Susan Donnelly

May 15, 2010.  Outside Luray, Virginia

I had looked forward to this all spring.  It’s a great course (lots of rocks and climb), a fun gathering of friends, and would be my tenth start and hopefully ninth finish.  In short, the highlight of my spring.

With all that anticipating, you’d think I’d be in perfect shape and totally ready, but not so.   Taking stock of the situation, my legs were still flat-out tired.  I’d done much more running at Zane Grey 50 Mile and Miwok 100k than at the back-back 100s we’d done last year before this race.  The higher percentage of running made it harder and take longer to recuperate.  Ready or not, though, the day was here.

If leg readiness was the only variable in the equation that would have been easy to work around, but this year there was another huge unknown.  For the first time, the start of the race had been moved to a new location – if you picture the figure eight course as a clock dial, we were now starting in the six o’clock position instead of the one o’clock.  That may not immediately sound huge but it essentially put the order of the sections completely out of whack, which meant a major re-think on pace, gear placement, and drop bag placement (especially for unsupported runners like me who rely entirely on our bags and the aid stations), and every other variable in the equation.  That made it like running a new race.

Two other course changes would be in play.  The number of aid stations remained the same but the aid station at Milford Gap had been moved several miles down the trail to Indian Grave Trailhead, so one section during the heat of the day would be much further between aid stations and one part would be shorter.  Also different was the return from the Bird Knob aid station at the bottom of the figure eight.  It was on brand-new trail and totally unknown.

The weekend before the race, when I finally had the chance to think about what the changes might mean, it was both overwhelming and exciting.  Course knowledge might be a handicap, since I’d be expecting things to be different than they now were.  But I’d get to see things I’d run past in the dark for years.  I ran through my memory of each section with Rob, trying to imagine how it would be at the new time of day and whether it would be tougher or easier.  I swear his eyes glazed over – I can see all the details of the course, including what flowers are blooming where – but he insisted he wanted to hear me describe the entire whole course.  Very sweet of him.

In the end, the few predictions I could make were:

• Heavy, hyped-up traffic on the second section – rocky, highly-technical Short Mountain – potentially dangerous, so be careful.
• The section from Veach to Indian Grave would be long and hot so drink plenty before hand
• Most of the hard climbs would be near the end, so save some
• The last miles were on road and much faster than before

Caroline Furnace Camp – Moreland Gap (3.6 miles)

Like so many ultras, this was another ridiculously early start.  We got up at 3 a.m. (with 5 measly hours of sleep) and made it safely to the 5 a.m. start at the Caroline Furnace Lutheran Camp.  The air was horribly muggy, almost too thick to breathe.  I didn’t hear the start but we were off, a big jostling river of runners in headlamps, all of us on a “new” course.  Rob disappeared quickly in the crowd.

We ran out the camp’s dirt road and turned right up a gravel road.  The slope was so gentle it was hard in the dark to tell what to walk and what to run.  I fell in with Vicki Kendall for a sleepy morning chat and the next thing we knew, we were lining up for water at the Moreland Gap aid station.  The section ahead, the infamous Short Mountain, was about long and I wasn’t going to skip topping off my one water bottle just to shave a few pointless seconds this early in the race.

Moreland Gap – Edinburg Gap (11.7 miles)

I lost Vicki but ended up with Zane Smith for good company.  We talked about upcoming races (Hardrock for him!) and other stuff as we climbed and the sun rose.

In no time, we were stuck on the climb behind a line of 14 runners (I had plenty of time to count).  The hillside trail was too narrow for easy passing but once we got to the top, a couple of us started that tedious business, one runner at a time.

The atmosphere was as hectic and hyped-up as expected.  Zane and I seemed to be the only people within earshot alerting the person ahead that they were going to pass.  The rocks weren’t as many and as treacherous in the daytime but there were still enough underfoot that you couldn’t afford to take your eyes off the trail for a moment.  If someone behind wanted to pass, trail etiquette said it was their responsibility to do it safely, and telling you they were going to pass here was not only polite but the safe thing to do.

The tension eased a fraction once Zane led the way to some clear space at a strong pace.  A few clumps of pink ladies’ slippers passed by next to the trail.  The morning sun was shining and I was just so happy to be here, running instead of thinking about it, that I couldn’t help smiling.

