The good life – swamped by hills

Here is my take.  Strap in as it’s a bit wordy….sorry.

OK.  WAKE UP!!  As many of you know, I am not a morning person, but even the most enthusiastic rooster would complain that 3am is way too early.  While a feeble attempt to get to bed super early the day before was planned (yes, organizing and packing for the run was the culprit that trashed it…if only I could only be more like Guthrie & Shellygirl!), the hour nevertheless proved challenging.  AND it was still hot and humid from the sun-baked day hours before.  Did I say I was grumpy?

Anyhow, I was happy that my wife Maria had agreed to come to cheer me on, and more importantly, drive my tired body back home after the self-inflicted torture called trail racing was done.  She too awoke early, but was in a much better mood.  

After a 3 hour drive to the Catskills, interrupted by several pit stops partially brought on by nervous fears of under-training and the “unknown” trails ahead, we were greeted at North-South Campground by a column of buses, and a nearly full parking lot of busy runners preparing for the day.  I did not see Lefty, Shellygirl, Catamount, or LostC anywhere, so I wandered around looking for the registration table, to no avail.  Asking another runner where the sign-up table was, his response surprised me- “It’s at the start.  Just take a bus over and you can get your number there.” A woman standing next to a bus yelled, “Hurry up!  Let’s get aboard!”  The first bus had already left, so I quickly got my gear in order, gave my wife a farewell kiss and hopped on the bus that would take me to the start, 45 minutes to the northwest, hoping in the back of my mind that I would be able to return alive.

On the bus I met a nice gentleman who had run this race twice before, but 12 years had elapsed since.  His name is Dave, but his running tag (and license plate) is SWAMP, short for SWAMP THING.  As with the Bimblers his running name came with a story.  In his past, after a long run, he jumped into a lagoon for a cooling off, and was observed by his friends with seaweed and crud from the water draped over his head. Thusly, he was dubbed the SWAMP THING.  We chatted along the way about our previous racing experience and he pointed out some hints for the run that awaited us all. We would meet again later in the race.

Upon de-boarding the bus I was enthusiastically welcomed by Lefty and LostC.  It was then that I learned that Shellygirl would not be joining us on this run, and she was sorely missed. Catamount soon joined us, arriving on the next bus.  I saw Ben Nephew, the current record holder and winner of this race 10 of the last 11 years. He is an Inov-8 distributor and about a month ago I had emailed him about trail shoes for this race, and he was nice enough to offer thorough help. I wandered over and thanked him. Nice guy.  My hope was that with shoes blessed by this man I might find my way to the finish, with a swift time.  I was wrong, nearly on both counts.

Our group of Bimblers readied ourselves (took the requisite pics, hit the woods, etc) and then got the pre-race talk from Dick Vincent, an excited fellow with a strong commitment to trail running and the love of nature. A little like Nipmuck Dave.  Soon enough we lined up and were off, slowly funneling onto a single-track path.
 
So this was how the 3 miles up to Windham Peak (1700 feet of elevation gain) was going to be.  The trail up was provocative; mostly too steep to actually sustain a running pace. Some of it was covered with a web of rock and VERY exposed large root systems which demanded lots of concentration. Run some, fast hike some, and so on.

Ken?”
A beat.
“>“Yeah.”
“OK.”

This interaction was innocuous enough at first.  A woman (Barbie?) who was running up ahead, just checking in with a friend somewhere behind a line of 20 or so of us.  More of this later.

After about 45 minutes we finally got to the top of Windham there were some brief but wonderful views rewarding the climb off to the right (south), and also here was the first aid station, which I blew through without even a blink.  I had everything I needed, and the move helped thin out the runners in front of me for the way down. The descent was fairly steep sections dropping some 700 feet, with the trail intermittently covered over by tall grass, leaving one guessing on the likelihood of a rock, root, or both ready to trip you up.  I felt pretty good and confident on this section but was working hard not to move at a faster pace, practicing conserving energy for the next climb, the biggest one of the three “hills” in this race.

“Can we pass?”

