A bit different than most other races I've done, Hellbender starts at 4:30 a.m. on Friday morning. I've had Friday evening starts before, but never one in the morning. My guess as why they started it so early was because the first five miles are pavement and they wanted to get everyone off the road before traffic became an issue. Rather than wake up at 2:45 a.m. and arrive around 3:45, find a parking space, unload, and get to the start to get checked in, I elected to go up Thursday afternoon and sleep at the start in the back of the Jeep. It also allowed me to attend the pre-race meeting and catch up with some friends who were volunteering or organizing the race.
At check-in, we were given two promotional headband-type things (Orange Mud and Demerbox,) and an Orange Mud car seat cover/transition towel (that goes around you for changing shorts.) The particpant shirt was actually a medium-weight, front-zip hoodie. I had no crew, but Brian would meet me at mile 45ish at about 4:30-5:30 p.m., based on my 28-hour "guesstimate" finish time. Ray would then take over at mile 79 at around 3:00 a.m. Coming up with arrival times for a waiting crew/pacer is nearly impossible, especially if you've never run the course before. Somewhat helpful for this race was that they used the LiveTrail system that UTMB had, so friends could download the app and see when I came through one of seven checkpoints (plus the finish.) Ray and Brian would each know when I was roughly 7-9 miles away. It tries to give an estimated arrival time, but it's hard to know if it takes the terrain into account or if it's just basing it on current pace.
Since I really didn't know many other runners, and none who planned to go to the included pasta dinner, I brought some pizza and snacks to have for supper. I ate in the Jeep around 6:30, reading over some of the course information and browsing the internet. I read some of my book on Cleopatra I had picked up at a library book sale and then tried to turn in early. I had expected a cold night and brought a sleeping bag, but it was hardly necessary. I was actually
The alarm went off too soon. It seemed I had just dozed off when 3:45 a.m. came. I had most of my stuff ready to go and mostly just needed to get dressed and double check everything. There was a chance of rain much of the day, so I'd be packing my U/D rain jacket. There was some required gear, including a whistle and space blanket. I had several baggies of Tailwind, some granola bars, a cap, and even the waterproof overmitts I had from UTMB since they were so compact. They had little insulation value, but if I needed to keep my hands dry, they would work great. Of course, I was carrying my poles as well, but for the start, I had them strapped to the front of my pack.
It was a warm morning as we returned to the pavilion where yesterday's meeting had been held. The start was a brief and almost informal affair on the road just above the pavilion. Our bibs had been scanned to check us in and we were sent on our way, the first 3/4 mile or so being the gravel Camp Grier entrance road. No one, even the front runners, seemed to be pushing the pace on this slightly uphill paved stretch to aid station one. My last attempt at a 100-miler (UTMB) had roughly 2500 participants at the start. Today, it was something less than 90. A very different atmosphere, but similar in one way--I tried to just do my own thing and ran alone, wondering what song would get stuck in my head first.
As it was dark, I couldn't see much around me, only the headlamps snaking their way up the winding road and some red lights we were required to wear on our packs/caps to comply with a DOT requirement. The first aid station came relatively quickly, given that it was at mile 5. I didn't check my time, but it felt quick. Looking back at Strava shows that it was about 42 minutes to this point. The rest would certainly be much slower.
Having plenty of water, I went on through the aid station and headed into the woods, up the Star Gap Trail. Here, we began making a long 7.2 mile trek up to the Parkway, the next aid station being at the same spot the Black Mountain Marathon turns around. We had thinned out a lot already and even walking stretches, I wasn't passed much. It felt like I was keeping a reasonable pace without pushing too much. The fog/mist made it a little more difficult to see and the additional fog created every time I exhaled compounded the visibility issue. I had never been on this trail, so I really had no idea where I was in relation to anything. Still unable to see much, my only point of reference was when we had crossed some railroad tracks just above the aid station. I would later learn that a few runners had to wait for a train to pass in last year's race.
Eventually, we turned onto the Heartbreak Ridge Trail, which was familiar to me though I'd never been on it. There is a popular loop that combines it with the Toll Road used in the Mount Mitchell Challenge. The loop is called "Toll and Heartbreak," a play on "Toil and Hardship" I think. The Heartbreak Ridge trail was much more technical. I didn't run a lot of the Star Gap trail because of the climb. Had Heartbreak been flat, I still wouldn't have been able to run a lot of it. Eventually, I did come out at the two abandoned (?) trailers I had seen so many times on the Toll Road and turned right to head out to the Parkway.