Suddenly, footsteps came flying up behind me.  Whoever it was sat on my rear without saying anything and the pressure mounted.  Was the person just drafting?  Going to pass?  If so, when???  We stopped talking.  A couple of wide spots in the trail came and went but the footsteps stayed inches away, way too close to see and react in time to a big rock.  They were likely to trip on all the rocks and fall into me.  I braced for the possibility but kept my pace.  Then without warning, the guy belonging to the footsteps jumped onto a wide rock on my left and cut close in front of me, passing Zane without warning either.

That ripple gone, Zane and I settled back into conversation but it wasn’t long until another set of footsteps came flying up behind.  Picture driving down a narrow, two-lane, twisty mountain road in the pre-dawn with a car tailing so close behind you, you can’t see it’s headlights.  That’s the sensation.  I waited…and waited…but nothing.  Finally, just as I started to give in and prod with “if you’re going to pass…” the runner began to pass, startling me and leaving me ending short with “…just GO!”
She was as surprised as I.  This wasn’t what I wanted in my day.  I was so happy to be here and wanted us all to be as happy.  There was no place for a single cloud of misunderstanding today.

And suddenly, we were on the familiar descent.  Short Mountain was over?  This took me hours at night!  How had it gone so quickly???  Unbelievable.

Ray was at the trailhead, waiting to take pictures of Zane, now right behind me, and we were suddenly back in civilization and noise.  On the road leading into the aid station I stopped to talk with Wesley Fenton, there waiting for Rob, and Bruce Tanksley at the aid station, waiting for Diane Taylor.  The aid station was a hive of activity and I lost Zane but I managed to catch the second person who passed me and explain enough to dispel the cloud.

Edinburg Gap – Woodstock Tower (19.9 miles)

It wasn’t as bad as the last section but runners were still hyped up and changing position, so maybe it was fortunate that one hamstring tightened up like a bowstring to distract me.

How to fix it?  I was running faster than expected but I usually ran through here just before dawn and late in the race, so maybe it just seemed fast?  Hard to tell.

That prompted the memory of the first time I ran through here during a fire with the ground still burning and smoldering.  You’d never know it to look at it today.

After a few miles, I found myself running in a small, loose-knit group of quiet company.  It’s easy to get lulled into following others and running their pace so I tried to focus on my own.  This may be my least favorite section of the course, it used to go on forever but this morning it went quickly and we crossed over to the other side of the ridge that to me signals the turn toward the aid station.

Slowly, the sound of a helicopter intruded on my focus.  You wouldn’t have noticed it except that it stayed in one place – exactly where we were headed, and at our elevation.  Lifestar?  For the race?  Surely not.  We’d only gone 18 or 19 miles.  And Woodstock Tower was at the top of a narrow road across the ridge so there was no place for it to land.  The closer we got, the louder it got.  What was going on?

It took a while to sink in but I finally remembered that a set of high-tension power lines run over the ridge just beyond the aid station.  The power company must be running line.  A much better answer than Lifestar.

Woodstock Tower – Powells Fort (25.1 miles)

Gary Knipling was sitting in the aid station.  I don’t usually see him until later and passing him is often a sign I’m running too fast.  Still, it’s always good to see him, especially with so many chaperones around.

Heading out of the aid station toward the helicopter, the noise became deafening.  Sure enough, a handful of guys in yellow safety vests and hard hats were clumped together on the other side of the power line cut and the helicopter in the air to my left was running line up the ridge.

Beyond the powerline, I found myself running with Jeff Edwards from New York.  He had dropped in the 60 mile range last year and was hoping for a better year.  Conditions today certainly favored him – it was relatively cool (for a southerner) and the course was drier than I could ever remember.

We talked about the course changes and I described this section and the next for him.  As I did, I could see the distinct shadow of things that happened along here in years past, some memorable and some just ordinary.  It was like seeing the shade of another reality that no one else could see.  Like ghosts.  The sensation was so strong, I gave up talking with Jeff and watched the ghosts.

