Promise Land Race Report (aka - A Comedy of Errors)

“Twice is tragedy, thrice is comedy” – attributed to Shakespeare

One would think that a grown man would learn from his mistakes, and in my case that by the third race in the Lynchburg Ultra Series I would have worked out the kinks and settled on what works and what doesn’t. Alas, one would be wrong. Come along and listen to my tale of the Promise Land 50k, where I ran sick, didn’t fuel enough, ate greasy food, didn’t follow the bathroom rule, got started late, wore different socks, went out too fast, tried to keep up with Joe, ran out of water, used a new salt/honey combo, and basically every other possible mistake short of trying to run the race in shoes I had never run in before (Lord knows what would have happened if I had test-drove some new Montrails, as has been offered by the Montrail rep at the start of all the LUS races. Probably, God would have tired of trying to pound some learning into my thick skull, and just struck me with lightning on the spot).

My problems started with a chest cold that had been nagging me since the beginning of the week. Nothing too nasty, but Thursday night every time I started coughing I would get the hiccups, and I had been coughing up pretty green stuff the past few mornings. Then, due to getting a late start and being stuck in traffic on the way to the race I did not do my normal carbo-loading the day before of 4 bagels on the drive down followed by stuffing my face with pasta at the pre-race dinner – since we would not be getting to the campsite until after dark, Joe and I decided to stop for pizza during the drive. The hostess misheard Joe’s order of a mushroom and green pepper pizza, and we did not notice our take-out was very greasy mushroom and pepperoni until we were back on the highway. Although the pizza tasted good, due to the grease I was only able to eat 3 pieces – this lack of my normal carbohydrate binge compounded by a load of grease would be but one error that would come back to haunt me on race day.

We arrived at the Promise Land campsite around 9:00 PM Friday night and set up our tents near the pop-up camper of Dan Lehmann and Bill Potts – it was nice to visit with Dan and Bill (who was coming off a 3:10 Boston Marathon) as I hadn’t seen them in a while. We went down to the pavilion to check in and try on the very nice Patagonia rain jacket that will be the finisher’s swag for whoever completes the LUS. We talked some with Mark (who had ridden down with Doug Sullivan earlier in the day), and then turned in for the night under very pleasant camping conditions.

I woke up to Horton ringing a bell at 4:30 AM feeling pretty well-rested, and my cold did not seem to be bothering me too much. It was a comfortable mid-50s and the weather prediction was for 71 degrees by early afternoon with rain/thunderstorms, so I went with shorts and a T-shirt. With a half hour to race start Joe and I went over to the pavilion to register. Thinking I had plenty of time to break down camp and eat after registering I did not take up Joe’s offer of making a bagel to eat on the walk over. While registering I felt the first effects of the greasy pizza the night before, and went over to the rest room. The line was not so long, but I soon found out that so many runners using the facility at the same time was too much for the well to re-fill the toilets in a timely fashion, which caused the line to move very slowly. My time cushion having evaporated, I ran back to the tents where Joe had already broken down his tent and was ready to go.

Clang, Clang, Clang! Oh no, Horton was already ringing the bell signaling the start of the race! Seriously, how many times do I have to start a race late due to the bathroom to learn? Isn’t once enough? The pack of runners headed out of the campground, but I wanted to get my tent down before starting so as not to risk it blowing away. Joe helped me break it down and shove it in the car before we took off in a panic towards the start line, starting the race close to 10 minutes later then the 5:30 am start time. Of course, it was also pitch black, and unlike Holiday Lake the pack was long gone - there was no one else around for us to follow and we didn’t know the course. We had started the race dead last. We weren’t even sure which way to turn out of the campground to start the race! Using our powers of deduction, and figuring this was a mountain race, we turned uphill and started running up the gravel road. Before too long we saw a lone streamer in our one headlamp that gave us hope, but after that we did not see any more streamers so we weren’t absolutely sure that we were going the right way. Joe kept his sense of humor, joking that the reason there was no one around us was because we were the front-runners and had dropped everyone else. Due to our anxiety as to whether we were truly on the course we ran more of the uphill then we would normally, until finally we saw the faint glimmer of headlamps far above us on the road, signaling we were reaching the stragglers off the back of the pack. Relief, we were going the correct way!

