"Catoctin" (by Joe)

Prologue
Saturday was the dreaded "Catoctin 50K." I completed it in 7 hours and 10 minutes -- by my watch -- the exact time, to the minute, as my 2006 finishing time.

In preparation for my return to Catactin, I dusted off my plan from 2006. In '06, things went pretty well. In March of that year I’d completed my first 50 miler, a slog through the cold rain and mud at Bull Run (introduction to hypothermia). In June of that year I completed my first 40 miler through the hot sun at Highland Sky (introduction to dehydration). With these experiences in mind, I approached Catoctin with the respect it needs. I planned ahead to go out slow enough in the beginning, hold back enough that I could complete the second half of the race in the same time, or faster time, than the first half.

This plan is based on the fact that the first half of the race, while difficult, is easier than the second half. We start on high at the Tea Room, and run “downhill” to Manor Campground. The first half gives you a net descent of probably 1,000 feet over 16 miles -- albeit with plenty of ups and downs along the way that disguise that statistic. At Manor Campround we turn around and cover the same trail, with the same net elevation gain. The second half, therefore, is essentially a long, tough protracted uphill, feeling all the tougher with the terrain and fatigue of the first half.

Based on the timing splits that Michelle gave me (thanks Michelle!), I knew I had to be at Hamburg Rd (mile 6-ish) in 1:35 (race time). Then be at Delauter Rd (mile 8.5) about 35 minutes later. I didn't know any other times, but somehow remembered that my turnaround time at Manor (mile 16) was 10 minutes slower than my time coming back. That would mean it around 3:40 minutes. All of this was flexible, of course. The overall goal was to finish in not too much pain, and somewhere in the vicinity of my earlier time.

A Surprise Appearance
At the start I saw and greeted many of the people that I'd seen last week at Catherine's Furnace F/A. I saw Mark Radan (aka "gym" Mark), and the Gowens and some others. Always nice to see folks. I was sitting on the window sill in the Tea Room, looking at the view of the ridgeline stretching south into VA. I heard a familiar voice, looked up and there were Mark M, Angelo, and Phil. They looked awful, dripping wet. I figured they got caught in some isolated downpour that happened only on the other side of the building. But really they looked like the already ran the race. So I joked, "you guys look like you already ran the race." And Phil replied in his characteristic undertoned way, "yeah, we started at 2am at Manor and ran in just now." I only believed him because I knew Angelo was involved, and it sounded like one his hairbrained schemes.

So eventually we all gathered for the prerace briefing. Race director Kevin explained things - basically run on the blue blazed trail until Manor, then turnaround and come back. It's really that simple. This is a sparten sort of race. Very few markings, no trail clearing ahead of time. Nothing special, though very good aid and support along the way. The race director, Kevin, shared some nice thoughts about his wife, who passed away earlier this year from cancer, and to whom the race is dedicated. He thanked everyone for being there, told us to be sure to have fun, bid us good luck, and launched the race with a simple, "one, two, three, go!"

The First Half
Phil and I let everyone get ahead of us, and started in a slow trot at the end of the field. So far, everything was going according to plan. We kept this pace down the first hill, up the next, down the next (through the lovely stream valley where Lorrin and I saw the rattlesnake a few years ago), passing people only occasionally. As we headed up the second of the two initial hills, the timing was right, but I was surprised at how many people were around us. We were close to a cutoff pace, and it looked like we were in the middle the main field. Maybe everyone had the same plan.

We got to Hamburg Road in 1 hour 35 minutes. Right on plan. Then on to Delauter Rd in about 35 minutes. Kim, Phil's girlfriend, was volunteering there. She cheered us on and helped load us up with the provisions needed for the push to the Manor turnaround, a long 6.5 miles ahead. Well stocked, we moved on, and without trying, we started to kick it up a notch.

