***
I woke up from a short nap, just about 10 minutes, disentangled myself from the thin tarp I had used as a make-shift sleeping-bag, and put my shoes back on. The wind was fierce and cold, but the aid station workers had a wonderful fire surrounded by chairs filled with other lost souls much like myself. Everyone struggling to find a reason to leave such an inviting location and venture back into the cold and the darkness and uncertainty. I wandered drunkenly to the aid station table and grabbed a handful of hot food before returning to the only empty chair by the fire. Why would anyone ever leave this aid station, I wondered.
But before I finished the food in my hand my answer arrived. I heard her talking before she noticed me sitting there, and I realized two things. First, she was feeling as tired and defeated as I was after climbing up Little Bald Mountain. And Second, that I was actually feeling much better after my nap and a hot meal. So my race wasn't over after all, and now Alexis was here and I would run with her. This solitary moment of clarity lifted me high enough to shake off my dark cloud and finish Grindstone in a relatively good mood.
I listened to her explain how she felt, and I advised her to take a nap like I had. That it made me feel better, and that I would wait for her and run with her through the rest of the night. As she curled up in that tarp by the wood pile Decker arrived, plopped down in a newly opened chair, and began to entertain and amuse all of those around him. This could turn out all right, I thought, I'm going to get to run with Alexis and Decker again.
***
I found Decker running in a large group leaving the camp. It was still light, the rain hadn't gotten too bad yet and everyone was still very much bunched up together. Other runners were talking about how they had gotten lost and hadn't seen any streamers for a while, but I pointed out a course marker as they were telling me about it. This seemed to bolster Decker's confidence, and we began to make our way purposefully up through the crowd. As the light disappeared and the rain continued he told me all about the Silver Surfer, how he sacrificed himself to save his planet, and how he ended up on Earth. The miles melted away behind us, and before I knew it we were fast hiking up the torturous long road to Elliot's Knob.
It seemed like we had arrived at the climb to Elliot's Knob too soon, 10 miles by Decker's watch and we were already half way up. I thought I remembered someone saying it was closer to 20. That climb was just as hard as I thought it would be, and the group I was with was stronger than I felt. Brian and Austin started to pull ahead when I heard Alexis behind us. We all welcomed her, and joked that we expected her to overtake us much later in the race as she usually does. I was glad that she was there, I knew she was struggling with the darkness and the prospect of running alone through the night. The summit, when we finally reached it, was cloaked in a dense fog and a light rain, and there was no view to appreciate. But I had the company of friends, and that's even better.
By the time I punched my bib and started moving down the hill I had lost sight of Brian and Austin, both of which went on to have great races, but Decker, Alexis and I were still together, and we headed off to Dry Branch Gap together. Alexis said she was going to run with me all night long. I knew she could, she's amazingly stubborn when she gets determined to do something. The descent was technical and slippery in the rain, the leaf covered rocks slipping and sliding under foot in the dark. Alexis fell behind a few times but managed to stay close all the way to the aid station. We were 14 miles in and I felt tired. Not a great feeling, but I pushed it back into the darker corners of my mind. I was running well with good runners, and that would be enough to carry me through.
***
Alexis couldn't sleep under the tarp as easily as I had, so she gave up. Being under-dressed for the sudden onset of arctic conditions she was fortunate to be lent a jacket by another runner, and I gave her a pair of socks from my drop-bag to use as gloves. Decker said that he needed some more quality time with the fire, which I understood, so after making him promise to get up soon and keep running we set off without him. We were 44 miles in, and the sun would be coming up soon.
Running together the miles to Reddish Knob passed easily. There was a steady flow of two-way traffic by this point and we began to see some of the runners we know who were having better days than we were, and were already on their way back to the camp. The sun came up in a cloudy sky on this stretch of gravel road, but by the time we summited Reddish Knob the skies had cleared and the view was beautiful and expansive. We paused for a few moments to enjoy the majesty of the mountains and lament the fact that we didn't bring a camera. Seeing the sunrise from Reddish Knob is reason enough to run 100 miles.
We ran on to the the turn around to pick up Alexis' first pacer, Alissa. This is the only section of pavement in the entire race, from Reddish to the Turn Around and back, roughly 5 miles of boring country road. Somewhere since leaving the fire at Little Bald aid station I had told Alexis that I intended to run with her for the rest of the race, and when we met up with her crew they seemed surprised to see us together, but I was happy with this decision. If it is possible to make running 100 miles easier, this decision did just that. My attitude was better and my strength held for the rest of the day.
