It was a frigid morning at the South Mountains 50K with temperatures hovering around 20 degrees in the "bowl" that is the parking area of South Mountains State Park. It was going to be one of those race days when you felt sorry for the volunteers, who had to stand around for hours in the chill. I showed up to get my race bib shortly after 7:00 a.m., spoke briefly to a few others, then got back in my car to await the 8:00 start. The time passed pretty quickly and I soon found myself walking up for Brandon's last-minute briefing.
We were sent to the "Start" side of the large, blue, inflatable arch. My plan for the day, considering I'd not been training appropriately and scarcely racing, was to hold back early, hoping to ensure more energy later in the race and avoiding the bad bonk that hit me about mile 26 last year and the one that hit about mile 21 in 2019. So, while I was one of the first people to head to the start area, I went about 20-25' behind the arch, figuring that would put me at the middle of the pack, maybe just a little forward. That's what I expected, but I found that 90% of the people coming up after me got behind me, to where I was now starting in the front 10%. Oh, well, it didn't mean I couldn't still go out at my own pace.
Though it was cold, I was in shorts, with a Smartwool short-sleeved running shirt and my Grindstone finisher's long-sleeve running jacket that is essentially a shirt in terms of insulation value. I had my new Salomon shoes, my 1.5 liter bladder filled with Tailwind in my Ultimate Direction pack, food, My only concern was that, given the tendency for my hands to get cold, I had chosen my lighter weight mitten-gloves rather than the better insulated ones. I also had my trekking poles, mostly for creek-crossing stability as a fall in the water today would be a problem.
So, Brandon began his countdown and then ushered us off with some banjo music (that's really hard to hear over the sound of runner chatter.) The race starts with roughly 1200' of climb in the first four miles, so instead of focusing on my actual pace, I tried to keep my heart rate and breathing steady and in a manageable range. Despite this, I still passed a number of people up this first hill. There were times when people in front of me--who were not far off the frontrunners--would walk sections but I kept to my measured pace. Part of me wanted to run as much as I could this race knowing that ultimately it would be training for Hellbender in May. At the top of the hill (mountain?) we'd begin a descent that gave up all that elevation gain in half the distance as we made our way to the first aid station.
I noted probably halfway up the initial climb that my bladder, or more likely the hose, had already frozen. I figured it would thaw out as the day wore on, but the other part of my race strategy involved steadily consuming Tailwind to avoid the previously mentioned bonk. As we came into the first aid station at mile 6, it didn't even occur to me to get some water and/or Gatorade.
Not surprisingly, we began another steep climb right after our two mile descent. It's a pattern that would continue throughout the day and is apparent in the profile map.
Within the first 100 yards up this second climb, I heard some runners coming up quickly from behind me. Getting passed wasn't surprising, but I didn't think anyone was right on my heels and it seemed an odd time for someone to be coming by at that pace. The second guy said hello. I looked over and it was Greg. I felt a little better, realizing they were in the marathon that had just started. From here on out, I'd probably be mixed with both marathoners and 50K runners and not really know which race a given person was in unless I could see their bib. Still, my goal was to run a steady race and not get caught up on place or passing people.
This second climb gains 1400' in four miles. That's net gain, because there are some short downhill stretches that have to be regained. I was now walking sections, but still ran slight and/or short inclines. The crowd, even the marathoners, had thinned. That's just how I like it. Regardless of place, it's nice to just be alone out there, in your own space and with your own thoughts. The views were really good from the ridgelines with low humidity making visibility excellent for miles.
I still had no flow through my bladder. In hindsight, maybe I could have taken it out and tried to clean out the hose, but at the time, it didn't occur to me to do anything other than wait for it to thaw. So, at the second aid station, I had them fill my collapsible cup first with water, then with Gatorade. I guess I got 8, maybe 12, ounces of fluids in me. I later realized that was the first time I'd had Gatorade in years. It was orange, which is not my favorite flavor, but I knew I needed something.
Now we had another long descent, back down to the first aid station. It's funny. I guess there are enough short uphills or flat areas on these descents that you don't fully realize that it's four miles long. My descent speed was decent, but not great. My eyes tend to tear up when it's cold and breezy and the sun would occasionally cut through the trees, partially blinding me. I was a little surprised that I wasn't getting overtaken by the younger, bolder runners on this often technical stretch of downhill. When I finally popped out at aid station #3, I found I'd caught up to another runner. I went to get some water and Gatorade and heard what sounded like one of those pre-recorded narrations at a museum display on the history of American government. At first, I thought they were listening to it at the aid station, but then realized the runner had it playing on his phone. It was an odd choice of listening material, but I'd heard something similar before at Bryce Canyon when a guy was listening to what sounded like a western novel.
