2022 South Mountains 50K

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.

Strava Data

Ultrasignup Results

Grandell (Or you might pronounce it "Gritchell.")

The results of our previous effort at this run did not sit well with us and we soon began planning another attempt. We'd tried it in March of 2020 and while we knew the trails pretty well, we might have overestimated our ability to move quickly on them. Our pace was much slower than we'd hoped and knowing that Mount Mitchell State Park would be closed if we did make it to the summit, we could not wrap our heads around having to hike back down to Black Mountain Campground after finishing because a vehicle could not drive up to get us.

So, when Autumn rolled around, we began looking at a second crack at this adventure. While we discussed and planned, another runner, Kevin Ball, went out and did it. I'm not sure if he was aware of our run, but his completion did spark our eagerness to slay this "beast." 

Unfortunately, one of our party, Dennis, would not be able to take part due to a badly injured calf muscle. Postponing wasn't a viable option since he had no idea how long it would take to heal. He had given it a week, then tested it, and it only got worse. So this time, it was just me and Brian, with Andy joining us at Old Highway 105.

To determine when to start, Brian took the range of possible finish times and worked backwards so that the middle finish time would be in the middle of Mount Mitchell State Park's open hours. That put us at a midnight start and a 38.5 hour finish goal--much slower than what we'd hoped for before the previous attempt. I felt like we could do it quicker than that, but it was best to be conservative with our estimates.

Brian's dad was again going to crew for us, but this time we scheduled it so that he had more free time and we stashed supplies in two places along the way. We would also use Andy's car as a third "aid station."

I met Brian at the Profile Trailhead at Grandfather Mountain State Park--our starting point was slightly different since this is where Kevin started. We filled out our information forms for the rangers and stuck them in the boxes at the bathroom area. In filling out the "hiking" form, it asks for your destination. I put Mount Mitchell. I had to wonder if the ranger would think I was joking, but they probably see it all.

It was a moderately cool evening, maybe in the upper 40s or low 50s. The sky was clear, and the only sounds were from late night traffic on Highway 105. At eight minutes after midnight, we started towards Mount Mitchell. The lower part of the Profile Trail is pretty level and runnable as it winds around the base of Grandfather Mountain, following the Watauga River and the highway. But, it's less than a mile before the serious climb starts.

Despite having done races of this distance and being familiar with the trail, I don't think I was fully grasping the enormity of what we were about to tackle. The challenges that unfolded during our previous attempt had long since faded from my memory. There was optimism, based on good weather and good health, but so much can go wrong. Would we be able to pull it off?

We moved briskly up the Profile Trail. Well, brisk for the terrain and climb. This would be a longer hike (about three miles) to Calloway Peak than the route we took earlier in the year and this time the clock started at the trailhead. We reached Calloway Peak in about 1:20. The sky was clear and starlit, the moon shaped like an upside down taco.

This descent down the Daniel Boon Scout Trail felt more conservative than the pace Dennis had pushed us to in March. While there was some ice in March, we now had a layer of fallen leaves to contend with, leaves that hid rocks and roots. I planned to use my trekking poles the entire time and I certainly was using them here.

I spent a lot of time in the days before this run trying to figure out what I would need. A forecast that showed little chance of rain and pretty stable temperatures helped on the clothing side. I decided to be proactive and had five or six pairs of socks accessible at various stops, several shirts, two lightweight running jackets, extra shorts, and another pair of shoes. I had gloves and a head band, but doubted I'd need those. On the food side, I made four PB&Js on English muffins, had a ton of granola bars, had several protein shakes (which really seem to help at times during a long run) and Brian's dad had promised eggs our second morning.

The only downside to the midnight start was getting any sleep beforehand. I managed about two hours before I had to head to the Profile Trail. I'd never missed more than one night of sleep, so unless we pulled off some miraculously fast time, I'd be venturing into uncharted waters. A "second sunrise" was something I'd never faced in one of these types of runs--though had I finished UTMB, that would involved two nights. I've had some 100s take almost 30 hours,  but they started where I'd only be out for one night--only see one sunrise. Right now, as we made our way down toward the Tanawha Trail, I was just hoping to make it to the first sunrise.

Aside from frequent spider-webs-to-the-face, most of the early part of the run was pretty uneventful. We ran (jogged) where possible but uphills were walked, as were some flat areas that had tricky footing. That would be the theme of the day. Rough Ridge Overlook was a great spot for stargazing on this cloudless, low humidity night. We singled out the constellation of Orion as our guide and followed him for much of this first night. We couldn't linger at the overlook, though, as we weren't even 10% of the way along the journey.

In March, by the time we went under the Viaduct, we'd seen a few people on the trail--of course we started in the early morning that time. Today, we'd not seen a soul and barely heard any traffic along the Parkway. Though it was dark, it was easy to forget it was the middle of the night and most people were still in bed.

Everything was going well until the MST suddenly came out onto a road which neither of us expected. We couldn't remember being on the road before Beacon Heights last time we did this, but we double checked the trail and it definitely led to the road. We followed the road a little bit in each direction, not sure which way it went. Then, Brian pulled out his app with the route on it and found that the Trail crosses the road here. Feeling a little stupid, we headed down the path on the opposite side of 221.

Brian had stashed some water here, which we used to top off our supply. It was the shortest aid stop we'd make during the entire journey. There was something about starting earlier that made it feel like we were ahead of schedule since we arrived here in the dark versus midday last time, but we were pretty much on Brian's predicted schedule, which he based on the prior attempt.

The section from Beacon Heights to Old House Gap is much easier going down than coming up, but it's still twisty and technical in many places. We made good time, but it wasn't until we hit the dirt road section (and saw some car campers) that we could really speed up. If you look at the Strava data, though, "speeding up" is a relative term. We moved quicker, but when you factor in some pit stops, the pace didn't quicken much and none of the miles was under ten minutes. Still, it was nice to hit a stretch where you felt like you could go a consistent pace for more than a minute or two. Somewhere in here, Brian began getting text messages from a ranger at Grandfather Mountain asking where he was camping as all the dedicated sites were spoken for. Brian had filled out the "camping" form instead of the "hiking" form. Through a series of messages, he was able to straighten it out with the ranger. I was never contacted so I must have done it correctly.

