The Mogollon Monster 100 is truly a unique and technically challenging race, with a name loosely based on the Sasquatch/Bigfoot character reputed to exist in these parts. Last year, the finisher rate was 24%. This year, although all the numbers are not in, I believe it will not be much better. Of 43-44 entrants, the word at 3 a.m. was that there were already 24 DNFs. And with good reason.
I had seen this race in 2012, the inaugural, and greatly wanted to enter. One big problem...I was not a trail runner. Oh, sure, I ran trails...a few 50k courses in the woods; but mountain runs? Not me. Instead, I opted for a 24-hour race in the Ukraine.
Fast forward 9 months. I'm now a trail runner of sorts, running in the mountains. A friend I made at the May 2013 100k Causeway Crossing in Ireland tells me she's signed up for the Mogollon Monster. Last year's thoughts pop into my head, and I sign up. No hesitation, no reservations.
Race director Jeremy Dougherty notes on their website that it's a terrible race for a first hundred. In fact, he doesn't know why anyone would try this as their first hundred. Maybe I can answer that...because for some of us, it means more to attempt something difficult, than it does to complete something easy. I'm a firm believer that we can measure ourselves as much by our efforts as by our accomplishments. But make no mistake, Jeremy is spot-on in his viewpoint.
My morning started with a hug from Kari, my Calgary friend from the Causeway Crossing, in about 39-degree weather. I like running in the cold...heat is my Achilles heel.
The race started at 6, and I ran a short distance with Kari, then other runners joined us, and we morphed into a small group. The three others, all women, had competed the previous year, but no woman had finished. The trail climbed up and up, up onto the Mogollon Rim (or at least its cousin, which was as high). At 6 miles, we were somewhere between 7000-8000 feet, I believe. I stopped to take pics. Everyone else continued upward. I was more concerned with conserving myself, because I knew what altitude, the Arizona sun, and 24+ hours can do.
Coming off the rim around 8 miles, an aid station replenished me, and I was off down a road. It was to be the only opportunity to make any decent time. About 4.5 miles later, it was onto a trail, and then down the other side of the ridge we had climbed. This was sheer joy for me. It was a lot of boulders, some brush, and where I get to play mountain goat for downhills. And since I was using trekking poles, I was even happier! Still, that didn't prevent me from re-injuring my right ankle with another high ankle sprain (a gift from Cruel Jewel!) around mile 16. It kept trying to convince me I needed to stop, and I kept denying it the opportunity. I've been here before, and I wasn't going to let the ankle dictate my run today!
Lower down, the trail leveled some, and I got into the next aid station. A quick refill, a bite, and I was off across the central segment of the Highline Trail. Little coverage, wide-open spaces, and normally searing heat...fortunately, it was not so hot, but warm dry air can dehydrate just as much. I conserved here because I knew the pitfalls of running in the heat, even as low as the temps might seem.
I arrived at the next aid station (Washington Park) with 28 miles, a need for water, and ready to knock out the next 58 miles on this side of the course. I had all the major climbs outlined for elevation and distance, so I was ready to work. I had planned how to run this...but I had not planned how the course itself would thwart my plans at nearly every turn.
On this side of the playground, there are uphills guaranteed to burn up your legs and available time. But you expect to get some downhill out of the deal to make up the difference, right? WRONG. The downhills are incredibly technical with loose rock that would make even a mountain goat think twice. You may actually find yourself using more time going down than up...and from someone who normally bombs downhills, I didn't think this was possible. And in one stretch, there are segments of waist-high to chest high grasses that disguise the perils lurking below...holes, gullies, and more rocks. There is about a 1.6 mile climb at a very sharp angle that looks like a rockslide, which you must scale foot by painful foot...and you have to come back down this not once, but twice. And there were a couple other incredibly technical sections I never even had the chance to attempt!
Leaving the aid station, I caught up with Kari, and we proceeded to run most of the rest of our race together. On every uphill, we consoled ourselves with the thought we'd make time back on the down hill...and each time, we were wrong. Every downhill was bleeding us dry. From aid station to aid station, we were losing time. After completing the first loop, we were at 51 miles, but our cutoff time was dwindling.
We decided that we would continue as best we could. If we were fortunate enough to complete the second loop, we would have 86 miles, and be on our way back to the other side of the playground. As the temperature was dropping, we added some gear just in case, and then we were off. Just 7 miles. We had time. Or so we thought. This was where we encountered the grasses and hidden dangers. Downhills with loose rolling rocks from baseball size through basketball size, falling back on your feet with each step. Multiple falls on the soft ground underneath the grasses really aggravated my ankle. Another fall flung gear from my pockets, and rammed my ankle against an outthrust stump. Kari was sure it had been impaled, but fortunately that wasn't the case. We moved on.
We finally arrived at our aid station. 30 minutes late. 7 miles had taken us about 3 hours, and we were pulled from the race for not meeting the cutoff. Only 58 miles in, but our race was over. We sat in the cold night air, listening to the radios and wondering what would become of us.
The aid station volunteers packed up and moved out, but the radio operator remained. Over the next hour, we listened to them pass info (the temp was 30) and monitor runner locations. At one point, a pacer had attempted to backtrack across a section she had paced her runner across, but had not yet reported in. The radio operators put a man on the road to patrol for her in the event she took a wrong turn and came out there. Another operator donned a pack unit and prepared to go out on the trail to search for her. Yet another operator at another location went out on a trail to search for another woman whom runners had reported seeing as disoriented. In both cases, the runners were recovered. These folks were amazing, going above and beyond the call of duty to ensure runner safety.
As for me and Kari, we were freezing cold, but managed to get a ride back via the radio operators. We laughed at how the course was so beautiful and brutal. Kari has completed Leadville 100 and Ironman triathlons, so she is no slouch in the ultra/endurance department...and to hear her in agreement with my assessment of this course made me realize just what we had been working against. But we were both in full working condition, and if time hadn't been the determining factor, we could have gone on to the end, no doubts. In fact, I sit here at my sister's place in Mesa, AZ, walking like I had a simple running workout, not like I had trial by fire in some of the most hazardous terrain around.
In review, I dealt with:
1. relapsing flu (3+ weeks now)
2. higher altitude than I'm used to (some reported headaches/dizziness)
3. dry heat and some dehydration
4. tender feet from sharp rocks
5. blisters from all the rocks
6. jacked up ankle since mile 16
7. temperatures as low as 28-30 degrees
And I can state with all honesty, that while these were present, NONE of them affected my running. I simply would not let anything affect my game plan.
The sole culprit was the technical nature of this course. It was unrelenting, and never gave anything back but what it chose to, when it chose to, and never in favor of the runner. It lured you in with an unspoken promise to let you determine your own race, then began removing options as soon as you started. In fact, it was almost like it had a mind of its own, and had planned this devious method of ejecting runners without dignity. I was told by one of the race staff that a couple top-level runners completed the Zane Grey 50-miler (which is part of this course), one being Hal Koerner. Hal Koerner is reported to have remarked that he never walked so much on a 50-mile in his life. Now THAT, my friends, is a testimony to what this course contains...and what it can do to an elite runner, it will do many times over to middle of the pack runners.