There is a long hill after the Delauter Rd aid station that typically I would walk and use to hydrate and eat. But at the Catherine's Furnace run, a funny thing became clear to me - running a slight uphill is sometimes less painful than a downhill. So, here at Catoctin, if I'm slower than usual on the downhill, I had to make up for it on the uphill. With that in mind, I started running. Phil followed, and the push was on. There is a very long downhill leading to Manor, and I did my best, but could feel the legs getting stiff and wondered how long I could keep up the pace. I'd been noticing an ache in my left hamstring that got a little worse as I went downhill. I hate to focus on things like that, but knew I had to monitor it a little.

The Turnaround
At the turnaround we were welcomed by Lorrin, Mark, Jim, Pam among others. they took to us like a pit crew, and when I returned from the loop around the bathhouse, my pack was already stocked. I changed out of my long sleeve shirt, into a short sleeve. I grabbed some pringles and was ready to go. Then, luckily, I remembered that I needed more salt pills. Phil said, "I'll just get a head start," and took off. Phil had been hinting that he was slowing down a little - afterall, he started running at 2am and was now finishing the first 50k of the day. I figured I'd catch him going back up that long hill.

I started strong, but still cautious. As they say, the last half of Catoctin is really the last two-thirds. I was overtaking people pretty consistently, and running the less steep parts of the climb, but still no Phil. By the top of the hill, I determined he must have gone off trail for a nature break or something and passed him and wouldn't see him again. So on I went, continuing a good pace. Near the top of the hill I passed Caren and Mark Z. who looked strong and optimistic as ever.

I noticed a strange sensation that when the trail leveled out, it seemed harder to run. The slight uphills, for some reason, were the most comfortable. The general aching in my legs grew and grew. I no longer felt the ache in my hamstring. Either it got sorted out, or it got absorbed into the more uniform pain in my legs. The sun was coming out more, for longer periods, and the afternoon heat was combining with the morning humidity. The sweat was getting bad. I knew I had to keep drinking and taking in sodium.

On the way out, hours before, I ran the long hill after the Delauter AS. Now I approached the same hill, but going down. Normally I would welcome this opportunity to harness the power of gravity. But today, with the fatigue already searing my legs, I looked at this long downhill as one cruel bit of torture with every pounding step. I shuffled down the hill as best I could, almost angry at that damn hill when I finally got to the bottom. The pain in my legs was real now. Running hurt, pure and simple, and it would hurt from now until the end, nine miles on. At about that moment, the balance of effort shifted from physical to mental. As long at the physical structures held out, getting to the finish was henceforth a matter of will. I felt my spirits sag, and knew I was hitting a low point. My mother always says that she'd rather have a root canal than run 30 miles. At these moments I understand what she means, and as I pounded down that hill, clenched teeth, it would be easy to question why I was doing it at all.

From the bottom of that hill, I knew, it was slightly uphill (runnable) to the Delauter AS. I ran to it, and Kim was there to greet me. I had to sit down for a minute. I'm sure I didn't seem too cheery. I told her I didn't know where Phil was. I lost him at the turnaround, he must have gone off trail and I passed him. "Oh no, he's up ahead about 5 minutes," she said. My low point sagged lower. There I was running my heart out and a guy who started at 2am was gaining time on me. To add to it, I was falling behind schedule on my personal goal and would have to increase my pace to the end if I wanted to finish in my goal time. Increasing my pace was not really an option. I sat and picked rocks out of my shoe and wallowed a bit. Kim got me a cold towel and some watermelon. (It can be so helpful to have a friendly face to help you along the way). I pushed myself on.

I went up the the hill out of the AS. I was annoyed somehow that Phil was still ahead. Not because it was Phil, of course, and not because I hate getting beat (I'm a middle of the packer, afterall), but because it signaled to me that I wasn't doing all I could do. Phil had been running since 2am. He'd covered, now, over 40+ miles to my 20-something. Phil expected me to catch him long ago. He was having a fantastic race.