We passed some stragglers and caught up to the back of the pack proper at the first aid station (a pretty spot for an aid station, right next to the first creek of the day), having run 2.6 miles of straight uphill gravel road in 46 minutes. To my dismay there was no food here (not that there should have been any, this early in the race) but that meant I had started the race with no food and would not be able to fuel up with anything more substantial then the honey and gel blocks in my pack until the next aid station. Joe and I continued on, and the race course turned onto a single track trail which switched backed up the mountain. At this point we started running the flats and walking the steeper sections, passing people as we went. Although I did not think we were going much faster than the pace we had used at the start of Terrapin, there was a disconcerting ache in my stomach and I was already feeling that I was working too hard keeping up with Joe. I was just not feeling right, and it was also obvious that Joe was feeling much better than me. I told Joe that I would have to dial it back and he could keep going as I didn’t want to hold him back. Joe said he was OK with going slower, and may push it later on in the race.

We continued up the single track to the top of Onion Mountain, and after a short downhill turned onto an old fire road which continued the downhill trend. This downhill was very runnable with great views, and I started opening up my stride to allow myself to just go down the mountain, as opposed to taking it easy to save my knees like I had on Terrapin. I justified pushing it by thinking to myself “the terrain later in the race is probably much rougher and I won’t be able to run it, so I should go a little faster while I can.” In reality I knew putting forth all this effort now would probably come back to bite me later, but psychologically it felt good to be running now. The downhills were really flying, plus I was running WITH people, pretty solidly in the pack – enjoying the social aspect and talking to people as I passed them as opposed to running solo which was how I had run HL, or just Joe and I by ourselves at Terrapin. Running at the back of the pack is mentally challenging, and I was enjoying seeing how it was for the “real” runners. After several miles of downhill the fire road became rolling, and Joe and I yo-yo’d a bit until we reached the third aid-station at 8.5 miles – we had run the last 6 miles in 1:23 – 13:30 mile pace which was way too fast for the way I was feeling.

The course then turned onto more technical jeep-road/single track which started the climb up to the Blue Ridge Parkway. This had actually been part of the Terrapin Mountain course and it was interesting how much more vegetation had grown in the month between races. Joe and I continued to push the pace, but the greasy pizza was coming back to haunt me so after wishing Joe good luck on the rest of his race – I figured that was for the best as I would definitely blow up if I continued to try to keep up with him – I ventured off trail to take care of business. (Joe went on to catch up to Mark at Apple Orchard Falls and they ran together until the last gravel road section on the way back, rocking the course at 7:11 and 7:09, respectively.)

Getting back on the trail I continued up towards the Blue Ridge at a slower pace, but I still felt I was working too hard for the pace I was going, and basically just did not feel “right”. At this point I met Anita Finkle, who noticed my WVMTR shirt. We talked about the course and she suggested I make sure I pick up “ a gel or a couple of cookies” before the climb up Apple Orchard Falls to keep from bonking. I filed that away for future reference.

Crossing the Blue Ridge Parkway, you get on a gravel road which parallels the parkway for about 1 to 1.5 miles. This stretch is a slight downhill that is very runnable. I started this stretch at a reasonable pace, trying to save the knees for later in the race. However, every now and then the right side of the road turned into a gulley, and at one of these sections two women running side by side starting passing me, effectively forcing me into the gully! Whether intentional or not, this pissed me off and I powered through the gully to get ahead of them again. Inadvertently, I discovered that by putting in just slightly more effort this made me go much faster. Since I was still ticked I decided to keep this faster pace through the rest of the section. Passing another girl she called out “Great job, I wish I could take advantage of this downhill.” “I’ll pay for this later” I called back.

The runnable gravel ended at the Sunset Fields parking lot on the Parkway, mile 11.94 on the course –it had taken me 53 minutes to run the 3.5 miles since the last aid station. I grabbed some Mountain Dew and donuts, and continued on the course, the next mile of which consisted of the only truly technical downhill singletrack of the race. Happy about my performance on the section into the last aid station I decided to just go with it and see what happened. I bombed it! For someone who normally has to limp downhill to protect my knees, the sensation was unbelievable - I was one of those billy-goat rockstars that normally flew past me on technical stuff – this time it was me flying past people – I easily passed 15 people on this short section, and it seemed the rockier the better. And the best thing was, this did not seem to bother my knees at all! Could this be the answer to my knee issues? Just bomb down every downhill as fast as possible? Of course not, but I could fool myself into thinking it was, at least for a little while.