But, unbelievably, I am not disappointed in the slightest. No, I am happy to have found such a course that will test any runner at any level. I am happy to have been consistent in my attempt. I am happy that I am walking just fine today, which tells me I was doing well in my game plan and ready to take on another 45-50 miles. And I am happy that I have a course that I will want to return to, knowing that the REAL monster in these parts is NOT a Sasquatch/Bigfoot variant, but a 106-mile course that will chew you up and spit you out...
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Monday, July 29, 2013
H8N on H9
A light appeared in front of me, I was blinded by the glare. Was this a visitation? Was I about to be abducted? I heard a voice, and though I didn't see her, the name came readily enough to my lips. My mind flashed to GDR when I saw Kena in her vehicle when I was crossing the 60. Was I still doing GDR? No, it was nighttime, and I had finished GDR with the setting of the sun. Willy's face came into view...in the glow of the headlights I could see he wasn't in running gear. But I had just seen him running on the trail a few hours ago, hadn't I? My mind struggled for the answers. It was Cruel Jewel, that's why Willy wasn't running...he was the race director. But it had been raining at Cruel Jewel...why wasn't it raining now? I heard Kena ask me if I had checked in at the Fire Pit aid station. I don't remember what I said, but I think it was "not yet." Of course not yet...because they had just come from that direction, right? And I had been checking my Garmin, it had to be just up ahead, no more than a half mile or so. I still hadn't seen a fire, but I knew Mitch had one going there. Wait...no, that was at Cruel Jewel, and it had been daytime. What was wrong with my memory? Why was it so hard to think? Kena said "You went past it already." Past it? How? I hadn't heard or seen anything. Doubt, uncertainty, incredulity, panic, and the persistent fog of confusion jockeyed for dominance in my mind. How had I been reduced to this deplorable state?
Flash back to several weeks earlier. I had planned on signing up for the SGR (Skeenah Gap Run). I knew the cost was higher, but I had been on the trail several times, knew the course intimately, and since they were having steak and eggs, why not? Later, additional pressure came in the form of Angela and reference to the Duncan Ridge Trail Grand Slam. Later, I would find that there were no other entrants for the SGR, so I would get switched to the 50.
Race day morning started out normal. I had remembered to bring my running shoes this time (unlike at Merrill's Mile). I was better prepared this weekend...in fact, the night before, I had a decent meal, only a couple beers, and had gotten to bed around 11. I was able to get up as scheduled, with no last minute snatch-and-grab of necessary gear. I didn't stop by McDonald's for the morning breakfast burritos and caramel mocha, but that didn't bother me, because I was feeling good, and I had some cheese danish to eat on the way in if I wanted.
Once at Vogel, I almost ran over Angela as I drove in....I think she was already checking her run time on her Garmin. I located the most poorly parked vehicle in the lot and pulled in alongside...surely that was Angela's. Shortly after, Brandi pulled in, and came over to say hello. She was only doing the marathon, which I good-naturedly ribbed her about - but make no mistake, a marathon on these trails is equally defined by the words "extremely torturous". Angela joined us shortly after, and then we made our way to cabin #7 to check in. We had no bibs, but were marked on the hand, H4, H7, and so on. I was runner H8...the H8R. We laughed about that, but soon we would be out on the course...and that would end up no laughing matter.
We lined up, about 10 of us, and took off at 6:35. The beginning progressed as I expected, up to the Coosa climb. I knew I'd need to conserve a bit on the uphills, as it had been nearly two and a half months since I'd run anything greater than 20 feet elevation. I'm one of those fortunate few who don't suffer from lack of training...or at least not nearly as much as most. Still, I knew better than to burn out my legs so early in the race. I started with some reservations about my left ankle, the one that had originally been injured the previous year. That injury had plagued me for several months, and although it had resolved back around January, the past week I had been feeling the familiar strain in the tendons. I had also been bothered with some Achilles tendonitis and calcaneal bursitis bilaterally, but it usually resolved after some time walking around, so I didn't give it much thought. That would prove to be my Achilles heel, if you'll pardon the pun.
By the time I reached Wolf Pen Gap, I had turned my left ankle 3 times, none very badly. However, I decided to walk a bit to keep it loose. While walking, I realized my heels were hurting more than I had expected. Coming off three weeks of dealing with this , I was more than a little worried. It was only mile 10. It would be a long day. I tried jogging a bit, but the pain only increased. Walking at a strong clip, the pain was manageable. I figured the pain usually subsided when walking around in the morning, so it would probably do the same later on the course. But it didn't. Soon I was in the last position.
I kept walking until I got to the Lugnuts and Lipstick aid station, with Molly and Al. An avocado was soooooo incredibly awesome at this point - a California transplant, I grew up with an avocado tree in our yard and have loved them all my life. A couple cups of Gatorade, and Molly walked me back out on the course. I left the station no better physically, but at least in a better frame of mind. As I made my way to Mulkey Gap, I kept switching from my hobble-run to walking, with no improvement. In fact, I was getting worse.
I finally got to Mulkey Gap, then headed to Fish Gap. Once there, I asked if they had any NSAIDS, and they were so kind to provide me with some...I can't explain how grateful I was! I grabbed a hot dog and got back on my hobbity-hobble way to Knight's Creek. I was counting on the anti-inflammatories to make a difference. I was also starting to have acute sensations of nausea. I ran into Willy a little further out, he was on his way back, and had about 38 miles logged by that time. A few words, and we were both on our way again.
In short order, I reached the aid station. Molly and Al were waiting, promptly set me up with some PowerAde, a banana, and PB&J, then got me out onto the loop. The loop was fairly easy, until THE CLIMB. There is no reason on this earth for that section to exist as part of this course, except SHEER MEANNESS. I guess that is what Alicia later referred to when she said Jason had so many good things to say about Perry's choice of course... :) I finished the rest of the loop uneventfully, coming back to the aid station. A few gulps of PowerAde, another half avocado, a turkey sandwich, and I was rolling. I still had some nausea, but I kept hoping it would eventually disappear.
As I headed back toward the DRT, I noticed that the pain in my heels was decidedly less, and I was able to maintain an easy lope across the terrain. I had to admire the work that went into marking the course, to say nothing of the brush clearing, even when all that work resulted in a barely discernible path through the wilderness. There was something so perfect, so primeval, to be running where so few feet had trod, where few eyes had ever seen. That is where the real magic of trail running lies.
