Grindstone 2012

It is tough to sit down and write a race report on such as event… it’s is like trying to capture a panorama of God’s creation from the mountain top with a camera. Just doesn’t do it justice. This was by far the hardest thing I have ever attempted to do. With an elevation profile that looks like the devil, Grindstone is the hardest 100-miler in the east, and one of the hardest in the country.

These facts alone lend themselves to ask the question: “why would you do such a race?”

The answer is twofold: the challenge of it, and it is the nearest Hardrock qualifier to me (here in Mississippi).

The course is an out and back, almost all single or double track trail, with a few spots of FS road thrown in, as well as a bit of pavement. It DOES NOT meander through the mountains, but goes STRAIGHT UP them, bypassing switchback ascents and descents, and heads north through the Shenandoahs. This was truly one of the most beautiful and scenic runs I have ever done, with the views of the ridges, valleys, and mountains being breathtaking. The moon was half-lit, so that in the openness of the dark you could run with the trail illumined by God, complete with millions of stars to accompany the awe-inspiring view. In the daylight, the colors were brilliant, with most all of the trees experiencing a vibrancy of color that can only be enjoyed for a few weeks a year. The rain a few days previous had softened the ground, but the rocks were dry. The conditions were ideal.

To be honest, this was quite unlike any 100 that I have done. All of my other 100-milers have been battles, with multiple highs and lows, and numerous “tales” of being out there. This was purely focused. I was determined and confident the entire time. I knew that I had trained as hard as I could have, and I fully expected that training to carry me to the finish.

The race began at 6pm on Friday evening, with the setting sun already casting its shadows upon us at the starting line. The first miles of the race took us to the exit of the Boy Scout camp and gave us a taste of the rocks and climbs that would be common for the rest of the race. The aid station at 5 miles came right on time, and gave a brief respite before the next section that was 9 miles long, with roughly 5000 feet of vert.

From here, the night became a blur, with huge climbs and steep descents to pass the time. One instance in the night does stand out…at one of the aid stations, I couldn’t help but notice a pet pig, on a leash, rustling around in the leaves. Now this in and of itself is an odd sighting at an aid station, but what made it even more strange was the smoker that was going behind the aid station table, and the promise of BBQ sandwiches on the way back. I was really excited at the prospects of the freshly smoked BBQ, but was a bit curious as to the fate of the pig. This gave me something to look forward to on the return trip.

As I approached the rising sun, I knew that two things were getting close. One, the turnaround was coming soon, and two, I would get to see my wife. Bev had flown into Charlottesville at 11:40pm, rented a car, and had driven to the 50-mile mark in the middle of the night… or at least that was the plan. I had marked time through the night by where her itinerary had her next, and by sunrise I knew that, God willing, I would be able to get a hug.

Shortly following the summit of Reddish Knob, I heard a “woooooo” that only my wife can make. I got a quick hug and a kiss, and told her to grab the gear box for some reloading, and that I would be back shortly. I made my way to Gnashing Knob, grabbed the best breakfast burrito I have ever had in my entire life (thick-cut bacon…mmmmmmm), and made my way back to my wife, and back towards the finish.

After a quick refreshing of supplies in my pack, I set off south, knowing that every step now was a step towards home. The plan was to have Bev “pace” me in from mile 80, so now it was time to work through miles 51-66, where I would see her again. This was a tough section for me. I was beginning to fall asleep while I was running, which is never a good idea, especially during a 4000 ft descent. I chugged caffeine and it helped, and I prayed and it helped more. I stayed the course unwavering, with my catch word being “preservation” – easy on the descents, gu-ing every 45 minutes, eating solid food – preserving my body to the finish.

This lends itself to a key insight for 100-mile running: It really is all in your mind. As long as you fuel your body, it can go indefinitely. Working out the things that occur in your head is what gets you to the finish line… how you work them out determines whether you arrive on foot or in a car.