A line of runners in front of me had been running rather well together for just a short while downward when this little but recognizable voice from behind me asked to pass.  Runner’s etiquette trumps all, especially in a race of this kind, so I said sure and shifted slightly to the right to provide an opening for the “we”, only to see one person pass by, so I got back on the trail, not wanting to waste any time.  The runners ahead all did the same, some with a quizzical look on their faces looking for the other runner promised by the woman. “There’s two of us,” she was clearly heard stating confidently.

Then, another “clarifying” moment.

“Ken?”
A beat.
“Yup.”
“I thought you were coming.”
“Well, now there is a hill.”

At which time we all, Ken and his date included, he behind us, she ahead, started to walk/hike up this steep section of hill single file, and in close quarters. After the hill Ken quickly, and sheepishly, requested to pass before being summoned again by his other half, and of course, we all obliged, not wanting to disrupt the pairing.

At this point so early in any race certain things that knock me off my concentration of the work at hand must be dealt with quickly.  This brewing drama was certainly one thing I was not going to tolerate for too long, so I started to plan my next tactic; either speed up past this over-involved couple, or slow down to let them move on.  I chose to slow down.  Running through this section allowed for some flat, run-able parts mixed in with some brief steep climbs and descents.  Then, at the top of a steep climb up to a ridge, there was our female friend on the side of the trail, obviously unhappy but waiting, impatiently, for Ken.  He was relieving himself less than 2 feet from the trail, barely hidden behind a tree, with a throng of about 25 people cresting the hill. Runner’s etiquette? I was happy to speed away from this scene, hoping to finally escape and focus again on this otherwise beautiful and fun run.

Soon the next aid station appeared, just at the base of Blackhead Mountain.  I grabbed some water and left without stopping, leaving all behind, and allowing some alone time for the first time. And I enjoyed the silence.  It’s all up hill for one mile (1100 feet of elevation), with each step getting steeper as you go.  I did not hear anyone for a while as I climbed, fast-hiked, and climbed up some more.  I felt a little bit of a headache coming on for a while, and since the start of the race I had tried to stay on top of my hydration and nutrition.  By the time I got ¾ up Blackhead, to the hand-over-fist climbing, I knew I was in trouble.  My head was really pounding, and waves of nausea began.  Being in such a precarious position I tried to press on through this narrow, single track trail, even passing some runners who gave into the mountain and stopped to catch their breaths on the few small, occasionally-available perches.  My legs felt fine, and despite labored breathing I was not winded, but the headache progressed. Then I too had to stop as dizziness was added to my list of classic symptoms announcing dehydration.  This was no place to safely stop however, and so I struggled up past the “Elevation 3500 feet” sign and finally up to the aid station atop Blackhead. As I reached the summit I remembered Suds’ pre-race advice given during training runs in Westwoods Reserve in Guilford.  “Always look good and say you are fine despite how you feel so the volunteers do not pull you from the race!”  I smiled wide, said nothing, and hoped for the best. Thankfully I was able to re-fuel and re-hydrate to the point that at least I could tolerate beginning the walk down the other side of Blackhead.  Time: 2hours 45 minutes. By this time Ben Nephew was nearing the end of his race! Was I even half way done? OMG!!

Intermittently I battled the nausea, dizziness, and headaches for the rest of the race. My senses regained from the aid station, I worked hard to get moving again.  My motivation-you guessed it.  Ken and his friend could be heard in the distance behind me, and I knew that if they closed in it would just make me throw up! So I drank and ate and ran and hiked my way down to Dutcher’s Notch (1400 feet downhill from Blackhead).  This section was very challenging as some of the trail was so steep fear drives you to constantly put on the brakes, and the frequent 4-5 foot ledge jumps were frightful and quad punishing.

As at all of the aid stations the volunteers were very kind, and helpful.  Upon leaving this particular aid station at Dutcher’s Notch one gentleman directed me to the trail stating, “If you’re not going up, you’re going the wrong way!” I think he was channeling Mr. Bimble!   It was here that Dave (aka SWAMP) showed up with a friend, and the three of us began the climb up to Stoppel Point, the last “hill”.  I found that I could not keep pace with them, but another younger runner climbing up the hill was pulled over on the trail, trying to cope with cramping.  I offered some S-CAPS and he stated that he just had 2 but would try and stay close to me in case things worsened.  We did the slow walk/hike up to a couple of plateaus, and he finally requested the electrolyte aid, which I freely gave to him, then he pressed on without me at a quicker pace.

