MMT 100
The last thing I wanted was to have to run five hard miles down a dark gravel road at 3 O’clock in the morning. But there I was. Questioning my life choices. Regretting every second wasted at Aid Stations. Cursing my failing ankles and hoping that my tired legs could get the job done. Alexis, my beautiful wife and patient pacer, was doing a good job of keeping me worried. The clock was ticking. She was keeping me moving forward.
My goal going into Massanutten Mountain Trails 100 Mile Endurance Run was to run under 24 hours. Alexis finally got picked in the Western States lottery, and a few weeks into her training she developed a nagging IT issue which ended up completely changing the way she had to train, but that’s another story. Well kind of. I guess it’s really just the bigger story that this little story is a part of.
Tim Spaulding texted me about two months before MMT and told me that he was signing up and that I should too. I did my best to ignore this. (I need better friends.) But I signed up anyway. I had always heard that MMT was a very rocky technical course, which sounded like it suited me. I told Alexis that if I could train for six weeks and go under 24 hours, then she should feel confident that she could do the same at Western States. So I was accomplishing two things at once, I was getting to do a race that was on my bucket list, and inspiring one of the most inspiring people I know. Sounded like a win-win at the time.
So I signed up. I trained as best I could for about six weeks. I grabbed a handful of the best people I know, and I headed out to the unknown mountains of Massanutten for a race which I knew very little about. I had heard that it is a very rocky course. I had heard that it’s really not all that rocky. I had heard that it can be a pretty wet course. I had heard that it isn’t too bad except in Duncan Hollow. I had heard that it runs slower than a lot of 100’s with more climbing. I had heard so much that I had no idea what to expect.
I headed up Friday after a half day of work, with Alexis, our oldest daughter Bailey, and our good friend Scott Covey (who is going to run Hellgate this year). We met up with Tim and his crew at the race briefing and went back to Woodstock VA, where our fancy motel was, for dinner and an early bedtime. At 3:15 AM Alexis and Bailey drove Tim and I to the start of the race. The rest of the crews tried to sleep in.
The race started at 4 in the morning at Catherine’s Furnace Camp. From there we ran for 4 miles up the gradual incline of a gravel road. I told Alexis to go back to the motel and try to sleep, and the plan was to not see my crew until 33 miles into the race. (I doubt she slept, she doesn’t like for me to tell her what to do.) At two miles into the run we ran through the first creek of the day. I didn’t know it at the time, but wet feet were the theme of the day.
The first Aid Station, Moreland Gap Mile 4, was just a water stop. The group that Tim and I were with all ran by without stopping and entered the dark rocky trails of MMT. It was foggy and humid, and the trail quickly turned steep so we took to hiking pretty quickly. The rocks through here were big and slick, and after the sharp climb up Short Mountain we ran along a ridge trail for several miles. The ridge trail was tough going, between the damp mossy rocks, the fog and the short ups and downs it was impossible to get into any kind of running rhythm. This is where I took my only fall of the day, as I planted my foot on a table-sized off camber rock my legs just slid out from under me. I felt like I laid down gracefully, but the alarm in Tim’s “Are you OK?” made me feel like it looked worse than it was. Coming off of Short Mountain the descent wasn’t terribly rocky and the sun came up so I could stow my headlamp away before reaching the next Aid Station.
Edinburg Gap Mile 12.1, this was a crew accessible spot so there was a big crowd there, and hitting an aid station with a lot of noise always lifts me up. Things were still going great at this point, I ate a little and headed back out for the big climb up Waonaze Peak. This is a sizable climb, about 1000 feet in two miles, but is rewarded with the best section of ridge running on the whole course. From the top of the climb to the next aid station you get that 1000 feet back in descent over about 6.5 miles. Probably the easiest running of the day. (Maybe because of fresh legs, but hey that’s how I remember it.)
Woodstock Tower Mile 20.3, this was another great Aid Station. There was no crew access, but after that super great run downhill to get there you can’t help but be in a good mood. The aid crew here (and at every aid station) was great. Sophie was here to offer advice and encouragement, and I took a bag of food and set out for the next section. I was doing pretty good at eating on the go so I don’t feel like I wasted much time at these early aid stations.