I got to mile 66, fully recognizing the difficulty of what I had done, but cognizant enough to appreciate what I had left. 34 miles is not that far.
Following a pep talk from Bev and another reload on supplies, I set off into the day. It was during this section that I would learn the fate of the pig, and enjoy a BBQ sandwich. As I approached the aid station, with the smell of pork in the air, I noticed my pot-bellied friend was still alive. I am not sure that I really would have cared if I was eating a freshly butchered pig or not, but it was nice to see that he was still alive. I downed the pork sandwich and continued on. Forward.

Mile 80 came, and I changed into a long sleeve shirt, re-upped my pack, and Bev and I set out on the home stretch with no doubts on the finish. As you can tell from reading, I really had no comprehension of time, other than the positioning of the sun, and I could tell that it was to set on me yet again. The last 20 miles had about 5750’ of climbing in two climbs, and as with all the climbing thus far, most of it was straight up. It was on one of these ascents that I saw the Shenandoah valley, with the setting sun showing the brilliance of the colorful trees, and the shadows making the depth of the valley floor that much more awe-inspiring. I stopped and looked at my wife… ”This is why I do these, to see things like this.”

The sun set, our lights came on, and we kept going. Soon enough, we came out of the woods onto the steep decline down Elliot Knob. This was the only time I lost my cool in the whole race. I had thought that the aid station which marked 5 miles left to go was at the base of this road. But it wasn’t. We headed back into the woods, and onto more single track. I did not let on to Bev, but I am sure she could tell that I had lost some steam. Lesson learned: Be more familiar with the aid station locations.

I kept trudging on, determined. A blister had formed between my 3rd and 4th met heads, and was making it nearly impossible to run without searing pain shooting into my foot. The cold air had moved in, and I was going slow enough that staying warm could become an issue. I had to do something quick, so I GOT OUT OF MY HEAD AND KEPT MOVING FORWARD.

The final aid station finally came. I guzzled some coke and some mountain dew, and took off. I was moving now as fast as I could, trying my best to ignore the pain that was now making my whole foot feel like it was trying to bloom out of my shoe.

The trail seemed like a maze now, with intersections well-marked, but my processing speed so slow that it took me a while to convince myself I was going the right way. I came upon a sign that read “1 mile to go”. I told my wife that what that sign meant was that I had already gone 100.85 miles, and should have stopped by now.

On I trudged, down one last steep hazard, and around the lake, where I began to pick up the pace a bit… ”Surely I can run a bit now, right?” I said to Bev. “I’m sure you can” she replied. I ran it in for the last 200 yards, through the entry of the Boy Scout camp and to the finish line, where I hugged a big totem pole, marking the completion of the Grindstone 100, in 29 hours and some change.

So now I have my Hardrock qualifier. Just yesterday I mailed in my application, so we shall see what becomes of me. I will know by the first of December whether this will be the year, or if I will continue to become a “seasoned” runner before I go for it. Until then, I have a date with the Pinhoti Trail in November. VAMOS!

Shoes: Saucony Peregrine
Socks: Swiftwick 12”
Shorts: Brooks Sherpa
Shirts: Patagonia SS and LS
Pack: Nathan Endurance
Poles: Black Diamond Z-Poles

Umstead 100 2012

I love to run, and I really love a good long run in the park; therefore, the Umstead 100 miler, located at Umstead State Park in Raleigh, NC, seemed like a great idea! Coming off the heels of my recent slip-and-fall DNF, I was really excited to be a part of this race. The RD, Blake Norwood, is known for making the Umstead run one to be remembered, with extraordinary aid stations, a plethora of volunteers, and a course that lends itself to a good finish.

I had been on the periphery of this race the year before when my wife made it 80+ miles before succumbing to the elements and low blood sugar levels (which reduced her to a zombie), so I knew first-hand of the excitement that I was to experience throughout the day, and was more than excited to get another 100 mile finish, and maybe a PR.

The course is basically a crushed gravel road, in the fashion of a 12.5 mile loop. The total elevation is said to be 8000 feet, so I knew that the climbing would be minimal, and nothing like the enduring rope-climbs of the Double Top, which I had DNF’d at a month before. The weather set up to be wild throughout the day, with showers expected early, and sunshine throughout the day.