Getting into the Right Gear
I guess somewhere deep down I have a competitive bone, but mainly against myself. I ran the situation through my mind again: my legs were screaming, I was still 8 miles from the finish, I had miles of rocks still to go and two crushing hills at the very end, the heat was becoming a real factor, I wanted to slow my pace when I needed to speed it up. I took all that, bundled it up and threw it away. Way back, early in the race, I had found a "gear" that worked - a connection between mental and physical that would keep me moving within the limits. I'd been running in that gear ever since. But the gear was now painful. So, I made the decision that I did not need to speed my pace, just keep it. Stay in that gear, up hill and down hill, and don't think about anything else. And so it was. The only real limit was the physical one, and I could feel that my legs, though throbbing and exhausted, were sound.

I've asked myself "why am I out here," and it is this kind of moment that helps me answer that question - the moment when I kick myself past the invisible barrier of my mental limits. Because five years ago I would have been incredulous at the suggestion that I could run 30 miles, especially on this terrain. And because a year and a half ago I couldn't walk down a supermarket aisle without pain. Because right there, at that moment, I could be out there, and there is no guarantee of that later. I thanked the heavens for it. I caught up with Phil about two miles after Delauter, just before Hamburg Rd. We shook hands and ran to the Hamburg aid station together. We fueled up, and he told me to go on. He was finished, he said, and would just have to drag himself to the end.

I went on, getting back in gear and regaining my focus, churning the trail away step by step. I was passing other runners continuously now. That is encouraging in and of itself, but also reassured me that my plan was a good one - keep some energy for later - and that I had stuck to it well. But no matter how far I'd come, I knew the last two miles were the real test.

With about four miles left to the finish I came to the first two final hills. I had to get down the hill, then up the other side and stay focused. There was nothing to do but to do it. So I did. At the bottom of the hill I caught up with Mark Radan. We exchanged a phrase or two in commiseration, and I pressed on up the hill. I stayed in gear, running when I could, walking otherwise, but a solid pace always. The heat by now was oppressive, true Catoctin heat. I swore that I had never sweat as much as I was right then. When that hill was done, I moved to the next hill, on down to the bottom.

The Final 'Hill'
The climb to the finish line began, and for the first time in ages I hazarded to look at the watch: 6:53. I had about seventeen minutes left to stay on goal, but that didn't matter. I was doing what I must, and whether I came in a few minutes ahead or behind that time was almost irrelevant, and out of my hands now. I took another slug of the salted honey mix that had been fueling me all day, and dug in, up the hill.

I came up on Allen Gowan just at the mid-way point, where it levels off to go to the mountain bikers' parking lot. I went on, crossing the road and onto the yellow trail. For the first time I allowed myself to think that I might actually finish this race running, not crawling, and I wanted to weep. But no time for that now, I had one last stretch of hill to go. The last half mile or so is probably 300 feet of elevation gain, most of it on a steep, rooty section of the "green trail," about a quarter mile straight up. Then it levels off and the last quarter mile is a shallower technical uphill around the back of the Tea Room, some rocks and roots, and a final last pitch up 30 feet or so to the road and the finish line.

But first the green trail, and it's always steeper than I remember. That didn't matter, my gear held firm. I churned up it in a fast walk. Near where it levels off I heard the shouts of Lorrin, Kim and Mark cheering me on. I could only raise my hands briefly in acknowledgment. I turned left and ran the final stretch, not noticing the rocks and roots, walking briefly to climb the final pitch. Just ahead of me a guy heard me coming and kicked into a sprint. Thank goodness, I thought, I don't want to 'wargo' anyone today. But then I saw another guy walking - Tom Corris, with cramps in his legs - and I called to him, "Run, Tom, I don't want to pass you." But he waved me on. He couldn't speed up, and I couldn't slow down. I ran across the line, and stopped my watch at 7 hours 10 minutes. Every bit of me wanting to crumble apart. I staggered to a picnic table and fell onto the bench. In the end it all came together. The variables of weather, hydration, nutrition, etc., were managed as best they could be. I had to dig deep for it, and am happy with the result.

Phil came in about 20 minutes later, a bit ashen and understandably tired. He had an amazing day. He covered 48 miles over about 13 or 14 hours - outpacing me for most of it! Caren and Mark Z. pulled off their own endurance feat coming in at 9 hours and 45 minutes -- meaning they got caught in the three thundery downpours that hit after I finished. Great work on finishing, you guys.