Stumpjump 50k 2011

It seems like only yesterday when we would line up at the starting line, maybe 40-50 of us, and take off into the woods of Signal Mountain, only to be spit back out hours later onto a soccer field occupied by kids in the midst of a full-fledged game, with their parents cheering for us (we thought, but really for their kids) as we circled around the perimeter back to the parking lot to which we started, greeted by a few folks and a slice of pizza.

And now, the Rock/Creek Stumpjump 50k has become the premier ultra event of the southeast, with hundreds at the starting line, a helicopter escort from the Signal Mountain High School parking lot into the woods, and commemorative medals to finishers, not to mention the Food Network-style food truck serving up killer burgers and fries! What a race day experience! Thanks goes first and foremost to Rock/Creek, Wild Trails, all the sponsors, and ultrarunning’s first couple, Randy and Kris Whorton for all of their hard work and dedication to make this race experience one of the best in the country.

Coming through the summer months of grueling hot-weather running, I knew that I really wanted to make this year’s experience at Stumpjump one to remember. I trained really hard, running tempo runs and track workouts to the point of asphyxiation, and then pushing further. I cut down on “junk runs”, saving my mileage for runs that would help me achieve my goal, which was to run my guts out. That’s all I wanted to do. Run myself into the ground, and then keep going.

This was my 7th year to run Stumpjump (I think), and while I had posted a good time on the course before, I really wanted to show this grinder of a race that I could do it on its new course as well. The knowledge of the course played well for me. I knew right where the aid stations were, the distance and terrain between them, and I knew that the race doesn’t really start until you see Suck Creek road for the second time. I knew that it was all about the last 10k, which included the climb up to Mushroom Rock, and the seemingly all uphill 4-mile finish to the high school.

I had my game plan ready, and if I stuck with it, keeping myself fueled and hydrated along the way, I knew that whatever the result, it was going to be my best effort.

So 8 am came quickly, and the field was off… really, really fast. No doubt the amazing weather contributed to the quick pace, but it was secured by the fact that the front-runners included David Riddle (if you don’t know who he is, just look at the results of the race and go from there). As we traveled on the trails around the High School and towards the actual race beginning at Mushroom Rock, the field gradually began to separate, with the fast pace splitting everyone up. Jay Curwen remarked that the pace at the front must be around or below 6 minute miles, as we were cruising along at around 7s… “We are on pace for a 4:01,” he said, but none of us seemed to flinch. At least not yet.

I ran behind Jay and we steamed down Mushroom Rock, up the next climb, and back down towards the creek and the road crossing, which meant aid station #1… but none of us stopped, we just kept cruising. The pace began to steady as we made our way towards the bluff and followed it around to Indian Rock. After the volunteers topped off my CamelBak insulated handheld with Heed, I slammed a cup of Coke and was off again, this time playing catch up for a bit until I could get the heels of a few other runners.

One of them was from Seattle, and remarked that this was his first experience racing on the East coast. We conversed for a good amount of time, passing through the Mullens Cove Loop at a very steady pace. We made our way through the next aid station, where I grabbed a Hammer gel and some more Heed, and we continued to gain ground, running at a steady pace. At the climb before the mile 17(ish) aid station, I began to press a bit, knowing that the rock garden was soon ahead, and that it would inevitably slow the pace down due to the constant finding of footing.

I left my Seattle buddy out on the climb out of the aid station, and pressed until the rock garden, where I took a wrong turn (because I was looking down too much), but quickly regained my bearings, not losing too much time. I felt fresh, so the misdirection did not weigh on my psyche, as I knew I still had plenty in the tank to burn. I got out of the rock garden unscathed, minus the tree that stabbed me in the leg, but no worries there. I got to the aid station at mile 19, and the volunteers there took my bottle and topped it off, allowing me to slam a cup of Coke and open my tropical-flavor Hammer gel, and off I went, into the last 4ish miles until the real race started.

