2015 Georgia Death Race

What might better be called the "Un-Georgia Death Race" took place on March 14th. The "Un" designation coming from the fact that the USFS had some weather-related concerns that forced a last minute reversal of the course. While it may never be totally clear why reversing the course alleviated these concerns, it certainly sent Race Director Sean "Run Bum" Blanton into a last minute frenzy to re-allocate resources, reschedule shuttles, and reflag some sections of the course. For everyone participating, it would mean the toughest part of the course would now come toward the end. For me, the now 8:00 a.m.
start (versus 5:00 last year) meant that my last miles would be in the dark this year. Ironically, since the course was reversed, it meant that the same area I ran first in the dark in 2014, I'd be running last in the dark in 2015. The course still promised about 18,000' of climb over its 67 miles.

The only real problem this caused me was that I was staying at the Amicalola Falls Lodge at the (original) finish and taking a shuttle to the start. So, I'd finish very close to the lodge. Now, the race started at Amicalola and I'd need to have friends (Leslie stayed home with a sick dog) drive a bit over an hour to get me and then bring me back to the Lodge. Well, what's an ultra without a few obstacles... I'll note that, like last year, we were required to carry a waterproof jacket, thermal top, whistle, space blanket, headlamp w/extra batteries, warm cap, and capacity for 22 oz. of water. In addition to this, I had my Nathan pack stuffed with gels, PowerBars (the new PB&J flavor,) S-caps, a 10-oz "belt-style" bottle, and my phone.



Last minute, pre-race briefing from Sean.



It was a cool, misty/drizzly morning as we gathered in a picnic shelter at Amicalola Falls State Park. I ran into Carin Smith, who has done very well at TRU several times. She asked about the cutoffs, but I had lost my sheet I planned to carry. I told her I really did not think she should worry, especially with the cutoff for the race at 24 hours. Sean went over some last minute things and sent us to the start line. As I headed toward the pack, I saw Jason Bryant and said hello, knowing it would be the last time I saw him during the race. This year's event is part of a U.S. Skyrunner's Series and it attracted a lot of fast runners, at least according to the Ultrasignup percentages. There was also a cash prize for the top three finishers. Last year, I pushed the first 1/4 mile to get to the woods (and single track) to avoid being caught in the mob where it's hard to find the right pace. This year, I knew better than to try to hang with the speedsters, so I would keep it casual from the start.

Amicalola Falls from part-way up the stairs.

The course was not a true reversal as there were a few other minor changes. The most notable, and one I hope he retains when the regular course is restored, is that after a very short stretch of pavement in the Park, we headed up the metal steps that would their way beside and to the top of the Falls. With the 8:00 a.m. start, they were in full light and were extremely impressive, falling 729' to the campground below. From the top, we looped around and went back down a service road to the start and then headed up the paved road toward the Lodge. This road has a grade of about 25% and was definitely a walker for me (and about everyone I saw.) At the top, I decided it was time to shed my rain jacket and weaved it into the bungie cords on the back of my pack. After that, it was on to the dirt road that I remembered from last year's race. I remembered it because it was a long, steady descent at the end of the race and it allowed me to run despite feeling pretty bad. Now, it would 



A blurry image of a Rhododendron Tunnel



be a long, steady climb to the first aid station. It wasn't completely familiar as there were rhododendron tunnels (pictured) I didn't remember. I'm going to assume this was the same road, though, and that it's just a foggy memory of 2014 that leads to any uncertainty. The first aid station came a bit quicker than I expected for being at nine miles. I downed a gel and topped off my bottle and headed down a long descent toward the next aid station, at mile 17.

A mile or so down this fast stretch, I started thinking about everything I was carrying. The Nathan pack felt good and there wasn't a lot of bouncing around. The water bottle in one front pouch was somewhat offset by my phone in the other. I reached up to touch my phone to be sure it was still secure in the water bottle pouch and realized it was gone... A lot of thoughts went through my mind, but two things ultimately came to the forefront: (1) I wasn't running back up this hill to look and (2) I was going to trust in the honesty and sharp eyes of fellow ultra-runners to find it and turn it in. It occurred to me that the
phone was very unlikely to bounce out of the pocket and that it probably happened when I leaned over to toss my gel wrapper in the trash bag that was lying on the ground. If so, that would put it at the aid station and surely someone would notice it's red case on this grey day. This means that there will be no more pictures from me on the course in the rest of this post.