I knew that hydration, especially early, would be crucial to my success, so I tanked up the 100ozer several times the day before. Following the pre-race meeting and a plate of spaghetti ‘n’ meatballs, it was time to hit the hotel for some sleep.

So the alarm hit at 4am, and it was time to get to work! I ate my pre-race breakfast of a snickers bar, guzzled two cups of coffee, and my wife and I headed for the Park, arriving in plenty of time to get a prime parking place that would make it easy for our crew to spot us coming and going from the start/finish spur. At 5:55, the electricity was evident within all those gathered, and Blake took his position on the top of a stump and announced “5 minutes!”

All of the participants gathered together in the light rain that had begun to fall, ready for whatever the day might bring. “One minute!” was the announcement, and I waited patiently for the gun to fire…looking around, I recognized a few folks, but one stood out in particular…Mike Morton. I had just read a great article on his “comeback” to the sport, and I was excited to toe the line with such an awesome, but humble runner. Mike would go on to set the course record in 13:11.

The gun sounded, and we were off, into the darkness and the rain. The front runners were gone in an instant, while the rest of us began to feel for a pace that would get us to where we needed to be. My strategy for the day was this: seeing that it was raining at the start, I wanted to run the first few loops faster than would be appropriate for me. This would allow for me to slow down in the middle laps when the sun was going to come out, and thus be prepared to fight it out at the end of the day for a possible PR.

So off I went. Lap one in 1:49, and lap two in 1:50, and lap three in 2:06. Each visit to the aid station at mile 7 brought with it half of a PBJ, and I filled up my hand-held at every water stop (5 per loop). At each S/F spur, my buddy would hand me a pre-labeled baggie containing an appropriate number of GU’s, and I would request 2 generic oreo cookies. This was my pattern for fueling throughout the entire day…I never deviated from it. I used the PBJ’s and the cookies for sustainable fuel, and used the GU every 45 minutes for supplemental fuel. Every other lap, I was taking two Metasalt pills just to be sure that my electrolyte levels were where they needed to be.

Lap four brought the sun out for the first time, and also brought out a bit of a re-evaluation. Up to this point, I had not really been enjoying myself. I was certainly pumping out some splits, and I felt fine in terms of energy, but my head was in the wrong spot. The Umstead course lends itself to seeing large numbers of participants due to an out-and-back spur near the start, and a few overlaps in the loop.

I began to notice the other participant’s faces, and how much most of them were enjoying themselves, giving cheers of encouragement to me as I passed…and what was I doing for them? Nothing…just giving a bit of a head nod in acknowledgment. And that is not me, and that is not the sport that I know. The accomplishment of being on your feet for 100 miles, no matter the pace, place, or time, is the driving factor of everybody out there, and shame on me for not giving the other participants the same amount of encouragement, if not more! While I was on pace to be done at a reasonable time, there were many out there that would be persevering through the whole of the night, and into the morning sunrise, expending much more energy and showing much more perseverance than I would be.

So I pulled up on my pace, and decided to be me again. I began encouraging most all of the runners that I passed by, and for the first time that day I felt the camaraderie that makes ultrarunning contagious. And I began smiling, and loving the run, and loving being out there, and soon enough, I came up on my wife who was finishing up her third lap. I decided to run in the rest of the loop with her, and experience at least a part of the day together. I finished up lap four in 2:22.

Heading out on lap five, with an all new perspective on this thing, I felt great, and knew that I only had 50 miles left to run. The sun was out full-blast at this point, and the humidity was rising steadily, making for more of a jungle-like feel to the afternoon. While much of the course is shaded, the foliage does serve to hold the moisture, so staying well hydrated was the only option there was. I drank a ton this lap, both water and Gatorade, and managed to stay on top of it.