I cruised through the Indian Rock House aid station, and was happy to hear the voice of Jamie Dial (good to see you brother!) encouraging me to keep it up. I was beginning to settle in at this point, really getting ready for the downhill that leads to Suck Creek and then the grueling 10k finish. I drank all of my fluid so as to be well prepared and not have to impede my breathing with drinking on the monster climbs up to Mushroom rock. Soon enough, I was coming off the bluff and began to lay on the gas, flying downhill and praying that my steps were swift but solid so as to not to stumble. I came down the stairs that lead me to the road, and saw two of my fellow Rock/Creek race team members making their way down the brief section of road towards the guardrail that would lead us to the next aid station.

John Wiygul and Josh Wheeler both left the aid station ahead of me, but I had a game plan, and I was determined to stay with it, again reminding myself that I wanted to do my best… “Strong and Courageous… not by might nor by power,” I said over and over again. I took down two cups of soda as the volunteers re-filled my bottle with Heed. “And now it starts… from here to the finish!” I told myself.

I crossed the bridge and started climbing the gnarly, twisted single track that led up to the sky. I ran as much as it made sense, and power-walked the rest. Soon I had caught one of my fellow race team members and, after some encouragement, pressed on. Down the backside of the first climb, and then up the final climb to Mushroom rock. “Strong and Courageous” were my words, and I began to lift the pace ever so slightly, knowing the top was near. Soon enough the big rock appeared, balancing ever precariously atop its perch, and along with it were the yellow R/C flags that led to the final aid station of the day.

Rock/Creek Race team members Sara Woerner and Sheridan Ames were there, with some final words of encouragement for me as I slammed another cup of soda. Now it was really time to press, to pour it all out. The last 4-ish miles of this race are grueling, as the trail weaves its way around up and down, but inevitably towards the finish. My plan for this last section to the finish was to run every step, no matter what.

Up, down, cramps, whatever… it didn’t matter. I was going to run every step to the finish as hard as I possibly could. I had done this before in my training, so I knew how it would feel, but I also knew what it felt like to push that hard. I knew what it would take for me to get to that point, but I knew what to expect when I was there. So I gritted my teeth, and suffered with every step.

I soon caught up with my fellow R/C team member John Wiygul, and he gave me a good push as I passed him. He is one of those guys that is always encouraging, no matter how he may be feeling, and he didn’t fail to offer me some words that I needed.

Soon I crossed the road with about a mile-and-a-half to go. “Keep it up,” the sentry said, “.8 miles to go!”

Well, luckily I knew the course, so I wasn’t fooled… I knew I had more than that to go. I just continued to grit and grind, forcing myself to run faster. “Strong and Courageous,” I said, over and again. I popped out onto the road for the final time, and knew I had a half-mile to go. I thought briefly of the speed work sessions I had done, and the half-mile repeats on the track that had brought me to the point of suffocation, and then I sped up.

“All the way to the finish… faster than this… all the way… ‘Strong and Courageous’ …you have more …to the finish!”

I hit the turn and saw the finishing banner and poured it out. As my throat began to close up, I crossed the finish, and I knew I had done my best. I had done my absolute best, and it had paid off. I finished in 5th place with a 4:47, but more than that, I knew I had pushed it as hard as I could.

I got my bearings about me, and congratulated the other finishers as they came in. Soon enough, my friend Ryan finished up his day, and then came my wife Bev, who always finishes up with a big smile. The finish line atmosphere was amazing, and the energy was contagious. The faces of the finishers are always priceless, as some are finishing their first-ever ultra, and you can usually tell them by their huge smiles and embraces from family members following their finish.

This is something that has not changed at StumpJump since its inception, and I dare say it never will. The feeling and exhilaration of finishing, and the camaraderie of all of us that get out there and enjoy this sport… that’s what it’s all about. Seeing the finishers, cheering with their families, high-fiving, sharing the stories of the day, catching up with old-friends, and running the best course the south has to offer.