Within another mile or so, I caught up with Brandon Smith. He had run TRU last October and felt like it prepared him for GDR. It does make for a manageable jump to go from TRU's 54 to GDR's 67 miles and there is some similarity in the trails and roads that are used. There was a third member of our group but I never caught his name. We hung together as the dirt road gave way to pavement. I remembered this section of asphalt from the prior year because it came at a very low point for me--a point where I was tired and a bit dehydrated, and realized I'd have to walk on a fairly flat and very runnable section of the course. Being only at mile 14 or so, we moved along pretty quickly through this stretch. The course here was changed from last year and we never encountered the mountain bike trail that I was expecting. I imagine this was because Sean had told us there was a mountain bike race in the area on the same day and he had to route us off the single track trail. We were told to expect to encounter some bikers on the
gravel roads between miles 17 and 26. Mile 17 brought us to the second aid station. I grabbed a chunk of banana and water and told them about my dropped cell phone, in case they were in communications with the other aid stations and started walking on, letting Brandon catch up. I figured we'd stay together for a while, until someone felt the need to push on.

Roughly mile 23. Soaked, but not broken.

I had told Brandon that last year I had walked pretty much every uphill that was more than a slight grade and that I planned to do it this year. He was good with that and we found that we pretty much agreed without speaking on where the walking would begin when we reached a hill. He walks pretty fast so it worked out really well. We passed people while walking, though they sometimes passed us back when the running resumed. On the long uphills, we saw bike tracks, but no signs of the bikes. The road was pretty muddy, but not to the point of slipping. Every runner in shorts had mud splattered all over their calves. This 6.5 mile stretch went pretty quickly and we were soon at Winding Stair Gap and the third aid station. I saw Sean here and told him about my phone, just in case it was turned in. This aid station was in the same spot as one for the mountain bike race and we actually saw one biker at his aid station while we were there.


It wasn't until we left this aid station that we finally started really seeing the bikers. We were enjoying a long downhill stretch and they were cranking up the dirt road. After passing maybe a dozen bikers, our paths split around mile 26.  Brandon said we were doing a 4:30 marathon pace, which translates to an 11.5 hour finish time or roughly what Mark Lundblad ran the first year of the event. Obviously, we were doing this on the easiest part of the course and that was due to change pretty soon. Somewhere in here, I went for an S-cap and had them all fall into the mud when I pulled them out of the vest pocket (my bag had a hole in it.) I salvaged a couple and continued on. Aid station #4 (Long Creek, about mile 30) was the first drop bag location. Brandon had a bag he was going to get stuff from and I went on ahead, figuring he'd catch back up at some point.

There was a stretch of dirt road here that had huge mud puddles as wide as the road and probably 15' across. You could see where most people had run up onto the bank to avoid them and I did the same. My shoes were already pretty muddy, but I didn't need them to be wet with so many miles left to go. Soon we were in a familiar area and we ran along the edge of a field and turned right, onto the Benton Mackeye Trail and the single track. The change would be nice, but of course the pace would slow substantially. I passed a guy making a pit stop as I entered the woods and expected him to come back by me, but he never did. I didn't know it at the time, but I would see very few runners from this point on. I caught up to another guy and followed him into the aid station. He had offered to let me by, but his pace was just about exactly what I wanted, so as long as he didn't mind me back there, I told him I was fine. I barely remember Aid Station #5 (Sapling Gap) so there really isn't much I can say about this one.

Next, the course began a steep descent that I was fairly certain would take me to that swinging bridge I remembered from last year. That meant that all this drop I was enjoying at the moment would need to be reclimbed on the other side. The drop certainly passed quicker and felt better than the long hike up it had in 2014. When I reached the bridge, there was a woman and a guy with a video camera. The cameraman followed me across the bridge, so I assumed he is creating a video of the event for future promotion and getting footage on various parts of the course. He stopped at the end of the bridge and I
started the climb up the other side. By now, the sun was threatening to come out and I was seriously worried about the heat and humidity that would come along with it. I felt pretty good in the cloudy mist, but dreaded the thought of a sixty-something degree day when I was getting into the hardest parts of the course. Somewhere during the climb, a runner came by me with the woman from the bridge. I had assumed she was a volunteer but she must have been his crew. He must have really been lifted by her presence because he jogged up a pretty good climb as I was happy just trying to fast hike it. He slowly disappeared into the distance, but I would later catch up, only to find his "crew" had gone on ahead to the next aid station.

