. I figured comfort needed to win at that
distance.
Slept
fitfully as usual. Breakfast across the street at an old school diner:
pancakes and bacon and coffee. Perfect carb and calorie count (I hoped).
To
the race. Same starting point as the GMC 25K I did last October. Beautiful
place nestled in the Tioga state forest.
9am
start time.
Off
I went, prepared as I could be. I knew my main issue would be food. I have a
hard time in the long races keeping enough fuel on board. I figured a gel every
5 miles and something more substantial every 10 miles. So was the plan.
Gorgeous
trail pacing the Pine Creek. Crushed stone and pretty flat… downhill on the
first half of the race… 32 miles, then back.
15
miles in and felt pretty good. My legs were sore though… stiff and now I had
hit my normal long distance run. I haven’t done anything over 15 since the 50K
in April.
At
this point I was on around 10min miles. I had to keep checking myself though
when my pace increased as I knew I would pay for it later for sure.
Near
20 miles, the sun started kicking my ass a bit. The enormity started settling
in a bit. I tried to keep the scope small, thinking only about 5 miles
sections. My mind would drift off for long stretches, imagining the turn-around
and what it would look like and how it would feel. I tried to push those
thoughts away as best as I could.
Around
20 miles I hit a rest stop and chatted briefly with another runner, Gordon.
He’d completed a 50 miler before and we started running together.
After
we agreed that I wasn’t slowing him down and he wasn’t slowing me down, we
settled in on a pace together. We didn’t initially discuss it, but thought that
we should do 11-12 pace and we’d be ok.
As
we found out, the race was about 2 miles longer than expected. Approaching the
turnaround, we kept expecting to see the place but it seemed forever out of
reach. The last 8 miles to the turnaround were some of the longest ones I’ve
run.
We
stopped at all rest-stops. I choked down a gel, a cliff bar, some cookies,
whatever I could. It got more difficult each time and was a real effort.
Filling up the camelbak was time-consuming but I had no choice… I needed to
drink 1.5 liters each interval. That was hard too, but Gordon kept reminding
me. He had 2 bottles on his chest and emptied these each section.
I
took salt caps nearly every aid station and 1 ibuprofen every 2 sections.
I
peed once at about 10 miles in and only one other time at about mile 50. I knew
I was dehydrated, but the only thing I could do is keep drinking as much as I
could.
My
feet eventually got VERY sore. The stone took a toll for sure.
I
didn’t feel blisters but I was pretty sure I had one or two. All in all not
bad.
We
hit 40 miles and both of us felt a bit of a lift. We ended up running around 9
hours together. Crazy thing for strangers to do, but comfortable too. We talked
about our lives, running, family, not much religion or politics though. He was
an attorney from Baton Rouge. OId money I think. We got along great.
There’d
be long stretches of silence. Only the rhythmic sound of 4 foot-falls on the
stone and the creek to our left on the way back. We’d check in with each other
regularly. At points we’d power-walk and take a few seconds to stretch as the
miles took their toll.
It
became our survival system and way to get through the grind.
The
last 15 miles were, without a doubt, the toughest. At that point, my body was
pretty broken down and my feet were moving on their own, powered only by habit
and inertia.
Two
aid stations left in that stretch. One at 12 miles remaining and one at 4.
Night
had fallen and we donned our headlamps. The forest was impossibly still and
pitch black. Without light you could imagine how easy it would be to just give
up.
It
rained for an hour on us. Nothing heavy. Just a slow drizzle to make the feet
wet and uncomfortable.
At
the 12 miles to go mark I filled up my camelbak again, choked down a gel and
some fun sized twix bars, then got the feet moving again.
The
8 miles after that were the worse for sure. I imaged the aid station, saw
lights that didn’t exist. We hadn’t seen any other runners since the turn
around. We figured less than 10 people in front of us, which surprised both of
us.
Mentally,
this was the real gut check. The darkest place for sure. We checked in with
each other more often… took more stretch/power-walk breaks to try to stay
loose. Long-sleeve shirts went on too. The drizzle finally subsided.
In
the darkness the forest is so different. You end up weaving some, transfixed by
the pattern of your light on the path. A couple of times we bumped into each
other.
When
we saw the light of the final aid station, we both agreed it wasn’t a mirage.
We
heard the volunteers ring the bells announcing out arrival and it couldn’t have
been more welcome.
Only
4 miles left. A quick drink, and off we went for the last stretch.
They
were tough miles. I thought maybe the final bit would be easier, but they
weren’t. They hurt more than any of them.
Another
light in the distance and we were disappointed to realize it wasn’t the final
turn. Still another 2 miles.
Then,
gratefully, the left turn onto the road, out of the forest, up to the finish.
We crossed the line together, 12hrs, 58min, 30seconds. 8th and 9th
place overall I found out later… 3rd and 4th in our age
groups. Crazy.
They
had a wonderful tent set up with hot food and drinks, but I never can eat after
a race. I gulped down a liter of Gatorade, thanked the crew and my running
partner and headed back to the hotel as fast as I could before the pain and
soreness really hit. Too late though.
Only
injuries were 2 blisters, but some chafing, and some nasty pressure sores on my
back from my camelback. The latter were the most uncomfortable and I had a
terrible sleep before the 4hr drive home the next morning.
The
race itself hasn’t really sunk in yet. 64 miles. 13 hours of running. Almost
2.5 consecutive marathons.
I’m
satisfied with my performance though. It was tougher than I thought it would be
for sure, but I never doubted I’d finish.
The Physical:
1-
I packed up my race gear Friday night and tried
it on, fully loaded. My camelbak-pack and my waist pouch. WAY too heavy and
bouncy. I cut half of the gear, most of which was really non-essential security
blanket kind of stuff: rain poncho, extra socks, extra food, stuff like that.