My reverie was soon interrupted by the rise in elevation, letting me know that I was climbing back onto the dragon's spine. As the grade grew steeper, I slowed my pace, opting for a strong hiking stride until the hillside wouldn't even allow that. Steady step after step to the top, and then swiftly flowing down with gravity, then up the next one, then down and into Fish Gap. I was feeling strong again, no ankle problems, no Achilles twinges, no heel pain. The only thing that was still with me was the slight nausea, which occurred nearly each time I tried to drink or take a bite of food, regardless of whether it was crackers, Oreos, or GU. As I coasted into the aid station, I felt the entire race had turned around for me.
I stopped just long enough to swig a bit of Mountain Dew, which tasted good. I got a cup of ice and poured the Dew into that, and finished it. An orange wedge and a watermelon slice followed it. I declined any food. I took off, eager to catch up to Brad and Candy, as I was informed they were only about 15 minutes ahead of me. Checking my Garmin, I stuck with a moderate pace I knew would conserve energy. I would take it easy on the uphills, and power downhill, which is one of my strengths. Before I knew it, Mulkey Gap came into view. I pressed on.
The trailed sloped steeply upward, and I accommodated it. Slow and steady I climbed, then let myself be pulled downward by gravity. Another uphill climb began, and I was taking it easy. Partway up, it felt like a wave of heat rolled over me. Sweat gushed out of every pore, and just standing seemed to drain my energy. I took several deep breaths and tried to move forward. Every step seemed impossibly slow and laborious. The nausea was stronger now, but I was sweating profusely and needed to ensure I didn't dehydrate, which would exacerbate my situation. I pressed on, stumbling and reeling, my footing unsure. I tripped and went down hard, slamming my left elbow against a rock. I got up slowly and did a mental inventory...all systems were still go...slow-go, but better than no-go. Then my stomach balked...where it had been like a cement mixer, it was now like a wave pool. In a few minutes, the heaves began, and I lost everything I had put in from the past several miles. Rinsing my mouth out only began the cycle anew, and I couldn't handle the impromptu ab workout I was getting. I struggled back onto my feet, grasping at anything along the trail to pull myself along, pausing only to retch a bit more along the way. I made it to the top and then made my way down...not at my normal speed, as my footing was still shaky. Sure enough, I slipped and was about to tumble downhill to my left...instead, my body just lay flat on the edge. I got back up, dusted off, and continued down.
There was no light left to speak of, and I staggered on, allowing my eyes to adjust to the gloom. I don't know when I took out my headlamp, but I carried it in hand. I was reeling along the trail, not too sure of where I was at. I wasn't seeing any familiar points, but then, I wasn't in any condition to recognize them anyway. I came across a point where there was a table with a couple coolers, and tried the Gatorade or PowerAde. My mouth was happy, but my stomach wasn't, and back out it came. I tried a bit of GU, but that just made me heave yet again. I turned back onto the trail, careening back and forth like a drunk along an alley during Mardi Gras. Several times I found myself walking into the brush, trying to get back to the trail, until it finally opened up onto a narrow road. I definitely did not remember this part of the course, but then, everyone talked about Perry's whimsical route planning, so maybe it was legit. Looking at my Garmin, I still had a couple miles to get to the aid station. I recall seeing an orange flag along the road, left hand side. Yep, right on outbound, left on the return.
I sat on a rock in the road, stretched out, and looked up in the sky. I woke up wondering why my pillow was so hard, and why I had such a bad taste in my mouth. Through the grogginess I realized I had dozed off. I got to my feet and shambled along the road, the need to keep moving forward burning like an ember in my mind. I took a swallow of water and immediately gagged. I still had the GU packet in my hand...a slight taste on my tongue produced similar results. I had nothing in me, and could keep nothing down. I thought I had pulled out my phone and realized I was talking to someone that wasn't there...checking my race vest, the phone was securely cinched in and turned off. I zombied on, sometimes talking to the guy who wasn't there, telling him he should go ahead and let the aid station know I was on my way. Checking the Garmin, I was making slow progress. After what seemed like an hour, I checked again...only a few tenths of a mile. I sat down in the middle of the road again, listening to the night. I heard no sounds of civilization, saw no fire pit in any direction. I dozed off again.
I got up...and couldn't tell which direction I had come from, and which I was going in. I couldn't tell if I felt panic or exhausted resignation as I chose a direction and kept walking. Ha! Walking? If that's what you call it when you take a few steps forward and stagger a couple back. A flag appeared on my left, and I felt a brief spark of elation. Another lick of GU, and my stomach rumbled a warning. I kept going, finding myself on one side of the road, and the next moment on the opposite side. I checked the Garmin again. I should be there, I thought. But was it 10 miles from Fish Gap, or 9? Was that the distance to the Coosa/DRT sign, or to the aid station? I tried to work it out in my head, but the numbers slipped like mercury through my fingers. Press on, I thought. I just haven't reached the aid station yet. It'll be there, you'll see. Just. keep. moving.
And that was when they found me...and that was how they found me. A shambling wreck, GU packet still in hand, moving ever forward. I took a couple deep heaving breaths. I would have sobbed, but I didn't have enough energy to release any emotion. I lurched back up onto my feet with Kena and Willy each on one side of me, and got into the vehicle.
Once in the vehicle, with a little conversation and breeze, and a cup of ice and Kena's Diet Mountain Dew, I began to recover. I still was gagging at the thought of any food, and my stomach was doing flip-flops from the soda, but I was able to think clearly again. By the time I was back at Vogel, it seemed like it had all been a bad dream. I hung around until Brad and Candy came in, and left shortly thereafter. It was a long and tiring drive back down to Dahlonega, trying to put the pieces of the last 6 hours back together. It was like a crazy patchwork quilt of fever dreams and hallucinations, stitched together with mutterings, mumblings, and gibberish.
Once back at the hotel, after a long hot shower, I contemplated my DNF. A friend had undergone a similarly rapid decompensation at the Georgia Death Race, and hadn't been able to finish. I now knew what that felt like. I had pushed long after my body called it a day, without food or fluids, and was still moving forward when I was located, even if off the trail and in the wrong direction. There could be no shame in that. And what better reason to return next year than for a rematch?
Flash back to several weeks earlier. I had planned on signing up for the SGR (Skeenah Gap Run). I knew the cost was higher, but I had been on the trail several times, knew the course intimately, and since they were having steak and eggs, why not? Later, additional pressure came in the form of Angela and reference to the Duncan Ridge Trail Grand Slam. Later, I would find that there were no other entrants for the SGR, so I would get switched to the 50.
Race day morning started out normal. I had remembered to bring my running shoes this time (unlike at Merrill's Mile). I was better prepared this weekend...in fact, the night before, I had a decent meal, only a couple beers, and had gotten to bed around 11. I was able to get up as scheduled, with no last minute snatch-and-grab of necessary gear. I didn't stop by McDonald's for the morning breakfast burritos and caramel mocha, but that didn't bother me, because I was feeling good, and I had some cheese danish to eat on the way in if I wanted.