Huntfish Falls

Reaching Roseborough Road meant two things. First, the pace would again slow. Second, we'd start a series of crossings of Lost Cove Creek. The crossings aren't terribly deep, but the water was definitely cold. After the initial shock of the cold water, it kind of felt good on feet that had been through a lot of downhill pounding for the past 20ish miles. When we weren't slowed down with a crossing, though, there were opportunities here to pick up the pace a little bit. When we finally reached Huntfish Falls, the sun had been up for a bit. Note that we had just left daylight savings time the prior weekend. That same weekend, the closing time for Mount Mitchell State Park dropped from 9:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m., giving us a shorter finish time window.

Pineola Aid Station

After a long climb up from Huntfish, we saw Brian's dad for the first time. He had a couple chairs set up, along with a table and the back of his car open for quick access to our gear. Having Larry meet us along the way gave us a fresh voice to talk with at times and provided a bit of a mental boost. This time especially as he was the first person we'd seen since before we started. He said that we were really close to the arrival time Brian had predicted. Since Brian's times were all leading to that 38.5 hour finish, I really wanted to start hearing that we were early to a checkpoint. So, we had essentially kept the same pace as in the previous attempt back in March. One thing we did not have was Kevin's times to certain "checkpoints." While he likely would have shared them, we didn't think to ask. It might have been useful since we knew his finishing time (roughly 38.5 hours) and could see which sections took him longer than we'd expected for us.

After heading out from the car, it felt a little like a fresh start. It was now morning, the sky was a bit overcast, so the sun wouldn't be beating on us. The temperature was nice, so we felt pretty good. During the planning stages, Brian had said he wasn't much of a talker and I suppose the same can be said of me, but we hadn't had a lot of quiet time so far. I guess conversation makes the miles pass more quickly. With the presidential election having taken place a few days earlier, that became a topic, as did video games, the trail, and pretty much anything else that came to mind.

Since we were heading into the Harper Creek area, I really expected to start seeing people out on the trails. We did see one car camper where we turned off Pineola Road. He had converted an ambulance into a camper. He had kayaks mounted to the top, but we couldn't see what he had done to the inside. It looked like a great idea for a crew vehicle. Especially if they left some glucose IVs, etc... inside.

Harper Creek Falls

The Harper Creek area is more runnable (jogable) than you might think. It's a little like Lost Creek with the creek crossings, but there seem to be more flat and smooth sections. While the poles helped a lot overall, they were really proving their value on the creek crossings. Though in most cases there wasn't a strong current, many times the rocks were really slick. Having four points of contact practically guaranteed that I'd not be getting any wetter than necessary on a given crossing. 

It wasn't until we were close to the trail junction that can take you out towards Wilson Creek that we began seeing other people. The first group was three guys heading upstream with fishing equipment, followed soon after by a father with two kids. Reaching the "big" crossing of Harper Creek meant the beginning of a long climb along Raider Creek. The profile really doesn't look as bad as the section feels. It even shows downhills that don't register in our memory when actually out there on the trail. To us, it felt like a long, steady climb all the way to Highway 181, where Brian's dad would be meeting us. Of note on this section is the presence of several "bobsled chutes," sections of the trail with steep banks on either side that I suppose are the result of erosion over the years.

Every time I am on this section, I temporarily forget that it does not lead directly up to 181, but that we will peak around the Raider Camp area and then descend to Upper Creek before the final push up to 181. It's only a four mile stretch, but it feels much farther. After crossing Upper Creek, we began seeing more signs of life. First a family of five, then on the climb to 181 some college age kids heading down. As Brian was fond of noting, this part of the trail has a number of large "moguls," perhaps explaining why its a popular section for mountain bikers, that we had to get past before we'd reach the highway. Shortly, though, we could see light through the trees, meaning we were nearing the end of the climb and this time, not only was Brian's dad meeting us, but his mom as well. The weather was nice and there actually was some color at the lower elevations, so she tagged along for the mid-day crewing, taking in the scenery along the way.

I changed socks here, even though I knew I'd be getting my feet wet soon. Some of the decision to change was because I knew that I was getting sand in my socks with the creek crossings and since I had plenty of pairs, I didn't need to be conservative about using them. Larry said that the Live Tracking was working well. It would drop out occasionally, when we didn't have a clear signal, but then it would catch up when we got to higher ground. We lingered at this stop a bit longer than we had at Pineola. This is the only part of a run like these where Brian and I differ. I'm all about quick stops and keep moving forward where he likes to use stops as an opportunity to regroup. I think the net effect is the same in terms of overall pace--he'd get a bit of rest and could catch up if I went on--but I decided to follow his lead and I didn't want to be rude to his parents by heading on without him.

The Table Rock "Middle" Road 

So, after refilling our water bladders, restocking our food, etc... we darted across highway 181 before a speeding truck or motorcycle could take us out. Once across 181, we had the "easiest" running we would have most of the day--a steady gravel downhill for about a mile and a half. Actually, even after we turned off the road onto trail, it remained fairly runnable. I tried to rock hop the creek crossings, but eventually realized it was pointless. I did, however, make a point of avoiding deep mud, just to keep grit out of my shoes as much as possible. During this downhill, we saw a couple of young women mountain biking up the trail, one of whom Brian knew. After that, still making our way down to Steele Creek, we came up on a couple with a dog. We slowed down and let them come by. With an excited tone she asked us if we'd heard the good news. I actually knew what she meant because earlier my sister had texted me a picture of a tv screen that showed CNN stating that Joe Biden had won the election. I certainly didn't have to wonder who she voted for, but I did wonder what made her confident that we had voted that way and would consider it "good news?" Was it because we were in the woods? Did she assume Republicans don't go into the woods except to hunt and cut all the trees down? It didn't bother me so much as made me curious. I'm registered as unaffiliated, for what it's worth. I'm critical of both parties.

