Saturday, 22 March
When I signed up for this race, I knew the course was tough and that it had an appropriate reputation. A mountain with 1,200 feet of climbing, literal climbing – on hands and knees in some places. Then, a nasty downhill section, as technical as it gets with plenty of rocks and switchbacks. This year, a few inches of snow and ice made the downhill section even more technical. I don’t own a pair of Yak Trax or the like, so I tried to counter that with some sheet metal screws. Terrible idea. Here’s how it all went down…
My photographer’s parents live about an hour from Mount
Tammany in New Jersey, so we drove up the night before the race and crashed at
their place. After dinner at her
sister’s house we arrived at her parent’s place around 2100. We showered, hung out and chatted for an hour
or so, then hit the rack for our 0430 wake up.
All went well, and we arrived at the start/finish around 0545. After I checked in we met a few people, said
hello to Alex P. and Dennis, then I started getting ready. Around 0600 Jack pulled into the parking spot
next to us and knocked on my window…
“Hey AJ, what shoes are you wearing today?”
“I’ve got some Salomons and a pair of Hokas. I think I’ll wear my Salomons, though.”
“Do you have any spikes or Yak Trax or anything?”
“That’s a negative. I
anticipate spending a lot of time on my ass today.”
“Well, I’ve got a drill and some sheet metal screws. Wanna give it a shot?”
“Some sheet metal what?!"
I had never heard of this.
Apparently, after I asked some people and did some quick research, it is
a fairly common thing to insert sheet metal screws into the bottoms of your
shoes for traction on icy courses. Makes
sense. It was around 0605 when I learned
of this and I didn’t think I would have enough time to prepare everything
before the 0630 start. I did it anyway. I quickly screwed about 12 of these things
into the bottom of each shoe.
Going to town on my Salomons with Jack's drill
Afterwards
I did a quick lap around the parking lot.
I could feel them under my feet but it wasn’t irritating or anything, so
I went with it. Then, I filled my pack
with water, clipped on my bib, and we started promptly at 0630.
The first half-mile was on asphalt leading to the
trailhead. No issues with the screws, other
than the fact that they were noisy on asphalt.
During the first climb up the mountain I was slipping and sliding on the
rocks, but I was tearing up the icy sections while others around me took two
steps forward and slid one step back. At
that time, the benefits of having screws protruding from my feet far outweighed
the risks. The ridge section on the top
was only about a half-mile – again, no issues since most of it was dry and
grassy. Then came the downhill section…
First, it is important to point out that I didn’t send the
screws all the way into my shoes because the tread isn’t all that thick on my
Salomons. I put ¾” screws in the heels
and ¼” screws into the midfoot and soles.
After tip-toeing over a short section of large boulders, I
took off down the trail. I was in 5th
place but could still see Jack and Kevin at the front. I was bombing the downhill despite the fact
that I had 9 more loops ahead of me.
That didn’t last very long, though, because the impact and pounding down
on the rocks slowly put more and more pressure on the screws until every one of
them poked right through my shoe inserts and into the bottoms of my feet.
The first time it happened was in my left heel, which sent a
jolt of pain from my foot up through my leg to my hip. Holy smokes!
Ok, now I know I need to baby these downhills! Besides, the icy sections were slow going and
required walking anyway. But then, as my
body weight carried me down the hill from rock to rock to avoid the ice and
snow, another one went into my right heel.
Again, I pulled up and winced in pain.
Shit. This sucks. Ok, this will be a long day if this keeps
happening. Sure enough, another one
under my right big toe went through.
Then my left big toe. Then one
through the mid-foot section of each shoe.
Now, I need to explain a little about the course. It was a loop course. Each loop was just short of 4 miles, repeated
10 times. After the 2nd, 4th, 6th, and
8th loops we had to return to the start/finish to check in and log our loops. Obviously, after the 10th loop we would head
back to finish the race. Each return to
the start/finish would take about 10 minutes of run time, not including the
time you spent in the aid station or fiddling with gear. After the first loop I knew I had to change
shoes. Armed with all that information,
I had to decide whether or not to return to the aid station after the first
loop or tough it out for another 4 miles up and down the mountain.