Once at Vogel, I almost ran over Angela as I drove in....I think she was already checking her run time on her Garmin. I located the most poorly parked vehicle in the lot and pulled in alongside...surely that was Angela's. Shortly after, Brandi pulled in, and came over to say hello. She was only doing the marathon, which I good-naturedly ribbed her about - but make no mistake, a marathon on these trails is equally defined by the words "extremely torturous". Angela joined us shortly after, and then we made our way to cabin #7 to check in. We had no bibs, but were marked on the hand, H4, H7, and so on. I was runner H8...the H8R. We laughed about that, but soon we would be out on the course...and that would end up no laughing matter.
We lined up, about 10 of us, and took off at 6:35. The beginning progressed as I expected, up to the Coosa climb. I knew I'd need to conserve a bit on the uphills, as it had been nearly two and a half months since I'd run anything greater than 20 feet elevation. I'm one of those fortunate few who don't suffer from lack of training...or at least not nearly as much as most. Still, I knew better than to burn out my legs so early in the race. I started with some reservations about my left ankle, the one that had originally been injured the previous year. That injury had plagued me for several months, and although it had resolved back around January, the past week I had been feeling the familiar strain in the tendons. I had also been bothered with some Achilles tendonitis and calcaneal bursitis bilaterally, but it usually resolved after some time walking around, so I didn't give it much thought. That would prove to be my Achilles heel, if you'll pardon the pun.
By the time I reached Wolf Pen Gap, I had turned my left ankle 3 times, none very badly. However, I decided to walk a bit to keep it loose. While walking, I realized my heels were hurting more than I had expected. Coming off three weeks of dealing with this , I was more than a little worried. It was only mile 10. It would be a long day. I tried jogging a bit, but the pain only increased. Walking at a strong clip, the pain was manageable. I figured the pain usually subsided when walking around in the morning, so it would probably do the same later on the course. But it didn't. Soon I was in the last position.
I kept walking until I got to the Lugnuts and Lipstick aid station, with Molly and Al. An avocado was soooooo incredibly awesome at this point - a California transplant, I grew up with an avocado tree in our yard and have loved them all my life. A couple cups of Gatorade, and Molly walked me back out on the course. I left the station no better physically, but at least in a better frame of mind. As I made my way to Mulkey Gap, I kept switching from my hobble-run to walking, with no improvement. In fact, I was getting worse.
I finally got to Mulkey Gap, then headed to Fish Gap. Once there, I asked if they had any NSAIDS, and they were so kind to provide me with some...I can't explain how grateful I was! I grabbed a hot dog and got back on my hobbity-hobble way to Knight's Creek. I was counting on the anti-inflammatories to make a difference. I was also starting to have acute sensations of nausea. I ran into Willy a little further out, he was on his way back, and had about 38 miles logged by that time. A few words, and we were both on our way again.
In short order, I reached the aid station. Molly and Al were waiting, promptly set me up with some PowerAde, a banana, and PB&J, then got me out onto the loop. The loop was fairly easy, until THE CLIMB. There is no reason on this earth for that section to exist as part of this course, except SHEER MEANNESS. I guess that is what Alicia later referred to when she said Jason had so many good things to say about Perry's choice of course... :) I finished the rest of the loop uneventfully, coming back to the aid station. A few gulps of PowerAde, another half avocado, a turkey sandwich, and I was rolling. I still had some nausea, but I kept hoping it would eventually disappear.
As I headed back toward the DRT, I noticed that the pain in my heels was decidedly less, and I was able to maintain an easy lope across the terrain. I had to admire the work that went into marking the course, to say nothing of the brush clearing, even when all that work resulted in a barely discernible path through the wilderness. There was something so perfect, so primeval, to be running where so few feet had trod, where few eyes had ever seen. That is where the real magic of trail running lies.
My reverie was soon interrupted by the rise in elevation, letting me know that I was climbing back onto the dragon's spine. As the grade grew steeper, I slowed my pace, opting for a strong hiking stride until the hillside wouldn't even allow that. Steady step after step to the top, and then swiftly flowing down with gravity, then up the next one, then down and into Fish Gap. I was feeling strong again, no ankle problems, no Achilles twinges, no heel pain. The only thing that was still with me was the slight nausea, which occurred nearly each time I tried to drink or take a bite of food, regardless of whether it was crackers, Oreos, or GU. As I coasted into the aid station, I felt the entire race had turned around for me.
I stopped just long enough to swig a bit of Mountain Dew, which tasted good. I got a cup of ice and poured the Dew into that, and finished it. An orange wedge and a watermelon slice followed it. I declined any food. I took off, eager to catch up to Brad and Candy, as I was informed they were only about 15 minutes ahead of me. Checking my Garmin, I stuck with a moderate pace I knew would conserve energy. I would take it easy on the uphills, and power downhill, which is one of my strengths. Before I knew it, Mulkey Gap came into view. I pressed on.
The trailed sloped steeply upward, and I accommodated it. Slow and steady I climbed, then let myself be pulled downward by gravity. Another uphill climb began, and I was taking it easy. Partway up, it felt like a wave of heat rolled over me. Sweat gushed out of every pore, and just standing seemed to drain my energy. I took several deep breaths and tried to move forward. Every step seemed impossibly slow and laborious. The nausea was stronger now, but I was sweating profusely and needed to ensure I didn't dehydrate, which would exacerbate my situation. I pressed on, stumbling and reeling, my footing unsure. I tripped and went down hard, slamming my left elbow against a rock. I got up slowly and did a mental inventory...all systems were still go...slow-go, but better than no-go. Then my stomach balked...where it had been like a cement mixer, it was now like a wave pool. In a few minutes, the heaves began, and I lost everything I had put in from the past several miles. Rinsing my mouth out only began the cycle anew, and I couldn't handle the impromptu ab workout I was getting. I struggled back onto my feet, grasping at anything along the trail to pull myself along, pausing only to retch a bit more along the way. I made it to the top and then made my way down...not at my normal speed, as my footing was still shaky. Sure enough, I slipped and was about to tumble downhill to my left...instead, my body just lay flat on the edge. I got back up, dusted off, and continued down.
There was no light left to speak of, and I staggered on, allowing my eyes to adjust to the gloom. I don't know when I took out my headlamp, but I carried it in hand. I was reeling along the trail, not too sure of where I was at. I wasn't seeing any familiar points, but then, I wasn't in any condition to recognize them anyway. I came across a point where there was a table with a couple coolers, and tried the Gatorade or PowerAde. My mouth was happy, but my stomach wasn't, and back out it came. I tried a bit of GU, but that just made me heave yet again. I turned back onto the trail, careening back and forth like a drunk along an alley during Mardi Gras. Several times I found myself walking into the brush, trying to get back to the trail, until it finally opened up onto a narrow road. I definitely did not remember this part of the course, but then, everyone talked about Perry's whimsical route planning, so maybe it was legit. Looking at my Garmin, I still had a couple miles to get to the aid station. I recall seeing an orange flag along the road, left hand side. Yep, right on outbound, left on the return.