GONE.
2-
I heavily lubed by feet with “Body Lube”: a
product highly recommended to me by other ultra-runners to reduce (notice I
didn’t say eliminate) blisters and chafing. My first mistake was here. Although
I put plenty on my feet and near my shoulders where the straps would be, I
neglected my inner thighs and private areas. Cough. Taint. (sorry)
3-
Shoes I used were my road shoes: Pureflo .
Probably only 100 miles on them and always my most comfortable pair. That was a
good call.
4-
Compression socks. No issues with those either.
5-
Under armor compression shorts. Also a minor
error there as I grabbed the slightly more worn ones. Ok. Not a minor error at
all.
The outcome: (damage)
Feet bruised from the pounding of 64 miles. Still hurts to
walk 6 days later. Only 2 blisters that I really didn’t notice until the 50
miles mark but never factored in. That was all upside.
Downside: The compression shorts were a little worn in the
crotch area, so not perfectly smooth like the rest of the shorts. Before
half-way they started chafing a couple of spots and were a constant source of
annoyance and repositioning the whole race practically. Left some lacerations
and nasty welts in very uncomfortable places.
Now the unexpected: the pack I wore was very comfortable for
the most part and has a foam cushioning between my pack and the gear. Over time
though… the constant movement started wearing and basically created 3 or 4 very
large pressure sores on my back that bled in the last 15 miles. Irritated by
the constantly wet and sweaty compression shirt, they were really uncomfortable
in that last 15 to 20 and stung the whole time. No danger of falling asleep
though! Ha! The compression shirt itself was perfect. No chafing on its own. A
couple of minor lacerations near each shoulder just from the pack movement.
Now, 3 days later: calves are great. Quads great. Never a
problem with either. My left (non-repaired) Achilles is sore from over
compensation I guess. Abs and back are back to normal. They just got a bit
sore. My feet are the only real lingering ailment. Bruised and sore. I find
walking on my tiptoes most comfortable. Not totally practical unless you want
to be institutionalized though.
Now I have some lessons anyway for next time. Gear-wise I’m
going to go half again… I didn’t need the stuff. The headlamp probably was the
only thing that would have been nice to have waiting at a drop zone. Carrying
all that stuff does wear you down, but I was happy to be in the state I was
considering I had no frame of reference for such a distance.
The
Mental:
Now
some days of reflection on this subject. How much of the race was mental? Maybe
75%.
Much
of my attention was focused on three things: food, water, and pace.
Pace
was at the forefront in the beginning as everything I read informed me that
whatever pace I started at was too fast. I held a 10 min mile pace as my target
and that held until mile 15 or 20. It slowed a bit as the sun pounded.
The
scenery was beautiful and I daydreamed a lot in that section. The trail ran
parallel to the Pine Creek the entire way. Sometimes it was utterly still,
other times rapids.
As
the race progressed I focused more on how far to aid stations and fuelling.
This became more and more crucial the further I went.
It
was a great mental relief to hit the turnaround that happened at 32 miles
instead of the 30.8 theoretical. Those last few to that point were really tough,
waiting for that air station to appear.
The
next 10-15 miles were an upswing simply because of the lift from knowing I was
on the way back, and making good time. Mile 45 was really the turning point
where the race shifted heavily into the mental aspect. A slow drizzle, a
continued incline until the end, and some large gaps between aid stations were
all part of this.
Looking
back I wonder: what did I think about? It’s hard to say. Sometimes a song stuck
in my head for an hour, sometimes my mind floated around on the surroundings.
It’s a blur. Often I counted steps, checked my pace, stopped for a quick
stretch, focused on water consumption. I drifted from one thing to another a
lot, never really staying anywhere too long.
Night
fell and I had my first experience running with a headlamp. The forest was
incredibly dark, and the lamp lit up only a small section ahead of me, downward
so I didn’t step on the many frogs that appeared at sunset.
Now
the long views ahead were gone, and it was a seemingly endless journey into
nowhere. Nothing was now a familiar touchstone. My mind clung mostly to the
estimates until next aid stations. Only a couple more hours. HOURS my mind
would say back. So crazy.
Then
more rain.
The
aid stations appear like an oasis. A distant light. My eyes played tricks on me
from time to time and my mind disappeared entirely for sections and I just
reminded myself to grind it out and keep moving: that slowing too much just
meant longer before an aid station.
The
last 12 miles were the toughest by far. I knew it was 8 until the second last
station then 4 to the finish. I was spent at this time and just kept drinking
as much as I could, knowing I had only peed twice and was dehydrated somewhat.
As
I approached the last aid station at the 4 mile out mark, I had a great mental
relief: Almost there. Hearing the volunteers ring the bell upon seeing my
approach because of the headlamp was so welcome.
And
then the last push out of the wilderness now dotted by a few far-off houses and
their warm lights.
Then
the finish and the cheers of the faithful race organizers as I crossed.
So
the mental: did I ever question if I would finish? No.
Did
I want to quit? Plenty of times, but I was relieved because I knew I wouldn’t.
One of the great motivators for pace in the second half of the race was the
realization of actually how long I’d be out there if I sacrificed a reasonable
pace for walking. I wanted to be done.
5
Days later at the race seems like a dream. It’s truly unreal. It’s hard to
explain what it feels like unless you’ve been there, when you measure small
rests by hours and the physical discomforts are just irrelevant in mental way.
I’m glad I did it. It was truly the first race that really tested my
capabilities. I look forward now to the next one at a longer distance. I think.
Maybe ask me in a few weeks about that.
I’ve
come a long way since being unable to run 5 minutes on the treadmill...
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