The technical downhill ended on a fire road that rolled for a little bit and then continued the downhill trend. Stoked from my experience on the single-track I continued to power the downhills – this did not work as well as the singletrack as there were not as many solid rocks or roots to use as natural breaks for my speed, instead I had to sit back more which put some pressure on my knee, but I kept powering down. Towards the bottom the course met up with a stream and I crossed a bridge or two before coming into the Cornelius creek aid station at mile 16.09. I had run the last 4 miles at a 10 min/mile pace! I was now also halfway done with the race in 3:50.

Coming out of the aid station after filling up my pack’s bladder with water, I immediately felt the ghost of the greasy pizza and had to make a very unpleasant 10 minute pit stop. Getting back on the course I did not feel well at all, the pit stop aftermath seemed to amplify the twangy-ness in my hamstrings and calves from running the downhill and I just did not feel solid. The next 1.5 miles were on flat paved country road with a nice stream running next to it. I very slowly shuffle-ran this part, wanting to walk, but every time I stopped to walk it seemed to take more energy than running, and it seemed ridiculous to walk such an easy section. After 1.5miles I turned onto the White Tail Trail, pretty, rolling singletrack with small creek crossings that trended mostly uphill. At this point I knew the race was starting to turn for me, as even walking the uphills had me panting. I reached the Colon Hollow aid station at mile 19.3 having gone the last easy 3.2 miles in 53 minutes – I was slowing down.

After the Colon Hollow aid station you turn onto a fireroad for 4.5 miles which mostly trends uphill hugging the hillside, with the occasional short section of gravel country road thrown in. This is the least pretty part of the course, with no views, no creek next to the trail, and the fire road covered either in invasives or poison ivy. At this point pretty much everything I had done wrong in the race caught up to me. In addition to being tired/weak from all the running, I was HUNGRY! Never a good sign in an ultra. I had plenty of food with me, but I had mixed salt with my honey before the race thinking this might work better then salt pills in keeping a steady flow of electrolytes dripping into my system rather than large doses every time I took a salt pill. However, the salt seemed to turn my stomach so I had to force myself to take the honey. About 20 minutes after the aid station my knee started acting up, so I could no longer shuffle-run the flats. This was probably a good thing, because it appears as of this writing that I went slow enough to avoid most of the poison ivy. Not that it mattered because a general malaise had started to take hold of me and I didn’t feel like running anyway. At this point the sun came out from the clouds it had been behind all day, and the added heat caused the bugs to come out. There also was no wind on this section to drive the bugs away. To add injury to the insult of being slow I figured out that if I shuffle-ran I moved fast enough to out run the bugs. However my knee would not allow me to run more than a few yards, and every time I slowed the bugs would return. So I would slog along in my swarm of bugs while all the happy runners passed me, bug free. I prayed that the rain that was forecast would start to get rid of the bugs, but it never did. With the heat I also ran out of water about 50 minutes after the aid station - I must have really been sucking it down, as I had just filled up at mile 16! Around that time I could hear faint noises teasing me from the aid station in the valley down below, but every time the trail went around a curve in the hillside and appeared to be turning down into the valley it would instead turn back into the hill and climb! Each time my mental state would slide a little further and I would resign myself to more time with my annoying new-found insect friends. After a steep downhill stretch I finally limped back in to the Cornelius Creek aid station, now at mile 23.9, having taken 1:30 to go the last 4.5 miles.

At the aid station I immediately cheered up – everyone had been talking in hushed, fearful tones of the Apple Orchard Falls trail, for which the signs said 2.8 Horton miles but actually is closer to 4 miles, straight up. I was actually looking forward to it though, the steepness would give me an excuse to walk other then the fact that I suck. Remembering Anita’s advice I got a new packet of Clif Bloks out of my pack and a gel – this with my remaining honey should be plenty to get me to the top. I refilled my pack, doused my head in the stream and started my plan of a slow but steady hike up the falls. With a nice breeze I bid a non-tearful farewell to my insect friends – “see you later in the summer, suckas!”