The yucky descent to the road wasn’t as bad as usual since the course was dry and my legs were probably 70 miles fresher than they used to be here.  We hit gravel road and passed the usual entrance to the picnic shelter (where Rebecca and James Moore used to cook up the perfect breakfast) for a new picnic area on the right, no shelter.  To my delight, Ed Demoney was there and I hung out long enough to get a few photos and a hug.  I don’t get to see him often!

Powells Fort – Elizabeth Furnace (32.6 miles)

I was on my own on the gravel road out of Powells Fort and had a chance to look around.  They must have had a warm spring here – the usual flowers had already bloomed and later ones were here instead.

I love the climb on this section, especially when tired.  It was always fun to crank it out in the heat of the day on those blindingly white rocks, passing runners too toasted to do anything but death march it to the finish.  I always felt strong here and grateful for it.  It seemed to cleanse me of weakness and leave me refreshed.  Today with fresher legs, it wasn’t quite the same but still satisfying.

Near the top, it was beginning to look like my legs weren’t as tired as they’d felt earlier in the week.  It was so hard to judge, since I’d usually be running through here at maybe 80 to 90 miles instead of only around 30, but things felt surprisingly good.  The only problem was the one hamstring that kept getting tighter and could eventually hobble me.  That had to be fixed.

Ok, time for the looong downhill on a set of ridiculously long switchbacks.  Finally, finally this year I remembered to count the turns (seven after you leave the top).  It’s the longest-lasting downhill of any race I’ve ever done, probably because you swing close enough to the aid station to hear it before diverging way, far away.

But today the road crossing arrived without the usual impatience.  Bruce Tanksley was waiting at the road crossing, so Diane must be close behind, and Laura Smith was at the aid station which meant Zane must be near, as always.  I really enjoy running with Zane – he’s good company on the trail and we push each other better than anyone else I can think of.  He would certainly catch up.

Elizabeth Furnace – Shawl Gap (37.6 miles)

There were so many people and so much noise and activity at the aid station that it was hard to focus on business.  Someone filled my bottle and I tuned out all the who-haw to find something from the buffet.

Still, it was impossible to ignore the guy on the other side of the table, whose crew was hyping him up like he was headed into a football game.  Lots of drama.  The runner limped heavily out of the aid station and onto the trail like he was headed into the football stadium for the Superbowl.  “No way will he make it, I’ll be passing him in a moment,” I absently thought, and turned back to get some food for the road.

When I caught limping guy, I said I was going to pass on his left and got no response.  Not that a response is required – it’s my job to pass around him safely – but it seemed like he didn’t hear.  Sure enough, he was wearing headphones.  I tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped like a bear had attacked him.  I passed him quickly but he stuck within sight longer than expected before fading away near the top.

Ah.  The top.  I still treasure the memory of being here two years ago with Wesley, Rob and Zane on Zane’s first finish.  It was just such an unexplainably special moment for each of us, one that will last the rest of my life.  With limping guy behind momentarily out of sight, I had a few moments all to myself so I stopped and quieted my mind to soak it up and be back in that moment again.  This was a wonderful ghost.  If I’m lucky, this spot and those memories will be here next year and I’ll have the chance to be there again.

Reluctantly, after a few quiet moments, I turned downhill keeping an eye out for the right turn.  The shadow of races past was strong here because we used to do this descent twice – once like I was doing now (but in the first few miles of the race), and once at the end where we went straight, towards the finish.  It felt schizophrenic – the daylight made it feel like the finish version of the descent but I was turning like I would in the morning version.

In the end, I was doing neither, but the schizophrenia meant one important thing.  Up to this point, today’s course had us running what used to be late-race miles on fresh legs.  Here, it changed over to running what used to be early-race miles on tired-er legs.  From here on, I’d have to be careful not to let that fool me into feeling I was worse off than usual.

After nine finishes, every turn on this course is familiar and sure enough, there was the righthand turn after the old horse pond.  The descent ahead had always been sloppy wet but I was able to keep my feet dry for probably the first time ever.  Cool.  Come to think of it, the course was remarkably dry, so today would be good for feet.  Even the air was starting to feel less humid.

