Unfinished Business
I just finished the Grindstone 100 miler this past weekend. My second hundred of the year, having run Massanutten in May. This was my third running of Grindstone and was supposed to be my last. It was supposed to be my best. I made a plan earlier this year to start running the races on my “bucket list” and stop repeating the same races. But Grindstone was at the top of my bucket list because I felt like I had unfinished business on this course.
The last time I ran Grindstone was in 2015, I was forty years old and arguably in the best shape I have ever been in. I had a really good run that year except for two epic bonks that I was somehow able to pull myself out of and still finish strong. I finished 6th overall that year in 22:45, but have carried around a lot of “what-ifs” ever since.
What-ifs can get heavy after a while. I felt like the time had come to put these things to rest and stop carrying them with me. So I made a plan to train hard and told all my running buddies that I was going to crush it at Grindstone in the Fall. All that was left was to follow through, train, plan and execute the plan on race day. No problem.
But…
Life is messy and unpredictable and excuses are easier to make than 5 am runs. Don’t get me wrong, I put some work in. But I didn’t do what I had set out to do. Speed work was pitiful (I hate ovals), hill repeats only happened by accident when they happened to be part of my favorite routes. Any running coach in the world would have cursed me out and walked away from the train wreck that passes for structure in my life.
Training
In summary, I ran pretty okay this summer. I got some good long runs in with friends, and was able to get 50 miles per week consistently for almost 2 months straight (that's a lot of miles for me). My buddy Josh kept making me feel like a slacker by logging way more miles than me every week. But then I got overly eager during my peak week and skipped a rest day and ended up tweaking my knee a little, so I backed off early and settled into a three and half week taper. No problem, it's always better to be rested than injured.
Race Days
Grindstone is great because it’s local for me and there isn’t a long drive involved to get there, it's only about an hour and forty five minutes from my house to the start. But, Grindstone is tough because it starts at 6 pm. What the hell Clark? Like every race, this is just one of the challenges, and it’s fair because everyone has to do it. Also, no matter how fast you run you will run all night long at Grindstone. So bring extra batteries for your headlamp.
But what do you do all day on friday waiting for the race to start? Well, I got up and went into work to take care of a few things. A few things turned into several things and next thing you know I am not leaving town until after 11 am. Ughhh. My plan had been to get up to the race early and set up my tent and maybe catch a short nap or two during the day. That didn’t happen. Oh well, at least I got to relax and eat before the race. It was a pretty chill afternoon. I hung out with friends who were either running, crewing, pacing, volunteering or some combination of those things. We talked about race strategy and lied about being calm and ready to run.
When it was time to go I lined up right up front with Sean Pope from NC, why not I figured, and when we took off I didn’t have to worry about passing a bunch of people on the single track right away like I did last time. I ran a little hard for a mile and then settled into a comfortable pace and let other people work their way around me if they needed to. Almost immediately my stomach was giving me trouble and I had to duck into the woods three miles in. I only bring up such details because it was the theme of my entire night.
Elliot’s Knob
By the time we were hard into the first good climb I had already been into the woods twice. I was sweating like a … like a person who sweats a lot, and I was having trouble pushing hard on the climb. I’m not talking about running up Elliot’s Knob, no, I am a hiker. But I had to keep slowing down and slowing down because I felt like I was burning up and had no power in my legs. People were passing me left and right and I was starting to worry that something was wrong with me. Was I sick? Did I have a fever? Did Ross give me COVID?
When I finally got to the top I was feeling really discouraged, not even 10 miles into my redemption run at Grindstone and I was done. At the top I stopped for yet another bathroom break and enjoyed the cool night air. It was fully dark now and I just decided to settle down and cruise down the backside of Elliots and see if I could cool down and settle my stomach.
Relaxing helped a ton. I slowly got into the descent, and even though I was still burning up it felt okay to run. I got down into the aid station and asked Horton how Josh was running and he said he was just up in front of me, so I filled up my pack and headed out into the night for the next big climb.
