This promised to be the year. The weather looked good and while I wasn't running great, I felt like I'd be able to slog my way to the summit of Mount Mitchell and back and finally achieve that elusive 10th Challenge finish; a milestone at which I would no longer register for the event, opening up a space for some other aspiring summit-seeker.
While the morning began with the same race-day lack of enthusiasm I've experienced in the past year or so, I wasn't dreading the event. I knew it would mean seeing some people I'd not seen in a while--the acquaintances you only see at races--and it was going to be my longest-yet training run for Hellbender. After a brief search-and-retrieve mission for one of my dogs in the woods behind our house (I didn't want him waking up the neighbors) I was on the road about 5:45 a.m., about fifteen minutes later than I'd planned. It's only about a forty-five minute drive to Black Mountain, but getting a good parking spot at the finish was a concern, and there's the half-mile walk to the start from where we park.
The interstate wasn't too crowded at this early hour as I listened to American Greed on satellite radio--it was an episode about Elizabeth Holmes of Theranos fame. I wondered if I'd run into Lee making his way to Black Mountain. He was the only other person I was certain was registered for the race. As I passed the rest area where Lee always stops when he's racing west of Hickory, a Subaru was merging onto the interstate. I wouldn't be certain for a while--he was too far in front to see any rear window stickers--but it actually was Lee and I'd be following him to Black Mountain, though we'd take different exits into town.
We ended up parking beside one another and walked/jogged together to the start, arriving as Jay Curwen was making the pre-race announcements. There was hardly time to get my watch ready before the race had begun.
I think the temperature was in the upper 30s or lower 40s. I had my Grindstone finisher's jacket over short-sleeved tech shirt. In my Ultimate Direction race vest was a new 1.5 liter bladder that replaced the one that broke on me during South Mountains 50K and some food. Also, since it looked like rain was possible, I stuffed my lightweight rain jacket in the pack.
The first three miles, out of Black Mountain, through Montreat, and onto the trail went pretty much like every year. I didn't speak to anyone and passed quite a few people while trying to run a steady pace in the 8-9 minute/mile range. I've had years where the first few miles of the trail were a little crowded and whether I'm near the front, middle, or back, I'd just like to be in a spot where I don't have a lot of people around me. I've also had years where I've had to walk sections of the trail leading to the Sourwood Gap aid station (#1) due to pushing too hard too soon. I hoped my reasonable pace would prevent unplanned walks until I at least was on the road leading to the summit of Mount Mitchell (mile 15ish.) Of course, there are some very short stretches that its safer and just as quick to walk, but my goal was to be able to "run" through the first three aid stations.
This year, I really did have fewer people around me on this stretch of trail. There was no snow, just mud, leaves, rocks, and roots. Even though I've run through here many times before, this was the first year where I felt like I kind of remembered the landmarks. That knowledge helped me break it down into smaller segments and made it seem to go by quicker.
I didn't need anything at the first aid station so I gave them my bib number and pressed on ahead. The next six or seven miles were fairly uneventful. I mostly maintained my steady pace over each mile, slowing only where the rocks were so numerous it required creative routing or where the climb increased from 200'/mile to 300 or 400'/mile. I passed a few people through here, but didn't bother to count because I figured they'd probably pass me right back. We breezed through the second aid station (which was much rowdier than the first) and began the push to the Parkway, where the marathoners would turn around. A mile or so past this aid station is where I start looking for marathoners coming back towards me. If I hadn't seen many by the time I reached the Parkway, I could elect to switch to the marathon and hope for maybe a top three Masters finish?
I wouldn't see the first marathoner coming towards me until well past the point where Morgan Elliot came toward me the year he set the course record of 2:49:03(!) There was a group of three guys fairly close together. I was maybe a mile or so from the turnaround. After I'd seen quite a few come back toward me, I began to wonder just how many people had chosen to do the Challenge this year.
There's a point as you near the Parkway, where the Toll Road levels off and eventually goes downhill. It was here that a photographer said something to the effect of my being halfway done. I immediately wondered how he'd know which race I was doing and then I began to worry was that he knew which race I was in because we'd all been relegated to the marathon. Again. As I entered the aid station, I asked a nearby volunteer/spectator if the summit was closed and she confirmed my fears. As if to reinforce the accuracy of her statement, she pointed towards a park ranger flanked by several volunteers, physically blocking off passage onto the Parkway. I don't know if that was coincidence that they were forming a human barricade, but if not, it was certainly symbolic. I would later tell friends that I missed the old days when they never closed the summit on race day and didn't care if you died up there--the last part being in jest.