This section was mostly rocky ridge running, but I made pretty good time. I had been running by myself for a while by this point and I didn’t see a single runner in this section. The steep downhill at the end of this section was very technical and it was hard to keep good footing to maintain any kind of real running pace. Between flowing water, mud, and loose rocks every step was somewhat uncertain. But at least it was downhill to the aid station.
Powells Fort Mile 25.8, I probably should have spent a few minutes at this aid station, but I went through pretty fast because I knew that my crew would be at the next aid station in 7.5 miles. I think I just chugged a cup of coke and headed straight back out on the trail. I was still feeling good, and had been eating well, but mostly just the food I was carrying.
This section had a fair amount of gravel road which I was still running pretty well, even though there was a lot of climbing. It was kind of a long section but some of the smoothest running so far, so I feel like I made good time and got to the aid station where I would first see my crew well ahead of my target pace. There was only one real climb in this section, and the downhills were actually somewhat runnable. I think there were about a dozen or so creek crossings on the way to Elizabeth Furnace so keeping feet dry was something I had given up on early and just plowed right through all the water.
Elizabeth Furnace Mile 33.3, one third done. I popped out of the woods and my crew and Tim’s crew were set up and waiting for me before the aid station. It was already heating up so I asked for ice in my pack, I dumped all my trash, changed shoes and socks, restocked my pack with food and headed back out on the trail. I didn’t even stop at the actual aid station, but if it was anything like the rest then I am sure it was well run. Immediately leaving Elizabeth Furnace there is a long steep rocky climb. This climb is followed by its twin descent down to Shawl Gap. This section was less than five miles long, but it was basically straight up and back down, all rocky single track.
And when someone talking about MMT says rocky single track, they aren’t talking about rocks laying around on the ground, or firmly embedded in the earth. No, MMT is a collection of trails so rocky that every single footfall must be thought out. Often there isn’t a gap between rocks big enough for your foot, or a rock big or flat enough to land a foot on at all. Sometimes the rocks are flat and slick, sometimes they are jagged and loose. Most of the day you alternate between trying to bounce from rock to rock hoping that they don’t shift and roll, and wedging your feet between awkwardly positioned rocks, hoping that your feet don’t get twisted too sharply or wedged too tightly. My ankles took a beating over the duration of the race.
Shawl Gap Mile 38, my crew was right on time with some mashed potatoes, cold Cherry Coke, and a refill on ice in my pack. The day was feeling a lot hotter than it actually was. I think the high temperature hit somewhere between 80 and 85 degrees, but the humidity was up to 2000% which made it feel worse.
I left Shawl Gap in good spirits, still ahead of my intended goal pace, and ran down the gravel road to the next aid station. This section is a little over three miles long and all on gravel roads. The first half is downhill to the lowest spot on the course, and then the second half is uphill. I tried to run as well as I could through here, but ended up hiking a lot of the climb to the aid station.
Veach Gap Mile 41.1, this was definitely a place where knowing what lies before you could really help you make better decisions. The aid crew told me that there was a big climb out of the aid station and some ridge running and then down to the next aid station. They had great food, and I am sure that they had faith in me, but they did not emphasize enough how tough this section was going to feel. But I don’t know if anyone could have. I was still feeling good and running well when I got here.
The climb out of Veach Gap went from gradual to steep to hands on knees hiking pretty fast. It was about a two mile climb, and the trail wasn’t terrible until you got to the ridge. Somehow this little mountain range has the rockiest ridge lines in the entire state of Virginia. I came upon a runner on this ridge who was struggling. We commiserated briefly on how the big climbs in this race weren’t really rewarded with good downhill running. I ran behind him for a few minutes and he explained that he was having a shoe issue, and a quad issue, and a calf issue and stomach issues, so I passed him on a narrow trail where you had to hold on to trees to keep from falling off the cliff. I don’t know how he did, but I hope his day got less “quitty.”
The descent down to Indian Grave Aid station was possibly the worst two miles of the race for me. The trail was a wide gully in places where there was either flowing water, ankle deep mud, softball-sized rocks that moved under your feet with every step or some twisted combination of the three. I felt like I was inventing an entirely new sport, the DownHill Mud-Rock Quadruple Vault. Basically you had to jump and jump and jump all the way down the hill, hoping that your foot would find somewhere to push off for the next immediate jump. There was no good way to control your speed, and no guarantee that you weren’t going to roll your ankle or get stuck in mud from one leap to the next. It could have been terribly exciting if there weren’t fifty more miles left to run.