I sat on a rock in the road, stretched out, and looked up in the sky. I woke up wondering why my pillow was so hard, and why I had such a bad taste in my mouth. Through the grogginess I realized I had dozed off. I got to my feet and shambled along the road, the need to keep moving forward burning like an ember in my mind. I took a swallow of water and immediately gagged. I still had the GU packet in my hand...a slight taste on my tongue produced similar results. I had nothing in me, and could keep nothing down. I thought I had pulled out my phone and realized I was talking to someone that wasn't there...checking my race vest, the phone was securely cinched in and turned off. I zombied on, sometimes talking to the guy who wasn't there, telling him he should go ahead and let the aid station know I was on my way. Checking the Garmin, I was making slow progress. After what seemed like an hour, I checked again...only a few tenths of a mile. I sat down in the middle of the road again, listening to the night. I heard no sounds of civilization, saw no fire pit in any direction. I dozed off again.
I got up...and couldn't tell which direction I had come from, and which I was going in. I couldn't tell if I felt panic or exhausted resignation as I chose a direction and kept walking. Ha! Walking? If that's what you call it when you take a few steps forward and stagger a couple back. A flag appeared on my left, and I felt a brief spark of elation. Another lick of GU, and my stomach rumbled a warning. I kept going, finding myself on one side of the road, and the next moment on the opposite side. I checked the Garmin again. I should be there, I thought. But was it 10 miles from Fish Gap, or 9? Was that the distance to the Coosa/DRT sign, or to the aid station? I tried to work it out in my head, but the numbers slipped like mercury through my fingers. Press on, I thought. I just haven't reached the aid station yet. It'll be there, you'll see. Just. keep. moving.
And that was when they found me...and that was how they found me. A shambling wreck, GU packet still in hand, moving ever forward. I took a couple deep heaving breaths. I would have sobbed, but I didn't have enough energy to release any emotion. I lurched back up onto my feet with Kena and Willy each on one side of me, and got into the vehicle.
Once in the vehicle, with a little conversation and breeze, and a cup of ice and Kena's Diet Mountain Dew, I began to recover. I still was gagging at the thought of any food, and my stomach was doing flip-flops from the soda, but I was able to think clearly again. By the time I was back at Vogel, it seemed like it had all been a bad dream. I hung around until Brad and Candy came in, and left shortly thereafter. It was a long and tiring drive back down to Dahlonega, trying to put the pieces of the last 6 hours back together. It was like a crazy patchwork quilt of fever dreams and hallucinations, stitched together with mutterings, mumblings, and gibberish.
Once back at the hotel, after a long hot shower, I contemplated my DNF. A friend had undergone a similarly rapid decompensation at the Georgia Death Race, and hadn't been able to finish. I now knew what that felt like. I had pushed long after my body called it a day, without food or fluids, and was still moving forward when I was located, even if off the trail and in the wrong direction. There could be no shame in that. And what better reason to return next year than for a rematch?
Monday, March 18, 2013
GDR - The Resurrection
I awoke in the darkness.
It was race day. The lights were
turned on, and there stood Sean, evil grin on his face, looking for all the
world like he had a devil mask superimposed on his face. He said "It's time for you to meet your
new running coach...Mitchel Pless!"
My heart sank...Mitch was going to wear my ass out...I mean, there was
no way I could beg, borrow, steal, or rent-to-own a work ethic like that! Then Angela McVay showed up, laughing and
laughing...with a bottle of Bailey's Caramel.
"Where's your coffee, Jake?" she asked, swinging the bottle
back and forth. I looked around....where
WAS my coffee? I began to feel panic
setting in...
I awoke in the darkness.
It was race day. I sat bolt
upright, shaking away the cobwebs. I
guess those are the nightmares you have when you polish off a Taco Bell Cantina
Bowl with Dinty Moore Beef Stew, two beers, and a bag of jalapeno Cheetos the night
before a race. I would have to remember to replace the Cheetos with Ruffles. I turned the light on,
glancing around suspiciously. Where WAS
my coffee? Then I remembered...I left it
in my Jeep...sitting at Amicalola Falls.
Damn it...now my pre-race ritual was shot to hell. I grabbed the bearclaw sitting on the table
and wolfed it down with some warm Gatorade.
My caffeine addiction would have to wait until the day's work was done.
Once dressed, I departed the cabin into the fairly warm
early morning. I could see activity over
by the Visitor Center, and drifted in that direction, drawn as the moth is to
the flame. A voice eerily reminiscent of
the one scene from Poltergeist shrieked in my head "Don't go into the
light!" Too late, I was already
there.
There were the familiar faces, and the unfamiliar, like
distant relatives at a family reunion...but you're all kin when you're an
ultrarunner. All were excited, and a
magnificent journey was about to unfold.
Sean hopped up on his makeshift podium...was that a devil mask I
saw? Nah, must be a trick of the
light...and I knew I was awake this time.
My mind drifted out in the darkness, out along that trail I knew I would
find myself on when the sun chased the shadows away, as Sean's voice dwindled
off into a bad imitation of Charlie Brown's teacher. Something about run times, or cutoff times...
I snapped back to reality...it was a countdown...and then we
were off. It was so amazing to see all
of you setting out, a wave of hopeful humanity, on a journey of determination
and camaraderie. And here is where my
story ends, and where yours begins.
Between Mile 1 and 3, I came across Kat Schuller, who had
driven up late the previous night from Atlanta or thereabouts. She was down with a sprained ankle, which was extremely tender to even slight palpation. And then she was cautiously back up
again...pushing forward. I saw her again
later, entering the Skeenah turnaround, motoring along with 20 miles under her
belt, as cheerful as a mountain bluebird.
She would call it a day after 40 miles, and return to Amicalola with an
ankle looking like a small grapefruit.
Do you realize how much HEART it takes to put 38 miles on THAT? I do...
The race continued, and I found myself running behind Deano
Montreuil. We had run together briefly
the week before, and at that time he looked to have a good comfortable stride,
with solid downhill capabilities, but he was concerned about IT band
issues. We exchanged places a couple
times between White Oak Stomp and Mulky Gap.
He was looking strong this morning, and I hoped that would hold.
As the hills popped up one by one, Rachel Corrigan from Virginia
came up from behind, and we chatted briefly about the terrain differences on
the course to what she had to train on back home. She thought the GDR was tougher...as she soon
passed on an uphill, gaining elevation and eventually disappearing up ahead...obviously
tougher didn't mean they were going to slow her!
As I entered the Skeenah turnaround, I say Taylor Washburn
setting a solid pace on his way out...I would later see him after I
finished. Without preparing for the time
on his feet, or the distance, or the hills, he gutted out an amazing personal
achievement. And to think that the
friends he signed up with decided to skip the race, because they hadn't
prepared adequately! Taylor obviously
wanted to test himself...and came through with flying colors.