If the timing of sections compared to my memories was throwing me off, at least I had the benefit of knowing what the terrain was like ahead.  It was amusing that the easy grass downhill into Veach seemed longer now (later in the race) than it did before – a good example of why I couldn’t afford to let the comparison with the old course fool me.  The change clearly had it’s advantages and disadvantages.

Shawl Gap – Veach Gap (40.7 miles)

Ugh.  Road.  As Ed Cacciapaglia, who was working the aid station said with a smile, “It’s all *&^% road and you know it.”  He looked exceptionally pleased not to be running it.

That’s enough said about this section.  I forgot to look for the fringetree right out of the aid station but at least spotted some delicate Bowman’s root and a long black snake (thanks to Ray Smith) along the way.

Again as before, I found myself near Jeff Edwards again.  We’d been talking about the old course but he couldn’t remember the next aid station until I finally resorted to calling it “the pancake aid station.”  A-ha, that clicked.

Veach Gap – Indian Grave Trailhead (49.7 miles)

The aid station ahead was the one that had moved further away and it was mid-afternoon, so I was careful to drink extra here.  Zsuzsanna Carlson was sitting in the shade, doing the same, and it seemed like we’d run together on this same section last year.  She, Jeff and I all left the aid station together.

It was a hot climb.  Zsuzsanna quickly disappeared out of sight ahead and Jeff dragged behind so I did a lot of the ridge-line by myself.  Somewhere along the ridge, I swapped places with Zsusanna, Jeff still somewhere behind.

The trail eventually leaves the safe middle of the ridge spine and drops off on a narrow ledge to the left.  It’s right before the descent to the aid station and doesn’t last too long but it feels almost cantilevered on the ridge side.  There’s not much room for error and it’s some of the most fun stuff on the course.  I love it, and today was no exception.  Rock play at it’s best.

Still, the start of the descent was welcome.  With the aid station further away and the time of day later than on the old course, the whole run to Indian Grave was even longer and hotter than expected.  My internals weren’t happy with something I’d been feeding them so I tapered off what I was eating.  I’d be at the aid station soon enough.  Thank goodness the weather was relatively cool this year.  I’d prepare better for this section next year.

On the long downhill, the last piece of my form puzzle fell miraculously in place and my hamstring immediately began to loosen it’s grip.  Sweet, glorious relief.  The rest of the race would be easier and much more fun!

Jean Heishman, an accomplished runner, was manning the aid station (her sister Janice was running).  A couple of guys were there at the aid station but pretty quiet.  As usual, the heat of the day seemed to be beating everyone down.  Time to get moving.

Indian Grave Trailhead – Habron Gap (53.6 miles)

If Ed had been here, he could have repeated his line.  It was all road into Habron and the best I could do is run as much as I could, walking in the shade patches.  I gritted my teeth and did it knowing the sooner it was over, the sooner I was back on trail.

I kept enough connection with the guys ahead not to feel left in the dust.  Thank goodness for all the running at Zane Grey and Miwok – I had no idea it would come in so handy!

Habron Gap – Camp Roosevelt (63.1 miles)

John Prohira was there to greet me – it was so good to see him and know this aid station was being managed by an experienced 100-miler but I’d rather see him running the course.

The next section was long so I invested a little time to drink up and grab some food out of my drop bag.  Ray Smith and Lauren hung out and talked since they couldn’t aid me (I was in the unaided Stonewall Jackson division).  It was reassuring to hear Zane was still close behind me.  He’s a strong runner and has often caught me when I least expect it.  I sent him a “hurry up!” thought.

I said goodbye to Ray and Laura, then John, and on the way to the trailhead noticed Jeff sitting in a chair surrounded by his crewing family.  He looked hot like everyone else but in good shape.  We chatted for a moment and I went on.  I had no idea until after the race that he dropped here.

The trail here immediately begins to climb and like so many times here, I came across a runner sitting on a log a quarter mile into the the climb and feeling bad.  It’s amazing someone always seems to get into trouble so quickly out of this aid station, before the climb really kicks in.  I honestly don’t understand it.

On the old course and this one, I was hitting this in daytime heat so slowed my uphill pace a fraction – there were plenty of miles left and I still wasn’t too sure of the new course order to gamble away the later, tougher climbs.