Apple Orchard Falls is a truly gorgeous trail, and it’s a bum rap that most people only stress its steepness. It is steep, but you walk next to a beautiful mountain stream in deep woods for 3 miles, each waterfall bigger than the last with rocks perfectly placed to sit and enjoy the view. So much so that my plan of slow, steady progress became a slow, steady walk to the next nice rock for sitting and picture taking. By the time I got up to the really big, cool stuff I had already run out of camera battery . The 170 steps that I counted were also nice, as they meant I did not even have to wait for a nice rock, I could just sit down on a step to rest whenever I wanted! And that overlook, well, of course I had to sit there for 5 minutes – can’t just walk past a view like that, no siree!

After about 1 hr 15 min I got up to the sign which said 0.9 miles to the top. At this point the trail turns away from the creek and you turn onto the singletrack I had bombed down earlier in the day, which seemed forever and a different body ago. By now I was really flagging, and going slower with each step. I had also finished the Bloks and most of the honey, and now took my last gel – after this I would have no more food in my pack and would live off of aid station food. I could hear the cheering from the aid station above, but it seemed to take forever to get there. After taking 20 more minutes to go up a section that had maybe taken me less than 5 minutes to come down earlier in the morning, I made it up to the Sunset Fields aid station at mile 26.7. While taking those 20 minutes to climb the last 0.9 miles I had decided that I should sit at this aid station for 10 minutes to regroup before continuing on as I was so drained. However, this aid station was at the top of the ridge and a very strong, chilly breeze was whistling through it. Also, the clouds made it look like the rain that had held off all day was about to be unleashed. I decided I had better keep going.

Coming down off the ridge I felt strange and totally drained. My body seemed not to feel the cold breeze coming across the ridge and I worried that something was wrong as I was not getting chilled as I normally would. Although I was not “bonked” I was extremely apathetic towards the race at this point – even though I knew I had plenty of time to finish, I started to not care whether I finished or not. I started thinking that I had no desire to run another race again – not that I hated running, or this particular race, but that I had no feelings towards running at all. I missed Mical and Erik terribly at this point, and wanted to call her and tell her I was on my way home and I wouldn’t be taking time away from us to go do these crazy things anymore. Part of my brain realized this feeling wasn’t rational and I should enjoy the nice walk alone through the very quiet and pretty woods. But I continued to be extremely depressed, wanting to cry for totally different reasons then the frustration I felt at my knee at Holiday Lake. After a while the trail met up with the singletrack we had taken up Onion Mountain at the beginning of the race that morning, and I slowly shuffled my way down the mountain towards the first/last aid station.

While going down the mountain something finally clicked and the ache that had been in my stomach for most of the race subsided a little and I felt some determination. For some reason my favorite quote from Highlander popped into my head, a quote I liked long before I had ever heard of ultras: “I can bloody well walk out of here!” I could bloody well walk out the rest of the course and finish Promise Land on my feet, instead of whimpering my way in. F-bombs dropped down on the race like the blitzkrieg.

Well, I bloody well walked out the rest of the course, repeating my mantra whenever depression threatened to set in, taking 41 min to go the 2.4 miles downhill from Sunset Fields aid station to the last aid station, and 50 min to go the 2.6 downhill miles from the last aid station to the finish line (4 minutes longer then it had taken Joe and I to climb up to that aid station that morning!) I finished the race in 9:23. There was a large crowd of enthusiastic spectators at the finished, which surprised me and really helped with my mood as at most other races not many people stick around (or are able to stick around) for the late finishers. Joe and Mark were there, looking quite fresh from their race, and an enthusiastic Horton shook my hand. Joe, Mark and I went and soaked in the creek, having to dare each other to get in as it was very cold. We then cheered for the few stragglers that came in after me. Afterwards I went back to the car to get things together to leave to find that Joe had cleaned the trash out of the car and aired out my tent. Thanks, Joe!

In many ways, Promise Land was one of my worst races ever due to the many, many mistakes that I made out on the course. It is also one of the hardest races I have ever run, maybe second only to Highlands Sky, which is 6 miles longer with more elevation change. PL is proof that even 50Ks are long enough that problems start to build upon themselves and you need to respect the distance. The fact that the terrain is difficult, yet still seemed so runnable at the time, and that I seemed unable to correct mistakes even though I knew I was making them really killed me. This is something I will have to work on in preparation for Masochist, in combination with some serious training. Hopefully putting in some hard work between now and then and having Mical and Erik at that race will be the secret weapon!