***
"Go on without me," Alexis said. We were leaving Dry Branch Gap aid station at mile 14 and she was telling me she felt nauseous. I was a little frustrated at this point. It had been raining on us now for about 3 hours and the aid station hadn't had much food to choose from. I had taken a PB&J and eaten it while I waited for Alexis and Decker, but now I was hiking up Crawford Mountain by myself. The rain continued and the steep climbs on this side of Crawford were muddy and awkward, but I knew that once I got over this mountain it was all downhill to Dowell's Draft aid station where Brenton and my crew would be waiting with warm food. So I hiked with my hands on my knees up that soul-crushing mountain.
The second most important thing that I learned in this section is that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, at Grindstone is ever all downhill. But I fell in with a group of runners who were cautiously picking their way down the treacherous slope and I let them and my desire for a hot meal guide me as I cruised for the whole section on auto-pilot. It was in this section that I started letting my nutrition schedule slip. I realized too late that I was holding off eating in anticipation of the food that was causing my mouth to water, and waiting for me at the bottom. But when I hit the bottom I really hit the bottom.
***
"Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face."
***
On the ride up to the camp on Friday morning, as we were all joking around and trying to pretend that we didn't have any real goals for the race, I announced that my primary objective was to beat Clifton Williams as the happiest runner on the course. I have found that I run my best when I am enjoying myself and maintaining a positive attitude. I knew that if I could harness that energy that had carried me through Hellgate and a double Promise Land then I would be able to run well at Grindstone.
As the day wore on Friday my well-laid plan slowly began to unravel around me. It was a simple plan; get there early, set up camp, rest, eat, rest, eat. It happened unnoticed mostly. The nervous energy in the camp brought people together to hang out and wish each other well. The race briefing and lunch took longer than I expected. And then the rain began. By the time the race started at 6 pm, I had spent more time walking around the camp then I had laying down in my tent, and I felt hungry standing there at the start line.
The race started and I was already feeling like my game plan was weak. When the crowd of runners bottle-necked at the first single track and I was standing there waiting, I began to get frustrated. I knew that it was a long race and that it would benefit me later to move slow at the start but I was standing there not moving and it was driving me crazy. I looked back at the crowd of runners and Clifton was yelling and smiling. I had already lost, and I didn't even realize it.
***
When I ran into Dowell's Draft aid station I was relying on unrealistic expectations to be met. I was feeling low because I was tired and down on calories. I was 22 miles into the race and I was feeling worn out and I knew that wasn't right. I was rude to my crew and the aid station volunteers because I couldn't get what I wanted, which was hot food, and I left knowing that the climb ahead was going to be long and hard. And as I slogged my way up that hill, getting passed by runner after runner as I sank deeper and deeper into my first good bonk, I beat myself up for yelling at Brenton. I knew he had a lot of work to keep that aid station going. I knew that I was just one runner. And I knew that I had overreacted, but it was too late. I had to run 60 miles before I would get the chance to apologize.
From Dowell's Draft to Lookout Mountain went by in a hazy blur. It would rain hard for a while and then almost stop, and then rain hard again. I ate the best I could as I realized what was wrong with me, but I just couldn't get into a good rhythm. At the aid station Jeremy Ramsey told me that I was 25 minutes off of the 24 hour pace, and I knew that was mostly due to my trudge through the valley of self-loathing. I ate a little and they rushed me out of the aid station and I was North River Gap bound. I tried not to let myself get overly excited about what may or may not be at that aid station. But it was hard. Sam Price talks a big game.
***
From the turn-around back to Little Bald Mountain aid station we moved a little slower than I thought we would. I figured that Alexis would fall in with her pacer and just start knocking out the miles, but we were still moving pretty slow. I let her lead, and fell in line behind Alissa. Determined to stay with her, but out of the way, not push her pace to where she was uncomfortable. She told me after the race that she was running slow on this stretch because she thought I was suffering. I guess we should communicate a little better, but it was still a good stretch. We saw everyone we knew before we made it back to the aid station, and they all looked good and had plenty of time to finish. It looked like it was going to turn out to be a good day for the Blue Ridge Trail Runners.
J.B.'s aid station was a great place for me both times through. Without a doubt the second best aid station on the course. It wasn't quite as magical in the day light, but luckily I didn't need it to be. We ate, and killed a little time doing who-knows-what, and then headed off for the seven mile long downhill back to North River Gap. I took the lead on some of the downhills, and we started to move a little better than we had since the turn around. Kevin Smith, the pacer I had lined up, met us about three miles up from the bottom and I had to break the news to him that I planned on running the rest of the way in with Alexis.