Thanks a ton to all the aid station volunteers who helped us out there, as well as those who work tirelessly behind the scenes with the timing, course marking, etc. that make the race great. Thanks to Rock/Creek for the opportunity to be a part of something much bigger than myself, and again to all the sponsors for the help in growing the event and the sport. Now it’s time to get some rest and heal up… the Lookout Mountain 50-miler is right around the corner!

Run For Kids Challenge 2011

The morning started with a wonderful sense of oppression. As I looked out my window at the cloudless sky, I had a feeling that at some point, the weather forecasters were going to get it right today: nothing but blue skies with a high in the mid-90s, “hottest day of the year so far!” is what I distinctly remember from a few days before.

No better time to run a 12-hour race …besides, that’s what we do? Right?

As I got to Spain Park in Birmingham, AL, I quickly realized that the amount of exposure throughout the day was going to be significant. Much of the 3-mile loop was without cover, so the sunscreen had to be heavy. My friend Jake and I got our aid spot established on the bed of an old trailer which was situated nicely under two big trees, and I proceeded to get sprayed down by my wife with sun block.

Soon, the race director summoned us to the starting line with one minute to spare. Interesting thing about 12-hour events is that there really was no jockeying for position. So the clock started at 7am. 12 hours to go. Or so I thought.

The race started very conservatively for me. My plan was to stick to 9-minute miles for most of the morning, until the heat began to hit in full force, then hold on to 10+ minute miles and see what happened. As I made my way around the crushed gravel trail of the park for the first time, a few things became very clear to me. One, the course was much hillier than I thought it was going to be. Now not real hilly, but I knew that over the course of the day that the small ups-n-downs could turn into bigger challenges. Two, I really should have brought some gaiters! My shoes would no doubt soon be full of small rocks. This was enough to concern myself with for the first two laps. I resigned my lot, be it cast as it may, and pressed on.

I stuck to my plan for most of the morning, but modified it to incorporate more of a pull on the downhills. I let the course give me speed where it wanted, and this actually served to give several muscle groups a chance to work. I would open up the few downhill slopes, and immediately slow back down on the flats and uphills. For each lap I ate a Gu gel and drank either Nuun or Gu Brew Tablets, so I felt that I was well-prepared for the coming heat.

By 4:20 (cumulative race time), I cruised through the checkpoint at 30 miles. I felt great, still with plenty of focus and strength for the afternoon. Each lap brought with it a sense of accomplishment, for it was just a few weeks ago that I was in a boot trying to recover from a ruptured sheath that housed the tendon on the top of my left foot. I was thankful to be out running and feeling great. And so the laps went by, and with it the time. 39 miles … 45 miles … 51 miles …uh-oh.

As the clock hit the 8-hour mark (around there, anyways), I was at 51 miles. I got to my aid stop, grabbed a fresh bottle, got some gel chomps, and paused. I think I remember all of a sudden feeling really really bad. I began walking …and walking …just to the road I said to myself …then just to the tunnel …maybe just to the wooded area …My head felt like it was going to explode, it was throbbing so bad. I soon realized that I had quit sweating, and that I was getting cold. I thought that this was kind of odd, seeing that it was now the hottest part of the day. “Am I cold?”

Yes, I was cold. I knew this was not good. I walked back to the aid station, and took a seat under the pavilion. I got my Buff wrap and soaked it in ice water, and got my hat and did the same. I knew what was happening to myself: heat stroke. I was going to ward it off before it got bad, in hopes of continuing.

I sat for an hour, drinking fluids, and taking salt pills. Still feeling really bad, I was determined to give it one more try. I put on a new shirt, got a handful of peanut butter pretzels, and two bottles, one with ice water to cool myself off with, and the other with Gu Brew. I quickly realized that my efforts were futile at best. I was visibly stammering along the trail. I got to the road crossing, than to the tunnel, then to the entrance to the woods, then to a bench, then passed out on the bench.