Indian Grave Mile 50.1, this is the only significant split I have from the race. I got here in 10 hours and 20 (ish) minutes. My watch died a quarter of a mile from the aid station. This was yet another great aid station, and they set me up with a bag of perogies for the road. The next section, the volunteer said, was about a four mile gravel road stretch all downhill to the next aid station. This was great to hear because I was starting to wear down.
It would have been even better if it had been true. I thought it was going to be a mostly downhill run, and my right ankle was banged up good from that crazy trail down to the aid station, so it was hard to keep a decent pace and I found myself taking too many walk breaks on this easy stretch of gravel road. And then the easy downhill road turned flat, and then uphill. What the FORK?
Habron Gap Trailhead Mile 54, I was so happy to get to my crew at this aid station. Josh and Billy Ann had shown up at some point since my last crew encounter, so there were a lot of people there to talk to. I tried to put on a happy face for them, but my foot was feeling trashed. I still can’t remember a specific hit on that descent, but my ankle was already red and hot.
I gave my dead watch to Bailey, prepared to run the rest of the race without a device, when she offered me her watch, I declined. I will be fine. I ate pretty good here and loaded up some food, but not enough. This was probably the last stop of the day where my stomach was still operating like it was supposed to. I had not eaten enough all day, even though I had convinced myself and my crew that I had been eating great. The course was hard, the humidity was like a silent assassin, making 82 degrees seem a lot hotter, and I was running at a pace that I call comfortably hard. These factors were working against me all day, and I was paying no attention to them at all, not yet anyway.
The section of trail from Habron Gap to Camp Roosevelt aid station is about 10 miles long. It was the hottest part of the day. The first four miles were a brutally tough climb. I was just told that I was in 10th place. I had no watch to tell me how far I had traveled along this section. My ankle hurt. Things were about to get “quitty.”
I climbed up from the aid station well. At Habron they told me that I was in tenth position, and I watched three runners come into the aid station as I was about to leave. I climbed well. My crew had put ice in my hydration pack so I had wonderful cold water to drink. The climb got hotter and hotter and I chugged water. But still I climbed well. I didn’t see another runner on the whole climb, and I am embarrassed to admit that I did look back a time or two.
When I got to the top of the climb I assumed that I had somewhere between six and eight miles left to go in this section (no watch, remember). The ridge running at the top of this section seemed to last forever, and to keep climbing all the while.
Somewhere up on this ridge is a place called Jack’s Notch, I don’t know Jack, but I can only assume he didn’t get much company up here. It was on par with all the other rocky ridge running of the day and was playing hell on my tattered ankle. The high afternoon sun was making me worry that I was going to run out of water. And when I finally started to descend I wished I had paid closer attention to the course description.
Trying to do some math in my head as I made my way down the steep drop from Jack’s Notch I was figuring that I had probably run about six or seven miles of this section by now (remember no watch), but looking at the elevation profile as I sit and write this, I had in reality only run about five miles. The steep part of this descent lasted about two miles, but my paranoid mind was telling me all sorts of crazy things. I was almost there. I had a long way to go and was going to run out of water. I realized that I needed calories, your brain is your worst enemy when you are calorie depleted. Luckily I realized this before I started building a shelter in the woods to become a mountain man. Unluckily, I had neglected my gut all day and now it had turned against me. I took a bite, and chewed as I ran for a long time before I realized my stomach was not allowing me to swallow. I had to come to a complete stop to swallow a bite of PB&J that I had already chewed for five minutes. The next bite was worse, I couldn’t get it down without water.
I wanted to forget eating and just run to the next aid station, but I was paranoid that I had eight more miles left in this section, and if I didn’t get food in me I was done for. A runner passed me here as I was walking slowly trying to eat. I came to a creek and dunked my head in the water to try to cool down. This actually helped, and after a few minutes of putting water on my head I was able to eat the rest of my sandwich. Kneeling by this creek another runner passed me. “Good Job,” I said. He slashed muddy water all over me. GRRRR.
It turned out that I was only about a mile from Camp Roosevelt when I stood up from that creek and started running again. It was a relatively easy mile too. Slightly downhill without terrible rocks. Sometimes I am the dumbest runner on the trail.