Only the race organizers weren't going to make it that simple. Instead of the relatively flat to downhill jog down the Toll Road, we were detoured off onto a side trail to Pinnacle Mountain. I'd never been on this trail but had seen it during other runs. It's very much single track and steep. The sun was up enough now that I didn't need my headlamp, so I turned it off but didn't worry about putting it in my pack until I stopped. I need to mention that it had been raining off and on for the past couple hours and I was soaked. It wasn't too cold outside, but I was starting to get chilled at the higher elevation. I had my rain jacket in my pack, but it seemed pointless to put it over my wet clothes. The trail finally peaked at what was obviously the overlook. Unfortunately, all I could see were a few trees peeking through the fog; so I didn't worry about taking my camera out for a picture. Besides, it was exposed and windy--meaning cold. I continued along the trail, down toward the Parkway. After a few minutes, I decided it would be wise to put on the jacket to keep from getting too cold. It was a little difficult with wet hands and arms, but I managed to get it on and immediately felt a bit better. I certainly didn't want a repeat of 2016 Grindstone where I was shivering at mile 38. The stop also gave me an opportunity to stick my headlamp in my pack.
The Parkway aid station was water-only but I really didn't need anything. I probably should have drunk more water by this point, but I guess I was so wet from the rain, it had pushed aside any thirst. This was the first place they scanned my bib--making sure no one had gotten lost yet.
After the aid station, I was directed up the Parkway, just like in the Mount Mitchell Challenge, but when the guard rail on the right ended, I was to take a hidden trail (Black Ridge) toward the South Toe River Road and the second aid station. This section was largely downhill and went pretty quickly. Downhill, and not terribly technical, it was runnable. It actually surprised me when I found myself at the aid station so soon. But, it was only about four miles. Brandon was at this aid station checking on the volunteers. I had some PB&J and refilled my bottles. Next was a nice walk up a gravel road back up to a different part of the Parkway. I took my jacket off partway up the climb only to have the rain start again, making me put it back on again. I'd remove it again a little bit later.
When I crossed the Parkway, I was directed over the guardrail onto the Newberry Creek Trail. The trail looked instantly familiar and I realized it was the same trail Darlene had taken me and Ray on a couple years ago. It was in much better condition than it had been on that day as you could actually see the trail. It felt like I made pretty good time coming down, the creek providing scenery off to one side for much of the descent. The trail part ended more quickly than I expected and I was out onto the gravel Newberry Creek Road. The trail felt shorter and the gravel road felt longer than I remembered with Darlene, but at least it was downhill. It had been a while since I'd seen another runner, but I finally found myself catching up to someone. I slowly passed him with the traditional "good job" type of exchange and kept looking for the expected left turn onto Curtis Creek Road.
I felt pretty good when I saw the stop sign ahead, meaning the end of Newberry Creek Road. The relief passed when I saw the Curtis Creek Road section was uphill. It was also longer than I expected. Using a combination of running and walking, I made my way up the road until the campground was in sight. The aid station was at the far end of the campground and race director Aaron Saft was there greeting runners as they came in. I perused the aid station fare and refilled my bottles, adding another pouch of Tailwind to one. I had a drop bag here but skipped it since it was primarily for when I'd be back through later. I hit the porta-jon and as I was about to leave the aid station, I remembered I had put some extra Tailwind baggies in my drop bag so I got a couple out. I was into this aid station at 9:11 a.m. I didn't know it at the time, but I was right at two hours ahead of my 28 hour "goal time."
Next up was the Snooks Nose Trail, again back up to the Parkway. Darlene had mentioned having been on this trail and how tough it was. She was not overstating the difficulty. Much of it is a blur because of how steep it was. It's 4.1 miles to the Parkway and it took me 2:15. According to the route information, the climb was 2400' in that four miles, or 600'/mile. Once at the Parkway, I was greeted by two guys at a water-only aid station. They told me that I would not be going back down Snooks Nose later in the race, but would instead be on the "Leadmine Trail." They also told me to head up the Green Knob Trail after I cross the Parkway. More up.