By the time I reached the top, I was glad I’d taken it easy.  It’s a long, tough climb, but   once there, you have more beautiful, ridge-line running in store.  The white rocks and green moss look like a Japanese garden and sweet azaleas were blooming and scented the air.  I was by myself for a long time and recovered quickly from the climb, feeling pretty good.  I knew what came next.

I decided I wanted to make it to Camp Rosie before needing a headlamp. In planning for the new course, I’d guessed at needing a light at the latest, after Habron.  It was nice to be wrong like that.

I turned onto the downhill and started to pass people.  This is an easy-running downhill and a sentimental section for me.  Several years ago, I spent much of it talking about India with Nattu Natraj, right before Aaron Schwartzbard took the shot of me that ended up on the cover of Ultrarunning.  Happy ghosts of those past memories welcomed me and kept me grinning.

Most of the runners I passed were suffering.  One guy who asked if I was really running with one water bottle, clearly thinking it was stupid.  There didn’t seem to be any point in telling him I’d done it that way many times in hotter conditions, so I just smiled and ran on.  Another, happier guy I passed said his toe was at a weird angle and he hoped to find some medical advice at the next aid station since there hadn’t been any at Habron.  When I asked what had happened, he said “you’re never going to believe this…but I kicked a rock.”  We both laughed so hard we almost had to stop running.

When I made it into Camp Rosie, safely before needing a light, Sharon Lapkoff greeted me, telling me I was running very well.  Thankfully, she left it at that.  I prefer to just run how I feel (and I was feeling great).  It was good to see her but great to hit the trail again with my headlamp still off.

Camp Roosevelt – Gap Creek (68.7 miles)

I only got a half mile or mile out of the aid station before I had to turn my light on but was happy to get that far ahead of projection.

The changed order of the course kept unearthing memories.  The memory sprang to mind of running along this section my first time here with Hans-deiter Weisshaar and Leslie Trammell, on a clear blue-sky day with the azaleas blooming.  Good times.

Despite the good memories, it’s one of my least favorite sections to run and doing it now at night didn’t improve that.  The trail wanders aimlessly across tons of little creeklets with fist-sized rock strewn everywhere.  The water can be welcome on a hot day but it’s hard to run (and harder to keep your feet dry).

Surprisingly, two groups were camping along the main creek, with campfires.  That was new.  There was also a headlamp coming toward me.  It belonged to a guy checking course markings.  He said the markings were thin to the righthand turn uphill but the turn itself was well-marked.  Course knowledge finally came in handy because I could picture the turn and wasn’t worried about finding it.  Of course, picturing the turn summoned the memory of a small one-man aid station that had been here years earlier, where I had arrived only to see a guy puking his guts out in truly epic style.  Hm, that was one ghost I didn’t need.

After the climb, it was time for the rocky (usually muddy) descent into Gap Creek.  For some reason, my intuition said I was going to see a rattlesnake this year and the only two I’d ever seen had been descending to Gap Creek – the first alive and angry, the second flat and dead.  It was kind of warm tonight and though they weren’t likely to be out, senses were on high alert all the way into the aid station.

Gap Creek – Visitor Center (77.1 miles)

After some quality time with my drop bag and a shameless helping of tater tots (a full service aid station) I headed up the next climb.  This is where the course gets serious.  The climb had some steep bits…and once up there, you have to deal with Kern Mountain (aka Jawbone).  Jawbone looks like a jawbone – all rocks.  It was as tough as Short Mountain used to be – one long jumble of rock that’s hard to navigate even in the day.  It was one of the reasons I’d been holding back.

When all was said and done and my feet hit the gravel road that would take me the few remaining miles into the Visitor’s Center aid station, it felt like I managed Jawbone as fast at night as in the day.  I suppose it’s possible.  After all, it’s tough to route-find at any time and instead of looking up and around as I would in the day, the headlamp beam naturally narrowed the possibilities to the most likely.  Just a theory, but that’s the way it felt.

Unfortunately, my stomach still wasn’t happy.  I downed an electrolyte cap and dismissed any upset since I rarely have those problems.  “Go away, I have things to do.”

Then, as much as I hate it, I ran the entire road section into Visitor Center, rafting up with three other runners by the time I got to the crossing at Highway 211E and the bright lights of the aid station just beyond.