Crawford
Crawford mountain sucks. But I was ready for that suck. The last time I ran/hiked this climb with Amy Ruseki and she imparted on me all the wisdom anyone needs to know to conquer Crawford. The steep side, the side we climb on the outbound (first) half of Grindstone, is punctuated with five false summits. Amy told me they are called the five sisters (but she preferred bitches) of Crawford. Each of these false summits has a small downhill on the other side of a very steep (hands on knees) climb. These false summits (or bitches) can really break you down mentally if you aren’t ready for them. But the climb is very short in comparison to other parts of Grindstone, maybe two and a half miles until you reach some easy ridge running and then a very long, very gradual, somewhat rocky descent. I had found my rhythm now and I was crushing this downhill. At the bottom of the hill is a beautiful flat trail that meanders around a little hollow for a mile or so, and then you cross the road and get to Dowell’s Draft Aid Station.
Dowell’s is the first place to see your crew and the Aid Station is bustling. It can be surreal, but I kind of expected it. I had run through the dark quiet forest alone with my thoughts for the last hour, and all of the sudden I stepped out of a trail head into a latino dance party in the mountains! Frank Gonzales and his volunteers had to be a huge pick up for any runner getting there feeling low.
My crew was there, and so was Josh. Alexis, my wonderful wife, and our friend Scott were crewing me along with three of our five kids. They took good care of me. I was able to eat so I did. I filled up with water. I was going through some water out there. I drank some soda and hit the trail again before the temptation to stay and hang out took hold.
Hankey and Lookout
Josh left with me out of Dowell’s Draft and ran behind me for the next fourteen miles or so. He was stressing me out a little, I could tell that he was uptight and not running relaxed. It was Josh’s first 100 and even though he had trained like a champ he seemed so unsure of himself. I encouraged him to pass me and to go run his own pace, but he insisted that he was where he needed to be.
The three or four mile climb out of Dowell’s is a gradual, mostly runnable incline up to the top of Mount Hankey. I ran and hiked at a pretty good pace for me, but having trained so much with Josh I knew he could have been crushing this climb. I felt like I was holding him back. After a few miles I was able to get him talking and relax a little. We passed the miles to Lookout Mountain aid station smoothly and I was enjoying myself again.
The CATS had a great aid station at Lookout, it's always nice to come out of the dark into a well lit lively aid station. I filled my hydration bladder again and took a grilled cheese for the road. Josh and I left together and I ate most of that sandwich before donating the rest to the squirrels. The rocky six miles down to North River Gap flew by. I was feeling pretty good and my legs were happy to hop from rock to rock. We passed a few people in this section, including Sean Cate who was running amazingly reserved for such a fast guy.
When I got to NRG it was like pulling into a little town in the middle of the woods. So many lights and cars and people everywhere that it was a little overwhelming. Sam Price and company were all eager to help, and Alexis and Scott and our kids were there. Knowing so many people is nice, but it also makes it hard to focus on what needs to happen, Fueling and Problem Solving. I ate some food, and swapped headlamps, and filled my pack, but was feeling a little flustered when I left. Did I forget something?
Little Bald Climb
Leaving NRG I was alone, but on very familiar territory. The first two miles of this seven mile climb takes runners up and over Grindstone Mountain. The race’s namesake is not a huge mountain, but it is a very steep climb. I was beginning to feel that overheating and lack of power from the Elliot’s climb again. “Get it together,” I told myself. This climb will make or break your race. I tried to climb well, but had to keep taking breaks as I felt like my body temperature was spiking way out of control. And then the bathroom issues started again. This time with nausea.
Josh passed me two or three miles into this climb and I wouldn’t see him again until he passed me in the out and back near the turnaround. “Just hold it together until you get to the top,” I said. But everytime I would try to push a little I would overheat, and now that was bringing on strong nausea.
This entire climb was a cycle of hike, heave, rest, repeat.
I eventually got to the top and started the slog of shame down the fireroad to the aid station. I took off my hat at the top of the hill and hung it in a tree because I felt like it was helping to overheat me. When I got to the aid station I was excited to see Todd and Katie Hacker. Katie gave me some soup and coke. I remember that Todd Hacker was bundled up and freezing and that seemed so weird to me because I was burning up. After a short break and refilled pack I headed off down the fireroad towards Reddish Knob.