Holiday Lake Race Report

(aka “How I learned to stop worrying and love Horton”…err, register for the LUS)

Towards the fall of last year Mical and I started thinking about our potential race calendars for 2010. “Let’s do Black Mountain,” Mical said.
“Sure, I haven’t run an ultra in 2 years. The only exercise I get is chasing after Erik, and he can barely crawl. I’m getting fat. My knee flares up if I even think about running. A race that’s 13.1 miles of uphill followed by 13.1 miles of downhill sounds like the perfect comeback race. Let’s do it!”
But in the back of my mind an even crazier idea was brewing….

The Lynchburg Ultra Series. “The LUS” to those in the know. Back in our running group’s heyday it was the holy grail of ultras –two 50 Ks and the dreaded 50 miler: “Masochist”. All races are directed by the controversial David Horton, whose berating wit curls around a runner’s psyche like the coiled serpents he so infamously kills on sight as part of “trail etiquette”. Whose “Horton Miles” have left countless tired runners guessing, begging for the pain to end as the cut-offs fluctuate, aid stations get no closer no matter how long you run, and the finish line of the race remains well out of sight long after the purported total mileage has long since passed. Horton, who basically built the East Coast ultra scene singlehandedly with the LUS as the cornerstone. The stuff Legends are made of…

But who would I find as a willing and able compatriot in such a risky endeavor? The running heroes of yore who had wrestled with LUS and bested it had moved on– After an exhausting year of taking care of the Twin Titans (aka Erik and Eddie), Mical and Lorrin had already decided to sit out most of 2010’s ultra calendar. Michelle had sworn off 50 milers for good. Other members of the group had gone their separate ways. And, if I even attempted such herculean tasks, would my experience approach that of the golden days? I had heard some say that for them the prestige of the LUS had lost its luster. Heck, Horton wasn’t even the race director for Masochist anymore, and the LUS had been wrapped up into the bulkier, even more impossible “Beast” series. Had I missed my chance at racing greatness? Would I have to endure a lifetime of Erik asking “Dad, why didn’t you do the LUS?” After Mical and her friends entranced him with their adventures, would I have no tale to tell? And would I ever have a cool embroidered fleece like everyone else?

Dejected, but nursing a kernel of belligerency, I mentioned the source of my discontent to Joe during one of our weekend jaunts through Black Hills: “Joe, I’m thinking of doing the Lynchburg Ultra Series next year.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, certain that I had just Blown. His. Mind. “You know, I’ve been thinking the same thing” said Joe. “This is really the only year we’ll be able to do it...” Just like that, a dream is born.

But two against many, the odds are just too great. We need a master on our side, someone who has been there before… We sucker Mark, who had already completed the LUS for 2009 and is well on his way to completing the Beast series, to come along on a Monday night run with us. Us: “Hi Mark, how’s the training for Hellgate going? Was the Grindstone 100 hard? Hey, we’ve got a great idea, why don’t you do the LUS again next year, with us?” Mark: “Well, Terrapin Mtn and Promise Land are great, and the new course for Holiday Lake is a lot better, but I don’t think I want to do Masochist again….” Details, details. I love it when a plan comes together (Cue cigar).

So February 11th sees Joe, Mark and I driving Adventure Van Deux down to Appomattox for the Holiday Lake 50K, first race in the LUS. Poor Mark is stuck in the backseat listening to Joe and I argue over whether Elton John is overrated and wondering what’s wrong with us since neither of us listen to country. We stop by the house where Lee surrendered the Army of Virginia to Grant, essentially ending the Civil War. Feeling cocky, I think “LUS, when I finish Holiday Lake it will be the first step towards your Waterloo.” (maybe Joe will find that funny.)

We get to the 4-H center in time for the pre-race dinner and race briefing. Horton seems to be more laid back then in previous briefings I’ve heard him give when I’ve come down to support Mical at some of his races. In fact, due to the snow on the course, he’s given us an extra hour, the final cutoff is now 9 hours instead of the customary 8, and the cutoff at the halfway point is now 4:45 minutes instead of 4:15. (The Holiday Lake course is a convoluted double loop. You run a large loop around the lake in one direction, then turn around and run it backwards.) “No matter” I think, “I wasn’t planning on cutting it close to the 8 hour cutoff anyway”. Little did I know… We went back to the Super 8 to watch the Olympic opening ceremonies and get some sleep.