Kevin is a great guy who believes in me more than I believe in myself, and he didn't want to take me seriously at first. He spent the next three miles of downhill trying to feel me out and push the pace, which is what he was there to do. He was checking to see how much fight I had left in me. I assured him that I wanted to run the rest of this hellish race with my wife, and he relented reluctantly by the time we got to the bottom of the hill. (The one real regret I have from this race is dragging Kevin out there and not taking advantage of his services. I have thought about it several times, and I wonder what I could have done if I had turned myself over to him and let him push me up and over those hills.)
We rolled into North River Gap inbound just after noon. 66(ish) miles in just over 18 hours. Lunchtime.
***
When I got to North River Gap outbound, I was feeling pretty good. I had learned my lesson from Dowell's Draft and eaten well on the trail even though I expected to get a real "meal" here. The rain had slowed down to just a heavy mist. The night air was still warm and comfortable. My friends seemed to have forgiven my childish outburst the last time I saw them. All was right with the world.
It is hard to explain all the ways that the North River Gap aid station lifted me up. The food was superb, there was a large variety of hot savory food that really filled the gap that "fuel" just doesn't do. There were so many people around that it had a carnival atmosphere, and everyone seemed happy. I sat down and ate a lot. My crew and Alexis' crew were very helpful and uplifting. I almost changed my shoes and socks, but decided to wait until I was inbound because it was still raining a little. When I left this aid station I was riding high on a wave of euphoria brought on by great food, good friends and, unbeknownst to me, utter exhaustion.
Between North River Gap aid station and Little Bald Mountain aid station there is really only one thing to slow you down: Little Bald Mountain. A seven mile climb covering some of the most technical trail miles on the course. Thirty minutes into this climb my world collapsed. My energy evaporated. The temperature began to drop rapidly, just like my will to live. Two miles into this climb the mountain had already eaten 50 minutes of my time. It only got worse from there. I sat down to eat at one point and was awoken by another climber's headlamp shining on me. I don't know how much time had passed. I fell asleep walking no less than four times. I would jerk my head up suddenly as I tripped on the tangles of undergrowth along the trail. I began looking for a place to curl up out of the wind and sleep until the sun came up.
I'm not sure how I made it up to the top that mountain, but I know that I dug deep for any and every reason to keep moving. For my kids, because we always finish what we start. For Mike Donahue who would never have another chance to fight this course. For my wife and friends who were out here with me battling the same demons I was. For my friends and crew who came out to spend their weekend traipsing through the mountains making sure that all of us lunatics were alright. Because I had trained (off and on) for two years for this. Because I could, I was somehow obligated to. So I did. I climbed and I climbed and I climbed.
When I finally got to the top of that climb my heart sank even farther, which put it down in my soaking wet socks at this point, as I discovered that the aid station wasn't were I thought it would be. It was another two miles down the trail. At least it was down I thought. When I finally got to Little Bald Mountain aid station outbound, I went straight to my drop-bag then to the fire. The wind was howling across the open hilltop, cutting right to the bone. I took off my shoes and put on dry socks and my light weight jacket. Sat my shoes what seemed like a safe distance from the fire, wrapped myself up in a tarp that was surely there for the sole purpose of keeping me warm while I slept, and I went to sleep.
***
"It's not a footrace, it's an eating competition!"
***
Coming into North River Gap inbound just in time for lunch was quite possibly divine intervention.
I felt good. I was running in a pack now. The best food on the course was laid out before me. There were only 36 miles left to run, and ALL of the hard stuff was behind us. It was shaping up to be a fine day (days) in the mountains.
Once again the crews and volunteers at North River Gap took excellent care of us. Except I did have to weigh myself. Between the aid station and our crew who seemed bored and happy to have something to do, they piled more food on me then I could possibly eat. But I did my best. I ate and ate while Alexis' crew preformed impromptu surgery on some nasty blisters she had growing in her shoe. I opted to not change shoes again, and spent my time eating and watching them cut on Alexis' foot. It reminded me of that scene in Rocky, you know the one, where Rocky says "Cut me Mick." It was kind of a gruesome spectacle, not unlike a car accident, where people gathered around to gawk at the gore.
They eventually got her put back together, and Kevin (my pacer) stayed behind to run around on the course and have fun, and Alexis' new pacer Robbie started running with us, and Alissa came along so we would both have a pacer, or maybe just to get some more miles in. I ran most of the next couple of sections with Robbie while Alexis and Alissa ran just behind us doing the girl-talk thing.