We left the happy couple and continued down toward Steele Creek. Some of the usually-dry areas had running water on them. It hadn't rained in about a week, to my knowledge, so perhaps the ground was so saturated, it was still making its way down the mountain, towards the low point. Even creekside, the water was noticeably higher than I'd expected. Certainly not flood stage, but up from what I've seen at other times, even late September when I swept the Table Rock Ultras course through here.

The climb out of Steele Creek is steep and can be grueling, but with each time I do it, it does feel a bit shorter. Knowing Brian's dad was at the mid-point was encouraging. We made good time coming up and even encountered a few hikers. I often wonder in sections like this, what someone's hiking route is. Are they going down to Steele Creek and then coming back up? Are they making a loop of it? I never ask, so I'll never know. The biggest challenge on this section was acorns. They blanketed the ground in some parts. Had the ground been hard, it might have been more of a problem, but for the most part, they just mashed into the ground under our feet.

Brian Stretches Out

Brian's parents again had their "rolling aid station" set up with chairs, table, even blankets on the ground in case we needed to take a nap, I suppose. There was quite a bit of traffic on the road here, as we neared Table Rock. Oddly, even though it was only about 2:00 in the afternoon, we had to retrieve our headlamps from Larry's car. I got mine, as well as an extra battery, a USB battery and the cords I'd need to recharge my phone or watch if/when necessary. I also changed shirts and socks again, just as a precaution, but also because I knew we had several hours now before we'd be crossing any water, and the next one was the Linville River. I also grabbed my lightweight jacket because it would be after dark when we met Andy on Old Highway 105. We wouldn't see Brian's dad again for another 37 miles.

After the short jog down the gravel road, we turned for the 2(ish) mile ascent up towards Table Rock. It was a nice day and to actually go to the summit would have been nice, but it's not part of the route and there was no sense adding on extra time and distance that we didn't have to. 

It's funny how people are dealing with COVID in the outdoors differently. On this climb and even earlier in the day, we'd see some people wearing masks, some wouldn't speak or would even somewhat turn away as you passed and some didn't seem to have any concern about the virus. I didn't have anything to cover with, but I'd give people wide berth and only speak when they were well ahead or behind us. Not when we were adjacent. After the small field that comes around the midpoint of this climb, it really gets steep. I could tell Brian was feeling it and of course I was as well. I felt like, without telling him, he was using his trekking poles wrong. Lee Starnes and I both plant the pole by our foot and push off with the pole as we push off with our leg, using sort of a lever action with our shoulder and elbow. Brian would put his poles out ahead of him and try to pull himself up. I don't know that there is a right and wrong way to do it, but I've tried both and the way I do it seems to work much better and can be maintained all day long. The only "problem" I'd had were some tender spots on my palms from using the poles a lot without gloves during this adventure.

As we neared the Table Rock Summit Trail, we began seeing an increasing number of hikers and the Table Rock parking area was packed, with cars lining the entrance road and license plates from state well beyond North Carolina. It was a bit odd that despite the crowd, the camping area on the other side of the lot was relatively sparsely used. Maybe half the spots were taken, at best. Apparently, even though it was a nice weekend, most of the people here were day hikers. The crowd thinned a bit as we headed towards the Chimneys and then picked back up with rock climbers once we got there. Two guys spoke to us as we let them go by on the trail. They had a western European look and had been climbing. Seeing our packs, they asked how far we were going. Brian told them Mount Mitchell and they asked where we started. We told them Grandfather Mountain and he said "Sounds fun." I don't know if they believed us or if they even knew where either mountain was, but we parted ways and continued on our trek. As we continued, we heard more accents, including a couple that we could hear but not see that sounded Russian.

The Linville Gorge From Shortoff

The stretch after the Chimneys, down and up across Shortoff, can really drag on. Even knowing and expecting it doesn't help. The three "saddles" between the Chimneys and Shortoff always take longer than you think and seem to have more than three climbs. Then, once on Shortoff, everything looks so similar, its hard to find unique features to mark your progress. The pond is about the only thing I know of that tells me I'm getting close to the Wolf Pit side of the mountain. Somewhere along Shortoff, I checked my watch and the battery was getting really low. I hooked it to the USB battery and noticed that it didn't seem to be charging. I looked at the cable and one of the pins that connect to the watch didn't seem to be fully extended. I messed with it, trying to pry it up, but had no luck. It still seemed like it should be making contact with the watch. I plugged, unplugged, and fiddled with it as best I could as I tried to run along the rocky trail. I was really worried that the watch would die before we reached Andy's car and my other battery. This battery should be fully charged, though, because I remembered charging it on Friday. It was 5-10 minutes later before I noticed a very small button on the battery. Curious, I pushed it and immediately the watch began charging. My other batteries don't require you to push a button to use them (just to check the power level) so I'd not even considered that as a possibility here. My watch and our tracking were saved.

The sun was close to setting by the time we started hitting the camping areas on Shortoff and unlike Table Rock, they seemed to be full. We encountered a young family hiking up who asked if there were any camping spots the way we'd come. I told them I'd been squinting a lot of the time due to the low-in-the-sky sun and couldn't see well but that I didn't remember any except back in the saddles. I'm not sure what they decided to do but didn't seem thrilled with hiking all the way to those spots. They really shouldn't have expected to find a spot easily at 5:00 p.m. on a Saturday.

Lake James From Shortoff

Neither of us took water from the spring near where the Shortoff Trail begins to descend towards its trailhead, but I did use some to wipe my face off. Though it wasn't hot, we'd been in the sun for a few hours and it felt like my face was hot and it was certainly grimy from dried sweat. We made the turn to continue on the MST and headed down toward the Linville River, just as the sun was dropping below the horizon. 