I was toast. No sweat, cold, headache, out of fluid, incoherent. As I came to, I knew that I had to make it back to the staging area. So I managed to pull myself up and walk. As I made it back out of the woods into the sun, I really thought that I was going down again, but I knew what was going on with me, and I knew the consequences of going down would be a lot worse than those which I was currently facing, so I pressed on. As the staging area came into sight, I gave it one last stammer, and that was that.

By now the clock was at 10+ hours. There were a few people left out there, but only one who had his nutrition dialed in. Not sure his name, but he did a great job, managing 57 miles and taking 1st overall.

I tried to recover as best as I could, eating, drinking, taking salt tabs, but I was in rough shape. My total miles were 51, which I had completed in a little over 8 hours (since I got to 51 the fastest, I did get 2nd overall). By the finish of the 12 hours, there were a few folks left at the pavilion, one of which looked very good. We all had suffered out there, but we all had learned a lot about ourselves; mainly, that 90+ degree weather plus over exposure to the sun is tough to overcome.

But I will say this. It is experiences like this one that keep calling me to long-distance running. The things that we as ultrarunners get to experience, the thoughts, the feelings, the emotions that we experience when fatigue and the elements have stripped us bare, this is a feeling like no other, and one that cannot be duplicated in our everyday existence. And it is for moments like these that I run.

Rocky Raccoon 2010

“Come what may…I want to run.”

Pre-Dawn
With a starting time of 6am, and a stay in the Motel 6 about 10 miles from the start, my alarm began to chirp at 4am. I will say that I have never slept that good before a race…I probably managed about 5-6 hours, which is quite different from the tossing and turning-filled one to two hours I am accustomed to getting. I hopped out of bed and headed to the lobby, hoping that the sweet receptionist at the hotel was telling the truth about coffee being ready by 4. I went double-fisted back to the room and got dressed for the race: my Rock/Creek-emblazoned Patagonia race jersey, Brooks Infiniti shorts, Drymax Maximum Protection socks, CEP calf-compression sleeves and Inov-8 Roclite 295 shoes. I grabbed my Rock/Creek race team bag, which was to serve as my aid station at the start-finish area and filled with GU, Nuun, Bodyglide, Duct tape, and other necessities. Out the door by five and at the race check-in by 5:40. It was time.

Loop One
The course consists of five 20-mile loops on root covered single- and double-track trail, with very minimal elevation change. Aid stations were about 3-4 miles apart, with a longer 6-mile gap between mile 7 and 13. I set out in the dark with a hand-held flashlight to guide my way until the sun rose. With the record number of entrants, over 300, I wanted to insure I didn’t get bottled up early, so I took off at what I knew was a bit faster than I wanted, but with the knowledge that I would settle in once the sun came up. Good game plan in my head, but once light dawned on us, I was running comfortably and feeling good, so I just ran. I held steady in the second group of runners, with the leaders ahead of us, just out of sight. Looking around, I recognized no faces, so I figured I was in good company…no heavyweight in this group. We came through the Dam Road aid station at around mile 13, and I refilled my Ultimate Direction hand-held with water, and dropped a Nuun tablet in. This was to be my plan for the entire race as far as aid was concerned: Always have a GU open in my hand, refill my bottle with water and a Nuun tablet, and supplement with Heed, PBJ, Snickers, and chicken broth. As I continued to run what I thought was a comfortable pace, I noticed that another runner had joined our group: two-time defending Badwater 135 champion and the defending Rocky Raccoon champion Jamie Donaldson. Suddenly realizing that I was in elite company, I began to be a bit concerned with my pace, but still didn’t look at my watch…I continued to run comfortably through the first loop, enjoying the tidbits of knowledge I was gaining from my fellow runners, and came to the clock in 2:48…uh oh…