Aid Station #6 is Point Bravo and the second drop bag location. I had sent a bag to this stop with a different shirt, my lightweight Salomons, and some food. I later realized I had put some gloves in this bag that may have come in handy later in the race. As it was, all I took was the Powerbar and the gels. I probably should have changed shirts while I had the opportunity as the day was getting later and the shirt I was wearing was pretty damp. It's just so hard to spend the time in the aid stations when you just want to keep going. It was here where the climbing really began. I had roughly a marathon left to go. The next aid
station was 9 miles away and this was the first time I would be getting into my backup water bottle. There are relentless climbs on this stretch and I think Sean said about half (9-10,000') of the total climb for the course was after Point Bravo. So, I was basically facing a single-track trail version of the Pike's Peak Marathon in terms of absolute numbers. Halfway along this section, the course turned onto the Duncan Ridge Trail. I can't really say that it was all that different from the BMT. A few of the climbs really got to me and I remember pausing midway at times to "regroup." The mist made it hard to see where the tops might be, but that could have been a blessing. It forced me to focus on what I could see rather than what might lie farther ahead. I passed a couple guys here. One who was fashioning treking poles out of branches he found and another, a bit later, who had treking poles. I figured the guy with the poles had inspired the guy making his own... When I finally arrived at aid station #7 (Fish Gap, roughly mile 51) I told them that I didn't have a watch but I was pretty certain I had done marathons faster than that nine mile stretch of trail. Since I had downed my spare water bottle and also run out of S-caps, I decided to fill the 10 oz. bottle with the SWORD drink that Sean had chosen for the race. I had never heard of this drink and I knew it might be risky to try it for the first time, but I was more concerned about losing too much salt. The next aid station was eight miles away and promised to be just as rough as the last leg had been.

The downhills on this section and the last were not always easily runnable. There were lots of downed trees and plenty of branches that had fallen onto the path. The leaves were slick and there was occasionally a little mud. More often than not, I would crest a long climb and have to walk part of the downhill just to get steady enough to feel that I could run safely. It was through here that I finally had to break out the headlamp, roughly about the same time as two guys were catching up to me. I wasn't sure if it was a runner and pacer or two runners, or even two people wandering around in the woods. I held off on the headlamp as long as I could but when I finally fired it up, I realized I had never changed the dead batteries from The Nightmare. So, I spent a few minutes walking and trying to swap in some fresh batteries. Once I got it lit, I found cause for concern. The light was bouncing off all of the surrounding mist and barely reaching the path. This wasn't a huge deal for stretches I would walk, but it made running anything additionally risky. The level of fog I dealt with varied over time and elevation. It even slightly drizzled at one point which got rid of the mist, but made it look like the hyperspace jump from
Star Wars. Sometime shortly after sunset, I passed a couple tents along the trail and heard voices from within. I had to wonder if they knew what was going on because there would be a lot more headlamps coming through their camp before the night was through. Aid Station #8 came into view, meaning I was around mile 59.

Another long climb and the course crested Coosa Bald. The back side of the bald was pretty runnable. It was probably the fastest I had run since early in the race, but it still stretched on. It may have been five miles to Wolf Creek, but when every uphill is walked, I was probably doing good to average a 5 mph pace. When I came to the creek, I honestly could not remember it from last year. I had the choice of splashing through shin-deep water or rock/log hopping. I felt ok and decided to keep my feet as dry as possible. A volunteer was there to help us navigate. I asked her what lay ahead and she said "rolling hills, you know what that means!" Well, I'm not sure about her definition of "rolling" as it pretty much just kept going up. I was 3.5 miles from the finish and basically just climbing. I tried to think back to last year and how the early miles went, but I couldn't remember much. I did remember some downhill but certainly not 3.5 miles of it. So, up I went. I could see lights high on the horizon. Then I saw some weird lights just ahead, only to get closer and realize they were road signs reflecting my headlamp. I got to enjoy a few downhill stretches and some creek crossings, but for the most part, I was continuing up. Finally, I came up on a sign that referenced Vogel State Park and knew that I must be close. I started seeing lights and smelling campfire smoke. I passed another cameraperson and volunteer who told me I had about a mile to go. I knew we hadn't spent a miles on the pavement at last year's start so unless he moved the finish substantially, I felt like she was probably a bit high with her estimate. It was in this last little stretch that I saw my only wildlife for the day--a couple of field mice darting across the path.