The headlamps came on about 5:45 p.m. as we made our way down the rocky and slightly overgrown stretch trail. It's not terribly far in terms of distance, but between using headlamps, the terrain, and having been on our feet for about fifty miles, we could only go so fast. Things look different at night and at the bottom, we'd forgotten that you have to go downstream a little bit to cross, which was fortunate because the crossing choices where we came out didn't look promising, much deeper than we were hoping for and the bank didn't make for easy entry.

Shortoff Mountain After Sunset

We then realized the dots were leading us downstream and we followed them right into someone's campsite. Fortunately, they were still awake and outside their tents, cooking dinner since it was only about 6:00 p.m. One of them pointed towards the crossing site, which was really hard to spot in the dark. The water was really cold but since someone was watching, we had to be tough. It was maybe knee-to-thigh deep for me, though at the far side, it did get a little deeper. This was by far the longest crossing we'd had or would have and my legs stayed cold much longer than they had on earlier creek crossings. We could see the camper's headlamp pointing our way, probably curious if we'd made it across. Probably wondering what on earth we were doing out here after dark. There's a little bit of flat, wide runnable section through here so we did, just to get the stiffness in our legs induced by the cold water. Then came the climb.

The Pinnacle Trail climbs 1500' from the river in 3ish miles. It was actually less climb than we dropped coming off Shortoff, but that didn't make it any easier. We pushed upwards, totally forgot about the descent that takes away what seems like all of your early ascent. I pulled away from Brian some as we neared the top. It wasn't that I wanted to drop him, but I knew we both needed to know the summit was near and I figured if I could get there as quickly as possible, I could shout back the good news and lift his spirits. This was a tough spot during our March attempt at "Grandell." I actually felt pretty good. The climb was tough, but it wasn't breaking me mentally. The lack of switchbacks meant few breaks unless you just stopped altogether, which I believe Brian did once when he was behind me. Eventually, the false summits became the real thing and I saw the overlook ahead. Looking back, I could see Brian's headlamp below, so I shouted down that I was at the top. When he got there a minute or two later, we sat at the overlook a bit to regroup. Andy was waiting just a little bit down the trail, but we were ahead of schedule (not sure where we gained time) so we could relax as long as we needed. It was the threat of chilling down that got us moving again as we headed out to Old Highway 105. Andy, it turns out, had actually parked at the Pinnacle Trailhead instead of where the MST leaves the road at the lower end, where he'd parked last time, so our aid station came a little sooner (about a mile) than we were expecting.

This was one of the longer stops because it was dark, we had a lot of changing to do (cooler temps during the night) and we had to refill bladders and restock food. We got moving just as we were getting chilled, walking at first, then easing into a jog down the road. Andy showed us why he couldn't park where he'd planned--an RV had parked sideways, blocking off most of the parking spaces. We ran on by and headed into the section that Andy and Brian had nicknamed "The Demoralizer" last time. I stopped here during the March attempt and had never been on this section in this direction, only coming from the west. And that time was in the daylight.

The night sections are always difficult to recap because you see very little apart from the trail directly ahead of you. I do remember finding out early on that it was going to be more of a challenge than I thought to keep my new socks dry as the trail had a number of large muddy sections with few options to avoid. For the most part, I made it through with only my shoes getting muddy. Andy's energy was obvious and we were both fine with him getting a little bit ahead. There are two knobs in this section: Dobson and Bald. While I don't particularly remember going up them, I do remember coming down Bald. We could see city lights ahead of us as we made slow, zig-zagging progress down the steep and rocky trail. It seemed to go on forever. My only real landmark on this section was the big bridge over the Catawba River and I knew that once we reached it, we didn't have too far to go to reach Highway 221.

Brian had put out a bear cannister with some provisions at Woodlawn (Highway 221.) We stopped here and resupplied. I had been doing  decent job of eating, supplemented heavily by the Tailwind, but it was getting to the point where my taste for everything I had brought was waning. I've found that for several days after one of these types of excursions, anything I ate during it, I'd lost my taste for.

A month or two earlier, we'd started out on this stretch, intending to go to Mount Mitchell. We made it about three miles before Brian got stung and had an allergic reaction. So, after the first three miles, much of what was left to Mount Mitchell was going to be new to Brian and Andy. And, I wasn't much help, with my experience on this part of the MST going in the other direction. It was on this section, that Brian started suggesting short breaks. It was our second night and we were getting glassy-eyed and foggy-brained. We stopped some and they laid down. I tried to, but never got to sleep. It did feel good to elevate my feet though. Had I fallen asleep, I would have probably had trouble waking up. All we could do is keep pressing forward and hope for that burst of energy provided by the sunrise. Brian would lead us into a jog at times which would clear the fog from my head, but it quickly returned when we started walking again.

Brian's dad would be meeting us where the MST comes out at the Highway 80 / Blue Ridge Parkway intersection. The last few miles before that seemed to be along a ridge, but I wouldn't trust our memory. We could see the Parkway below us before reaching the intersection. The sun had risen a little earlier and our spirits and energy were definitely elevated. Larry had set up shop in the parking area and was making scrambled egg tortillas. It was something I'd never thought about during a race and probably isn't the sort of thing most race aid stations aren't going to provide, but it really hit the spot. We ditched our headlamps and pretty much anything else we knew we wouldn't need for the rest of the trip. Finishing seemed a reality now, rather than something we were hoping for. It was by no means guaranteed, but I was really optimistic, with the only question being what would our time be? The sooner the better as far as I was concerned. Not just to have a quicker finish time, but to get home earlier as well. 