I also saw Dane Talbert, who was looking capable. Dane had previously posted about having
Achilles problems, and was apparently planning to just run and let the cards
fall where they may. Anytime you're
dealing with hills, we know that Achilles problems can only be expected to
worsen, not improve. Yet, there he was
cranking out mile after mile, Grim Reaper at his heels...I heard he had a
strong, but painful finish, somewhere around 15 and a quarter hours...
At the Skeenah aid station, I heard that Dylan Henry
dropped. Dylan was injured in a cycling
accident before the race, and had stated on the GDR page that he would make the
call on race morning as to whether he'd run.
It was a marvel that he even toed the line...but then, I understand he's
a helluva runner, and runners are stubborn folk...and if you don't try, you'll
never know...Dylan obviously knows what it means to give it everything you've
got...
Coming out of Skeenah, I ran into Angela McVay, sunshiny and
giggly, and having the race of her life...a brief hug and best wishes, and we
continued in opposite directions. We'd
gotten together a few times to run, and I knew she would stay strong and
consistent. I waited for her at the
finish as I said I would, her hubby and kids in tow, that ever-unshakable smile
lighting up her face...she later called herself being cranky at the end, but I
think she was just peeved that Lee and the kids were slowing her pace... :)
Still coming out of Skeenah, I ran into Deano Montreuil
again. A few words passed between us,
and I knew he was going to be battling.
And he succeeded. He was kind
enough to thank others for helping him to finish, but the truth is no amount of
words can carry you a single foot...only your will and desire can do
that...words just make the ground you tread on a little softer...
Also coming out of Skeenah, I passed Steve Knox from Florida
just coming in, and he was beaming from ear to ear, he was in his element. Steve was the first GDR runner I came across
when I was exploring Vogel, back when the GDR was far enough out to only be a minor
concern...I was hauling around all sorts of photo/video equipment and saw him
running up Slaughter behind me...same smile, same enjoyment...I don't know if
he was happy with his finish, or happy just to have finished, but I have no
doubts he still had that big ol' shit-eating grin when he came across the
line.... :)
Just before leaving Skeenah, I recognized Philip Sustar,
from when I ran Merrill's Mile...he was the winner of the 24-hour race there back in September. Here he was, sweat on his brow and a grin on
his face, and appeared to be having a good time of it. We exchanged a few words of encouragement,
and he noted I was running uphill...I had been walking, but after so many
motivational exchanges, I was totally energized and unaware...
As I hit the BMT, Leah Linarelli and her PA posse were
turning in to Skeenah, looking for all the world like a professional cycling
team in single file, minus their bikes...maybe those weren't even her fellow
Pennsylvania runners, but you wouldn't know it from the smooth coordination
they were showing...I hope they all finished as smooth as they looked there,
because I know the trail got bumpier as time passed...
I ran a bit with Will Jorgenson, whom I believe is race
director for the Pistol Ultra in Maryville, TN.
He apparently had no doubts about his ability to finish the race, and
concerned himself with collecting trash to nab that $100 bounty! I thought about it, but I had no room to
spare...my vest was already full of trash...like an arctic parka, 3-ply rain
suit, propane stove, emergency avalanche shelter, homing beacon, and all the
other cold-weather items you MIGHT need if you got stuck in the Georgia
mountains in 70-degree weather... ;)
After crossing the 60 and onto the FSR, the heat started to
kick in, no more partial shade...being more of a cold weather runner, I knew
this would be potentially critical. I
gained some ground on a runner, I think it was Lee Shane, but the heat being
reflected off the hardpan was making me sweat more than I wanted to, so I was
half-blind, to boot. I remember
commenting that I wasn't so good a warm weather runner, and Lee gave an
over-the-shoulder glance and kind of an apologetic shrug, and said "I just
love to run!" And then gradually
increased the distance between us...heat was not going to derail this all-weather runner!
After crossing the Toccoa bridge, I enjoyed a quick repartee
with some spectator who asked "Are y'all really running 60-some
miles?" To which I enthusiastically
replied "We sure are!" He
shook his head and spit on the ground and said "Y'all are a bunch of
idiots!" I quickly retorted
"And you didn't even need your 9th grade education to figure that one
out...brilliant!" We both busted
out laughing...I ended up the worse for it, as I developed a stitch in my side
going uphill. I chuckled at that several times over the rest of the course.
Most of the remainder is a kaleidoscopic blur of heat, aid
stations and miles, running and walking, and a faceplant when I fell asleep on
cruise control before the BMT clearing.
On the way down Winding Stair Gap, I came up behind runner #59, and
asked how she was doing..."Horrible" was the reply...but she was
still way out front, and had good form, and a good pace...if that's horrible, I
can only imagine the kind of performance she would turn in if she were doing
"awesome"...
I had heard that the winner, Mark Lundblad, finished in
11:40...and Mitchel Pless wasn't far behind...I swear, the only thing that
would make me run THAT fast MIGHT be if I'm trying to get to McDonald's before
they stop offering breakfast and start the lunch menu! (Okay, maybe if I'm trying to make happy hour, too...) Some people are just incredible...and then there are those who are a step beyond...
And then, I was at the bottom, at Aaron's Bacon
Station...great place to drop in and set a spell, but I was racing the sun by
that point. Once refilled, I continued
down the FSR...and when I was nearly to Nimblewill Church Road, I heard running
behind me...I glanced back to see John Cremers bearing down on me with the
visor I had left behind at the aid station!
Okay, so he wasn't actually running in the race...but he went the extra
mile (or more like a quarter mile!) to catch up to me, when he could have given
it to the next runner, or sent it to the finish, or any other number of
options. You see, John is a runner,
too...
I ended up at the finish using the original
route...apparently I didn't get the word that the finish was changed, and the
markings were still up as I beat the street downhill into the finish. Jason Green was there to take down my number
and time, and the race was in the books for me...but it was far from over.
As the last weak rays of light faded from the purpling sky,
runners kept coming in...some in pain, exhaustion etched on their brows...some
in an ecstasy...or maybe it was rigor mortis that kept those smiles frozen on
their faces. The emotion was palpable,
emanating from each runner like waves pounding the shore. Wave after wave, crashing into the finish
line, an ocean of dogged determination, a sea of human perseverance pushing ever forward. I had the opportunity to sit and chat with
Graham Perkins of Vancouver as we cheered runners in, and exchanged notes about
our races.
Not everyone reached the shore, however…some were dashed to
pieces upon the rocks. As the night wore on, I saw that Montana
Crawford was pulled short of reaching his next checkpoint in the wee hours of
the morning. I learned that Anne
Blanton, who had trained rigorously and religiously, succumbed to the effects
of mild food poisoning. Trung Lively,
who had come up from Florida, was stricken by the heat. And yet, each of them fought for every single
mile, earned every single step, giving everything they had, pushing their
bodies beyond their limits until their bodies could no longer respond. Who among us would not salute
the fallen? And tomorrow, the
resurrection, and we live to die another day…
And I...I only know this small part of it all, this limited
view through a tiny window overlooking a vast panorama of the power and frailty that is our humanity.