We headed out towards and up the waterfall. Given that some of the rocks on the creek crossings had ice on them, I was happy to see that the boardwalk and steps did not. The steps, however, can pose a challenge to short-legged hikers/runners. This stretch, after the waterfall, is the section I feel least familiar with, possibly because I'm seldom on it outside of the race. It's a bit of a roller coaster up to a road that's on the border of the Park and the Pine Mountain Golf Course community. About two miles beyond the aid station, I felt a little water on my back. At first, I assumed it was sweat, but it certainly wasn't hot. Then, I felt more and I realized my bladder hand begun to leak. For a bit, I figured I'd run with it as is until the next aid station, but it continued to get worse so I had to stop and pull it out. The hole was oddly at the top, just under where it's sealed. I poured everything out but for some reason didn't think to shove it back in my pack, choosing instead to carry it to the next aid station, where I planned to trash it. The bladder certainly doesn't weigh anything, but it was a little annoying to carry, especially with the hose flopping around. This section was by far the longest, mentally, partly because of the bladder issue, but mostly because of my unfamiliarity with the trail.
My spirits were lifted when I saw a red tent above me and then saw Craig Lancaster taking photos. He chose to get them at a steep incline right before the aid station, so they are unfortunately pictures of me walking. Chad Randolph was heading up this aid station and pouring cups of whiskey (!) alongside the Gatorade and water. They'd cleverly set their table up on the far side of the road so they were technically not inside the border of the State Park and were in the Pine Mountain community. I stuck with water and Gatorade and headed off shortly after the guy listening to the documentary came by me.
I was glad to find I could run some on the one mile road section, though my stride felt pretty short. I passed a couple of runners--whether they were marathoners or 50K, I wasn't sure. At the end of the road, we began a long downhill into the final aid station. This was a tough section, primarily because for much of it, I was within earshot of the guy's "documentary" and it was really starting to get annoying. I have no idea why he didn't wear headphones. I did pass one guy through here, about halfway down the mountain, but didn't really put any distance on him. This downhill was technical enough to where I was glad to have my poles. I'd so far managed to avoid even a stumble all day, just the occasional ankle roll on larger rocks. The biggest risk here was the thick coating of leaves on the trail, hiding any rocks and roots below. This was another reason my poles came in handy. Once the trail emerged onto the flat road to the aid station, it really occurred to me how much of my speed was due to the downhill and my legs felt really tight.
The guy I'd just passed caught up to me at this aid station and we ran together briefly along the flat stretch below the entrance road. I could tell he was beginning to wane and when we crossed the road and began another climb, he fell back. BUT, "Documentary Guy" caught up. My solitude again interrupted by the dull, dry intonation of the museum narrator. I'll give the runner credit as I was unable to drop him--and I did try. This became the first time all day that I cared about my "place," at least with respect to nearness to this particular runner. I'd gain a little distance on him and then lose it. Heck, from his perspective, I was probably serving as his rabbit.
He followed me down to the last road crossing and the start of one last huge climb of about 800' in 1.3 miles. I realized I was not going to lose him and so maybe 1/4-1/2 mile up this climb, I pulled over to use the bathroom and let him go on ahead. The runner was a nice guy, it was just his annoying choice of entertainment and lack of headphones that got to me. For better or worse, I'd never see or hear him again. I was going through a bit of a bonk at this point and pulled out a granola bar, hoping to rebalance my blood sugar. I saw another runner several hundred yards ahead of me, frequently looking back as he hiked up the steep hill. I wanted to shout up to him, "Don't worry, I'm not going to catch you."
The summit came quicker than I expected, perhaps because I overestimated how long the climb actually is. Finishing the climb, we were treated to a short downhill, then the last and largest creek crossing. Having kept my feet pretty dry the entire race, I elected to rock hop this last crossing, a feat made possible only because of my poles as the rocks were small, occasionally wobbly, and sometimes icy. Once across the creek, I noticed that I'd made up time on the guy ahead of me and after we turned to begin our final descent, I continued to gain on him. I think here it was definitely due to my poles as I noticed I could come down a little more brazenly than he could with the added security of two additional points of contact on the ground. I'd honestly already decided in my mind that I would not pass him as it didn't seem right here so close to the finish. I was just rushing to get the race over with, knowing we were almost done and he seemed to be slowing. Right before our trail popped out on the Headquarters Trail, with about 1/4 mile to go, he pulled over to let me pass. I felt bad about passing him here at the end but went on through. As I did so, I noticed a female runner right behind me--someone I'd not seen all day--and I certainly hadn't heard her approaching. When we emerged on the final stretch, I moved over to the far right, figuring that if she caught up, she'd be passing me. I did speed up, wanting to at least make her earn it, but she didn't come by. I sped up more, now deciding that I didn't want to be near her when she finished because if she was the first female, she should have that moment for herself. There was no way on earth I was going to look over my shoulder. Maybe I was racing her, but I certainly didn't want her to know that!
When I crossed the line, I stopped my watch and was a little disappointed to find it reading 5:58. For as good as I felt most of the race and the fact that I had energy at the end, I thought I was doing significantly better than last year, but I was 6-7 minutes slower. I guess I felt better because I wasn't moving as quickly. I lost a little time fooling with my bladder and stopping at the aid stations, but at best, recapturing that time would only put me about even with last year's finish time. I really felt like I must have been in the 5:30 range as well as the day seemed to go.
Oh well, the good news is that I didn't get injured, and nothing hurt. Maybe it will be something I can build on going forward. Hopefully, at the very least, it will motivate me to get a little more serious about my training. When my buildup to a 50K with 7,000+ feet of climb was a marathon with 150' of climb, it's apparent that I need a little more strategic planning when it comes to my training regimen.
Survive and advance.
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