Well, I felt pretty good in the first half, maybe I could push the pace on the way back down. And I did so, within my ability to navigate some of the small boulder fields that seem to get sketchier each year. Had I been carrying my poles, I might have gone through some of the more technical sections a tad faster, but with my Salomons iffy with slick rocks, I didn't dare risk going too fast. As I made my way down the mountain and runners were coming up towards me, several called me by name, and I totally blanked on who they were. Some, I realized after we'd passed, but of the six or seven such encounters, I only recognized a few and Rick Grey was the only person I recognized before we passed each other. His wife, Michelle, was one I realized who it was after I passed her.
So, on downhills like this, I know that younger, more daring, runners are going to catch and pass me, so I have a goal of minimizing the number of people who do so. My ideal goal is to pass more people than pass me. For the first few miles, this was going pretty well. I believe I netted moving up a couple spots. Not needing anything at the next aid station, I went on through as one guy who'd been ahead of me stopped to get something. It actually wasn't until maybe a mile above the Sourwood Gap aid station that I was demoralized as three young runners went by me. There's a hunter's shack in this area that we run right by. The same people who'd been out there earlier were still there, cheering on the runners. I've heard about every word of encouragement you can hear, but a lady there said something I'd never heard. "I hope it ends well for you." Well, that was certainly different.
I leapfrogged two of the guys who passed me at the Sourwood Gap aid station as they walked through it, eating something. Just after that is a descent of about 1,000' in a mile. I knew they'd pass me back and they did, about 1/5 of the way down it, before we even reached the pavement. After I reached the bottom of the really steep hill in Montreat, I could tell I wasn't going to catch the two guys, even though they were still within sight. I pressed on and saw a young blond-haired woman running up the sidewalk towards me and calling me by name. My mind raced. Who would I know running in Montreat today--who wasn't in the race? When I got closer I realized it was Darlene, come to do her weekend run and watch the race participants. She caught me off guard but I think I managed to say hello and apologize for not being able to stay and chat. She kept running up the course towards where I'd just been.
Though momentarily mentally knocked out of race mode, I regrouped and kept pressing on. Over the years, I've grown to like the nature trail sections in Montreat that early on just felt like "busy work." Well, it quickly became apparent that we would not be using them this year and we stayed on the main road for quite a ways before turning onto the parallel street that always seems to stretch out forever. This section was made a little more interesting when I passed Mike Guyer's aid station, offering beer and Jim Beam. I laughed and kept on going. I finally caught up to a guy in this section and we'd play leapfrog for a while. He'd stop and walk and I'd pass him, then he'd sprint by me. We continued this through the greenway and back up onto the main road. It was there that I noticed another guy about fifty yards ahead of me had just missed the last turn. I didn't know his name, so all I could do was shout, "Hey!" After the second shout, he turned and I pointed toward the road we needed to take. He and I reached that road about the same time, but he pulled back ahead as we headed through the small neighborhood near the finish. I don't know how big the loop around the lake is but it's certainly more than a quarter mile. I pressed on, really not wanting to be passed here and wondering if someone would actually pass me if they could. This loop feels a bit like the Champs d'Ellyses during the Tour de France. It's considered bad form to pass here (I suppose unless it's a Challenge runner passing a marathoner.)
When I rounded the final turn and crossed the little bridge, I could see the clock reading four hours and change. The only reason to press now was because I thought I could "feel" someone catching up to me. I crossed the finish in a little over 4:01 and very shortly after that, someone else came through. It actually was not the guy I'd been leapfrogging.
In hindsight, it was another one of those races where I felt good for most of the race but ultimately ran slower than in prior years. In this case, it was eight minutes slower than my previous "worst" time in the Black Mountain Marathon. So, now I stand at 9 Challenge finishes and 4 Marathon finishes. The OCD in me now feels like I need to get to 10 and 5, but we'll see. The Challenge has lost much of its appeal now that, in the best-case-scenario, we only get to run up the Park entrance road to the summit. I suppose my getting back onto those trails will have to be reserved for future fun runs.
After getting my finisher's fleece (a different brand this year) I walked a lap around the lake and decided I was so banged up from the downhill(s) that I just wanted to head home, get cleaned up, and stretch out. I couldn't help but wonder if I felt this bad from the marathon, what would I have felt had I done the Challenge?
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