Fortunately, this up, while steep, was not nearly as long as the one I'd just done. The course didn't go all the way to the knob, but skimmed the side and joined the MST for a bit. This section had some technical downhill that I wasn't running as fast as others. I was not only losing my 28-hour pace, but I was getting passed as well. Between Curtis Creek and Neals Creek, four people passed me. They probably would have passed me regardless, but I was having a lot of trouble with traction in my Salomon Speedcross 3s. I've noted this before, how they do great in mud and dirt, but have trouble on smooth rocks and that was all too true today. I had my XA Enduros in the bag at the halfway point and knew I'd probably be switching to them if I made it to that point.
The Neals Creek aid station had a number of people I knew. Lee, Quez, and Craig, and several others were all there. I was scanned in at 12:02 p.m. 1:50 ahead of my 28 hour "goal." So, I really hadn't lost as much time as I could have during that tough section. It was starting to warm up and the rain had tapered off. I drank my Tailwind bottle down quickly, ate a banana and PB&J, refilled, and headed out. Shortly after heading out, I realized that I might have drunk the water too quickly. My stomach, which otherwise had been fine, just didn't feel right. I walked some, which was tough given that it was so flat and runnable. The course went down the road a bit and then turned into the Black Mountain Campground on the back side. I enjoyed going through this section, despite being forced to walk, because I had camped here as a child. Unfortunately, nothing was recognizable from forty years ago and I never saw the group campsites we had used, but it was a bit of a nostalgic moment before what was to come...
And that was the big climb to the summit of Mount Mitchell. The climb per mile isn't as quite as bad as Snooks Nose had been, but it was longer, warmer, and later in the race. I'd only come down this trail before and remembered it being steep, though that should be obvious when Neals Creek is at 3178' and the summit is 6684'. Over roughly 5.5 miles, that's a lot of up. I don't remember passing anyone here or being passed, so it was a long time alone. I've noted before that miles 30-40 in an ultra are often the toughest and that's right where they stuck this climb--a double whammy. This is when all the doubts creep in and I start going through some of the same stages as grief--at least bargaining and a little bit of depression. I thought about dropping but knew that by the time I'd reach Brian, he'd have been waiting on me quite a while and it wouldn't be fair to him to quit when he'd shown up to pace me. Memories of doing that to Lee on my Table Rock --> Blowing Rock Attempt came back to haunt me. So, I just kept trying to continue forward, desperate for the familiar part that would at least give me an idea of how far I was from the summit.
That came when I briefly popped out on the Buncombe Horse Trail and recognized the turn we used to make on the original Mount Mitchell Challenge course. I knew then that I had about a mile to go. A very steep and technical mile. I was getting hot, despite the cooling temperatures that come with increased elevation. At least it was shady and somewhat cloudy. My watch reports that my mile splits were averaging about 25 minutes, about what we average walking the dogs casually. For whatever reason, this was also the stretch where my watch decided to stop tracking elevation. Though I'd been on this trail several times, I still had a few false summits as I couldn't quite remember exactly how the final 200ish yards looked. It wasn't until I saw a woman and a couple young girls standing by the trail as if they were waiting on someone that I figured I had to be fairly close. And I was. When I emerged on the cobblestone walkway, they turned us left up to the summit. And, unlike in the last Mount Mitchell Challenge, they meant the top of the tower. I trudged along the curving walkway to the viewing platform. Once there, I stepped on the geological survey marker, turned and jogged back down. There were only two people on the platform and just a few more mingling about in the parkway and the walkway between. My bib was scanned in the lower parking lot (2:50 p.m.) and the aid station was in a little hut near the picnic area.
When I entered the aid station, there was a runner sitting in front of the fire with a volunteer offering him words of encouragement. I refilled everything and ate a little. What really appealed to me was the oranges they had. Since my UTMB run, I've learned that those are actually pretty good during a race and go down easily and readily. Maybe they don't do a lot of good and I should be eating something more substantial but at least they are something and I can stomach them at any point in a race. I thanked everyone and headed out onto the Crest Trail, not really sure how long I'd be on it, but given its difficulty, hoping it would not be long.
