Recount #9: Mount Tammany 10

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.

Photo credits: Kari Cillo, www.kcillophotography.com, facebook.com/kcillophotography
 

End of recount...