This race report is taking awhile, mostly because my brain didn't start working again until yesterday afternoon after my second nap of the day. So I'm going to post what I've gotten so far, without adding all the pics and stuff (I'll do that when I blog it up). If
@Nathan R. Jessep can take 13 posts to get to a hug, I can spread 100 miles over a couple of posts. Here goes:
Grindstone 100 (miles 0-37)
I flew into Dulles on Thursday and made my way down to Harrisonburg, VA, where I found a place for dinner not too far from James Madison University. I checked into the hotel, watched some football, went through my gear one more time, and got to bed around 11:30. As per usual in a hotel I slept poorly, which wasn’t ideal considering what lay ahead. I ate breakfast, made a stop at Walmart for a few supplies, and drove down to the start at Camp Shenandoah not far from Staunton, VA.
I checked in, went to the pre-race meeting, and then it was a few hours of just waiting for the 6:00 PM start. I had a bed made up in the back of my rental SUV and just put my feet up and tried to sleep, but just ended up resting for a bit without actually falling asleep – the 80 degrees and 80% humidity made it just to sticky to get comfortable. Finally it was 5:00 and I geared up and walked back down to the start area, ready to get this thing started.
Going in I knew that the biggest challenges were going to be the course itself and the evening start. I had never run on the Beast Coast, but knew that it would be rocky and technical, along with the advertised 23,200’ of elevation gain. And the evening start guaranteed I’d be running through a night at the beginning with another night coming in the latter stages of the race. But it would turn out that I severely underestimated the impact of both factors.
The first few miles were uneventful. I forgot to start my Garmin until we were a couple of minutes in, no big deal. After jogging for a half mile or so we came to a stop as we funneled onto a creek crossing and then singletrack, but I was in no hurry with 99 ½ miles to go. A mile or two in we leave the camp and are on state property, which the race isn’t allowed to mark so we follow white blazes. It’s all one big giant conga line so I just follow along, waiting for things to open up and allow me to do my own thing. It turned out I probably should have paid more attention through this section, more on that later. It was probably just the excitement and buzz of the beginning of such a big adventure. After about 5 miles we hit the first aid station, and it’s so crowded that there is a line of people waiting to get water. Since I knew it was about 9 ½ miles to the next one I wanted to top off my bladder with Tailwind, but the jug was empty and the volunteer didn’t know where the Tailwind was (“this isn’t our aid station, I’m not sure”)! She was holding a pitcher of ice so I asked her to just pour all of it in my bladder, and hoped that would give me enough fluids to get to that next stop at mile 14.6. A this point only a bit over an hour in I was already drenched, with sweat dripping down my legs. They had warned us during the pre-race meeting that the lows would only be down around 65 with highs 75-80 and high humidity, so to take care of ourselves out there. And while I didn’t feel it was affecting my perceived effort, that humidity was pretty stifling.
I’m no geologist, but my understanding is that these mountains were formed hundreds of millions of years ago and are among some of the oldest in North America. It’s thought that at one time parts of the Appalachians were as high as the Rockies or the Alps, but that they have been eroded down over millennia into not much higher than 4-5,000 foot peaks. Where did the rest of the mountains go? They were broken down into rocks. Millions and millions of rocks. And that’s what would make up much of the course. We reached the top of the initial 2,500’ fire road climb and summited up the peak of Elliot Knob, punched our bibs to show we made it to the top, and then descended back down a bit and turned off onto singletrack. After a mile or two winding through the woods we hit the rocks. Much of the trail in this section were flat rocks that slid and moved around on top of other flat rocks. It was an odd sound hearing the rocks slide around as the dozens of runners ahead and behind me ran and hiked over them. I was with a group moving at a comfortable speed, which was good considering there was no way to get around anyone – this trail made up of loose rocks was about a foot wide with a huge drop-off of a hundred feet? A thousand feet? I had no idea because it was dark, as it would be when I would come back up this hill the following night. But I was feeling fresh and after about six hours hit the Dowells Draft aid station around mile 22.
I had worked out a pace chart for a 32-hour finish and included a column lining up with just making the cutoffs. I had no idea what to expect, and the 32-hour pace was just about staying far enough ahead of the cutoffs to not worry about them. But at this point I was close to that 32-hour pace, and happy with how things were going. As I left the aid station I was told it was a big climb followed by rolling downhill, so pulled out my trekking poles for the first time and geared up. I’d never run a race with poles before, having just bought them earlier this year and trained with them just a handful of times. But it turned out to be a pretty benign climb, much of it “runnable” under normal circumstances, so I ended up just carrying them in my hands before finally stopping to stow them away again. This section of trail was smoother than the last, and we hit the top and descended into the Lookout Mountain aid station at mile 31 in 8:19, about 25 minutes up on that 32-hour pace. I knew it was pretty much downhill from there to the North River Gap aid station at mile 37, but as I headed down the hill I would find that the rocks were back in full force.
There are lots of mishaps that can happen when trying to move quickly across rocky terrain. I started giving them names. The Roll (ankle roll). The Stub (toe stubbing). The Point (painfully stepping on a pointy rock). The Flip (one foot flipping a loose rock up into the ankle bone of the other foot - that’s my favorite). I started trying to keep track of how many times each of these happened, but I couldn’t keep up. I do know I swore out loud several times, cursing the eons of erosion that had led to the creation of all these damned rocks. Downhill mile splits of 18:00-20:00 miles. Ouch. Literally, as my feet were starting to really hurt, not blisters, but a pain across the toes and the bottoms of the feet. I started thinking about ultra/trail runners gearing up for a road marathon talking about “hardening the legs” by getting in some road running prior to the race, and wondering if it was even possible to “harden the feet”. But I knew it was, as evidenced by all of the (presumably) locals flying by me on the downhills.
Before the race I had reached out to local runner Andy Jones-Wilkins, a legendary member of the ultrarunning community whom I’ve crossed paths with a few times at Western States and Hardrock, to get intel on the race. He graciously answered my questions and confirmed that this was one tough course. As I sat down at the North River Gap Aid station with my drop bag to attend to my beat-up feet, I saw AJW next to me and introduced myself again. “Sean! Great to see you, how’s it going out there!” I mumbled something about rocks, and he told me that when he crewed Western States RD Craig Thornley at this race a few years ago, Craig had come into this very spot cursing those same rocks. So at least I was in good company.
Coming up next, my first big mistake and the biggest and steepest climb of the race....