Finally, I was back to asphalt and knew the finish was close. I briefly turned off my headlamp, but then I remembered there were speed bumps in the park and turned it back on. It would be a tragic end to survive the mud, roots, and rocks only to be wiped out by a three inch bump. My pace definitely quickened as I saw the pavilion on the lake. I actually overshot the turn and a volunteer shouted, redirecting me down to the pavilion. There was Sean, just across the mat. He handed me my finisher's spike and said the best thing I had heard all day. "I got your phone." I sat down on the bench beside the timers and
summarized the day for him, basically summarizing in two sentences what it took me several pages to write here. Putting the climbs on the back half of the course made it tougher and the mist made the temperatures better but hurt visibility with the headlamp. It then occurred to me that there wasn't a clock so I had no idea what my time was. I asked the timing lady what the current time was and I apparently finished in the 14:30 range, so not terribly longer than last year. Someone had told me around mile 50 or so that I was rounding out the top twenty. I had passed two people after that so I figured I finished about 18th, which was far better than I expected given the Ultrasignup rankings. Of course, it's possible some of those were no-shows.

Paul came up after a minute and I followed him over to my bag where I could wipe off the caked on mud and change shirts, socks, and shoes. I gave him a slightly longer summary and would add to it on the ride back to the Lodge. Usually, I end the story with the end of the race, but wanted to note that it was a fitful sleep that night. I realized that I had taken caffeine pretty late in the day and it was still working its way through me. Twice I gave up on trying to sleep and read news on my phone. This was another side effect of the late start. A regular start would have had me finishing about 7:30 p.m. and getting back to the lodge around 8:30 or 9:00.I think if I were to go back to GDR it would be because a friend wanted to go.

The race went very well for all the last minute turbulence Sean had to navigate through to pull it off. I later learned that he has now decided to reverse the course each year. That's a good idea that will help keep it fresh.

I do plan on going back to Amicalola Falls with Leslie, so she can see the waterfall and just enjoy the area. It's not far from the southern terminus of the AT and has hikes of various distances. If nothing else, it has a nice deck to sit on and look out over the valley below.

View from the deck (and rooms) at Amicalola Falls Lodge

2015 Mount Mitchell Challenge

The weeks leading up to the 2015 edition of the Mount Mitchell Challenge were filled with even more uncertainty than usual. Heavy snowfalls hit the area several times and communications in the State Park were lost. At one point, race director, Jay Curwen, wasn't sure Challenge runners would even go past the Parkway. What to expect on race day was nothing more than a guessing game, so I elected to stop checking until the night before the race and then decide what to take.

Race morning, I was still making decisions.

Do I wear a running pack or just my small belt? Do I take the Yak Trax (which I have never run in before?) How many layers do I need for temps that promised to range from the upper teens at the start to low 30s at the finish?

These questions partially answered themselves. After a frantic, last-minute search to find two ten-ounce water bottles for my running pack (the kind that people wear in race belts) was unsuccessful, I knew I'd be carrying my handheld bottle, so having the pack seemed a little unnecessary, unless I wanted to carry extra gear. There was no forecast of rain, so I saw no reason to carry more than the basics. My Nathan belt was filled with one PowerBar and four gels. I had two more gels and some S-caps in my water bottle pouch. I wore the Brooks Cascadias, a medium weight long-sleeve shirt, a light-weight short-sleeve shirt, and a light-weight long sleeve running jacket. I went with shorts rather than running pants. I had my mitten-gloves and headband, as well. Since they don't weight much, I ran my belt through the Yak Trax and let them hang on either side. In hindsight, I should have bunched them on one side as I couldn't get them far enough back to avoid contact with my arms, but it would only become a minor nuisance rather than an actual problem.