It was long. Mount Craig, Big Tom, Balsam Cone, Cattail Peak, and Potato Hill all went by before I got off the trail onto the Colbert Ridge Trail. It was another fourish miles of a 25 minute/mile pace. This trail was mostly downhill but very technical. My caution, combined with my lack of traction had me getting passed quite a few times through here. By now, the only positive thoughts I was having was that Brian was waiting a few miles away and I'd at least have some company and someone to pull me along. When I popped out on the road, I figured the aid station would not be far away, but it was still a mile ahead. I ran the parts I could but wasn't moving terribly fast.
Brian saw me before I saw him. They scanned me in (5:55 p.m. -- now only 17 minutes ahead of a 28 hour finish pace) and Brian led me over to some chairs they had set up for the runners. I planned to change everything I could--especially shoes and socks. As I was changing and going through my drop bag, I noticed Michelle had arrived at the aid station and also a runner I believe I'd run with briefly at Western States in 2014. They didn't have oranges at this aid station, but someone's crew member overheard me asking Brian and she offered me one of hers. I was extremely grateful, though it wasn't very good. Though I've never timed my stops, this was possibly the longest aid station stay I've ever had. My only concern was that the shirt I'd put in my drop bag was a short sleeved Smartwool. I had anticipated a cold night but right now, I was burning up. I put it on, but wasn't sure how long it would last.
We left the aid station about the same time as Michelle and Lee (the runner from WS I'd recognized) and I introduced myself to Lee. We chatted a bit about various things and hung together as we turned onto the Buncombe Horse Trail--a section of it I'd never been on. It looked pretty horse-unfriendly with some technical sections and low overhanging branches. The four of us carried on a conversation but Brian and I were never 100% certain that Michelle and Lee wanted us hanging on their heels. They never "encouraged" us to go ahead and a few times I felt like Brian wanted to, but sometimes I can be prone to fall into the pace of whose with me and they were walking, therefore so was I.
The Horse Trail had some really gloppy, black mud in a lot of stretches. I remembered it being that way during the Challenge, but we weren't on it as long during that race. Several times, my shoe almost came off from the suction power of the mud. The sun was setting as we soldiered on, conversation drifting to just about everything, as its prone to do when you are searching for a way to pass the miles. Several times, when either Brian or I had to make a quick stop, Michelle and Lee would continue and get pretty far ahead. We'd slowly catch up and stick with them until the next stop. The longest stop was a two-stage stop. First, my headlamp battery was dying--apparently it had gotten turned on while it sat in my pack. So, I replaced it with my spare. Very shortly after that, Brian convinced me to take my shirt back off. I'd taken it off early on because it was just too hot. I'd then put it back on for some reason (maybe we hit a cool spot) but I was burning up again. I think a little bit of the problem was that I wasn't sweating a lot, but I was heating up. I wasn't dehydrated (much) but I just wasn't sweating.
Details for this night section will become fewer as there are no visual cues to mark progress by. We came into the next aid station pretty much together with Michelle and Lee. They both saw someone there that they knew and Brian saw someone he knew. I just saw me wanting to be done with the race. This was mile 57. I'll note here that the mileages I had used on my spreadsheet were not accurate with what the aid stations were reporting. When I met Brian, I thought it was mile 45 and it was actually 48. I got my numbers from the participants guide, but should have used the ones on the website instead.
The next stretch was very much a blur. The eighth aid station came and went. We were still hanging with Michelle and Lee and there were still conversations, but I have no idea now what we talked about. Probably races, given how often those two are running them. When we finally left the Horse Trail onto the South Toe River Road, we had reached aid station #8 and mile 65.2. In and out of this aid station, we were headed back to Lee, Quez, and the gang at Neals Creek. Aid stations where you know someone seem to give you a little more to look forward to than just a "regular" one.
I felt bad for Brian when we were walking a lot of prime running terrain (downhill and not too technical.) I tried to run when I could, but a lot of times it seemed that once I got going, I'd hit a "must-walk" section. This 6.3 mile stretch between aid stations would be our shortest, but by no means short. I was able to jog a little early on, but then we'd hit a technical section again and resort to walking, resulting in blistering 12-13 minute miles. It was along this section that we kind of lost Michelle and Lee for good. We could sometimes see their headlights well ahead on the trail, we'd never truly catch up again.