I felt used, and worn out battling my dehydration symptoms, but kept up the fight to the top, searching desperately for the plane fuselage wreckage that marked 4 miles to the end of the race. It seemed like my attempts at re-hydrating and re-fueling started to pay off and I was able to run past the plane and into the top of Stoppel Point aid station looking like a bedraggled but active race participant.  All of the aid stations were well stocked with fluids and food, and some had decorations leading into their area.  This aid station was the most festive, with a radio blasting some motivational rock music, and flags and balloons leading you into the welcoming group of volunteers.  I thanked them more than once for their thoroughness, grabbed a banana and some water, and headed out.

The next few miles were very challenging, with short climbs and steep descents that included jumps and scaling down on one’s backside.  Despite the intense work there were more spectacular vistas on both sides of the trail as we apparently ran a ridge.  The beauty was breath-taking, as was the tail.  I continued to an outcropping with a particularly wonderful view where several volunteers were baking away in the sun, with temps nearing 90 degrees.  I had been walking/running alone for some time, and they were a welcome sight.  I ate and drank, and then got direction from them to where I could get back on the trail.  In disbelief they pointed me to the cliff’s edge and down a steep descent!

I continued through this section and heard, then found my cramping friend from earlier, complaining and wincing about his plight.  I encouraged him the best I could but kept power walking past him and on my way through the last mile, running when I could, walking when I had to, using the Master Po adage to deal with my own situation at hand.  A few more waves of nausea, and a brief but very unpleasant bout of dry-heaves kept me in check every time I tried to sustain a running pace, so I pressed on. Of course it was in this section that the photographers had set up, taking snaps of the participants, with the director promising to send them along to the competitors at some point.  I’m not sure I want to see just how bad I looked.  The last aid station consisted of 2 bearded young men that were extremely laid back California-type guys.  I left them quickly when they said I was nearly done.  The last bit allowed for two more vistas of wonderous sights off to the left (southeast?), and several people out hiking and giving encouraging comments and cheers.

Finally, I popped out of the woods and crossed the instantaneous finish line at 5 hours, 38 minutes. A poor performance in my mind, but I was happy to be alive just the same! Immediately Lefty and Catamount cheered and came up to see how I was and how I felt.  My voice was alien to me, quite hoarse and strained, but I filled them in briefly, and began my recovery with a hug from Maria, who clearly was shocked at how poorly I looked and sounded.  I walked around and drank for quite some time, Maria close at hand for fear of my collapse.  I was not feeling as bad as I looked, but with my history of kidney stone problems I felt better that we thought of safety first. After some drink and food, we headed over to the lake to cool off and clean up.  A quick change of clothing and I was feeling way better, and really hungry.

Heading back up to the finish area I ate some more, drank some more, and waited for and worried about LostC.  Lefty and Catamount had pressing issues that necessitated their leave, and earlier we had said our goodbyes as I promised to wait for LostC to finish.  I wandered up to the edge of the woods just as three competitors were crossing the finish line, and there was LostC, looking sweaty but happy, and finishing strong.  We chatted a bit while he recovered, compared notes on the incredible difficulty of the race, then we left the campground almost at the same time, calling it a long day.

Maria and I stopped to eat near Brewster at exit 19 off of I 84, at a diner she heard about on the food channel.  Eveready Diner was all it was advertised to be and more, and before long we had a table full of wonderful food that got gobbled up as fast as it arrived.  The rest of the way home was filled with stories of how we filled our day; me remembering and recounting different parts of the race, with her shaking her head in disbelief, and Maria stating how much school work she was able to complete, and how much more work she needed for both of us to do to ready for the upcoming school year.  Life is good!

I plan to do the Escarpment Trail Race next year, and so should you!!!!!

Snobody