I feel like we ran really well to Lookout Mountain, and then on to Dowell's Draft. Alexis had given me a marker to write notes on my arm during the night to make sure I remembered what I needed at the aid stations. I wrote a note on my hand, to ensure that I wouldn't forget: Tell Brenton Sorry! I felt bad about how rude I had been during the night, even though I figured Brenton would just laugh it off, I still owed him an apology.
Kevin Smith met us half way down the long decent to Dowell's Draft, if nothing else he was getting a good hill workout in. Between him and Robbie I know we were pushing the pace pretty good coming into Dowell's Draft, but Alexis was hanging right there with us so I didn't hold back. We were in and out of Dowell's Draft faster than we had been any of the other aid stations, and Alexis seemed pumped up by the faster pace and a fresh pacer. We traded Robbie and Alissa for Anna, and we were off.
Anna was totally a no-nonsense kind of pacer. Like a good relief pitcher going in during the eighth inning. She led when she needed to, followed when she should, and kept on Alexis about her food intake. I don't remember seeing her smile or hearing her laugh, she had a job to do and it was getting done. Kind of like running with a Terminator, she would only stop when her mission was complete. The three of us climbed up Crawford mountain like it was flat. We ran more incline in this section than I had in the entire rest of the race combined, and we had over 80 miles on our legs! We passed groups of runners hunched over and suffering up that climb, and before I realized we were running down the steep side to Dry Branch Gap.
The aid station itself was a little disappointing, but Kevin and Alissa were there to help us out. We only had 14 more miles to go, and Elliot's Knob, the last climb of the race was right ahead of us. I don't remember what time it was, but we thought we could make it to the top before daylight failed us, so we were in and out of the aid station as quickly as possible. Maybe too quickly, but you know what they say about hindsight.
The climb up Elliot's was slower than Crawford had been, but we managed to get the vertical part done before we lost the sun. The higher we climbed the fiercer the wind was, and the temperature dropped to a bone chilling degree. I didn't remember the long flat ridge run at the top, but we shuffled over precariously nomadic stones in an ever deepening darkness cursing a certain Race Director and wondering if we would ever find the gravel road leading down from Elliot's Knob back into more hospitable weather conditions and eventually returning us to the camp and the finish line.
We hit the descent with another group of runners, and we all started down together. They joked that they had discussed it, and decided that there was no easy way down and a full on sprint down the mountain would be no more painful than trying to ease yourself carefully down. This was interesting because I felt wobbly and slow, yet managed the hill much faster than their intended kamikaze style attack. We slowed down a number of times during this free fall to make sure that we didn't run past the trail that we were supposed to turn onto. This paranoia of getting lost would haunt us for the next seven or eight miles, and only get worse as we entered the "maze".
For some reason we made the decision to "skip" the last aid station, I'm not so sure that was the best choice we could have made considering that Alexis bonked really hard with three miles to go. But in all honesty that aid station seemed to be designed to be skipped. It was there as a formality, more of a course marker than any real kind of aid. We slowed down and got our numbers counted, and then continued on into the darkness.
The last 5-ish miles of Grindstone seemed the most unrecognizable to me. I found it odd that this was the section of the race that I ran first, when I should have been more cognizant than at any other time during this adventure. Coming back onto the Boy Scout property was kind of like landing on another planet. The terrain seemed bizarre and foreign, totally unfamiliar. How could the place change so much in one day's time?
The markings were sparse and Alexis was bonking and I was starting to get tired again. Several times we would stop at unmarked intersections and let Anna run ahead until she found a streamer, unable to make ourselves move down a trail that may be the wrong way. Any unnecessary travel at this point just seemed like it would be too much to bear. Getting lost that close to the finish was not appealing.
We picked our way carefully through the maze, and with less than a mile to go a runner caught us. He had run with us earlier, but fallen behind on one of the tough climbs. He looked good and decided to run on ahead of us. Some how we made it through without getting lost, and as we finally climbed up onto the dam by the lake we saw a headlamp bobbing in the darkness, in the opposite direction of the camp. I yelled and waved and he yelled back. It was our buddy Joe #98 who had just passed us a few minutes before. He ran back to us, and decided to stick with us to the finish line, now no more than a quarter mile away. We all finished together, and then went our separate ways.
As for me, I showered, ate, and crashed out in my tent until morning.
As for Grindstone, it is a tough course. No, it is more than that. It is brutal and beautiful. It is challenging and fulfilling. It is a measure of who we are, and not only what we can do, but what we can endure. It is 100 miles in the mountains. Nothing more, and nothing less.
Will I return?
Yes. Yes, I think I will.
-Todd
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