Though there were two early packet pickup opportunities, I elected for race day pickup this year as it was in the Ale House very close to the start. Actually, it would turn out that we picked up our packets in a box truck outside and that the bar was only open for people to use the bathroom. We always get a cotton t-shirt with the race logo (black with purple a primary logo color this year) but we also got a pair of DeFeet "FKT" socks. The start area was the usual mix of nerves and excitement in the crowd of around four-hundred participants. I found a lot of friends and aquaintences milling about but had little time for conversation as before I knew it, Jay was making pre-race announcements. This would be my ninth start (seven Challenge and two Marathons) and I have yet to actually hear anything he's said. I figure it's more for the front-runners, anyway as I just follow (distantly) their lead. I was probably in the middle of the crowd when we started and probably a tad too far back as I found myself dashing for openings to get to less congested areas. After about a mile or two, I had caught up to several friends, including Beth, Beth, Rick, and Phyllis. Ray was running the Challenge as well, but elected to start farther back.

The first stretch of both races runs through Black Mountain and into the campus of Montreat College. Once in Montreat, it gets steeper until a final paved hill that many runners elect to walk, even though it's only about mile four. I had run the last two miles with an untied shoe (my last-minute, start line tie didn't do very well while wearing mitten gloves) so I elected to stop near the top and retie before hitting the trails. Beth caught back up and we walked to the trailhead together. About a half-dozen people had stopped to put on traction gear. Beth asked whether I was going to put on my Yak Trax and I made the quick decision not to. My main reason for bringing them was the slick, shiny ice you encounter. I was not worried about snow or the crunchy ice that gives traction. I might regret it later, but I just didn't want to fool with them at the moment. I never found out if Beth elected to put hers on or not.

Once on the trail, I did begin to question my decision. Most of it was loose, slippery snow. I have no idea if Yak Trax help in those conditions, but I am hoping they do not. Otherwise, my decision probably cost me a bit of time and a lot of energy. It was often the equivalent of running in mud as your feet didn't always land or go the way you wanted, meaning anyone who isn't very flexible, like myself, found their legs sometimes being stretched in uncomfortable directions. This meant an additional effort was required to continue forward motion. The trail section before the first aid station is a nice stretch, but always feels longer than it probably is. The crowd had thinned out here on the single track and I think I only let about two people go by and I may have passed the same number myself. What little conversation I heard or participated in dealt mostly with the snow and the challenge of getting along. One thing everyone agreed on was that it would certainly be easier coming down in the loose snow than going up.

The first aid station (Sourwood Gap) was a welcome site, primarily because I think it is the longest stretch between stations. Over the years, I've gotten a better handle on the gaps between them, never having known the actual mileages. If we were at mile six or so, and the marathon turnaround is mile 14, the next two aid stations should fall roughly four miles apart. By now, it was about 50% loose snow and 50% crunchy ice. The course had opened up into road width and four-wheelers had helped pack things down. For the next several miles, I'd go back and forth with the same small group of runners. After a bit, I decided to just walk the loose snow uphills as they could really get frustrating when I couldn't get traction. Many times, I went out of my way to get to the sections where a rock or two poked through the snow, just to avoid the constant sliding. The grade isn't that much on this part of the course, though it is pretty steady. There are a couple downhill spots, but for the most part, you're climbing.

The second aid station (and my second gel) came right when I was needing it. I found myself drinking more than I might have expected and was nearly emptying the bottle between stops. This station is roughly four miles down a rough, snowy/icy road and is usually manned by a crew with four-wheelers. This year, I noticed that they had camped here the night before--in hammocks! It's called "Pot Cove" and is manned by the Black Mountain Fire and Rescue Crew. After refilling my bottle, I thanked them and took off.

Usually, the next stretch feels the shortest and this year was no exception, though I did have a few moments of deflation as I thought I recognized curves in the trail as the last ones before coming out at the Parkway. The only way I really know I am there is when I can see the Parkway below me, through the trees. They were serving soup, but I really didn't care for any. I wasn't cold, though at times I was getting a little warm. I had not shed any layers yet, other than occasionally removing my headband. I knew with some certainty that the next ten miles, aside from the footpath from the parking lot to the summit, or so would be pavement so I wouldn't have any traction issues to worry about. However, the pavement can get pretty steep, so I would likely find myself walking anyway.