Well, my feet were banged up pretty bad. I knew that if I returned to the aid station
after only one loop I would waste about 15 minutes and lose any chance of
winning the race. However, the pain from
pointed screws jabbing deep into my feet was enough to warrant the extra
trip. So, I headed back to the car after
the first loop as I watched Jack and Kevin start the climb for loop 2. By then, every step I took caused more and
more pain to jolt up my legs. I could
feel that nearly every screw had punctured through every piece of rubber…and
skin. It was enough to drive me crazy
and I knew that another 4 miles would certainly have resulted in a DNF. So, I accepted the fact that I was an idiot
and would have to make up 15 minutes throughout the day.
When I got back to the car it was locked. Great, another hold up. Alex was yelling at me from the pavilion.
“AJ, what are you doing back here? You don’t have to be back until you do two
loops!”
“I know, but I’m having issues.”
“What happened?”
“Those sheet metal screws are literally inside my feet right
now!”
“Oh, crap.”
“Where is Kari? The
car is locked!”
Just then Kari knocked on the window from the inside – she
was napping.
“Open the damn door!”
Finally, the doors unlocked.
I immediately went to the trunk and snatched my Hokas. When I took my Salomons off, I chucked them
at the ground in frustration. It was
then that I noticed the puddles of blood in the bottom of each shoe. Shoot, what was I thinking this morning? I explained it all to Kari, who simply thought
I was lightning fast and did two loops in less than an hour. She saw how utterly ticked off I was, so she
just watched in disbelief. I also had to
change my socks because they were bloody and had holes from the screws. I elected not to apply any sort of
antibiotic, cream, or jelly, and just slapped on the Hokas and took off for
loop 2.
At that point I wasn’t too worried about what place I was in,
or whether I would even be able to catch the front pack. I was concerned only with finishing the race
on feet that looked like Swiss cheese.
As I rounded the trailhead and started the ascent for loop 2, I felt
pretty lousy. My feet were torn up and I
was still babying them, tip-toeing over rocks and sticks. I ended up rolling my ankles a few times
during loops 2 and 3 because I was still treading lightly and trying to avoid
the rocks. Although I was slipping and
sliding a little extra, my feet were protected from anything sharp…including
screws. Hokas are awesome!
My strength has always been climbing hills. I’m not the greatest downhill runner, and my
marathon PR on flat asphalt is only 3:09.
But hills are where I make my money.
In fact, I made it back to the aid station after the second loop only 10
minutes behind Jack and Kevin (who would run together through the first 7
loops). I did, however, spend a little
extra time in the aid station because I wanted to make sure I had my stuff
together. I was wearing a hydration pack
so I didn’t need water, but I was still flustered and angry with myself and
wanted to make sure I had enough endurolytes, gels, and chow. After a few minutes of re-packing and
conversation with Alex and Dennis about my stupidity, I left for loops 3 and
4.
By then, I was over the fact that my feet were falling apart. I had also accepted that I had blown any
chance of winning the race. Oh
well. The new goal was just to have fun
and enjoy the view from the top of the mountain another 8 times. While going up Tammany on the 3rd loop I had
a sudden urge to talk to people. It was
around 0830 by then and people were flooding onto the trail. I started having quick conversations with
hikers as I passed them on my way to the top.
“Just a little climb, ya know? Another two minutes and you’ll be at the
top.”
“Really? Wow, I
thought it was bigger.”
“Yeahhhh…I was just kidding…it’s actually about 10 minutes.”
“Really?”
“Yeahhhh…just kidding again…it’s really about 30 minutes.”
I’m certain that I confused the virgin hikers on the
mountain as to the actual distance and time to the top, but they didn’t hold it
against me. I saw many of them 2, 3, 4,
and even 5 times as I literally ran circles around them as they moseyed up and
over the mountain, enjoyed lunch at the top, and slid down the mountain on
their backsides. One group of guys had a
dog with them. They were so happy and
collectively had a great sense of humor.
I walked with them for a minute or two up the hill on loop 4.
“Hey guys, how far ahead of me are they?”
“I don’t know, but if I had to guess I’d say at least 3
days.”
“Sheesh. I’ve got
some work to do.”
“Nah, you’ll never catch them. Stick with us – we have whiskey and bologna sandwiches.”
“Well, that’s an offer I can’t turn down. Is it better than the whiskey at the aid
station back there? If I can drink yours
then that would save me some time.”
“Sure! But you’ll
have to fight us to the death at the top for it.”