Race Day! Race Starts @ 7, we get to the 4-H center @ 6:30, narrowly avoiding some unlucky race-goers who slide off the park road due to ice. No doubt, there are going to be some interesting race conditions, better bring along the yak-trax. We park the van about a quarter mile down the hill to the 4-H center, Mark goes off to use the facilities, Joe and I go to stake out a section of the picnic tables for our stuff and make some last minute adjustment to our wardrobes/packs. Uh oh, Horton just announced 10 minutes to start time and the “call of nature” has just started knocking at the door. What to do? Better go use the facilities while they are available. When I get to the restroom Mark is just coming out of the stall. “Don’t miss the start!” he laughs. There is quite a line. 3 people in front of me. Two people. One. It is very quite outside. A volunteer comes into the bathroom. “You two know the race has started, right?” “What are 5 minutes in an 8 hour race? Better to start off comfortable.” Two stalls open up, I do my business and head out.

As I pass the empty start line in the dark, Horton and his starting crew are making their way back into the 4-H center after seeing everyone off. He makes a note of my bib number as I pass by. As I run the paved road up the hill to where the trail turns off I glibly note that I am not the last person starting the race, as several late runners are sprinting down the road from their parked cars to the starting line. When I get to where Adventure Van is parked, an unexpected surprise – Joe is waiting for me here! I thank him and tell him he didn’t need to wait for me. He selflessly claims he needed to stretch, but I appreciate it just the same. Joe and I start off slow, but nonetheless quickly catch up to the back of the pack on the single-track trail after the turnoff from the road. Several inches of snow cover the ground, but the trail has been packed by those in front of us and footing is good so I leave the yak-trax in my pack. Soon the trail starts to skirt around the lake, and we continue in a long single-file line with other back-of-the-pack runners, occasionally passing people when the opportunity presents itself but not putting in too much effort. Occasionally from the tops of hills the view opens up and we can see Mark in the line of runners far ahead. We yell encouraging, asinine comments to him and he yells back.

Around mile 4 the trail turns away from the lake and up some hills towards the 1st aid station. Joe and I decide to start picking it up and start passing people. We get to the 1st aid station at around 50 minutes since the start of the race and continue on after a brief stop. At this point the trail is on some wooded, flat, higher ground away from the lake for a few miles. It parallels a park road, with a few park road crossings thrown in. Climbing over the plowed snow banks on these road crossings is actually somewhat difficult. We then go down single track to meet up with a dirt road (covered in snow with packed tire tracks on either side) which continues to lose elevation down to two stream crossings. Joe and I find logs off to either side of the road on which cross the streams, so we don’t have to get our feet wet. When we get to the second crossing Mark is on the other side. We engage in more encouraging, asinine conversation. Since Mark seems to be taking it easy, I feel confident that Joe and I will soon catch up to him and we’ll all enjoy a pleasant run together. (I’m very, very delusional.)

The dirt road climbs out of the stream valley to go through some areas which have been logged. The road we’d been running on then dead ends into another dirt road, where you turn right and lose all the elevation you just gained. At the bottom of the hill you turn right to transition onto single track at Aid Station 2 (8.25 miles). At this point it had taken Joe and me another 50 minutes to go the 4 miles from aid station 1 to aid station 2. I was feeling pretty good, but on the hill out of the aid station the snow was slushy with very bad traction. The snow firmed up after about 50 yards or so, but was long enough for me to register “Boy that sucked. Glad it didn’t last very long.” Foreshadowing?

After the climb out of AS 2 the trail kept its elevation for several miles while the trail surface varied from singletrack to open field to dirt road and back. During this time the trail conditions steadily declined. The snow that had been packed down by the runners in front of us gradually became less firm and more slush-like. Although it became less and less comfortable and more and more energy intensive to run in this narrow tract, running alongside was even worse – the untracked snow consisted of a thin crust – firm enough to be encouraging until your 3rd or 4th step, at which point you would post-hole down into several inches of soft snow underneath. Since the constant post-holing would not allow one to run, after a few attempts I stepped outside the narrow trammeled tract only when going downhill.