Going up the Park entrance road, I continued to run, but about the time I passed where the Mountains-to-Sea Trail crosses the road, I decided to just try to walk quickly. This worked pretty well as the guy in front of me, who was running and walking, really didn't pull significantly ahead, though he also was getting a few pictures with his phone. My other reasoning for walking was that I really had to hit the porta-jon that I knew would be across from the Ranger Station and running might accelerate the issue. On the lower sections of the road, there were absolutely stunning views. The trees were covered in a layer of ice that seemed to glow as the sun peeked through the clouds. It was one of those high-definition, low-humidity days and it felt like I was alternating between a crystal forest and a snow globe as I ascended the mountain.

My plan probably worked out for the best as I certainly felt more like running after the not-so-quick pit stop. It also helped that the road leveled off a little bit here, making it more conducive to me for running. The final few miles to the parking lot were a mix of walking and running. Jake was the first person I recognized coming back toward me. I expected him to be ahead, but I was honestly a little surprised that I was as close to him as I was. There were a few more turns than I remembered, but the top slowly drew closer. I skipped the parking lot aid station for the moment and headed on up the foot path. The snow was again thick and loose and this was probably the worst traction I had encountered yet. Others were coming down from the summit with a look of relief on their faces. I finally emerged and a volunteer signed off on my bib, beside the elevation sign. Since the tower is a not a natural structure, it doesn't really count as part of the "highest peak in the Eastern U.S." so this year I elected to skip going up it.

Coming down the pathway from the summit, I saw the lead female coming toward me, probably only a minute or two so behind, depending on how quickly she navigated the slick climb. I was pretty sure she would be passing me soon as my least favorite part of the race was coming up. I had been strangely hungry during the early parts of this race and grabbed bananas at some of the aid stations. I decided to do it again at the summit parking lot aid station and ended up with something closer to a bananasicle. It was a tough chew, but I got it down and headed onward. Some miles back, the spout on my water bottle had frozen, meaning I had to unscrew the cap to drink, meaning I couldn't really do it while running. Also, water had dropped onto the pouch and, like at The Nightmare, had frozen the zipper, locking away one of my caffeinated gels and my S-caps. Opening the bottle was a minor nuisance, but no access to my S-caps had me a tad worried because it was a dry day and though I was drinking plenty of water, I was not getting Gatorade at the aid stations, having planned on the capsules for electrolytes.

I was barely out of the parking lot when I saw both Beths coming up the road, not terribly far behind me and within a minute or so of each other. They were holding second and third place and the way I felt, might soon zip past me on the way back to Black Mountain. Actually, I felt ok, I just wasn't moving fast. This stretch of pavement down to the Parkway I just don't do well on. I feel like I should be moving faster than I do, considering it's a gradual downhill. The views were nice, though. The sun was in and out of the clouds and I got the bonus of seeing friends making their way up, which you don't really get with the traditional route. I saw Doug (who told me Ray had turned around with the marathoners,) Rick, Tammy, and Mo and maybe a few others I am just not remembering right now. Pretty soon, I heard some soft footsteps gaining on me quickly from behind. Back home, that usually means Bill is about to pass me, but he wasn't here and these were from a lighter runner. Sure enough, the first female came gliding by. She wasn't quite as friendly as some of the others I'd encountered over the years, but some of that could have been because she realized how close the Beths were behind her and was possibly a bit worried. I later looked her up on Ultrasignup and she's got an impressive resume. Most of the events I wasn't familiar with, but she always seemed to place top three.

I held my steady, slowish pace to the ranger station and hoped that the steeper road that lay ahead would help me pick up some speed. It probably did, but was partly offset by another untied shoe. There was practically nowhere along the roadside to put my foot up to tie it, so I decided to try to make it to the gate, back at the Parkway. I knew that was a good two miles, but I dreaded the thought of having to kneel down to retie it, worrying that I might not get back up. It was extremely loose when I reached the gate and, just like earlier, a bit difficult to tie with the glove part of my mitten-gloves still on. A guy passed me as I worked on the shoe and by the time I was done, he was a good 200 yards ahead of me. There is a slight rise on the parkway, leading back to the Toll Road and I used this moment to walk and drink as much water as I could, so I could refill at the aid station.