We stayed here longer than we probably needed to, but I'm sure some of that was Brian not wanting to just breeze in and out when his dad was making such an effort to support us. We did peel out. I went back and forth about my jacket (essentially a long sleeve tech shirt with a half zipper on the front,) eventually deciding to go with it, but I'd shed it within a mile or so. We were "only" eight miles from when we'd next see Larry and his rolling aid station, but it was a long eight miles. Actually, it was fairly runnable in many sections, but our run pace was certainly not what it was eighty miles ago. Brian and Andy had named an earlier section "The Demoralizer" but we were about to face a real demoralizer. As we ran along the side of Big Laurel Mountain, we eventually could see a clearing and road well below us. We felt that had to be the Black Mountain Campground area, yet we seemed to be going around it rather than down to it. When we did descend, we still seemed to be circling the area we just knew the campground was. I could even faintly hear the noise of kids playing (later realized it was a hallucination that I'd hear when there was white noise in the background--like wind or water.) It just kept going and going and just wasn't jibing with my memory of this area years earlier.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of circling around in frustration, even convincing ourselves we'd done a complete loop and were retracing our own steps, we began to descend towards the real Black Mountain Campground and could see Aid Station Larry all set up. This stop really took longer than it needed to. I wasn't sure if Brian was really tired or just in no hurry. We got some more eggs (I skipped the tortilla this time) and after maybe ten minutes, began the final climb. While with Larry, I drank a lot of plain water. While the Tailwind had served me well, I was just tired of its sweetness and just needed something different.

I've never been able to run, even at a shuffle jog pace, after this many miles, but somehow was able to today. The only explanation I have is that I did not get dehydrated and that ultimately must be what wears me down, more than just the mileage alone. The anticipation of the summit was greatly outweighing any fatigue that had accumulated over the last day and a half. I felt much better than I should have and was eager to get to the top. Dennis, Andy, and I had done a "down and up" from the summit the day Brian got stung. Without pressing, but moving steadily, it took us about 2.5 hours for the ascent. We were hoping for three hours today. On the day with Dennis and Andy, the trail was packed. Today, we would see very few people. A thick fog was setting in above us and it was definitely cooling down the higher we got.

About halfway up, Brian wanted to take a break to gather himself. It came at a perfect spot with a number of rocks to sit on and room to spread out. I have to admit getting a little antsy here, afraid of losing momentum. But we started back up before we'd settled in too far. The higher we went, the more familiar things were. Eventually, we'd join the Mount Mitchell Challenge course, the sign telling us we had two miles to the summit. That was a bit discouraging as I always thought it was a one mile stretch. I think Brian actually began to get some of that "Smelling the Barn" energy while Andy was hitting a low. It was all just power hiking right now, but we got a little ahead of Andy and with about 1/4 mile to go, we decided to wait for him so we would all finish together. He was only a few minutes behind and when he reached us, he said he had bonked badly.

Mount Mitchell Summit - Me, Andy, Brian

The last 1/4 mile went quickly and we began seeing a lot more people--surprising given the misty fog that surrounded everyone. We hit the cobblestone walkway and moved quickly (mostly because it was cold) up to the summit. I almost forgot to stop my watch when we made the top of the observation tower, so glad the journey was over. There were people heading up and down from the parking lot, not much lingering. We got our obligatory finish photo (Brian did a group selfie) and with no reason to hang around, headed back down to the parking lot. Larry was coming up as we descended, having been waiting at where the MST emerges on the other side of the cobblestone path, but closer to the parking lot and having totally missed us.

We got a quick picture with Larry and headed down to the car. The final time was 37:16:46. It was slower than I'd expected, but I was fine with it. The journey was over, the one ring had been thrown into the fiery depths of Mount Doom. We could return now to the Shire.

Posing With "Mr. Aid Station" (Larry)

I was not really tired and didn't have a strong urge to sleep during the ride back, though that night I would sleep for twelve hours. It was during the ride, after we'd dropped Andy off at his car, that Brian shared a hallucination story with us that I too had experienced. During the second night, when I'd look down at the leaves with my headlamp, I'd see caricature faces in each leaf, with their features coming from the leaf's creases and holes. It wasn't just the occasional leaf, it was every leaf my headlamp hit. Brian's brain apparently took it one step further and made up back stories about each character he saw. Maybe I didn't stare long enough.

We'd set the FKT, sort of. Looking more closely at Kevin's route, the one he submitted to the FKT website, he went a slightly different route at the start and end. Our distance came out longer, but not having done the exact same course, we didn't feel we should submit anything. Our primary goal was to finish the attempt that we'd made in March and while we modified that route a tad (using the Profile Trail to start, as Kevin had) the rest of the route was as we'd initially planned. There were enjoyable sections and some that truly challenged us mentally. Besides, our route is "Grandell and Kevin's is "Gritchell."

Now, having finished, we are faced with knowing that Dennis will want to do the route one day in the near future and that we'll be the first people he calls to pace and crew him. One thing is for certain, there are a few sections where we will strongly encourage him to find someone else to be the pacer.

Strava Data 

Kevin's "Gritchell" FKT Website Link

2020 Bull Mountain Epic 100K

After last year's race ended a little differently than I'd hoped, I was eager to try again at the Bull Mountain Epic. With races becoming scarce in 2020 due to COVID-19 concerns and having had a couple (Grandfather Marathon and The Bear) get canceled on me, I was really glad to have an event that would be not only taking place, but doing so safely. Like other events that took place in the latter part of 2020, face coverings were required, aid stations were modified to be hands-free, and the race started in waves.

This year had two main differences from last year. Lee Starnes was going with me and we were taking my camper conversion (note: my project blog I linked to is way behind.) The weather promised to be nearly ideal and attendance (at least in the 50K and half-marathon) looked to be up from 2019. The 100K, with 28 registered participants, was about the same as last year.

Lee and I arrived around 5:30 and started backing in the trailer at about the same spot as I had camped the prior year. There was a couple tent camping beside us. As I backed in, the RD came out and suggested leaving the trailer hooked up to the Jeep to give more parking. I worried we'd stick out too far into the area where people would be running and we suggested that we park beside the camper and she could park someone in front of the Jeep if she needed to, since we'd be there all weekend. But, before all this discussion took place, when I first rolled down my window, she said "I know you. You were here last year weren't you? Mark, right?" There could be only one reason she'd remember me and I replied that yes, I was there last year and I was the guy with the bloody urine. 

