| July 2002 Newsletter |
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How to Finish 100M at MMT…
While Trying to Drop Out (Twice)
[Editor's note: the following article is from our friends at the Western Mass Athletic Club's Trail Running Newsletter.]
Tremendous tectonic forces carved the Massanutten landscape. Over millions of years, against a geological backdrop of molten magma, metamorphic rock, and ancient seas, the ridges and valleys of the Shenandoah region were formed. Hauntingly beautiful, secret places were created in caverns below the surface. Today, we only see the ruins of those spectacular events, where Africa once collided with North America. Mountains, once as high as the Himalayas, have eroded over time, exposing the rocks of the Massanutten Mountain Trails.
The Massanutten Mountain 100-mile race starts and finishes near Front Royal, VA, totally contained within the vast George Washington National Park. The course traverses south along the eastern Massanutten trails and circles back north utilizing the western section. There is approximately 18,000 feet of elevation gain, consisting of mostly rocky, technical trails. The Virginia Happy Trails Running Club sponsors the event. The race has a reputation for being arduous and difficult with a 36-hr. time limit. No female has broken 24 hrs. on this course. The talented Sue Johnston, VT, holds the female record at 25:32.
I decided to run because it was there. Despite my best efforts to pull out of the MMT100 race, I managed to get to the finish line.
I think the course and event deserve the motto "expect less and you may get more". With that said, I don't think I was fully prepared for the race, logistically or mentally. It became a survival game; the essential skill was a practiced ability to sum up and respond to an ever changing situation. My goal was to reach 60M in 15-16 hours, hang on to 3M/hr for the last 40M, and add 2-3 hrs.... because stuff always happens and I'd never been on the course. I fully expected to cover the distance in 30-32 hrs. I hoped my strategy would give me plenty of time to finish in 36 hours. 36 hours equates to 1-1/2 days. One hundred miles is a long way to go. A lot can happen.
The course consists of rock, lots of rock and more rock. To put the rocks and boulders in perspective -mile for mile, the 30K Escarpment course in the Catskills is harder than MMT100. The climbs varied between 600-1200 feet, usually steep, and mostly rocky. For a decent mental picture of this course, multiple stream crossings and wet feet need to be factored in the equation. The journey offered 16 aid stations with wonderful provisions and supportive volunteers. Many of the aid stations were 8M apart, making water and fuel precious commodities. The aid stations were usually reached by descending into a gap and climbing back out towards the next one.
The early miles were beautiful -whippoorwills sang and a new day began. I encountered left calf problems before 8M. I decided to back off and try to work out the kinks. I conquered the calf pain but kicked a rock going into the aid station at 33M, aggravating those muscles all over again. I eased up and kept moving. I think the ice cream sandwich at Camp Roosevelt cured the calf twitches for good. I changed shoes at Gap Creek, 38.9M, since I could feel a few hot spots. I was nailing my projected times into each station.
I hated the stretch from Gap Creek to the Visitor's Center, 38.9M to 47.2M. Not the climb to the ridge - I love to go up -but being on the ridge itself - lots of huge boulders in the Kerns Mountain section. This was a block field, an area of tipped and broken rocks. I stepped and jumped from rock to rock. I wasn't making good time and did not expect this terrain.
I kept thinking about Stonewall Jackson's Shenandoah Valley campaign during the Civil War. Such a rugged, beautiful wilderness - it is hard to conceive of marching for days on end through this landscape. Jackson's men had to trudge over rocky, mountainous terrain, cross swollen creeks and scavenge for food. Cannons and artillery needed to be hauled up switchbacks. Forget about finding the enemy and having the strength to engage in battle. Jackson's troops traveled 250 miles in 4 weeks, an amazing speed. Shoes fell apart without replacements, for sure.
My feet were on fire. I wanted to let out a Rebel yell. Little Sorrel was Stonewall's horse - I was entitled.
I probably made a tactical error with the shoes I chose for the first 40M. Every time I think I've got a solution to the foot thing at this distance, it doesn't work in the next situation. I can't replicate the problem in training because blisters don't usually materialize until 70M for me.
We hit a long section of dirt and asphalt. I couldn't make myself go on such runnable terrain. I was thinking about dropping and collecting my Visitor's Award for making it as far as the Visitor's Center - a rock! At this point, I discussed quitting with another runner but he persuaded me that I still had 24 hrs. to finish. It sounded like a plan. Ultrarunning destroys brain cells. I was moving forward and in a vertical position.