NOTE TO ALL FUTURE UMSTEAD RUNNERS: WEAR GAITERS! I did NOT wear any gaiters, and my poor feet were beginning to pay for my lack of foresight. At both the start/finish and at the aid station, I would have to sit down and empty the accumulated quarry of rock that was in my shoes. By the end of the day, I had a few mean blood blisters, but oh well, what are you gonna do, but keep moving forward. Lap five split was a 2:32.

Lap six began with the knowledge that I only had 37.5 miles to go…not that far! My plan was to stay conservative here, while the late afternoon sun was out and the heat was up. I stuck with my plan of being present, in the here-and-now of the race, continuing to dispense encouragement to my fellow runners, and just to enjoy the day. I began to formulate a plan for the last two loops, as I knew that finishing would not be an issue, but a PR was in reach. I put the ipod shuffle on, and immersed myself in some killer tunes, dissociating from song to song, but always staying cognizant enough to be in the moment, with the course, and with my comrades. I came to the start/finish area, changed into a dry Patagonia shirt, got the headlamp, got my GU’s, ate my cookies, dumped out the rocks from my shoes, and headed back out. Lap six split was 2:44.

I began to do a bit of calculating in my brain, and figured out that if I ran smart and conservative for loop seven, I could try and “blast out” (a relative term on stiff legs) loop 8 and beat my PR, set at Rocky Raccoon, of 19:12. As darkness set in, the figures that were once my fellow racing participants became dark shadows with beams of light…kinda like Cyclops, I guess.

There were now but a few moments of encouragement from all of us to one another, as we knew that with the dark came the real challenges of the race. I continued to keep a very conservative pace throughout this loop, taking my time and waiting for loop 8. The ipod was not letting me down, pumping out hit after hit, working in combination with the maximum levels of caffeine that I was ingesting from my GU Roctane, keeping my energy level up and my enthusiasm high. The finish was near; all I had to do was get there.

I have found that in each 100 miler I do, I always learn something about running long distances, and this time was no different. I began to realize that, if I just had the courage to run, that I could. Following a walk break or an uphill section, it is always a challenge to get the stiff legs to turn over once again, and in past runs, I have seemed to be more hesitant about starting back running. But this time, I knew that if I just had the courage to start back, that I could, and when I did start back, the stiffness and discomfort goes away, and before you know it, you are moving at a good clip. This became my mantra for the rest of the run…”just have the courage, JB…strong and courageous”.

I finished up loop seven in 2:50, my slowest loop of the day, but the great part of it was that I had gone that slowly purposefully. The course, nor the fatigue, made me go that slow, but the discipline and the desire of a PR had me going slow…and now it was time to get the job done!

I headed back out on my final loop with the clock reading 16:18. I knew I had this PR if I just stayed on track and was disciplined. I continued eating GU every 45 minutes, right up to the end, to insure that there was fuel in the tank. Lightning began to light up the sky, and what was in the distance came right on top of us in a hurry. The wind picked up, and the thunder was clapping much louder than the beats on my ipod.

Soon enough, I was running in a full-fledged thunderstorm, in all its power, and I was feeding off the fury. I cruised into the aid station, dumped out my shoes, grabbed my last half of a PBJ for the day, thanked the volunteers for taking care of me, and headed back into the woods, determined to break my PR. I glanced down at my watch, and it read 17:29…but it had read 17:29 at my last glance…so I realized that my battery was dead, and that I really didn’t know what the time was…but one thing I knew was that if I gave it all I had from this point on, all the way to the finish, I would be golden, and I would have a new PR.

So I hit it, and ran as much of the “sawtooth” section of the course as I could, but walked what I had to. I cruised down the hill at mile 10, opening up my gait, determined that I would finish with everything I had. Up the hill to about mile 10.5, and then I determined to be courageous, and run every last step of this thing, as fast as I could. I began making some really weird sounds, kind of a cross between a grunt and a growl, and with each step it became louder and louder. I passed mile mark 11…courageous…pounded up and over “widowmaker”…strong and courageous…I was looking for the turn-off now that would take me to the finish line, and before I knew it, there it was…now it’s time to let it all go.