Right around Mile 10 the course turned onto a powerline, and the snow went completely to shit. Excuse my French, but there simply is no other way to describe it. The slush became extremely fine and dry - it basically became exactly like running in fine sand. After just a short time I felt the familiar ache in my knee that has plagued me for the last couple of years whenever I try to ramp my training miles up, or run a long run. In training runs preparing for this race the ache had not started until around mile 20, and hadn’t ever blown up on me, so I had thought I would be fine at Holiday Lake, provided I took it easy. However, the sandy snow made it impossible to take it easy, and my knee soon started hurting more and more. After about a quarter of a mile of this, my knee blew up. I could no longer run. I stopped to massage the knee and tried running a few steps. Nope, not happening. Joe, who had already pulled substantially ahead of me in the short time that my knee flared up, turned around. “Keep going,” I yelled. He yelled something back that I couldn’t understand. “My knee blew up, I don’t think I’m going to be able to run anymore. Just go on!” I yelled. Joe looked at me a while longer like he wasn’t sure what to do, and then turned around and kept going.

Alone, I tried to run a few steps. The knee doth protest. I try again. The knee immediately shows me who’s boss. Ten miles into a 32+ mile race and I can’t run a single step. I start to scream curses at the top of my lungs, staggering forward, looking like the proverbial crazy man lost in the wilderness. “Well” I think to myself ,” Joe and Mark are just going to have to drive themselves down for the rest of the ultra-series.” I am immensely depressed, and try to run again. I literally almost start to cry tears of frustration. I am so pissed.

I finally hobble into the 3rd aid station (which has a downhill that I barely make it down) at mile ?? totally convinced I’m going to drop out of the race. Mentally and physically I am completely checked out. My plan is to walk it to the turnaround at aid station 4 (16.6 miles), take a shower and laze around the finish line waiting for Joe and Mark to finish. Walking down the short street after the aid station I see a volunteer I recognize. It’s a girl that Mical had competed against at the Buff Betty adventure race several years ago, and they talk whenever they see each other at races. “Hey, you know my wife,” I say, and explain who I am. “How’s your race going?” she asks, after confirming that I’m not some crazy guy hitting on her. “Pretty crappy. I’m dropping at the turnaround.” “What’s wrong?” I explain the knee to her. “I’m a personal trainer and massage therapist” she says, “Let’s see if I can do something.” She then applies some pressure to different points on my leg as I stand on the side of the trail. Extremely thankful, I continue on the course. The knee does feel a little better, having loosened up some from the PT. It allows me to play with my running gait some, and I settle on a slow shuffle that favors my other leg.

I continue down the trail, which is starting to skirt the lake. Front runners have been coming in the opposite direction since not long after I passed aid station 3 (12 miles), and I move to the side of the trail whenever we meet at a narrow point. As I’m mentally prepared to drop out of the race I’m taking it easy, shouting encouragement to all of the runners as they go by. One of them recognizes my Parks Half Marathon hat and gives a shout out to MCRRC as he goes by. After a while I see Mark coming in the opposite direction. “You’d better not drop out!” he says as he goes by. “We’ll see” I say, knowing full well I’m going to drop. However, people are now telling me I don’t have far to go to the turnaround, and I’m still 40 minutes in front of the cutoff. Plus, the knee does not feel as bad, I’ve been doing my slow shuffle in between meeting the returning runners, and the frequent rests seem to help. I start to waffle in my conviction to drop – could I finish under the cutoff if I kept going? Should I drop?

A short time later I see Joe running towards me from the turnaround. Something clicks. When we meet up I hand Joe the keys to the van “Here, you’re probably going to finish a couple hours in front of me.” “You’re going on?” he asks. “I have a plan” I say over my shoulder as I shuffle onward. My plan is simple. Make the turnaround cutoff. Then shuffle for two minutes, followed by walking for 30 seconds. Repeat. Make the 9 hours cutoff at the end and hopefully have better trail conditions for the rest of the ultra series.
I get to the turnaround with 20 minutes on the cutoff. “This is madness,” I think to myself. I was at least able to run the first 10 miles of the first half, I won’t be able to run any of the second half. Will I be able to make it the finish in time?

I start shuffling back towards aid station 3, meeting a few poor souls who will not make the cutoff at the turnaround. After a while I don’t see anyone and am going alone. However, halfway back to aid station 3 the snow starts to miraculously improve, with either the snow having totally melted/runoff or somehow firmed back up. Some parts are actually downright runnable. I change my plan – run all parts where the snow is runnable, walk all parts that are not. I get to aid station 3 actually having made some time back up, and with my weird gait the knee does not hurt as much. Aid station 3 has no liquids, but I still have some water in my pack so I keep going. The snow continues to improve, so I am able to run more and more. By the time I get to the dreaded powerline I can’t believe that the same section that blew out my knee is now completely firm and totally runnable. It appears that the frontrunners going back after the turnaround have packed the snow back down.