I rolled into the Visitor's Center and Ron DiNicola, Mark Syrett's (aka Slug) crew captain, offered to fix my feet. He didn't want me to drop. So, there I was, sitting in Slug's chair, eating a cheeseburger purchased by Ron, getting my toenails painted and feet massaged. It's such a personal thing to have someone handle your feet and see the hairs on your big toes!
With impeccable timing, Slug ran into the aid station as Ron caressed my feet... So, Slug ended up sitting on the ground, changing his own socks and begging for a cheeseburger. What was wrong with that picture?
I really wanted him to be taken care of first. I saw his feet and they didn't look great. I was willing to wait - I know all about making sure you're ready to venture out into the wilderness and running your own race. Especially on this course - long stretches between aid stations and less than optimal footing.
47M was my first (unofficial) attempt at dropping. Ron fixed someone else's feet - the guy finished one hour ahead of me and his feet were blister free at the end of the race. Smooth as baby's skin. The kindness of strangers and our willingness to help others are truly amazing things.
I was heading up to Bird Knob, the halfway point (also, the highest elevation) as Deb and Steve Pero were descending. Deb looked real strong and I didn't think Steve was in trouble at that point. I passed Slug at the top - he was having problems with a groin muscle, attributed to the earlier asphalt section. There was an amazing field of pink lady slippers in this stretch. The course was loaded with beautiful wildflowers, blooming in May.
Darkness was descending around 54M, my projected times were off. The first half-hour of darkness felt freaky - I was disoriented -I thought the road was to my left but the trail went right. Was I on the course? There was no one around me.
When I pulled into the aid station at 57.2M, Route 211 East, I asked if they had a list of dropped runners. I expected to see my husband, Greg, on the out and back section, ascending to the halfway point as I was going down if he was still in the game. On the other hand, when I saw the grueling uphill after 24M, Habron Gap, I thought he might have problems getting to 33M, Camp Roosevelt, before the cut-off. He missed it by 15 minutes. He had been marginally staying ahead of each cut-off but wasn't getting anything to eat at the aid stations because he was flirting with time. Greg and I made a pact in January that our goal was to finish MMT together; our journey wasn't supposed to be about time. However, after many long training runs, it became apparent that my husband's body was not as strong as his mind willed it to be. Greg gave me permission to run my own race.
Ron told me that Deb and Steve left the aid station at Rte 211 less than 1/2 hr before me. Slug arrived and I never saw him again. Steve and Deb were going back to 57M as I headed out on the trail. Nausea seems to be Steve's demon at these events. My money had been on Deb for winning the female division -she knew the course, how to dance on the rocks and navigate at night. But I know from personal experience, it is tough to leave a loved one, suffering and in pain. Elusive dreams….
I ended up moving through the next section to Gap Creek II, 64M, with John Pati from Queens, NY and his pacer, Pat. I missed a left turn on the trail and continued to climb as they yelled to me. It was my green LED light - visibility is great but it's hard to distinguish red ribbons. Something to be aware of and watch out for. Continuing on the wrong trail would have been a bad thing. John and Pat were moving a little bit slower than I wanted to on the up hills but I was glad for the company and they made me laugh. There really is a New York state of mind.
I ate some ravioli and an enchilada at Gap Creek and moved on to Moreland Gap, 66.8M. The next section, 66.8 to 75M, was the notorious Short Mountain. The nighttime view of civilization's lights, from high above the ridge, was breathtaking. The trail was something else entirely. There was no ground - only boulders -find a path through an endless pile of rocks. Climbing over trees. Alone in the darkness. Making sure there weren't any snakes lurking around. The footing (or lack thereof) was messing up my feet. I couldn't figure out where to put my feet.
I was not mentally prepared to go 2M/hr. After running, trotting…whatever you want to call it… for 70M*, the emotions are very close to the surface. It is hard to get through this distance without traversing the range of sheer elation to utter despondency. The Eskimos have many words for snow and I think the Virginians must have many words for rocks.
I rolled into 75M, Edinburg Gap, just past daybreak. I was 1:15 up on the cut-off. I wanted out. My feet were trashed and my spirits broken. You have to want to finish and I didn't care anymore. I told everyone at the aid station to stop clapping. I'd had enough - enough to finally get 100Ms out of my system. I put on some warm clothes, took my number off, and ate Brenda's hot potato soup. Everyone told me how good I looked and should keep going. It wasn't about looking good - I've done 30*M on sorry feet and it's not fun. I didn't want to do it again. As other people came through the aid station, they all encouraged me to go back out there. They told me that I'd just done the hardest sections of the course. I didn't want any part of it and told them all to kiss off. I was done with this distance and wasn't buying into the finish at any cost game.