Home Base

Once parked, we set up most everything for the next morning and cooked up some Beyond Burgers. I've not had these before a race, but figured they'd be fine since I've had them several times before. I didn't take a picture of it, but this year, they had six porta-jons and two hand-washing stations outside of them. Since this was just a large field, and not a campground, there was no hooking the trailer up to electrical. Lee had a small propane heater that we turned on briefly in the trailer to warm things up, but with sleeping bags, it was fine without it (though nice to have first thing in the morning.) Curious, I tried using the television with the external flat antenna but had no luck. But we really didn't need the TV as we spent a lot of time preparing everything for the next day's race. With little to do, I think we both fell asleep at about 9:30 or 10:00.

Lee had set his alarm but we didn't need it, waking up before 6:00. A few cars had started rolling in and with packet pickup at 6:30, a steady stream was about to begin. We made some oatmeal on a small water boiler that Lee had and then went to get our packets. This year, we got a trucker's cap (the same as last year's,) a lidded coffee mug with their running group's logo, and another drawstring bag, also with the logo. The shirt this year was almost the same as last year except it was long sleeved for 2020.

Even after setting out all our stuff, we had plenty of time to kill before the race started so Lee and I walked up to the main "intersection" of the race and I explained where we go outbound and inbound for each loop. They had it very heavily marked, as shown in the photo, possibly due to some mistakes made by the runners (like me) last year. You'll probably need to click-to-zoom the picture to see all the markings, but loops 1, 3, 4, and 6 go to the right and loops 2 and 5 go to the left. They even had "Wrong Way" signs at various points along the course. One thing I liked is that they use the stick-in-the-ground flags rather than the tree streamers. I tend to see these more easily since I am often looking down on a trail. This intersection also offers cell signal that the start/finish area below did not, so we sent out a few pre-race messages.

The race began in one minute waves of ten runners based on Ultrasignup seeding, starting with the half-marathon, then the 50K, and finally the 100K. With the first group starting at 8:00 a.m., I'd be heading out at 8:18 and Lee just two minutes later at 8:20.

The way the waves were staggered meant that faster runners in the longer races would catch up to the slower runners in the shorter races and we quickly encountered some 50K people. It was fine, though, as there was room to pass and most slid over anyway. They added more trail to this loop than was in the race last year. I couldn't figure out where the new section was until later in the race and saw that it was right near the start and it was a trail that had been flagged off last year as "coming soon." The pre-race memo said that it added distance to loop one, but since loop three used the same first few miles, I think it should have added distance to that loop as well.

It didn't take long to fall in with a group all going the same speed. At least for a time. Out of nowhere, a 100K runner who started later than my group came flying by. He was relatively young and I couldn't help but think that he was going to blow up taking off like that and that he probably hadn't done a lot of long distance races. Parts of the course were very familiar to me as we went along. I had started with a technical t-shirt and my Grindstone finisher's jacket, which is also light and has a long zipper in the front, but the sleeves don't roll up easily. So, after a couple miles, the jacket came off. After 5-6 miles, we came off the trail onto a Forest Service road. Maybe a half-mile later, I caught up to Tracy, whom I'd spoken to at the start but never expected to see again. Besides Lee, Tracy was the only person I knew at the race and I'd only met him briefly when we ran a mile or two together at South Mountains Marathon. We fell in together and followed the road to the mile 8.5 aid station. Yes, this race has an aid station on each loop, but its never near the middle, meaning there are long stretches either from the start/finish are to the aid station or from the aid station to the start/finish area. I think we both skipped the aid station, but I noticed they had a timing mat there. As backup, they were taking our numbers. The stretch back to the start/finish area was pretty runnable and it felt like we made good time. We came into the finish area together but went to our separate "home bases" to prep for the next lap. I lost track of Tracy here as I refilled my bladder and mixed in a packet of Tailwind. I ate one of the granola bars I'd brought and started out for loop two, which I knew would be tougher than one had been, both in terms of climb and terrain. Note: though we entered aid station one and finished the first loop together, Tracy shows up as being five minutes behind me both times. I don't know why this happened.

I started loop two with the guy who had parked next to us. Lee had heard him say something about hoping to win, so if he felt capable of that, I knew I wouldn't be with him very long. And, I wasn't. Within maybe the first mile or two, he pulled on ahead and I fell in with who I thought was the first place female in the 100K, according to her bib number. We didn't really talk much and I think there was another guy with us too. It wasn't until post-race did I see that she was registered for the 100K but had dropped down to the 50K pre-race. She did end up winning it, though. I looked for the old junked truck that I remembered seeing the prior year. I did so, hoping it was a landmark for me, but even had I seen it, I couldn't remember how far it was from the truck to the aid station. All I really remembered, or thought I did, was that there was a long, steady downhill into the aid station. I knew there was a shin-level creek crossing right after the aid station, so it was definitely at the bottom of a hill. The loop dragged on, but I felt ok. At times, the sun poking through the trees slowed me down some and made me wish I'd brought my sunglasses, but it was going well. At the aid station, I gave them my bib number and headed straight through the creek as the two I was with stopped to get something. The creek water was icy cold, but I'd finished the long section of the loop and just had 3-4 miles back to the start/finish area, starting with a steep climb. I think the water in that creek was wetter than normal because my socks held it in a long time. Loop two is shaped like a balloon and when you crest the climb I was on, its just a short stretch down to rejoin the out-and-back "string" portion of the loop. On that stretch, I caught up to three 50K runners who asked if the loops were long (meaning longer than 1/3 of a 50K.) I told them they were and that I thought the 50K was 33-34 miles, based on the aid station mileage chart. I wasn't sure if that made them feel better, knowing that's why their time was slower, or worse, knowing that had farther to go to finish. Anyway, we finished the loop together and I repeated my stop at "home base."