I hit that last half mile as hard as I have ever run, riding the momentum of the downhill and the adrenaline of the moment into the uphill steps to the finish, guiding my steps with reckless abandon, and hitting the finish line…but what was my time? My watch was dead…the finish clock was temporarily down…had I done it? My effort said “surely”, but I really had no idea.

My wife’s friend was there at the finish giving me a big congrats…”What was my time?” I asked. “18:57” she replied. I released a big, big sigh…I did it! 13th OA and a new PR! And the excitement of the day wasn’t even over! My wife had come back for revenge on the course that had defeated her the previous year, and she meticulously made her way towards redemption, one step at a time, and came through in 23:30. Awesome job! I am so proud of her perseverance, and even though right after finishing she swore that she wouldn’t do another hundred miler, I know she is already plotting out her next one!

I love running, and I love running a long ways, through the woods, or wherever the path may take me. I am so thankful for each step that I get to take, and am thankful and grateful for the experiences and the people and the camaraderie that ultrarunning gives to me. Thanks to the RD Blake Norwood for allowing me to participate in this great event, and thanks to Rock/Creek for letting me pimp the logo for 18+ hours in the best running apparel out there. Congrats to all finishers and a big “thank you” to all of the participants for allowing me to be a part of something that is bigger than all of us. I can’t wait to get back out there and toe the line once again, and I hope that you can’t either! See you out there!!!! LONG LIVE THE RUN!!!

Double Top 2012

1. Dodging tornadoes

So after a few months of intense mileage the time had finally come. My friend Bailey (who would later finish the 100k) and I headed out of Jackson and into the unknown of the Cohutta Mountains of North Georgia. As we approached the edge of Fort Mountain State Park we couldn’t help but notice the dark clouds and the howling wind that was making its way in. Despite the news reports of damaging winds, hail, and tornadoes, I was fairly confident that the adverse weather would move out before the 4:30am start. At least, this is what I was hoping.

We picked up our cabin key, and headed to #4, quickly unpacked our gear, and went to the pavilion for the pre-race dinner and briefing, and to drop off my drop bags (These dinners are so funny to me; everybody sharing about how they are excited for the journey to come, all-the-while trembling inside about just what could really be, but hoping this won’t be the case).

I ran into Roxanne (Zobava, race report here) who was signed up for the 100k, along with a friend of hers. It was good to see a familiar face and get their opinion on the course. Roxane had run out here previously on training run, and is a veteran of the high mountains out west, so I wanted to hear what her opinion of the course was. She claimed it to be pretty non-technical, with very runnable parts all throughout.

This was good to hear, as the race website and facebook page had no real elevation profile …just horror stories about these big-A climbs. No matter, I thrive on big climbs, and love every second that my calf muscles feel as if they will soon disconnect from my Achilles.

So we ate, listened to the race director tell us how the course was marked, and then state that he thought there was maybe 17,5000-18,000 feet of climbing in the whole thing, which is what we all had figured on (this would later prove to be a bit of a poor estimate by most accounts). Soon after, it was off to the cabin for a final mental review of the day to come, along with one final gear-check. Then off to sleep… BUT THEN MY ALARM WENT OFF BLARING IN MY EAR!!!!! Man, that wasn’t sleep, that was a nap!

2. The first 20

3:30am brought with it a quick look out the window, just long enough to notice that the wind was still howling, and that there were remnants of the storm (that had kept me awake) in the form of fog and light precipitation. I ate my pre-race breakfast (snickers bar), downed my French-press coffee (mmmm, french press coffee), hit the toilet (hey, as every ultrarunner knows this is a crucial part of the pre-run ritual), and headed for the start line …which consisted of two flashlights across the road …classic. I threw on a $1 poncho to keep myself somewhat dry, and soon enough, the inevitable happened: the RD said “go.”