Loop Two
I refilled my Spibelt with GU and Nuun, topped off my water bottle and headed out with a roll of toilet paper for the inevitable pit stop that was lurking in my bowels. With my goal time for the first loop being between 3:10 and 3:20, I knew I was out waaaaay too fast. I dropped off the pace a bit, and ran with Jamie for a few miles, as I could tell she was also a bit uncomfortable with the initial pace. I figured that if I could run loop two in 3:20 I might be ok. By mile 23, the bowels rang, and I took the call. As I started back out, my quads felt unusually tight from the crouching position, but I paid no mind and pressed on. Around mile 25, Jamie took a devastating fall, and stayed down. Asking her if she was ok was pointless; it was obvious she was in pain. I offered my assistance in helping her up, but she simply encouraged me to press on, so off I went. I cruised fairly comfortably through the aid stations, and by the time mile 33 came around, was still feeling fairly confident in my pace. Then BAM! I soccer kicked a root. Now I didn’t clip it, making me trip and stumble…I freaking kicked the crap out of it. My big toe on my right foot screamed in agony, and I truly thought it was broken. “Oh well,” I thought, “lets see if you can run on a broken toe”…So without a pause I trucked on. As I came down the chute towards the clock, I was thinking that my first goal was still attainable. I had learned from other 100-milers to make three goals for myself. Goal one was sub-18 hours, goal two was sub-20, and goal three was to finish. I took a glance at the clock, and it showed me at 5:50-something…uh oh…
Loop Three
Reality began to set in. My speed was putting me in the top 5, but out of reality for the next 60 miles. I did the math, and if I kept this clip, I would finish in around 15 hours. Now that would have been great, but considering I am not Karl Meltzer, this was not going to happen. I HAD to slow down, and I had to recover. Though fatigue was not setting in quite yet, I knew that the inevitability lurked right around on of these trees, and when it came, I had to be physically ready. I headed out after refilling my bottle and pack, and created a game plan for the next two loops. I was going to run the flats and downhills, and anything that even resembled an incline I was going to power-walk. I began my plan and started to do work. My pace slowed down, but that was fine…I knew it was necessary. I ate snickers and pbj’s, and kept downing fluids, ensuring I was doing everything I could to prepare myself for the inevitable. At some point in this loop, Jamie came and passed me…it was good to see she was back on track and headed to a strong finish. I came to mile 53 feeling good, and feeling great about my new plan and how it was working. I rolled comfortably in to the chute and checked the clock. I had slowed considerably, and had gotten on track for a much more reasonable finish…goal one was still in reach. However, something strange was beginning to happen…the flat and fast course of the Rocky Raccoon was suddenly becoming a bit difficult…the inclines were beginning to resemble hills…was this the inevitable I had been waiting on? Not yet…

Loop four
I refilled as usual, grabbed my headlamp and a jacket, hooked up with my pacer, and out we went. It was good to finally be running with someone again. I told him of my new “plan”, and we began to do work. I was feeling good, rolling along and BAM! I kicked a root again…with the same foot…now the toe was numb already, but I really thought I felt the nail come through the nail bed…too late to do anything about it, so we continued to press on. Darkness came around mile 70, and with the darkness came cooler temps, and chicken soup! I took down a cup at mile 73, and we continued to press on, sticking to the plan. At mile 76(ish) there is an aid stop, the fourth on the loop. I took down some more soup, headed down the trail, and found what I had been waiting on for about 25-30 miles now…inevitability jumped out of a tree and landed on my back…and it was heavy…I pressed on with the plan and came through the chute at about 14:15…