Camp Roosevelt Mile 63.9, Pacer City! I am usually a “I don’t need a pacer” kind of guy. I actually told Alexis on the drive up to the race that if she wasn’t feeling like running that would be fine. But by the time I dragged my sorry butt into Camp Roosevelt I was very excited at the prospect of leaving there with some company for the rest of the night. She was ready to go, and as they were every time I saw them, my crew was ready for me. I have no idea what they did for the hours between seeing me, but they were always ready with everything I might possibly need as soon as I showed up.
They filled me up with ice water and food. I can’t remember if I changed shoes and/or socks here. The dry feet imperative proved to be a waste of time on this course. I do believe that taking some time to clean my feet up between really sloppy sections, even though it felt like an empty ritual at the time, led to my feet surviving in relatively good shape at the end of the race. And before I left Bailey gave me my watch back, which she had charged somehow while I was out there freaking out about how far I had left to run. Definitely a successful crew stop.
Armed with a pacer, a watch, ice water, and a much improved attitude I headed out into Duncan Hollow. Evidently this section of the course is shared with Old Dominion 100. This wasn’t the wettest section of the course, but it was wet. For about a mile we ran up a small stream that somehow has been mislabeled as a hiking trail. There was absolutely no way to keep out of the water and mud. I had Alexis with me, and for the first time since the beginning of the race I was running with a group of three other runners. This section sucked, and after a few minutes of chatting about where everyone was from, the group quieted and spread out a little. This trail was rocky, wet and muddy, so I mostly was looking where I was about to step and following Naji from North Carolina, when suddenly a guy behind us yelled that we missed a turn. Sure enough, there were four or five streamers marking the turn, but nothing on the ground and we were all just grinding it out.
From that turn we left Duncan Hollow and started the steep and (you guessed it) rocky climb up and over to the next aid station. This climb wasn’t very long, maybe a mile, but I just fell in with the guys in front of me until we went over the top and started downhill. This was a pretty mellow descent for the MMT course, we dropped about 800 feet over a mile and a half, not the worst footing in the world. I felt like I moved a lot better than I did on the section before. There was one big mud pit that I remember hitting and almost losing a shoe to the sticky muck that swallowed my leg almost up to my knee.
Gap Creek One Mile 69.6, we made it to the aid well before dark. I had been worried before Alexis started running with me that I would be slowing down so badly that I would have needed a headlamp to get here. Just having her with me and talking, perhaps drowning out the voice in my head that was full of self-doubt, was enough to keep me on track and pull this thing back together. Another stellar crew performance and we were off to climb Kern’s Mountain, by reputation maybe the toughest section of the course.
The climb up was tough, but not too tough. It reminds me of the steep side of Flat Top mountain which I run often in training. In a little over a mile we reached the characteristic Massanutten ridge running that I had come to expect. As we raced against the settling darkness and fog I warned Alexis that the green moss on the rocks had traction but the white lichen had none and to avoid stepping on damp rocks. The fog thickened before it got dark and made headlamps unhelpful. Looking at the elevation profile the Kern’s ridgeline looks really runnable, but it was slow going in the dark fog.
Finally the rocky trail dumped us out onto a road and it was a long two miles down to the aid station. All things considered I was still running well at this point, but my sore ankle made me take a couple of short walk breaks even though it was all downhill. Alexis was good about keeping me on track.
Visitor Center Mile 78.1, we had to wait for traffic to cross a real highway to get into this aid station, but my crew was ready and this aid station was great. They gave me the best grilled cheese sandwich I have ever had in my entire life. Probably the last solid food of my race, I told the crew to just give me some apple sauce packets from here on out. And between applesauce and coke I would make it the last 22 miles.
I probably lingered too long at this aid station, which is my tendency, but this would be the last one. It was time to get this race done. I knew that even with Alexis keeping me from wallowing in self pity in the dark by myself, that I had been bleeding time for the last several hours. My downhill pace was not what it should have been. I had to try to refocus and forget about my stomach issues.
From Visitor Center to Bird Knob aid station is only 3.5 miles (I think it’s actually longer) but it is all uphill. Steep, rocky, slow climbing uphill. It wasn’t the worst climb ever, or even the worst climb of the day up to the highest point of the course, but there was legitimate rock scrambling and bouldering in this section. But we got it done.