The beginning few miles of the course wound up-down-and-around the park, with a few spots that you had to be aware of due to the slipperiness left from the night before. Being a new trail, none of us at the front really knew where we were going, and in the dense fog it made it tough to spot the markings. After maybe 2 miles we took a right turn down a trail, until we heard the others behind us yelling “WRONG WAY!” We made it back up the pitch to the correct trail, and quickly made up the gap that had formed.

“Glad I got that out of the way!” I thought to myself. Given that many of the other runners ended up taking a wrong turn and getting lost, some up to 4 hours off-course, I was happier than I even knew to get this out of the way early!

Scott Eppelman soon took the lead by maybe 200 yards, never far enough to be out of sight. In the early morning hours, it was easy to spot his glowing dome heading down the mountain which led us out of the park, and to the first aid station. I really wanted to hit this spot in 10 minute miles, and as I looked at my watch, I had covered the 6.9 miles in roughly 73 minutes… perfect.

I continued on my way, crossing several creeks, and paying attention to the trail markings. Truthfully, since I knew that we would be on the Pinhoti trail for the majority of the race, I paid more attention to looking for these markings than the official course markings, a plan which paid dividends for me, allowing me to quickly come up to Scott, who was having navigational issues, and also allowed me to not worry that I hadn’t seen a course marking in a while (even though the course was marked with blue and white tape, the night and the wind which would wrap them around the trees made the markings hard to spot).

3. Dogs and Zombies

Once I got to Scott, I knew that running with him for a while would keep my enthusiasm in check, while also allowing us to build up a lead on the pack. Scott is a veteran of 100-milers, with several Hardrocks and a Badwater under his belt. With this type of experience I knew where my place should be. We traversed the terrain and made it to AS2, mile 13.3. At this point, I quit looking at my watch. I knew better. I knew that running with Scott for a while would keep me where I wanted to be.

Leaving the aid station, Scott took out a bit of a lead, and I was happy to follow behind him for a while. I maintained a distance of about 50-75 yards… close enough to continue to keep my pace in check, but far enough as to not seem too pushy. He was the vet here, and I was gonna honor that by not running right behind him. This took us to a forest road that signaled the arrival at AS3, mile 17.7. After downing some PBJ, we left the AS together down the road. The road soon enough took a left onto the single-track, which would let us climb up a bit, though the climb at this point was pretty rolling, with not too much terrain that would dictate a walk.

HOWEVER, before the single track we were greeted by two angry dogs! Nothing adds that zing of excitement to a hundred miler in the mountains like two freaking dogs barking and running after you! I knew that out-sprinting the dogs had a very low success rate, so I utilized the technique from this month’s edition of Trail Runner Magazine: I turned around at the dogs, raised my arms up over my head, and made a zombie-like sound… and it worked! The dogs looked at us like we were idiots, but then left us alone!

So the next few miles gently climbed to AS4. In the process, I had managed to leave Scott. I’m not sure where this happened, but he definitely was not there. I looked for my drop bag to get my baggie of nutrition, but my drop bag was not there. No worries though, said the volunteer: “it’s on the way!”

“Well, that’s good to know!” I said …and I did mean this, for my drop bag had my cold-weather reinforcements in it for the night time return trip, which I knew would be cold. So, I grabbed some food from the AS, stuffed a few Hammer Gels in my left pocket, a few cookies in my right pocket, and after topping off my bottle, headed out into the unknown, in the lead!

4. Onward and upward (and …upward)

The next 4.9 miles were on a forest service road that went up… and I mean up and up and up! There was no downhill on this section, just a 4.9 mile climb up into the low-lying clouds. I quickly settled in to a climbing pace that had me a bit faster than walking, but not at a running pace — just fast enough to keep momentum — as long as I kept my head down and focused on what was directly in my periphery. The few times I did look up just pissed me off, as there was no end to this climb anywhere in sight! Just a FS road that went up.