Visitor Center – Bird Knob (80.5 miles)

While sitting at the aid station, trying to summon the ability to eat something, anything and hold it down, the runner next to me remarked that she wasn’t looking forward to going 2 miles per hour for the next 12 or so miles – it was too slow for her.  Huh.  I’d never thought of an ultra like that.  I mean, you just take what comes next, fast or slow, whatever it is.

As I was puzzling over her comment and trying to understand her perspective, a runner came flying into the aid station, stopped in front of me, and announced loudly to the entire aid station that he was dropping.  I looked up from nibbling to remind him he had plenty of time left and he hadn’t been pulled, and I was about to suggest he sit down and think about it when he cut me off, proclaiming with disgust “I’m not spending the next (X) hours going 2 miles per hour!”

Ok, then!  It was high time to get out of this aid station.  My friend Bruce who was dying to get into the race, ended up number 2 on the waiting list and didn’t get in – so close, but he was crewing a friend here instead.  My friend Wesley, who’d done the race many times before, ruptured a disk in his back and after two years off, could barely run 4.5 miles – he would have killed to run this race again but was also here crewing instead.  Two people I knew who wanted so badly to run this race and had to watch everyone else have that chance instead, and this guy was throwing it all away for…pride?

I grabbed five Fritos, the most I thought I could hold down, and got out of there as fast as I could.

As the lights of the aid station faded, I focused on the section ahead.  I’d told Rob that from here on, the climbs got tougher – from here on is why I recommended he save something.  The climb up Bird Knob is a perfect case in point.  It can kick your rear, so I just took my time to do a sustainable but respectable climb.  I ended up at the top with another guy having stomach problems but we still both stopped for my ritual of looking at the amazing view.  I could see the interstate I’d be travelling tomorrow after the race.  We talked about the sights for a minute or two and the vibes from the Visitor Center aid station receded.  From here, it was easy, flat running.

Once we emerged from the pine trees into the grassy section, I ran the rest of the way to the Bird Knob aid station, leaving the other guy behind.  Can’t pass up that easy running.

Bird Knob – Picnic Area (86.9 miles)

There were three runners sitting in chairs when I arrived, two of which got up to leave.  This is a remote station, so no drop bags and just as well, because I wouldn’t have packed anything I’d now like to eat.  I turned down offers of hot soup, filled my bottle, grabbed a few cookies and took off behind the two guys.

Bird Knob is a high aid station on the top of the ridge and according to the aid station staff, it was a mile descent to the turn onto new trail.  A mile?  The trail ahead was literally new trail and I wasn’t sure what to expect but knew the next aid station, Picnic Area, was low.  That meant once I did this mile descent, I either stayed low (I hoped) or was going to have to climb big in between here and Picnic Area (more likely).  Each stride downhill felt like one I was going to have to return uphill.  No matter how hard I willed the turn to appear, we kept descending.

I caught the two guys shortly before the turn and asked if they knew anything about the new trail.  As suspected, it sounded like a climb.  Then one of the guys remarked that the Bird Knob aid station, now almost a mile and many minutes behind us, hadn’t been the best aid station.  What was with people today???  The aid station had a bunch of food and even hot soup, a tent and sleeping bags, chairs, just no Heed.  What exactly did he feel was missing?  The only nice thing I could think to reply was to remind him it WAS a remote aid station.  More good incentive to move on as fast as I could.

The new trail was a climb…or two, possibly three.  It wandered pointlessly up and down the side of the ridge.  At least it wasn’t ridiculously hard, so no big deal.  I had to laugh when Rob told me later it was the prettiest part of the course!

And though the chance of rain was infinitesimally small, that didn’t keep it from raining enough to make me put the camera away.  The trail eventually joined what looked like an old logging or mining road downhill, most likely the turn towards Picnic Area.  Here, after getting ignored so long, my stomach revolted, without any relief.  Time to face the fact that I hadn’t been consuming enough calories and apparently the ones I’d been consuming, my stomach didn’t like.

Not much I could do about it until the next aid station.  I slowed down but kept moving and blinking the rain out of my eyes.