“Shoooot…I’ll meet you there. I’ll be the guy swinging from the tree, spear
in hand!”
“HAH! We’ll be the
drunk ones, cresting the hill with this old mutt.”
Loops 4 through 7 ticked by pretty quickly. I was getting a bit tired during the uphill
climbs around loop 6, but was still able to keep a good pace. My first couple trips up the mountain took
about 25 minutes each, but loops 6-10 took closer to 30 minutes each – my quads
were tiring. Also, there were probably
150 or so people on the mountain in the afternoon, so it was getting
crowded. I had to constantly move to the
side for unobservant hikers who didn’t like to share the single-track. The nicer folks would stop and move off the
trail for us, which I’m sure had to get annoying for them throughout the
day. Each loop, some of them would check
my progress and ask what loop I was on, how I was feeling, and how many more
loops I had left. I would check on them
to make sure there knew where they were going, had enough water, and were
prepared for icy conditions. It became
somewhat of a game – just make it to the top, talk to as many people along the
way as possible to pass the time, listen to tunes on the way down, and try not
to fall. Lather, rinse, and repeat.
At one point I came across a guy wearing a pink cut-off
t-shirt. He was hiking with who I assume
were his parents. He looked to be around
16 or 17 years old and had no water, but he carried a walking stick with
pride. I can’t remember the last time I
saw a man boy/man/guy wearing pink.
Then, on the downhill of that same loop, I saw another guy wearing a
pink t-shirt. He was walking with who I
assume was his wife or girlfriend. Did I
miss something? When did pink for guys come
into style? I haven’t seen a guy in
pink, especially in my line of work, in a very long time. Then, all of a sudden I see two guys, in one
day, in the middle of nowhere, wearing pink!
It was surreal and I had to laugh.
In fact, I think I laughed out loud.
Lol. Is “lol” in style
anymore? I don’t learn the latest cool
trends unless I see a commercial during Jeopardy…
Even with 20 runners and so many people on the trail, I
somehow separated myself from everyone.
That seems to always happen to me during races. I ran loops 6 through 8 alone, only passing
the occasional hiker. There were two
points – one on the eastern side of the mountain at a lookout point, and one at
the very top at another lookout point to the north – where I saw the majority
of the hikers hanging out and picnicking.
Other than that, I started to see less and less people as the afternoon
went on. During loops 7 and 8 I began
thinking that maybe Alex called the race, closed up shop, and sent everyone
home. Finally, towards the bottom of the
hill on loop 8, I finally passed two guys that were near each other. I had a feeling of relief. At least I knew that others were still racing
and I wasn’t left alone on the side of the dang mountain! That was the second time I had passed one of
them, but the other guy was Kevin. Holy
smokes – even after my added 15-minute pit stop to change shoes, I had made it
all the way up to second place. I didn’t
recognize Kevin at the time, though, because I was flying down the hill. Therefore, I didn’t know I was in second
place. I had just turned my MP3 player
to “Love Shack” and I didn’t want to waste the giddy up from the tunes, so I
pumped out an 8-minute mile as I entered the aid station. As a matter of fact, I ran by Kevin so fast
that I could only give him a thumbs up behind my head because I had to keep my
eyes on the ground.
When I rolled into the aid station Alex broke the news to
me.
“Hey man, did you pass someone on loop 8?”
“Yeah, I’ve been passing people all day. Why?”
“Because you’re in second place. Didn’t you see Kevin?”
“Nah man, I didn’t even realize it.”
“Well get going dude, don’t waste any time.”
I took a few bites of a PB&J and drank some
Gatorade. My intention was to get out of
the aid station as quick as possible and pass Kevin going the other direction
as I headed out for my final two loops.
I had hoped that would suck the motivation out of him and secure at
least a second place finish for me. But,
just when I turned to head out, he entered the aid station. His leg was jacked up from a nasty fall on
the ridge at the top of the mountain, and he was moving slow. He was considering dropping. I couldn’t leave – I had to help him get back
out there. That’s what we do in
ultrarunning – we help each other, pick each other up, and get each other to
the finish line.
“Man, my leg is hurting bad, I had to baby it all the way
down the hill.”
“Well, get some chow and some water and let’s go! I’ll stick with you for these last two
loops. We can chase down Jack together.”
“I don’t know, man.”
“Yes! Let’s go! You can roll with me.”