There are so many more stories I know nothing of, so many more battles that
were being fought on so many fronts which I can tell you nothing about. But if this was all I knew...it would still
be more than enough of a testament to the strength of the human spirit. It isn't found in a protein bar, or a bottle
of sports drink, or a packet of carb gel.
It's in the heart and mind, and the very soul...and it's in every one of
us who crossed that starting line.
You'll recognize it every time you look in a mirror, because EPIC…is
YOU.
~Jake
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Prepping for the Georgia Death Race!
This last weekend, I ran from Vogel to the BMT/DRT marker at the Skeenah turnoff (20 miles), and back to Vogel. I followed up with a 20-miler on the FSR from 60 to the BMT clearing. I stated a long while back that to truly appreciate the impact of the GDR course would require at least 30 miles, if not 40, along the toughest section of the course. Only by feeling the cumulative effect on the legs can you really determine where you will be once you get to the FSRs (forest service roads). It turned out to be very true.
I have been running on this course exclusively with trekking poles and an Alteo 25 pack, with about 15-25 pounds, so my time and perceived effort will be based on this. I primarily do road races, some trail runs, but seldom ever mountain runs. I hike and fastpack a bit, so that helped me to adjust to mountain trail running quickly. I've been running GDR course segments since January, and have become more than familiar with the terrain and distances, as well as having measured on Garmin 310 and eTrex 30 for accuracy.
I originally planned to do a walk-through (fastpacking) of the entire course, but the weather failed to cooperate on those occasions. My guide here will be based on hard markers or points that are easily distinguishable. I did this primarily for out-of-staters like myself, since many of you may not have had an opportunity to visit even a single part of the trail. I've included photos of specific markers, or map points. Some areas I couldn't photograph because it was so cold the camera wouldn't function, or I just plain forgot it. At any rate, the visuals will provide you with some sense of familiarity when you see them along the trail or FSRs (forest service roads). I opted not to post any elevation charts/graphs here, as it is a moot point. We know there's about 15k gain and the same of loss, we know some are long and constant, others are short and steep, no need to get wrapped around the axle over numbers. What's important is that you know how to get over them, and if you signed up for this race, chances are you have some idea of how...at least, we hope so! ;)
Bear in mind we will be starting at the Visitor Center, which adds a little bit of distance, not more than a quarter mile.
Also, we also will not follow the standard route by the vending machines, but apparently will use some road bed that intersects the Coosa Loop. Since this track has not been definitively laid out for us to view or follow at this point, my starting reference will remain the known start for the Coosa Loop. The pic below illustrates the start point (1), the intersection of Coosa and Bear Hair (2), and the intersection of Coosa and Wolf Pen Gap Road (3).
From the vending machines by Cottage 7 to the Coosa/Duncan Ridge Trail marker is 7 miles.
-Intersection of Bear Hair Trail/Coosa Trail
-Intersection of Coosa and Wolf Pen Gap Road, 1 mile
-Bridge support is partially eroded here at mile 3...look before you leap!
-Calf Stomp Gap, about 6 miles (no photo)
-Intersection of Coosa/DRT marker, 7 miles total
***NOTE*** You will not come off the Coosa Trail FACING the sign...rather you will come out from BEHIND it, and take a right. Coosa and the DRT continue together in the opposite direction, which is NOT where you will be going... :)
Coosa/DRT marker to DRT/Benton MacKaye Trail (BMT) marker is 13 miles.
-White Oak Stomp, about 1 mile along (no photo), and your first aid station.
-Mulky Gap, about 5-6 miles along, identifiable by a road crossing. There will be an aid station here.
-Fish Gap, another 2-3 miles in, which is a huge cleared area, perfect for bonfires and tailgate parties!
After Fish Gap, you will encounter a series of several short-distance/high-elevation hills which will break your heart...the two HUGE ones I have affectionately named The Colossus and The Megalith...they seem to go up forever. A couple additional ones after these two are also formidable, but not as heart-wrenching.
Here's a view from the top of one of the biggies:
-DRT/BMT marker, total 20 miles
Skeenah out & back to 60 is about 7 miles.
This is the only segment I did not run. Our race handbook states 25 miles to 60, which means 5 miles from the DRT/BMT marker. Yet it describes the Skeenah segment as 1.2 miles (x2 = 2.4), 4 more miles to Wallalah Mountain, and 1.2 miles further to 60 (2.4 + 4+ 1.2 = 7.6 miles, and not 5). A review of the BMT.org website showed the Skeenah segment as 1.4 miles (x2 = 2.8), plus the marker to 60 as being 4.2 miles, for a total of 7 miles...still not 5. Based on trail map measurement and 24K topo, I'm going with 7 miles. Estimate longer, you'll be happier if it ends up shorter! :) And an aid station will be at the Skeenah turnaround. (Edit: A recent measurement is reported at 7.6 miles - any more?)
-BMT-60, you'll come over a bridge and hit the road.
-60, total about 27 miles
60 to BMT clearing is 10 miles.
The previous segment of 60 to the Toccoa Bridge along the BMT has been dropped, and we will use the FSR, which is not on the ridgeline but along its base, and is shorter. Here you can see the BMT going up and to the left, and the FSR (816) going to the right. There will be an aid station here.
The FSR dead-ends, but a wide and clearly visible path links to the BMT right before the bridge. There will be an aid station here. From the bridge to the clearing, you remain on the BMT...with a long, painful climb, and a couple moderate ones.
-Toccoa Bridge, about 3.1 miles (yes, it looks VERY inviting at this point!)
-Bridge to Clearing, about 6.9 miles
BMT clearing, about a total of 37 miles
BMT clearing to Nimblewill Church Rd.: 14 miles total
When I ran this segment, I came up from the Church and then went back down. It was about 20 degrees, and I have no idea what the wind chill was. What I DO know is that my water was frozen, and my camera wouldn't work, so there are no pics. Most runners will get to this point while it is still daylight, but the sun may be blocked well before sunset by the intervening trees and ridges. You can make really good time on the FSRs, provided your legs are still working, as it is almost all a progressive downhill. I broke the last two segments down piecemeal, because when it gets dark and you are struggling, it is easier to focus on and conquer small/short sections, rather than a single long one.
Clearing to Noontootla Rd: 5 miles*
-Once you hit the clearing, turn left, hug the treeline. There will be an aid station in about 3/4 mile.
*mile 3 is gate, with shed/cemetery on right.
Nontootla to Winding Stair: 1.8 miles
Winding Stair to Nimblewill Church Rd: 7.2 miles There will be an aid station near the end here.
Nimblewill Church Road, total 51 miles
Nimblewill Church Rd to Amicalola (base of falls): 13.73 miles total
When I ran this segment, from 'lola to the Church and back, I forgot to bring my camera. After three straight days of running, and NO BEER, I was losing my marbles. I did go back and take some pics afterward, but most everyone (myself included) will be seeing these areas in the dark. Before you set out on this last segment, SUGAR LOAD!!! It'll perk your mind and body up, and give you energy to get past the last "hump" to the gap!!