I say "truly" because when we came into Neals Creek, Michelle and Lee were leaving. I had gone from being 17 minutes ahead of a 28 hour pace to being 23 minutes behind it. Since I knew so many people at the aid station, it wasn't a rushed visit. I really wasn't too concerned about finish time, as long as I could finish. One of the things that kept me from dropping before Brian joined me was the number of DNFs I'd had in the last year. At the 2018 Weymouth Woods 100K, I dropped at 50 since my knee hurt and I was concerned about damaging it for UTMB. Then I dropped at UTMB after getting sick before the race. And finally, I quit the Boogie early this year--though that was planned once I realized it was just two weeks before Hellbender. So, I hadn't actually finished a race of 50 miles or more since 2017 Cloudsplitter 100K, unless you count our Foothills Trail Run last year, but that wasn't a race.
Coming out of Neals Creek was a long uphill but it was fortunately a gravel road, so while I was walking, I could at least do a brisk walk, relatively speaking. I wasn't having to watch footing or climb over anything. We were guided across my fourth Parkway crossing and sent across and down Curtis Creek Road for a ways until we turned off onto the Leadmine Trail. I'd never even heard of this one but someone earlier warned that it had short, steep hills. The first few came and went fairly easily, but then they got steeper and longer. Brian noted here, as he had in other spots, that these were hardly noticeable on the profile map, but I was sure noticing them now. There were several times I had to stop partway up a climb and just let my heart rate get back to normal. Since I hadn't been on this trail before, and it was dark, there were no landmarks to give me an idea how far I had left. I suppose I could have used my GPS, but I was afraid it would tell me that I wasn't as far along as I'd hoped.
Eventually, we got through the climbs--one semi-major one I hadn't even realized was between us and the next aid station. The course is promoted as having five climbs of 3000' or more (over varying distances) and I'd been through four. This was not the fifth, but it was easily the toughest climb that wasn't part of the five and honestly the way I felt at the moment, it could have been the sixth of those major climbs. When we made it to the descent into the Curtis Creek Campground aid station, we could see no lights ahead or behind us. However, eventually, we started seeing a number of green glowing things below us. Too large to be glow sticks and seemingly not reflective signs. Getting closer revealed no new clues, but we did realize we were finally coming into the aid station. The trail came into the aid station from a different direction than I'd come in earlier, making it--when combined with the darkness--feel like a totally different location. The green objects we'd been seeing were some sort of plastic ghosts that maybe had led lights inside. It was their creative way of marking the path through the camping area. Brian and I were greeted in the darkness by an aid station volunteer cheering loudly, only realize it was Ray--I'm not sure he realized it was us either, for a moment.
I could tell Ray was eager to go, but this would be another longish aid station stop as I tried to address a blister on the bottom of my right foot. I sat on a rock and changed socks again as Brian and Ray arranged for Brian to take Ray's car to the finish. The aid station didn't have anything for a blister, so I just coated it with the Trail Toes gel I'd used before the start. As I felt, it was almost like a big "wrinkle," perhaps going back to all the time I spent with wet feet. Lee Starnes would later tell me that at Neals Creek, they had been putting corn starch on people's water-logged feet and it seemed to dry them up almost instantly. Something to consider in the future.
When I arrived at the aid station, I was way behind a 28 hour pace and only 33 minutes ahead of a 30 hour pace. I had slowed significantly. I thought when I was walking, I was keeping a good pace--maybe 4mph on the roads, but maybe not. I didn't check my watch when we left the aid station, but I imagine I was there at least ten minutes, so I was probably now 23 minutes under a 30 hour pace--and trending slower. By the middle of the race, I'd begun to accept thirty hours as likely and moved 28 hours to my "best case scenario." If things didn't improve soon, 30 would be the new "best case." We did have the benefit of running about a mile down Curtis Creek Road, but I honestly don't remember if I ran. If I did, it probably wasn't brisk. Once we turned onto Newberry Creek Road, though, I just didn't have the energy to run the moderate uphill. I knew what lay ahead, once this road ended. I'd come down it before, but now it would be a steep climb back up to the Parkway. The fifth of the promised five 3000' climbs (though I imagine some of that 3000' was included in the road we were now walking. It was approaching 5:00 a.m. and I was at my most tired, just holding out hope for sunrise--still a couple hours away--to give me a jolt of energy.