“Alright, let me get some chow quick.”
We left the aid station together about 20 minutes behind
Jack. Essentially, we knew we couldn’t catch
him, but the thought of trying motivated us to get moving. As we headed down the road we ran by Kari's parents, who had come to hang out with Kari and experience an ultramarathon. We waved at each other and smiled. When Kevin and I got to the trailhead I stopped to
adjust my gear and take a salt tab. As I
did, he kept going up the mountain. “Don’t
let me slow you down, man” I said to him as he kept walking. I assumed I would catch up to him shortly
anyway. Well, after a few short moments I
started moving again and he was out of sight.
He had mentioned that he was doing well on the uphills but that he had
to baby the downhills. He meant it – I wouldn’t
see him again, and he would finish in second place.
The last two loops were rather painful, especially the last
one. The wind and rain had calmed down a
bit and it was getting warm. Loop 9 went
off without a hitch. As I approached the trailhead for the start of loop 10 I saw Kari and her parents - they had walked about half a mile from the start/finish out to the trailhead to see me off for the final loop. As always, the camera was out.
Me, finishing loop 9
Talking with Kari and drinking some of her Gatorade. By this point, I had accepted my fate as the 3rd place finisher, so I killed some time and visited with her and her parents. I like this picture because it looks like I actually have pectoral muscles...
As I started the climb on loop 10, I passed a hiker going
the other direction. An older gentlemen,
maybe in his 60’s, with a pack and a walking stick.
“Is there a race or something today?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“How many miles?”
“40 miles. We are
climbing this mountain 10 times.”
“Oh my God! What
number are you on?”
“Lucky number 10!”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Eh…been better, been worse.
But at least I’m almost done!”
“Geez. Well, good
luck…”
I distinctly remember turning around 4 or 5 times over the
next 5 minutes and still seeing him watching me go up the hill. It really freaked me out. I never had a complete stranger worry so much
about me. Did I look half-dead or
something? I mean, I was tired and
probably had salt on my face, but I told the guy I was almost done and that I was
good to go. But, it shows there are still
genuinely good people out there who care about others. I wish everybody else had his attitude...with a little less creepiness...
I crested the mountain the final time with a bittersweet
feeling. The view was awesome and I had
such a fun day of running after I tossed the screw-infested Salomons, and I was sad that it had to end. On the other hand, my quads were aching for a
rest. The downhill wouldn’t help my
situation. But, with some good tunes and
some motivation, I charged down the backside one final time.
Coming into the aid station to finish was such a good feeling after a long day on the trails.
The last few steps of the race, approaching the aid station for the finish in 9:23:46, good enough for third place
Although I was still somewhat disappointed with myself for nonchalantly and inherently turning my feet into hamburger meat with those sheet metal screws, I was totally satisfied with the finish. In fact, just finishing this race was a feat in itself - only 20 were brave enough to take on this race, and only 9 finished within the time limit. Here are some photos taken afterwards.
Shaking Dennis's hand, moments after I finished
Dennis, Alex P., me, my photographer, Mama Reynolds, and Papa Reynolds
From left to right and, ironically, shortest to tallest, the podium finishers: Kevin, me, and Jack
Megan and I, with a little boy practicing his strides in the background. Megan volunteered all day in the cold and rain. Thanks Megan!
Me with my photographer and her parents
On 22 March, 2014, I was grateful for my wife... To be honest, dropping from a race generally crosses my mind at least once. I think it does for everyone. But I shot myself in the foot during this race, almost literally, and thought about dropping plenty of times to preserve my feet for upcoming races. But I couldn't bring myself to do it for her sake. I dropped from three straight races last year, and she hates seeing me banged up and bruised emotionally. In fact, after I had so many issues and DNF'd from Iron Mountain last year, the third of three consecutive DNF's, she actually cried because she felt so bad for me. I hated seeing that disappointment on Kari's face. She comes to all of my races and sacrifices her time for me. She wakes up and travels with me. She waits all damn day for me - in the cold, in the rain, in the snow, in the heat... There was no way I was going to let her down again. So, with trashed-up feet and a somewhat bruised ego, I pressed on to a strong and unforeseen third place finish. Kari was all smiles afterwards. Sometimes I think she is happier and more proud of me than I am myself. On this day, I raised a Heineken to my wife and best friend.
End of recount...