The crappy thing about these types of climbs is that they are designed to be gone up in cars, with engines, not on foot. This means that the gravel is uneven, and the road is steep and straight, no switchbacks or “good lines” to be had. Just a hellacious grade, and gravel chunks under your feet. So, up I went! Soon enough, I entered into a cloud bank and was greeted by howling winds and big drops of condensation — basically raindrops that had yet to fall. I just kept my head down and pressed on.

In hindsight, this section is probably where I stretched the lead out. I put in a great effort here, staying properly fueled the whole time, and never getting into the red. But alas, the fun soon ended as I made it to the top and was greeted by AS5, and a volunteer saying “What’d you think about that climb?” I responded “I’m trying to forget about it!” I refueled, stuffed my pockets with food, and head back out.

Following every uphill there is a downhill, and luckily, this was the case. No worries, as I cruised out and down the mountain, with the only real issue being the pounding of the gravel under my feet. I managed to find the side of the FS road where there was a thin layer of leaves, and this helped reduce the pounding I was experiencing.

Finally, the clouds of the morning were beginning to clear, and I was able to see the most beautiful topography around me… the range was absolutely stunning! Being from Mississippi, I am rarely able to experience such things, and being able to be out there amongst creation, surrounded on every side by mountains, was really awesome. This is why I do what I do, to experience things like this!

Cruising on, I hit AS6 and the 50k mark of the journey. Feeling great, I was ready to turn my focus to my pace, and maintaining the lead that I was given. The course from the last aid station through AS7 marked some of the best trail I experienced on the day, with moderate climbs and downhills, a mix of trail conditions from single track to old fire roads to some good muddy parts. This section also led us off of the Pinhoti and onto the Benton Mackaye Trail. Luckily, the trail markings were very similar, with white diamonds being the correct path to follow.

5. One freaking wet rock

However, it was in this section, around mile 35, that my day took a sharp, painful turn. On a rather tame portion of trail, as I was cruising along at a moderate pace, I planted my right foot and immediately slipped backwards. This was not a typical “kick a root” and superman into a forward roll — I am a pro at those — this was like slipping on ice that you did not see, while putting all your weight into your foot strike. And falling backwards. I immediately fell hard onto my right glute, right on a rock.

When I fall, I almost always spring right back up, not allowing the trauma of the fall to discourage me; however, this time was different, and I knew it immediately. As I made it to my feet, I could tell that I was screwed. I had a deep, deep bruise in my right glute that had already begun to throb. I pressed on, but could tell that this was going to be a problem. I began hobbling on to the next aid station, determined to play this out.

As I got to AS7 and mile 37.9, I was greeted by the volunteers very enthusiastically, and I was really interested to see if my drop bag had made it.. and it had! I got my fuel, and continued very tediously with a noticeable limp. The problem with a deep bruise in your glute is that you cannot climb or descend normally, and I became painfully aware of this. I began to give a lot more on my right leg, changing my gait. Anyone who runs knows that this is a strategy that is doomed to fail, but I had to try something. I was now relegated to walking up every hill and walking down every hill, and trying to run on the flats. After a very short bit of time, my right hip-flexor became severely stressed, and I began turning my right foot inwards as I took a step so as to not stress this out. This created a permanent walk, with no running to be done.

The course from AS7 to AS8 is the most remote part of the course, leading us through the wilderness, up and down climbs, with the only reminder of reality being two places where jugs of water had been placed. I made it to the first jug, but my leg felt terrible. I tried to change the scenery in my mind by putting my headphones on; this worked for a moment, as I tried my hardest to at least jog. This lasted only a few moments, and the sharp pain that seared through both the front and back of my leg was too much. I went back to my walk, and just tried to become appreciative for the experience that I had.

6. John the Hiker

After a while, a runner passed me, and after another while, another runner passed me, and then another. I can’t lie, I was disappointed. I had put in a lot of time and effort, and had sacrificed quite a bit, to train for this race. I had come into it in the best shape of my life. I was running wonderfully, strong, staying fueled properly, and all it took was a freaking wet rock to ruin my day. I continued to hobble ever so slightly forward, immersing myself in my brain — having the world’s biggest pity-party, and I was the only one invited.