The section along Newberry Creek Road seemed longer than I remembered from earlier. It was probably because I was fresher and going downhill when I first came through here, but it really dragged on. Not due to any fault of Ray's, who tried to keep my spirits up and was, like me earlier, remembering having come through here on a run with Darlene a few years earlier. Despite my foggy brain, having been here earlier, I remembered the landmarks better than Ray and had to tell him that we weren't as close to the trail part as he thought (or that I'd hoped.)
When the trail arrived, and forward progress became more difficult, I really struggled. Ray was cheerfully bounding ahead, full of pent up energy from his long wait for me to arrive at the aid station. I was head-on-poles, bent over from fatigue. I knew it was a long climb, but really didn't know the distance or what sort of time to expect it to take. I just bided my time until sunrise, counting on that to renew me. As we drew closer to what I expected was the Parkway, we were on some long switchbacks that brought back memories of the Ptarmagin Tunnel trail in Glacer National Park. Finally, I could make out what looked like a guard rail and a person standing up above us and I told Ray we had reached the Parkway just as the volunteer applauded our efforts. He had to wonder why Ray looked so fresh and I looked so dead when we were together. He directed us across the Parkway and onto the gravel road down to the next aid station. Getting over the guard rail was no easy task at this point, nor was running down the gravel road, though I did try. A few crew/volunteer cars were making their way up the road, pulling way over and stopping to let me go by, even when I'd wave them on. The road was wide enough for two cars so they must have worried about me staggering out of my "lane" and into them.
There's something about rolling into the last aid station. Unless you're near the cutoff time, you get some confidence that you will finish. The sun was somewhat up and the volunteers told us it was 3.5 miles up to the Parkway and then 6.5 miles to the finish. I thought it should be shorter than that, but that could have been wishful thinking on my part. I remembered coming down this 3.5 mile stretch very early in the race, but it honestly felt like 1.5-2.0 miles at most at that time. It really dragged on, as we completed what was technically the second half of the fifth 3,000' climb. If you look at the elevation profile below, that short downhill halfway into the final peak of the map, was the gravel road we'd come down into the aid station. We were now making that push for the final Parkway crossing at the top of the climb.
Though the sunrise had made me feel a bit better, it gave me no magical energy supply. I worked on staying hydrated and eating what I could. The Tailwind kept making me hungry, but nothing sounded or tasted good at the moment. Knowing I'd need something, I forced down a trail mix bar as best I could. About 2/3 of the way up this last climb, we caught up to another runner who was walking slower than me. Neither of us were in a chatty mood, so we just gave a little encouragement and kept going, wondering if he'd come blazing by me later on. After seeing what I thought was the Parkway a few times, we eventually found the real thing. I asked Ray to send Leslie a text message that all was fine as we headed down the road to the Toll Road. I got a bit ahead here as Ray typed, knowing that he'd catch up. I actually jogged a bit.
When we reached the Toll Road, there was (just like earlier) a water-only aid station with a family there. The husband and wife were working the water jugs and their son was in a hammock along the side of the road. As I passed through, not taking anything, the son said something like "you're almost there." I replied that I'd rather be lying in the hammock. He kindly offered to let me use it but I told him that if I laid down, I'd probably not get back up.
I've run down this part of the Toll Road probably 15 times between training runs and Black Mountain Marathons/Mount Mitchell Challenges. This day was easily the longest its taken me to get to the two trailers, where I'd turn onto the Heartbreak Ridge Trail. Given my lack of energy, the moderately technical downhill was keeping me from moving as quickly as I'd like, though my pace had certainly improved over the 20-22 minute miles I'd had coming up to the Parkway. We passed a trail to the left that I was certain I'd come up at the start of the race, so I assumed we were going back a different way. As we continued, it certainly didn't seem familiar. But, it eventually became a little more runnable. And I began to feel a little better. So, we ran. It was not a run like I might do at the start of a 5K, but rather one of someone who "smells the barn" and has a little bit of "solar energy" fueling him.
The trail seemed really good for running. Gentle downhill with not a lot of roots and rocks. Strava shows my pace to be not any better than a walk, but perhaps when I did have to stop to cross a tree or something, I significantly slowed down, offsetting a better running pace. I was not only convinced that we'd not come up this trail in the morning, but also that it was taking us west of the finish area--because we continued to move away from the trail I'd seen on our left earlier. Ray agreed, but possibly because I had him convinced that we were on a different trail, and we both decided that we'd pop out somewhere on pavement and have to run back to the finish area. We continued to see course markers, however. So, unless someone was seriously messing with us, we were on the course.