Loop five
Goal one was out…goal two was still attainable, but at this point it was not a guarantee. I was tired, both physically and mentally. The speed of the first two loops was coming back to ruin me. I refilled all my supplies and headed out, knowing I could be out there for a while, but also knowing that I was going to finish. A DNF was not an option, but was not a reality either. I knew that, even if the wheels came off completely, I would get back to the clock. As we headed out, I told my pacer that we were going to walk for a bit…I had to reformulate a strategy that would work for the next 20 miles. So we walked…and walked…and walked. Now granted, it was a power-walk, it was still a walk. Through aid station one, we walked. Through aid station two, we walked. I got really cold, so I picked up a pair of gloves and some hand warmers, and downed some soup. “Just keep moving forward. John…keep moving forward…” I was very uncomfortable, and was growing weary. “Finish John…keep moving forward…” At around mile 88, I passed two women who were just chatting it up…obviously on their third or fourth loop. “How are those quads?” they asked. I thought about it for a moment…”Actually, not too bad…” Hmm…I really was feeling no muscular pain at all…my discomfort was from my tendons and ligaments tightening up. All of a sudden it hit me…if my muscles don’t hurt, and if I feel stiff, then running will loosen me up, and I should feel better! So at mile 90, I picked up my feet and ran. I suddenly was warm, and the discomfort, while still there, was not too bad. I realized that I had to become comfortable with the pain, and press on towards the goal…and so I did. I relished the radiating pain that extended from my toes up through my IT bands and ran. At this point, I told my pacer not to tell me the time. I wanted to run as hard and as fast as I could for the last 10 miles and see what happened, unhindered by any self-made expectations. I wanted to run free with my thoughts and with the discomfort, and press hard to the clock, safety be damned. The last ten miles was a lesson in self-control…controlling my God-given body within the constraints I have come to learn give me strength for every day. I meditated on verses, and found myself more thankful and grateful for the pain and the woods and the darkness and the experience than I had been for anything in a while. I was thinking of my wife who was running the race also, and offered up thanksgiving for her…I was thinking of the people who were at that moment thinking of me, and offered thanksgiving for them…I was suddenly humbled by all that was going on and the ability that was given to me to do this, to be there, and wept for a moment…but just for a moment. The finishing chute was upon me…one more turn and I was there. My pacer backed off and I came to the clock running faster than I ever have in my life. I glanced at the clock: 19:12.

Epilogue
I crossed the line as most 100-mile finishers do…spent. Joe Pruisaitis, the RD for the race, shook my hand, and I got my buckle. That was that. My pacer and I collapsed in our lawn chairs, and I proceeded to pass out immediately. I woke up a bit later and warmed up in a nearby heated van, and awaited the arrival of my wife. At 22:39 on the clock there came a runner with the most recognizable “whoo-hoo!” I have ever known. My wife came through the finish ecstatic, and I rejoiced with her on her success. After a few moments of taking it all in, we were in the car on the way back to the hotel, ready for a few hours of sleep before the awards ceremony and breakfast. As long as it took, through the months of training and the hundreds of miles of preparation, through the pre-dawn start and the nighttime finish, it was over.
I got my 100-mile finish. But I have more than that. I have a confirmation that we enjoy sport and creation as few people get to. We strip ourselves bare. We turn ourselves inside out. We suffer more willingly and intensely and more chronically than most ever do. We experience highs and lows within such a short span of time that most psychologists would diagnose us as bi-polar at the least. For what? For a buckle? For a place on a podium? For notoriety amongst our peers? No way…we do this to ourselves for way more than that. We do it for a passion that is instilled in us the first time we run on a trail…for a desire to see what is out there beyond the mental constructs of what most think is possible…to achieve a goal that we set before ourselves…to push our bodies harder and farther than the last time and see what lies beyond the breaking point. And for this runner, to finish knowing that I have given my best, unto the glory of God.
Thanks to all of my supporters, especially Rock/Creek and Fleet Feet Sports for the race gear, Nuun and Hammer for keeping me hydrated, GU for the supplemental energy, Ultimate Direction for making the best hand-held in the business, Spibelt, and Drymax socks (blister-free, of course!), and David Elkin, my pacer.