Reddish and the Turnaround
This section should be the easy part of the race. I trained intentionally to be able to run these gentle grade roads from Little Bald aid station to the Turnaround. But nausea and the inability to regulate my body temperature kept me hiking everything that wasn’t explicitly downhill. I was getting more and more disappointed with myself.
I was caught (I was kneeling on the edge of the road trying not to puke) by Sean Pope and his friend David on this road. They were quitting, and heading straight to the turnaround to catch a ride. This sounded fantastic. But it also sounded awful. Sean was in fifth place when his headlamp died. He had basically quit at the last aid station and was hiking out to get to a ride. I told him that he should not quit, that he could hike with me until the sun came up because I had a good light and then he could go run his race. He didn’t take me up on my offer.
We hiked together for almost an hour, and Sean was in such good spirits that he helped raise my mood. Also, watching such a good runner quit helped solidify my determination to get this done. We parted ways at the turn to the Reddish Knob summit. This is an out-and-back that they didn’t need to do since they were out of the race. I hiked hard up the road to the summit and felt such powerful nausea that I stopped at the top and sat down and made myself throw up, just a little, there wasn’t much of anything left in my stomach at this point.
After the Reddish Knob summit the turnaround aid station was three and a half miles of easy downhill running. Even with such easy terrain, I stopped and dry heaved a few times through here. Sean Cate passed me, heading back towards the finish and told me I had two miles to the turnaround. This was a bit of a wake up call. Fourteen miles ago I was running with him, now he was four miles ahead of me. “Get it together,” I told myself. Soon after that I passed Josh and another runner. Josh looked awful, but he was still two miles ahead of me. I pushed a little and felt sick. I backed off and pushed again when my stomach let me.
At the turnaround I drank coke, got water in my pack and left hiking. These were the easy roads I wanted to be running. I hiked, and I felt better. I was now passing people with more frequency since I was inbound and they were heading to the turnaround. How many of them were going to pass me?
“You can do this,” I said. I made myself a deal to run everything that was flat or downhill, nausea be damned. I had a few more bathroom issues before making it back to Little Bald Aid Station. Passing people I knew and exchanging “Good Jobs” felt good. More coke and a refilled pack, I was drinking so much water and sweating so profusely all night long. Back up the fireroad to the trailhead that would be the seven mile downhill back to North RIver Gap. I grabbed my hat off the tree branch where I had left it.
I didn’t feel great, but I was alive with a new determination. I moved well down the Chestnut Ridge trail and passed a few people. Then I overheated and they passed me back. Damnit! Then I could run again after a forty five second sit down on a rock. I talked to myself a lot on this section, trying to convince myself that I could keep this up for forty more miles.
North River Gap (Inbound)
I passed Josh a mile before the aid station, he looked exactly how I felt. Which wasn’t good. We lamented briefly how much it sucked to be sabotaged by our stomaches. Then I ran on because I wasn’t feeling pukey.
At the aid station I got a towel filled with ice and draped it over my shoulders, as I sat beside Kevin Kreh who was wrapped in a blanket and shivering. I still have no idea why I was getting so hot out there. I told my crew that I was done with solid food. I drank cherry coke and chocolate milk at NRG, let the ice cool me down until Horton yelled at me to leave, and took my wonderful wife Alexis and left heading towards Lookout Mountain.
This section is basically a six mile climb in this direction, but with the exception of overheating I didn’t feel terrible and I think we made okay time. We got up to the aid station and went through pretty quickly. It was nice having Alexis as company, talking was distracting from all the garbage in my head. When you have to give up on your goals in the middle of a race it gets really easy to just keep giving up and stop pushing at all. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I knew that the day I had come here to claim wasn’t happening, but I was determined to make the best of the day that I had.
So we left Lookout Mountain and I was starting to feel more of an obligation to run than I had all night. We talked about how hot it was going to get and I pushed on to try to cover as many miles as I could before the sun made my heat issue untenable. After we crested Hankey I leaned into the downhill and just went with it, letting Gravity drive. Maybe I was too proud to stop and walk in the company of other runners in the light of day. Maybe I knew she would tell me to suck it up, because I have told her the same at many races. Maybe I was learning something new about myself. Either way, I ran down to Dowell’s even though I wanted to stop and complain and I wanted to make myself throw up. But I didn’t. I just ran. And Alexis ran behind me and told me stories. And then we got to the aid station.