Bird Knob Mile 81.6, this was a quiet little aid station in the middle of the night. The guys here were super nice and encouraging, I drank some soda and headed off down the road. Alexis told me that they almost didn’t have this aid station this year, but the crew seemed to be happy to be there.
This next section is about six and a half miles, down and up and down and up, but no real hard climbing or terrible technical descents. All in all a pretty easy section to run. I had to work hard to keep up my pace, Alexis had planted the idea in my head that I was likely not going to hit my goal of sub-24 hours, so I had to dig deep and push a little more than my legs wanted to give on these runnable downhills.
Picnic Area Mile 87.9, I don’t remember a lot about this aid station. By this point I was on a mission to just get done. I had heard a story about John Anderson taking a nap at Picnic Area in 2019, and although I could have easily slept, I just wanted to get this race done.
When you leave the Picnic Area aid station your crew can drive around the block and see you at a road crossing about a mile and a half up the trail, so they did. I took one last drink of coke and we crossed the road to start the last climb of the race. This final climb is everything that I would expect from a course as hard as MMT 100. It starts out on a double track gentle climb, I actually tried to run parts of this section. After a mile or so it turns into steep single track climbing peppered with the occasional rock scramble. Towards the top the trail levels out and even goes down for a few yards to trick you into thinking the climb was over, after about five of these psych-out false summits I was ready to just sit down and start crying.
But there was a top. An end to climbing. And on the other side was some steep rocky downhill that my feet hated me for making them run. I felt like the downhill was going as slow as the climb, but I was worried that I was going too slow and I knew I would be disappointed in myself for coming so close to my goal and not trying as hard as I could. Finally the trail spilled us out onto a gravel road, the road to the finish. But my mind wouldn’t accept that fact until we got to the last aid station.
Gap Creek Two Mile 96.8, four miles to go! I almost dropped my pack with my crew, but I didn’t even stop at this aid station. I was super happy to be here with almost an hour left to reach my goal. This was the first time since mile 80 that I believed I was going to run sub-24.
The next three miles were mostly flat (ish) gravel road and I was able to push pretty hard to maintain a decent pace. It was excruciating to be running so much on my beat up ankles and feet. Alexis was great at encouraging me to keep pushing even though I basically had my goal in the bag. Then the course veered into a brand new trail, used this year for the first time, to cross the last three-quarter mile to the finish line at Caroline Furnace Camp.
This trail sucked! I had it in my head that the rest of the race was on this gravel road, and I had resigned myself to the steady achy grind to get it done. Then this trail pops up, and has me zig-zagging through tight trees and creek crossing after creek crossing. (seriously, I think there were ten creek crossings in three-quarters of a mile) My headlamp, to add stress to the situation, gives me the warning flash and fades down to low power mode, so I have to run the last half mile with a light about half as bright as a candle.
Finally I am at the finish line, and the race director is there cheering me in. 23:43, mission accomplished. I collapse into a char that my crew has waiting for me, and the adventure is over.
Final Thoughts and Takeaways
It was a hard day on a hard course. My crew was incredible and I have already decided to take them with me the next time I run a 100, as long as they are willing to come along. It's a lot of work to crew someone at an ultra.
Pacers - With the exception of BigFoot 200 this was my first time with a pacer. I have run with other runners for long distances at races but mostly just felt like I was a guy who didn’t need, want, or would respond well to pacing help. It turns out that a pacer’s most important job is to keep you cognizant of your goals. For me it is too easy to compromise away my goals out on the trail when I get tired and slip into a dark place. Alexis kept me focused on what I had come to MMT 100 to do, and I found it a little easier to push through my own stubbornness to get the job done because she kept reminding me that I could do it.
Training can’t be faked. I trained about half as much as I would have liked to for this race. And once you get to the start line you can’t change the last three or four months. If you have a goal then you have to work hard to prepare for it. Every Ultramarathon is going to be hard. There will be times when you don’t think you can do it. But if you put in the work before the race, your suffering will be lessened. If in no other way, you won’t be left wondering what could have been. You can finish the race and know that you did your best. In this sport there is a long list of things we can’t control, things like weather, course conditions, other runners. Don’t show up to a race with regrets about what you didn’t do to get ready.
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