The first part of loop three is the same as loop one, then the trail splits and we take the short section to the aid station that is shared with loop one, so on this loop, the aid station comes early. About a mile or so in, I caught up to a 50K runner who had small "prayer flags" on her pack. I'd commented on them earlier and fell into her pace as we climbed up a hill. After a bit of tailgaiting, she asked if I wanted to pass. I told her that her pace was good, but if I was bothering her, I would. She was fine and we continued on. Shortly after that, on a flat section of trail, we were running and somehow she stepped on either side of a stick about the length of a trekking pole but maybe 1" in diameter and when right leg moved past her left, the stick went with it and it suddenly came helicoptering back toward me like the broken end of a baseball bat goes spinning towards the third base line. It went by about five feet to my left. She apologized but all I could think was how on earth did she do that? It was at this aid station that I passed her as she stopped to get some water or something. The stretch from the aid station to the start/finish really dragged on last year. It did again this year. I guess I was prepared a little mentally, knowing it was a long stretch, but it really feels long when you realize there are opportunities to run a decent pace on sections and it doesn't feel seem that you've helped speed things up any. There's one big creek crossing here that was deeper than the one on lap two. My path through the creek had water at the bottom of my shorts. Things had really begun to thin out as we worked towards the halfway point. There was a batch of people somewhere ahead of me and some behind, but I was mostly on my own for the time being. There's an area where you see some cars parked above you and it gets your hopes up that the trail comes out on the road just ahead, but "just ahead" is quite a ways further along. When I did make it to the road, I knew from last year's event that the next part also drags on forever. We're only on the road a few hundred yards and then its back onto the trail. This year, I checked my GPS at the beginning of the trail to see how long this section is. It starts with a steady climb, which I walked, then it flattens out for a while, with a little bit of downhill, before it crosses the road again. On this section, for the second time today, I saw a father and his young daughter biking and the daughter looked almost exactly like Darlene's daughter, Candela at the same age. It was eerie. I couldn't stare, but saw her long enough to see a strong resemblance. After crossing the road, I checked my GPS and found that section was about 1.25 miles and it took me about eighteen minutes. There is a steady downhill section to the start/finish that felt longer than I'd remembered. Still, it was runnable and soon I could hear the music and noise ahead of me.

I came in at just under six hours, or about thirty minutes ahead of last year. I don't know where I gained so much time over last year except possibly the cooler weather helping. Because my feet had stayed soaked so long, I decided to change socks and have dry ones for about a loop and a half, until the big crossing on loop 5. I think I also changed shirts (or was that loop 5?) and grabbed my trekking poles. I really had no idea what place I was in, but I figured there were maybe five people or so ahead of me. It was not a large field, so if I was correct, being fifth or sixth was not the accomplishment it might sound like. So, now I was counting down instead of up. Three loops to go. They should be familiar and just fly by, right? I did feel pretty good, though it was now the warmest part of the day.

The dry socks really felt nice, giving my feet a chance to dry out and "deprune." I found the poles gave me a little more speed, helping propel me along, on the flat and slight downhill sections. I knew they'd also take some of the pounding off my knees and I'd feel better later on. Even though they transfer some of the weight to my shoulders, I've yet to really be sore in that area after using them, no matter how long or how many miles.

I passed a few people wearing 50K bibs early on and was really confused. I'm starting my fourth loop, a repeat of the first loop. Either they started extremely late or they were just going back out for more after they finished? It was several miles alone before I remembered that the first and third loops use the same first few miles and that they were starting their third loop. I was in that mile 30-40 range that always gives me trouble and I was finding that my legs weren't moving as easily as I'd have liked. I also realized I'd put too much water in my bladder this time. I hadn't been drinking it all the way down on any loop, yet i kept filling it full. I tried to drink some of the excess volume away because it was kind of annoying on my back. Rather than dump some out (it was still mildly warm) I decided to just deal with it and continue on. It was another long, lonely stretch through here until shortly before reaching the spot where we emerge onto the Forest Service road. I looked up at the road above me and saw Tracy up there. I didn't make it a point to catch up to him, but did a mile or so down the road. He asked if I'd seen the five coyotes there where the trail meets the road. I hadn't seen anything, but he said they crossed the road. He also started talking about possibly dropping. I don't know if some of it was because his twelve hour time goal was essentially out of reach or he really just wasn't feeling it. As we continued to and through the aid station, I tried to talk him out of dropping. He seemed to be running fine when there were running opportunities, but he said his "head wasn't in it anymore." I admitted that I often find myself calculating if I could just walk it in if I had to. Just as with the first loop, we came into the start/finish area together and I lost track of him. In looking back at the splits (link below) I was almost 45 minutes slower on the second time around loop one. I know I slowed down a little to hang with Tracy, but it really didn't seem like I'd slowed down THAT much. Last year, I was about 41 minutes slower the second time on loop one, so I guess it's possible. It really didn't feel like my pace had dropped so much. 