At the campfire, I talked to a woman Noelle, an angel, for sure. She'd missed the 64M cut-off by 10 minutes. She caught a ride to 75 and got some sleep. Jeff Washburn hit the aid station - he'd made good time over Short Mt. based upon the progress reports I'd received throughout the day from his brother. He was encouraging me to go out with him. He wanted 5 finishes on this God-forsaken course, but otherwise, his feet were in a bad way. Then, the legend, Suzi Cope, came into Dodge. Suzi's finished almost every 100M event on the books, including the Grand Slam. She wanted her first finish at MMT.
My feet were beyond miserable but everybody else appeared to be suffering more than I was on a physical level. My struggle was also inside my head. I was going slower than I expected and wasn't prepared for that mental trip. Well, it was time to get my sorry ass back on that trail again. I knew the drill.
At 6:40, I asked Noelle to tape my feet. The cut-off was 7:00 a.m. I told her that I didn't come prepared for this race at all. I should have had another pair of shoes, 1/2 size larger. Doesn't she have another set of shoes, the same as I was wearing, in the exact size I wished for? She wanted me to wear them and finish the race. Just click your heels and you're in Kansas . . . Noelle gave me the ruby red slippers. I just needed to find my race number. God, I hope I didn't burn it . . . no, it was in my drop bag.
"107 going back out" with 10 minutes before the cut-off. With my new found pacer, Noelle. She'd trained for the race and wanted to do it, finishing 92M was better than 64M. She couldn't keep up with me on the first uphill. I told her I had to move - I needed to cover 8.2M in 3-1/2 hrs. She was fine with that - I was her ticket out of the aid station - she just wanted to do the race. I may have passed everyone who came into the Edinburg Gap aid station after me. I clocked 2-1/2 hrs.
I ran into a freaking rattlesnake on that stretch. Excuse my language, but it was a rattlesnake. Slithered into its snake hole and stared at me with its snake eyes. It was Mother's Day - I didn't want to die in the mountains on Mother's Day! That would be a terrible thing for Abbie, my mom, to have to deal with. My mother can relate to the Boston Marathon but I don't think she tells too many people about these 100M jaunts. How can anyone understand this distance? The sun was out on the ridges and the snakes wanted to feel its warmth. No one was around to hear me scream.
I picked up some No Doz at Woodstock Tower, 83.2M, and struggled to stay awake until the next aid at 88.4M.I kept passing people. I hated being on the ridges. I expected more up hills and down hills from this course. I really disliked being on the orange ridge trail intensely. I wanted to fall asleep. I was spending too much time thinking about how slow I was going. I knew I could finish but it would be hours before I could sleep.
I whined at the Powell's Fort aid station, 88.4M - everybody knew me by then. I'd get into the aid stations and whine, bitch, moan and complain to anyone who would listen. Bill VanAntwerp, (we were becoming good friends), responsible for Runner Accountability, told me to quit groaning because I was managing to stay 1 hr. ahead of all the cut-offs so I must be feeling ok. He also gave me the scoop on each course section as I left the aid stations. He knew I liked the climbs but hated the ridges. I was downright miserable. Mentally, I was a basket case struggling with how long it was going to take me to get to the finish line. 12M to go and it meant another 4 hrs. So, I had some more coffee, a Bar-B-Q beef sandwich and off I went.
88.4 to 95.9 - This section took forever. I liked the long uphill but hated the ridges and switchbacks down with all the false bottoms. Where the hell was Elizabeth Furnace anyway? I was in the middle of a deep forest. I had to come to the road soon. This is VA -David Horton country - I know all about Horton miles -this isn't 7.5, it's 10, for crying out loud.
95.9, Elizabeth Furnace - finally. Strawberries and fruit never tasted so good. It's 5M to the finish - oh yes, this course was actually 100.9M. According to my calculations, I could take as long as 2 hrs. to complete this stretch and still break 35 hrs. So, I dragged my lame butt out for the last 5M.
Finishing MMT100 was my 45th birthday present to myself. At that age, it's important to do something to make yourself feel like you've still got it, but I'm not sure what "it" is. It feels good to say I finished.
I don't think I would have done it without the help of Ron and Noelle. And the weather gods were kind.
In the end, I ended up running Greg's race, hugging the cut-offs, exalting in the luxury provided by the aid stations and relishing the sheer joy of finishing.
"We shape clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want. (An appropriate quote recently used by my friend, Stan Tiska. Stan gave me excellent flashlight advice and built my nighttime running confidence by training with me in the dark, on the infamous 7 Sisters course.) A special thanks to Tom Skrocki for his great "aid stations" on those long, training runs.]
-- Barb Sorrell
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