After wallowing in my misery for about 3 hours, and finally coming upon the second water drop, I knew my day was over. Still had a good ways to go to get to the AS8 and get a ride. Something had to change… and then it just all clicked. I found a good hiking stick, and quickly became “John the Hiker!” My new persona allowed me to take some stress off of my leg by putting weight on the stick, and I changed my “woe is me” attitude into one of a hiker, content to take my time and look around and observe the beauty, and be thankful to be out there!

Off I hobbled, determined to have a better attitude and to enjoy my time in the woods. I had to realize that I rarely get to be out here, living in MS, and see these things and smell these things and enjoy this terrain. Despite the continued ache in my leg, I hobbled on, enjoying every step, and being thankful for the opportunity.

So I eventually made it to AS8, mile 48.6, and informed the volunteer that I my day was done. “Not here it ain’t… if you stop here you will be waiting ’til 12:30am for a ride.” Man, this was tough news to take. My entire hike had been to get here and call it a day, but now I had to go 3.2 miles onward to AS9! After topping off my bottle and grabbing a few goodies from the AS, off I went. The last 5k to the AS was on a gently rolling FS road. I was passed by another runner, and was soon greeted by the few that had made the turn and were headed for home.

I began to get a bit frustrated, and tried to speed-hobble …and regretted this decision very quickly. Due to my now horrific-looking gait, I began stressing out my groin, and it felt like it was popping! So back I went to my hiking pace.

Finally, having taken 5 hours to go 13 miles, I made it to AS 9, mile 51.8. And that was that. Luckily, they welcomed me with open arms, and managed to find me a ride back to the start/finish relatively quickly. I am more than grateful to these volunteers; they entertained me with good humor, and even let me sit in a vehicle to stay warm until my ride got there. I watched as other runners made it to the halfway point, picked up their pacers, and headed back out. I got to see some runners come in with smiles, but others with a sense of dread at the coming nite.

7. Relentless forward motion

As I was shuttled back to the starting line, I was informed that of the 4 people that had passed me at the end, 2 had dropped out, but that the leader was going strong, looking for a sub-24. I remember seeing him, and I knew he would make it (he ended up with the W, just missing 24 hours …congrats!). I got back to the cabin, showered, ate, and awaited the arrival of my friend Bailey, who hobbled in after 16 and a half grueling hours out there, with a 100k finish. We commiserated for a bit, discussing the difficulty of the course, and though about those poor souls that were still out there. But inside, I sure did wish that I was one of them.

The next morning we packed up and left, heading out of the park, down the mountain, and back to Jackson. A few days removed, the bruise is healing slowly, and the hip and groin are not as stressed as I thought they would be, which tells me that I did the right thing. Had I continued on, there is no doubt that I would not have been able to run for a few months, and that’s no fun …no play and no run make John a dull boy!

For the first few days, I thought I would never go back and do that again, but now I’m ready to plot my revenge. It is one thing if you beat yourself. If you don’t train well, if you don’t eat right, if you don’t hydrate as you should, if you don’t run smart. But this is not the case. I trained well, fueled right, ran smart. The course beat me. I did not beat me; the course beat me. A freaking rock on the freaking trail beat me. And now I am hungry for revenge. I will lick my wounds, and I will be back to the Double Top 100 for vengeance!

Congrats to all the finishers of the 100 mile, and the 100k. Your perseverance on the course is a true testimony to your passion for the sport, and I really can appreciate that. Thanks to all who ran with me while training for this, and a big thanks to those who put up with my running-induced mood swings for the past few months.

Despite the result, I am happy to have been out there. I freaking love this sport and look forward to the next challenge that it has to offer. Our moniker, Relentless Forward Motion (RFM), is not just while we run, but is for life: we move forward always, unrelenting, not allowing the setbacks and disappointments of this life to stall our progress. We overcome hardships and challenges with more wisdom and thicker skin, better able to tackle the next challenge, whatever challenge that may be. LONG LIVE THE RUN! VAMOS!