Susan Donnelly

I give up.  The odds of starting this race late all three times was pretty low, but we managed it.  It’s now in the realm of a tradition.

This year, we at least found out we’re not missing a turn like we thought before – we checked them ALL on the way to the start.  Mapquest has just done some creative, wishful mapping.

Speaking of mapping, Terri Hayes (the RD) changed the course this year, but it’s still the prettiest 50k I’ve ever run.  Really, there’s probably not a bad trail around here to choose from.  Think huge rhododendrons, pink rhodora blossoms strewn in the trail for our royal feet, and huge, plush fields of spring green ferns.  Then there’s that rhododendron-scented air that reassures you you’re in the mountains.  Plus the water – the engulfing thunder of river waterfalls, the quieter wide flows, and the gurgling feeder creeks.  And in the woods, the pee wees and warblers calling and the woodpeckers drilling.  One poor guy along the course was lamenting the fact that his ipod crashed midway through, as if he was out of water and might not make it to the next aid station.  Another guy, unbelievably, was blasting his tunes out loud for everyone to enjoy – or not.  Unplug, man, if just for a day – don’t miss this by being somewhere else.

Terri’s new course was two out-and-backs that started at Cherry Hill Campground in Oconee National Forest.  One went to a gravel road and turned around; the other, longer one connected up to use part of the trail along the Chattooga River that we’d run in years past.  This being a new course, we were careful to bring the directions with us and Rob even brought a Trails Illustrated map, just in case.

To avoid starting any later, we just paid for a campsite instead parking up by the road.  It looked like we were right behind three other guys who showed up late too.  The air this morning was humid and not even pretending to move.

First Out-and-Back

The plus to starting late (there’s always a bright side) is that on our way out, we got to see everyone, and people were happily surprised to see us.  Sean Dunlap (yes, he was having fun), Byron Backer, Larry Hall (all the way from Chicago), Jason Sullivan and crew, and Mike Montgomery.  Even John Taylor, all the way from Minnesota, here to bask in some lovely southern humidity on his way to getting (I think), his 47th state.  And just ahead of was a group of very happy women out for a day on the trail  Everyone was sweating and smiling.

Rob and I were lamenting the loss of some course along the Chattooga, my favorite part, with all the fun rocks and the rollercoaster effect, when we finally ran into Terri, also running her own race.  When I commented on the change, she asked with some alarm if this wasn’t pretty too?   Touche.  Yes, it was.  It was my turn not to miss the day by being in the past.

Second Out-and-Back

We arrived back at the outskirts of Cherry Hill and took the left up a blueberry-swathed hill over to the highway crossing where the first aid station sat at the entrance to the campground.

The happy women were there, maybe five or so of them, plus another group of three, both groups chattering delightedly among themselves and having a great day.  The larger group was outfitted with a wide range of backpacks and running gear.  One asked about the things on my feet (gaiters) and what they were for, possibly new ultrarunners and clearly unfazed by the challenge of running this distance on single-track trail with the ever-present possibility it might get tough or they might fail.

We passed both groups not far out of the aid station but I was almost reluctant to head on.  Being around them made you smile, like you had joined a small, bubbly, moving party.  They were a little refreshing island of Happy.  As Rob summed it up, they gave you hope for the future of ultrarunning.

The connection over to the Foothills Trail along the Chattooga took awhile, or seemed to take awhile, probably because we hadn’t run this before, but eventually the trail turned slightly downhill into a watershed, which was a hopeful sign.  The air moved in a slight breeze, as a welcome relief.  Rhododendrons began to appear again beside the trail and we passed through a thick section of doghobble (named that for a reason) to find that, voila, we were on the Foothills Trail along the Chattooga.

But the trail itself looked very different from the past two years.  Someone, presumably the Forest Service, had come in with a trail-building machine and not only widened the trail but smoothed out the fun roots and rocks (and cut down a small forest’s worth of non-offending trailside trees and mountain laurel).  And not just at the junction.  The boulevard-ed section extended around each curve for at least a mile, if not more.  I was crushed.  It was like being at the mall.  Were they trying to make it wheelchair accessible?  Was it because of the runner who broke his ankle somewhere along here last year?  Was it a misguided attempt to improve the trail?  It was still beautiful trail right next to the river and I was happy to be here, but they’d taken a lot of my fun out.  As Rob himself said, they “Rob-ized” it.

