All photographs courtesy of volunteers at the race. Thank you!
9 o'clock on Friday night, 6th November. Time for sleep, with the alarm set for 3 AM. I puzzled at all the detritus of my day pack strewn on the hotel room floor. What would fit into the drop bag? What would I really need?
It was the night before the Mountain Masochist 50-mile run, through George Washington National Forest in southern Virginia. This was only my second 50-mile race, and the first distance foot race I'd ever done so late in the year. I hadn't needed a drop bag at the Vermont 50. I jammed in some food and warm clothes for the end of the race and called it a night.
On Saturday morning, I was sitting in a school bus at 4:40 AM, temperature right around freezing. No one on the bus was in any hurry to debark. The James River Visitors' Center parking lot was pitch dark but for one of those generator-powered floodlights used by nighttime road construction crews. Brazilian Valmir Nunes, past winner of the 135-mile Badwater Ultramarathon and former world 100km champion, was doing easy pickups back and forth in the parking lot. He'd been introduced at the pre-race meeting on Friday night. Another entrant held the record for running the Appalachian Trail, finishing in 47 days. Before you reach for your calculator, that's 45 miles a day. Someone else held the record for completing the Long Trail. I pondered race founder David Horton's admonition: "If you're going to drop out, do it at aid station 10. After that it gets heavy."
Fussing with a headlamp, just before the start
We started at 5:30 AM. So many people wore headlamps that I didn't need mine; visibility was pretty good. The first 5 or so miles were all on pavement, until we finally ran across a bridge and dove into the woods beside a dam. The trail went over a stream and wended uphill; then we merged with a fire road. Most of the race is actually on fire roads or forest service roads; the primary surfaces are dirt or gravel, with no more than 10 miles of singletrack. For over 20 miles, I felt great. It seemed that my pace increased as I went through each aid station.
Convivial company, circa mile 18. We've been going up for about 2 miles.
At about 23 miles, we began ascending Buck Mountain, the single biggest climb of the day. My strategy had been to go hard right up Buck. Run two minutes; walk two minutes; repeat. Not nearly as impressive as charging headlong uphill, but it worked. I gapped several people who had left the previous aid station before me. After a seemingly endless climb at 5% grade, we topped out on a ridge with small farms bordering a gravel road. A glance to the east awarded a stupendous view across a valley.
About two miles later, I pulled into aid station 10 at Highway 60. 26.9 miles, and it was only the midway point of the race! I arrived three minutes ahead of my goal time. In a sunny, open meadow, our drop bags were laid out in neat rows. I ditched my headlamp and grabbed some electrolyte drink at the feed - blueberry pomegranate, the flavor of the month! - and went back into the woods. Two and a half more miles to the summit of Buck Mountain. Still uphill, not as steep but the road was rougher. A couple of pickup trucks drove past: hunters scouting out their spots for deer season. They waved and gave us plenty of room, even in the narrow spots.
Strains of music wafted faintly across the valley. Gradually it got louder, portending an aid station, but every time I turned a corner, the feed was nowhere in sight. Finally… a last climb, and the theme from "Rocky" soared out of a boom box at the Buck Mountain aid station.
"It's all downhill from here," said one of the volunteers helpfully.
Helpful for some, but not me. Where earlier I'd legged it out down hill, with long loping strides, I went slowly as we dropped away from the summit on a rock-strewn, hard-packed old jeep road. My legs protested repeated shocks. I slowed down a bit, and from here on out, my splits weren't pretty. Fortunately, it wasn't all downhill to the next aid station; there were level and uphill bits where I picked up the pace.
It took awhile, but I finally stopped thinking about how bad I felt and started thinking about how good I felt. For the final 20 miles, I inexorably lost time. Even at 47 miles, I could still attack climbs, but going down was tough. It's pretty bad when you school 6 people going uphill hill and 12 go by you on the ensuing descent! The next day, it was pretty clear what had happened. My iliotibial band, which had been trouble free for 3 years, chose today to act up.
I'm in awe of and inspired by those who can tap into the zen-like experience winner Geoff Roes recounted in his blog as he destroyed the course record. I can only admire his performance and take inspiration from his approach to find some of that positive energy the next time I put on a number.