Picnic Area – Gap Creek II (95.4 miles)

Marg was working the aid station and took charge as soon as I arrived.  My drop bag didn’t have a rain jacket so she ordered someone to cut me a fancy garbage bag that would last until the next aid station.  She also gave me some Tums (picking out the green ones, my favorite color).  I lounged here for about half an hour, way, way too long, but left bolstered by the Tums and a few new calories.  The rain even stopped.

The next section I knew by heart, down to the number of creek crossings before the Highway 211E crossing (four).  The ghosts of races past returned and I had to laugh at a particularly funny memory that happened on the way to 211E one year.

Once across highway 211E, I could see dawn arriving behind the rain clouds.  This was the exact spot I’d turned my light ON a few times, and it was extremely odd to be turning it off at the same place.  Very deja vu in a hallucinogenic kind of way.

This was one of the climbs I’d warned Rob about with his tight achilles.  I remembered it as a tough one with some very steep, slippery spots.  We were lucky it wasn’t very wet this year but even then the climb went surprisingly fast.  In fact, all the climbs seemed much shorter than I remembered, even the tough ones.  I wondered why.

The next downhill I’ve done in years past but the part from the ridgeline down to  the gravel road didn’t look familiar at all in the daytime.  The gravel road the rest of the way into the aid station, however, was where I saw the flat rattlesnake last year, so it was back on high alert.  I hate running gravel road (have I mentioned this yet?) but wanted to get it over with and ran most the way to Gap Creek.

Gap Creek II – Caroline Furnace Camp (101.7 miles)

They were out of tater tots and there wasn’t anything I felt like eating, so I didn’t linger.  I could last the remaining miles with minimal calories and in spite of my unhappy stomach, the rest of me felt fantastic.  Barring something unforeseen, I was essentially done and I didn’t want the last miles to disappear without savoring them.

I repeated the same climb out of the aid station without much trouble, this time following the sign straight instead of turning right onto Jawbone.  Once again, the ghosts crowded in and I could picture Terri Cogar pacing Rock Cogar, Kerry Trammell, JJ Rochelle and I over this section.  It wasn’t a long section but it’s boulder-y and always seemed interminable in the dark of night.  Now, in the daytime, it went fast and was actually tons of fun.  These were my last few miles on the rocks so I played around and got a little fancy with the footwork, just for the fun of it.

All too soon, the gravel road appeared to take me back to the camp.  Play time was over, and it was now time to work.  With a sigh, I ran, convincing myself that I needed to do this to pay myself back for the time I’d spent at Picnic Area.  I ended up running the whole thing, except the two small uphills.  I might have overestimated the course change because I had plenty left.

At one point with about two miles of gravel/paved road left, Beth Simpson appeared on the road ahead, showered and looking perfect as usual.  She cheered for me, snapped a photo and walked on up the road to cheer for someone else.  Wow, she’d had time to clean up and walk all the way out here while I was still running.  I didn’t know until later that it wasn’t Beth – she had somehow acquired a twin.

After an eternity of road, the turn appeared that would take me on trail into the finish.  Again, I wasn’t sure what to expect on this short little segment of new trail but I knew how it felt to be within sight and sound of the finish on the old course – a real emotional high.

I started off excited but the enthusiasm quickly wore off as the trail turned again and just as you started to run, turned again without any clear destination.  I finally gave up and walked, the excitement of the road section gone.  When I was finally sure I could see banners and things through the trees that looked like a finish, I started again and ran across the line.

At the Finish

I had what felt like a great run, the best feeling of all.  It was fun relaxing afterwards and getting watch people finish – Zane, Gary Knipling, Tom Corris, Zsuzsanna, Vicki.  Then Larry, Rob and Beth.  Limping guy.  Allan Holtz, leaning but finishing.  Running partner Leonard Martin.  The absolute best finish, though was Caroline Williams, after several tries here, finishing a dramatic and moving 1 minute and 21 seconds before the 36-hour cutoff.

And it’s gone.  The race I’d been looking forward to all spring is gone.  Done well, but done.  On its way to becoming a ghost for next year and a memory to pull out and smile over for days in between.

Posted: Friday, June 4, 2010, 3:37 pm | Tags: Blog | Respond | Trackback