At Dowell’s Brenton and Cooter gave me apple juice, which I drank, and my kids were there to keep refilling my coke cup. Frank offered me a shot of Fireball which I turned down. And I left with Scott pacing me, feeling pretty good considering, but heading straight for Crawford.
Crawford Mountain and Elliott's Knob (inbound)
I tried to prepare Scott (or maybe me) for what was coming by talking about what this side of the mountain should be like. We ran through the flat trail (Chimney Hollow trail?) and then started the long climb up the “easy” side of Crawford Mountain. This climb took a lot longer than the run down it did the night before. Eventually we made it up to the flat ridge trail on the top and I told Scott all about the five sisters of Crawford. Holy Shit! Those steep sections are steep. It doesn’t seem fair that a trail is so steep it is neither fun to run down it or hike up it. Bomb down trying not to completly destroy your quads. Hit the flat and slow to a hike. Bomb down the next one, repeat.
I was somehow feeling pretty good when we finally came off the backside (frontside?) of Crawford and made it to the Aid Station. Alexis was waiting with the kids and they had chocolate milk and cherry coke for me. We filled my pack with water and off we went to conquer Elliot’s Knob, the last big climb.
Ignoring the nausea seemed to be working, and I felt stronger and stronger as we climbed and climbed up the technical rocky side of Elliot’s. Near the top the incline gets more gradual and I started running more and more. As I passed people it only motivated me more to keep pushing hard. Somehow by not running hard through the night I ended up with 12 miles to go feeling like I had legs to utilize.
I ran well through the ridge section at the top of Elliot’s and noticed that my pacer Scott wasn’t with me anymore. Probably he had to go to the bathroom I told myself and pushed harder. I was going to make it a real job for him to catch up. When I finally came to the long descent down Elliot’s Knob I was running like a man possessed. I did something to my left foot on the gravel road, but told myself that we would worry about that when it was over.
My feet were hurting with every step and nausea was hitting me off and on like the tide washing up on the beach. But with seven miles to go I was invested in this mad man’s gambit. Push hard for another hour. I made it to the aid station before Scott caught up and I just kept going. Pausing long enough to kiss Alexis and tell her I was good.
The last five miles were harder than I thought. There was a long gradual climb entering the Boy Scout land that I didn’t remember and I was able to run a lot less of it than I hoped. With about three miles to go I was running okay but I could feel the wheels getting loose and ready to fall off. Every turn I hoped for a familiar site or an indication that I was almost done, but the new reroute was foriegn enough to be disorienting. Finally I turned down the rocky trail that meant I had less than two miles to go and I pushed with everything I had left, but the tank was basically empty. Then I saw the lake and the dam and the grassy trail to the finish.
I finished in 23 hours and 26 minutes. 15th place overall.
Not the race I hoped for, but the race I had.
Unfinished Business
I have thought about it a lot this week and decided that all of the things we can control are but a part of the whole. The things we can’t control are all part of the race. The weather. Life stress. Work deadlines. Health. Packing the wrong headlamp.
We go out and race for more than just a time on a clock. Sometimes we have a great day, the day where everything comes together and clicks into place for us. Sometimes we have the opposite of that day. Most days fall somewhere in between. But whatever day we have is the day we have. Unfinished business is just a weight we decide to carry around. Maybe I will have that perfect day the next time I run Grindstone, or maybe I will have the other kind of day. Maybe my perfect day will be at another race,
But maybe my perfect day is any day where I get to be with the people I love doing the thing that I enjoy. Suffering voluntarily with the like-minded lunatics of my tribe. Maybe we all need to enjoy the blisters and the views, the climbs as much as the descents. Maybe the bruised tendons are just as special as the buckles we take home. The stories. The victories and defeats. Maybe there is no Unfinished Business, or maybe there always is. I for one plan to keep going back for more abuse for as long as I can tolerate it and all the joy that I get with it.
Run fun, run far, stay strong.
Todd
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