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!