When I reached the Toll Road aid station, it was more crowded than I expected, with some marathoners who had just reached it for their turnaround. A quick bottle refill and gel and it was back to the land of limited traction. The temperatures had fluctuated quite a bit over the course of the day and having dropped back below the Parkway, they were trending warmer. Other than my headband from time to time, I didn't take anything off, and instead tried to regulate things by unzipping my jacket and folding back the mitten part off of my gloves. Mentally, I anticipated the next to aid stations to arrive quickly. It was downhill and not terribly far distance-wise. I recognize some sections of the trail, but not enough to give me a clue as to how far I have left to go. Somewhere in this stretch, the second place female (it was not either of the Beths) came by me. That meant that the two Beths were likely battling for third. The next aid station kind of sneaks up on you as the Fire/Rescue Crew is not a "whoop and holler" bunch like some other stations (so you can hear them up ahead.) It was a fairly quick stop then onward.

I was not progressing downhill as quickly as I would have liked. I had tried to exaggerate my stride some back on the pavement to loosen my legs up, but I was still finding myself in that same "fixed gear" stride I had used coming up the mountain. Though the ice and snow had filled in the loose rocks and crevasses and made for a smoother running surface, I found myself unable to use that to my advantage. I was also still having trouble with the loose snow, even though it was now on the downhill. Whether it was stubbornness or foolishness, I never considered giving the Yak Trax a try. There were more marathoners than usual still making their way up the Toll Road as I descended. I know that a number of people sign up and mostly walk the course, taking advantage of the same ten-hour cutoff the Challenge has. I assumed that was the case on this day and that the slippery conditions had slowed their pace.

When the final aid station came up, it was a great relief. My water bottle spout had unfrozen, but the zipper had not. My S-caps were still inaccessible, so this time I grabbed Gatorade at the station and mostly filled my bottle then headed on. I saw a friend from Lake James State Park helping at the aid station but sadly had little time to chat. I followed another runner out of the station and down the snowy trail back into Montreat. This next short stretch would be the steepest section of trail for the day and by far the slickest. Here, it was a mixture of snow and mud and it was the only time where I actually slipped, but fortunately did not fall. A guy ahead of me pulled up suddenly and said he thought he tore his toenail off. I slowed as if I could help, but there was nothing I could really do for something like that. He debated whether to take a look, but decided to just press on.

Down the steep pavement section in Montreat, that seemed longer than normal, and at the final aid station, I finally removed my jacket and my gloves as I was now pretty warm and didn't want to bonk in the last three miles. Part of me dreaded this next stretch because it always feels so long. This year, however, I felt a little bit of optimism, possibly due to having done it enough to remember the turns and distances. The nature trail parts are fun, though extra care was required on the bridges and steps. The greenway, where it always seems longest, went by a bit quicker this year. I was actually gaining on some Challengers ahead of me. For, I believe, the first time ever, I ran the entire last three miles, even the short, steep hills just before Lake Tacoma. As I descended into the Park, I saw Paul and Ray waiting, then Phyllis was down closer to the Park. I pushed as if I was going to pass the two guys not far ahead of me, but once I caught up, 1/4 of the way around the lake, I didn't want to do it and even told the guy I wasn't coming around. I knew no one was right behind me and I just didn't feel right passing (assuming they didn't have anything left) so I fell in behind them and coasted through to the finish. Well, mostly. When I saw the clock said something like 6:09:55, and I was twenty feet away, I did speed up a bit to keep it under 6:10. Ironically, though I remained behind the guy I had spoken to, the results have us reversed and have me one second ahead of him. I don't know if they grabbed my bib tag before his or they just saw my number first. Though I did not realize it at the time, having already gone inside to get a finisher's jacket, Beth came in right behind me.

So, my time was worse than normal for this version of the course, but I felt better and finished stronger. I guess the loose snow slowed me down somewhat and I won't know if using the Yak Trax would have helped in any way. As I look over the results (available at www.blackmountainmarathon.com) I have to wonder if I would have had a shot at Masters in the marathon, which was won in 3:49. I have had a 3:42 on the old course, that ran out the Parkway a bit, and a 3:53 on the current course in a year where I didn't feel great and had just come off running the Freedom Park New Year's Eve Ultra for the first time, as well as the Uwharrie 40-miler. It's really hard to say because of the snow this year. I do know that the Master's winner was 6th overall and I saw more than six marathoners coming back toward me before I reached the marathon turnaround.

This marks my sixth Challenge finish and each year always seems to leave me feeling like I could have done better "if." Solving the "if," however, is elusive as it seems to be different each year. I guess that's what keeps me coming back, the optimism that next year will go better.