It was a long stretch of runnable downhill, with a couple of uphill climbs thrown in to kill my momentum. The trail wound around the contours of the mountains as we slowly descended. In the not-too-far distance we could hear a train chugging along. It almost seemed to have stopped or significantly slowed down, leading me to think it was in that very curvy section of track where they say you can see it in three places at once. After a while, we actually saw someone ahead and below us on the trail. They were pretty far ahead, exiting a series of switchbacks that we were just starting, but it was nice to see someone else. Shortly after we reached the point where they were when we saw them, we came out on some train tracks. I remembered these from earlier in the race--though honestly wasn't sure it was the exact same spot. Ray found them fascinating and commented on the gauge of steel used. I saw the finish ahead and below and told him he can come back up and look at it after we're done. I "sprinted" down, came out of the woods, hung a sharp left (hearing Brian calling out nearby) and came through the finish. Aaron Saft was there, along with a few other people I didn't recognize. I saw Michelle and Lee in chairs--the splits show that they'd gained a lot of time on me after we parted and that Lee had beaten Michelle by about 30 minutes, which surprised me since Brian and I both thought that Michelle was holding back and staying with Lee, who seemed to be struggling at the time. The clock read 29:41-something. The longest anything I'd ever done, if you don't count a non-stop drive to Glacier National Park with two other people about 17 years ago.
Aaron handed me the belt buckle, which, in my happiness to be done, I'd actually forgotten about, and told me all the food options they had. Some brave volunteer took my surely-smelly pack and poles and put them by a chair. I made my way over to the covered area where the food was and sat down on the concrete step. Any other day, the food they were preparing would have been great, but I just had no appetite right now. Maybe it is because it was my slowest 100 ever, but I felt better than I usually do at the end of these runs. Ray brought me a towel to wipe off with and my finish line bag, which had a shirt I could change into. I laughed that I'd put some cold-weather gear in the bag. I was chilled only once, briefly, the entire race and that was on Pinnacle Mountain when I'd been so wet.
I spoke to Mike Guyer (Black Mountain Monster RD) a bit and went back to thank Aaron for putting on a great race and wishing him luck at UTMB later this year. I grabbed my drop bag from the aid station I'd met Brian at, and just relaxed for the first time in almost 30 hours. But, for the sake of Ray and Brian, I didn't relax too long. I knew they'd be ready to get home and I was also. Ray drove me back to my car at Camp Grier and we got everything transferred over. It felt good to sit down and I sent Leslie a message that I was done and on my way home. I won't detail the 40ish minute drive home, other than to say that I made it without falling asleep, but realize that had it been much longer, I might have been in trouble. I did not try to get a Cook Out milkshake, as is our post-long-run tradition, fearing that stretching the drive home any longer would have me falling asleep at the wheel.
I don't expect I'll tackle this race again, but did tell Aaron I'd consider volunteering next year if I am able. It's not just the difficulty that would keep me away, but the fact that I can always go back and revisit some of those trails on my own or with friends, since they are so close by. I'd told Brian and Ray that this was a good one to retire on. Five 100-miler finishes is a nice "round" number. I could let go of the UTMB dream and be happy. Truthfully, and I've said it before, I really enjoy the "all-day" mountain runs with friends more than these races. Sure, you don't get a finishers award, but you don't beat yourself up--too badly--and you still feel like you've done something special.
No one seems to believe my willingness to hang up the 100-miler shoes, but I won't rule it out. I do have Kodiak 100 in August, but with UTMB changing their qualifying standards, I now only need a hard 50-miler or "easy" 100K this year to be qualified for 2020. If no one else goes to Kodiak, I'll likely drop down to a shorter race out there.
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| Profile Map (in Meters and Kilometers) |
Place Time Checkpoint
13 7:17 a.m. Blue Ridge Parkway
12 9:11 a.m. Curtis Creek Campground
16 12:02 p.m. Neals Creek Heliport
18 2:50 p.m. Mount Mitchell
24 5:55 p.m. Colbert's Creek (Brian)
25 1:17 a.m. Neal's Creek Heliport
24 4:27 a.m. Curtis Creek Campground (Ray)
22 10:11 a.m. Finish
Course Map
LiveTrail Splits (click "enter.")
Ultrasignup Results
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