At "home base," I was getting my stuff together to head back out for lap five. I asked the lady parked next to me what time the sun set. It was about 5:00 p.m. and I needed to decide whether to take my headlamp. She thought it was about 7:00 p.m. so that only gave me around two hours, less time than it took me the first time around loop two. I told her I'd better take it, grabbed all my stuff, and headed out. I wasn't too far into the loop when I realized that while I said I was taking my headlamp, I did not actually grab it. I'm not sure why I chose to plow forward instead of going back to get it. Any time wasted going back surely would be less than time spent trying to navigate by my cell phone light later. But, I continued on, telling myself that I'd just have to do this lap at the same pace as I had earlier. I felt like the walking part, I could manage the same pace, especially with my trekking poles. There was just no way to be sure. At times the sun seemed to be setting quickly, then I'd round a corner or crest a hill and it would be higher in the sky than I thought. I tried to focus on moving quickly but if my mind wandered, my pace slowed. Very little looked familiar here so I really didn't know how near or far the aid station might be. I did managed to spot the old truck this time, but that didn't help me orient. Every downhill felt like maybe it was the one leading to the aid station. I felt like somewhere through here I had my headlamp on last year because I remembered hearing an owl, but I could have been mistaken. My race time was less important now than time of day. Every minute it took me to get to the aid station was a minute closer to darkness. When the aid station finally did come into view, there was oddly no one there. I looked around, thinking maybe they went to the creek or up the way a little bit, but all was quiet. I hated to not be checked in, but I didn't want to go looking for them. I assumed everything was ok and pushed on. My once dry socks, now soaked with the shin-deep creek crossing. The climb on the opposite side of the creek seemed longer this time through, but not to the point of being spirit-breaking. When I crested it, I knew there were maybe a couple miles to the start/finish area, mostly runnable (using caution,) and I still had some waning daylight remaining. I passed a couple from the 50K who were just completing their second loop. I didn't see any 100K people the entire loop.

When I came into the start/finish area, a member of Tracy's crew asked if I'd seen him and his pacer. I told them I hadn't and didn't even realize he'd gone back out, but was glad to learn that he did. The guy said he'd left about five or ten minutes after I did. I headed on and crossed the mat, I grabbed my headlamp from "home base" and set it on the table as I put some water in my bladder. I drank a greek yogurt smoothie, just as I had done after lap three, since something similar had worked well in 2019. I told the lady beside us that despite saying I was taking my headlamp on the last loop, I had failed to and was lucky to have made it back with (barely) enough light to see. I grabbed the extra battery, just in case, my poles, and took off for my final loop. About fifty feet away, I realized that I'd gone off without my headlamp again...

I did lap five about forty minutes slower than lap two, roughly the same slowdown as in the prior year. Though I knew this lap would drag on, it had the added bonus of being the last one and so there was always that feeling of satisfaction in the back of my mind, even during the long stretches. There were some stars out in the two short clearings that come fairly early in this loop. I saw Lee coming toward me, finishing up his fourth loop, and we spoke briefly. He seemed to be doing well, though he said it was taking longer than he'd planned. I could totally understand that. I headed on along the increasingly familiar route. At the aid station, I thanked them for volunteering and continued on for the long homestretch into the finish. It really was a long section. For a while, after the aid station, it went well, but then it really began to drag on. Even had it been daylight, there would be few landmarks along this section. I just had to try not to dwell on how slowly the miles (yards) were ticking off and focus on keeping moving at the best pace I could manage. The ice cold, and still shorts-deep, creek crossing definitely got my attention and gave me something other than the miles to complain about. There were several moments of false hope as I'd think I saw the road ahead. Eventually, what looked like the road actually was, and I knew I had less than two miles to go. A long two miles, but certainly something I could wrap my head around. I didn't check my GPS this time, but I have to believe my pace was slower through here. Maybe the climb wasn't slower, but the flat part did not have nearly as much running as during my first time around this loop. Several times, I thought I heard someone behind me, but would look back and find nothing but darkness. When I crossed the road and started down the hill, I felt a wave of relief that it was about to be over. I'd had a moving time goal that started at 13 hours early in the race, then moved to 13:30 somewhere around loop four, but after that, it was just to do better than last year. When I crossed the finish line, the clock was reading the time of day in military time, so I didn't immediately know my time. When I checked my watch later, it was 13:49:36, versus 14:54:24 last year. So, a little more than an hour faster and roughly 30 minutes faster on each of the two halves. When I consider that I walked the entire last loop last year, the second 50K taking thirty minutes less this year isn't a huge improvement. My second running of loop three was 2:40 versus 2:03 for the first loop. I think lap six took about three hours last year, so I'd actually only cut that by twenty minutes with whatever running I was able to do on it this year.

But there were too many positives about the race to dwell on why I didn't improve more than I had. As I stood just beyond the finish line, trying to shake off the aches and pains, the RD came up and told me I'd finished third overall. I was genuinely surprised. I assumed, even after Tracy took a break, that there were at least four people ahead of me. It appeared to have been a battle of attrition. As you'll see in the results, nine of the twenty-four starters dropped (and this was a really good weather day.) The guy who was pressing so hard early in the first loop ended up in the sixteen hour range. Most importantly, I'd gotten four UTMB qualifier points in a year where races, much less points, were scarce. Oh, and this was my 100th marathon/ultra finish (not including "fun runs") so it had been a good day.

Back at home base, I tried to clean up the mess I'd left around our tables and then went to the back of the camper/trailer to try out my shower wand. Well, the wand worked great, but the water was frigid and it quickly cooled me down. I could barely put it on my head and wasn't about to let hit hit my back. I had to use Dawn for soap since we didn't have anything else, but it worked fine. I had a tarp on the ground so we wouldn't have mud later on and I did find that the shower wand was great for washing the mud off my shoes.

I finished changing in the camper and climbed up on the bunk to lay down for a bit, leaving the lights on so Lee would know I was there. It didn't take long before I was pulling the sleeping bag over me to warm my core. The shower, however brief, had cooled me down a lot. I actually fell asleep and was awakened by Lee when he'd completed his fifth lap. I apologized for being no help. He just told me to turn out the light and he'd be back in a while. It was a little hard to get back to sleep with the music at the finish area, but I tried. I did get up quickly to remove my contacts and eventually did fall back asleep. Lee and I spoke briefly when he finished. He fell asleep almost the minute he hit his bed.

Both Lee and I enjoyed this event. It's a shame the 100K hasn't attracted more participants but maybe that will come with time. The UTMB points are a definite draw for anyone with an interest in that event, but the forest is nice, the trails are manageable, and the people there are great. Unless something comes up, I think we both expect to be at Bull Mountain again in 2021.

Strava Race Data

Ultrasignup Results