And there was another change this year, this one definitely for the good – I finally took my camera.  It slowed us down, always does, but the pictures are so fun to enjoy later.  Rob has quite the screensaver of our races on his computer at work and it was high time we added this one to the mix.  Plus, Rob figured Terri didn’t have any photos from the course, which was amazing, considering how beautiful it is.

So I took more photos than usual.  It took a ton of time, but it was fun checking out all the side trails to see what was there.  Among other treasures, we found a great rock ledge overlooking a curve in the river and a wide, peaceful beach that would be perfect for a picnic run someday.  Mountain azaleas and virginia willow were blooming and the water was cool and inviting in the sunshine.

We started seeing returning runners and inventorying them from what we could remember on the first out-and-back but something was amiss.  We didn’t see Sean but saw the kid that had been neck and neck with him and who I expected Sean to beat.  Byron was far behind where we expected him and Larry further behind than that, then nobody for a long time, like someone turned the faucet off.

Of course, the faucet finally came back on.  We met Jason and company, Mike, and then John, but by now, there were a lot of unhappy-looking runners among the flock.  It’s easy to go out too fast in a 50k and certainly easy to underestimate this humidity.  The two combined could easily take a toll.

Our next aid station was one that existed in the old course and from talking to Mike on his way back, it sounded like we ran a good portion of old course beyond that aid station, at least including the long downhill (and of course the long return uphill back to the aid station).

I didn’t want to spend time unfolding and looking at the big map but was having a hard time adding up the mileage in a way that didn’t go well over 50k.  The first out and back added 7 miles and from what we were running on the connector to the old course, and the old course itself, there didn’t seem to be that much subtracted.  We’d have to wait and see later but it would be a good day to take things cautiously.

Sure enough, the course took us past the aid stations all the way down the hill to a well-flagged bridge where the old course leveled out.  This was the new turn-around.  Now, it was back up the hill to the aid station.

The day was still warm but the climb isn’t too steep, just long.  We passed the larger group of women on their way to the turnaround and told them it was easy to spot.  Since we were hiking our way uphill, we ate the blueberries left along the way and soon enough we were back at the aid station.  The smaller group of three women was at the aid station when we arrived.  They had misinterpreted a single ribbon hanging from a tree as the turnaround and turned a bit too soon but it was all good.  Next stop, the finish.

We returned the same way we’d come, taking a few more photos on the way but conscious of the sinking sun.  We could make it back for sure before dark but this had taken way longer than we expected and we weren’t even the last ones out here.

Surprise at Cherry Hill

Once we hit the blueberry hill, we were home free.  At the trail junction outside the campground that would take us into the camp, we stopped for a moment to look around and saw a guy walking towards us from the park.

I said “hi” and he stopped and asked “are you Susan Donnelly?”

“Yes,” I said, surprised.

“Do you have a sister named Karen?”

“Yes,” I answered cautiously, everything else disappearing but the two of us and dread of what he was inevitably going to say next.

“Did you go to Oak Ridge High School?”

That wasn’t what I expected.  “Yes,” I answered carefully, on extremely high alert.

Then he introduced himself.  Turns out, he went to the same high school, in Karen’s class, lived nearby and had run this race two years ago.  He hadn’t been able to run this year due to injury but he had still hiked up to talk to Terri and to see if I was here.  We talked for a few moments and then he left to hike home, the same way we’d run in the morning.

If we’d been one minute later, we’d have missed him.

The whole thing made my head swim.  I’d had the distinct feeling the entire time that giant hands were moving me like a puppet in a play.  In spite of the high alert, there was a total surrender to the situation the moment he asked about Karen, like getting tossed into the Chattooga rapids and having no choice but to see where the current took me and being certain wherever that was was where I needed to go.

What were the odds that in this remotely populated mountainous backcountry 220 remote miles away from my hometown, another person from that town who shared the same unlikely interest in running long distances on trail had put my sister and my name together and had hiked up to see me, leaving at the exact moment – no sooner, no later – that he needed to meet us at the three-way trail junction.  Let’s just say pretty low.

My head was still spinning when we trotted the short tenth of a mile or so to the finish at Terri’s campsite as a scattering of raindrop fell.  Most everyone had already left by then, so we got to talk with Terri for awhile. It was a nice way to spend the last bit of the day. I set the improbably meeting with the hometown guy aside for a while – it was too much to think about this close up.

Before we got comfortable, the skies opened up and we jumped in the car and headed for home, another weekend over.

Posted: Tuesday, June 15, 2010, 7:23 am | Tags: Blog | Respond | Trackback