It takes me only 1 hour to go from aid station 3 to aid station 2. I’ve actually passed some people on this section. My water has run out, so I re-fill my pack at aid station 2. The honey flask I have been using for fuel is also empty so I switch to gels and Clif shot-blocks, as well as some PBJs from the aid station. Leaving the aid station I look down at my watch and notice that if I can keep up a pace of less than an hour between aid stations I can finish in under 8 hrs! Driven by the crazy hope that I could finish under the original cut-off I run up the hill out of the aid station and keep running down the fire road. I’m putting forward good effort, but am going through my remaining food like it’s going out of style. I run out of food about half hour out of aid station 2. “No matter” I think “I’ll just go fast to the next aid station and stock up for the last section.”

I continue to run almost the entire fire road section. However, when I take the turnoff for the singletrack which will take me up to higher ground and to aid station 1, the snow conditions suddenly go back to the horrible, sand-like slush that was my nemesis from the beginning of the race. My knee immediately flares up again, and I’m force to crawl up the hill at a snail’s pace. Once again, the curses start flowing. I pop several ibuprofens and keep going. At the top of the hill I meet a hiker coming down. “How far to the aid station?” “About 20 minutes”. 30 minutes of walking through the slush, still no aid station. 40 minutes, still no aid station. On top of the knee pain, now I am starting to bonk, and am glad I am walking. I have a totally unreasonable fantasy that Joe will be at the aid station with a new honey flask, ready to run me in the last 4.5 miles.

After about 45 minutes I get to aid station 1. Unless I can run 8 minute miles there is no chance I can reach the finish in under 8 hours. Right now I feel like I’d be lucky to run 18 minute miles. No hope, but I can still finish under the cutoff. Also, no Super Joe to the rescue with a savior honey flask. The aid station has only soup, muffins, and mini candy bars for food. For some reason I could not even think about eating the muffins, so I had some soup and stuffed my pockets with mini candy bars. Totally bonked, I spend a long time in the aid station. All of the people I had passed since the turnaround come and go. This makes me feel like all the hard work I had put in before had been for nothing, so I get up and start walking.

After a while a guy with a bad limp catches up to me. He has pulled his groin and can’t bend his leg. “Think we’ll make the cutoff?” he asks. “Yeah, we should be able to make 4 miles in 1 1/2 hours”. A woman catches us. She literally looks like the walking dead. I ask her how she’s doing. Whatever she says in reply does not make sense. I’m sure we make quite the crew, ambling through the forest. Since I’m going the same speed as Groin-Pull Guy and Miss Walking Dead I start to doubt my confidence of walking 4 miles in 1 1/2 hours. Low on energy I force down several mini candy-bars even though they make me want to puke. Eating chocolate and ibuprofen on an empty stomach does not appear to agree with me.

Ahead on the trail I can see some outbuildings. In my tired state I believe they are the finish. When we get to them, not only are they not the finish, but the path turns away from the lake. And further away from the lake. And FURTHER away from the lake. I start to panic, not sure how much further I have to go and worried about the cutoff. The adrenaline allows me to start my shuffle, even though both knees are hurting now. I’m worried about keeping my energy up to be able to finish, but can’t bring myself to eat another mini candy bar. I promise myself that if the trail does not turn in 5 minutes to parallel the road I will eat the last remaining Mr. Goodbar in my pocket. Five minutes come and go. I still can’t make myself eat Mr. Goodbar. “Well, let’s wait 10 minutes.”

Finally the path turns to run parallel to the road. I get on the road for the last hill down to the finish line. My knees hurt so bad I cannot run down this, so instead I limp past adventure van deux, wondering how I will walk back up this hill to get in the van for the long drive back home. At the bottom of the hill I break into a shuffle, and finally make it across the finish line in 8:37. Horton, Joe, Mark, and a few others are there at the end, Joe and Mark cheering me in. I am so beat I barely notice, only glad to be done (much like you are probably glad to be done reading my race report).

Despite bad knees I somehow managed to suffer through all the bad trail conditions that Horton had to throw at me, and came out with a story to add to the LUS legends. For now, it looks like Mark and Joe will have me tagging along for the rest of the Ultra series, or at least Terrapin mountain!