Nimblewill Church Rd to Nimblewill Gap: 7.3 miles*
*pavement ends after 2.4 miles
*climb starts from 3.9 miles
*3.4 mile climb, 1000-1100 feet gain There will be an aid station at the gap.
Nimblewill Gap to base of falls: 6.43 miles*
*about 2 miles of mud and slush
*pavement begins about 4.1
*uphill a quarter mile, left at the stop sign, and on until the next stop at the top of the falls
*long steep 1.7 mile downhill begins on the right, hope your brakes are in good shape!!
*at the bottom, take a left, go about .4 to the base of the falls (but the finish is before that)
If you've made it this far, you've covered 64-65 miles...give or take! More importantly, you're a survivor! Congratulations on completing the inaugural Georgia Death Race! Now go pick up your spike, grab some bacon, and call it a day...or night...or...never mind, just collapse with exhaustion, there'll be others there to carry you.... :)
***NOTE*** If you did not arrive here, then you A) made a wrong turn, B) dropped earlier, or C) ARE DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!!! But the good thing is that you can resurrect yourself for another attempt next year.... ;)
I have been running on this course exclusively with trekking poles and an Alteo 25 pack, with about 15-25 pounds, so my time and perceived effort will be based on this. I primarily do road races, some trail runs, but seldom ever mountain runs. I hike and fastpack a bit, so that helped me to adjust to mountain trail running quickly. I've been running GDR course segments since January, and have become more than familiar with the terrain and distances, as well as having measured on Garmin 310 and eTrex 30 for accuracy.
I originally planned to do a walk-through (fastpacking) of the entire course, but the weather failed to cooperate on those occasions. My guide here will be based on hard markers or points that are easily distinguishable. I did this primarily for out-of-staters like myself, since many of you may not have had an opportunity to visit even a single part of the trail. I've included photos of specific markers, or map points. Some areas I couldn't photograph because it was so cold the camera wouldn't function, or I just plain forgot it. At any rate, the visuals will provide you with some sense of familiarity when you see them along the trail or FSRs (forest service roads). I opted not to post any elevation charts/graphs here, as it is a moot point. We know there's about 15k gain and the same of loss, we know some are long and constant, others are short and steep, no need to get wrapped around the axle over numbers. What's important is that you know how to get over them, and if you signed up for this race, chances are you have some idea of how...at least, we hope so! ;)
Bear in mind we will be starting at the Visitor Center, which adds a little bit of distance, not more than a quarter mile.
Also, we also will not follow the standard route by the vending machines, but apparently will use some road bed that intersects the Coosa Loop. Since this track has not been definitively laid out for us to view or follow at this point, my starting reference will remain the known start for the Coosa Loop. The pic below illustrates the start point (1), the intersection of Coosa and Bear Hair (2), and the intersection of Coosa and Wolf Pen Gap Road (3).
From the vending machines by Cottage 7 to the Coosa/Duncan Ridge Trail marker is 7 miles.
-Intersection of Bear Hair Trail/Coosa Trail
-Intersection of Coosa and Wolf Pen Gap Road, 1 mile
-Bridge support is partially eroded here at mile 3...look before you leap!
-Calf Stomp Gap, about 6 miles (no photo)
-Intersection of Coosa/DRT marker, 7 miles total
***NOTE*** You will not come off the Coosa Trail FACING the sign...rather you will come out from BEHIND it, and take a right. Coosa and the DRT continue together in the opposite direction, which is NOT where you will be going... :)
Coosa/DRT marker to DRT/Benton MacKaye Trail (BMT) marker is 13 miles.
-White Oak Stomp, about 1 mile along (no photo), and your first aid station.
-Mulky Gap, about 5-6 miles along, identifiable by a road crossing. There will be an aid station here.
-Fish Gap, another 2-3 miles in, which is a huge cleared area, perfect for bonfires and tailgate parties!
After Fish Gap, you will encounter a series of several short-distance/high-elevation hills which will break your heart...the two HUGE ones I have affectionately named The Colossus and The Megalith...they seem to go up forever. A couple additional ones after these two are also formidable, but not as heart-wrenching.
Here's a view from the top of one of the biggies:
-DRT/BMT marker, total 20 miles
Skeenah out & back to 60 is about 7 miles.
This is the only segment I did not run. Our race handbook states 25 miles to 60, which means 5 miles from the DRT/BMT marker. Yet it describes the Skeenah segment as 1.2 miles (x2 = 2.4), 4 more miles to Wallalah Mountain, and 1.2 miles further to 60 (2.4 + 4+ 1.2 = 7.6 miles, and not 5). A review of the BMT.org website showed the Skeenah segment as 1.4 miles (x2 = 2.8), plus the marker to 60 as being 4.2 miles, for a total of 7 miles...still not 5. Based on trail map measurement and 24K topo, I'm going with 7 miles. Estimate longer, you'll be happier if it ends up shorter! :) And an aid station will be at the Skeenah turnaround. (Edit: A recent measurement is reported at 7.6 miles - any more?)
-BMT-60, you'll come over a bridge and hit the road.
60 to BMT clearing is 10 miles.
The previous segment of 60 to the Toccoa Bridge along the BMT has been dropped, and we will use the FSR, which is not on the ridgeline but along its base, and is shorter. Here you can see the BMT going up and to the left, and the FSR (816) going to the right. There will be an aid station here.
The FSR dead-ends, but a wide and clearly visible path links to the BMT right before the bridge. There will be an aid station here. From the bridge to the clearing, you remain on the BMT...with a long, painful climb, and a couple moderate ones.
-Toccoa Bridge, about 3.1 miles (yes, it looks VERY inviting at this point!)
-Bridge to Clearing, about 6.9 miles
BMT clearing to Nimblewill Church Rd.: 14 miles total
When I ran this segment, I came up from the Church and then went back down. It was about 20 degrees, and I have no idea what the wind chill was. What I DO know is that my water was frozen, and my camera wouldn't work, so there are no pics. Most runners will get to this point while it is still daylight, but the sun may be blocked well before sunset by the intervening trees and ridges. You can make really good time on the FSRs, provided your legs are still working, as it is almost all a progressive downhill. I broke the last two segments down piecemeal, because when it gets dark and you are struggling, it is easier to focus on and conquer small/short sections, rather than a single long one.
Clearing to Noontootla Rd: 5 miles*
-Once you hit the clearing, turn left, hug the treeline. There will be an aid station in about 3/4 mile.
*mile 3 is gate, with shed/cemetery on right.
Nontootla to Winding Stair: 1.8 miles
Winding Stair to Nimblewill Church Rd: 7.2 miles There will be an aid station near the end here.
Nimblewill Church Road, total 51 miles
Nimblewill Church Rd to Amicalola (base of falls): 13.73 miles total
When I ran this segment, from 'lola to the Church and back, I forgot to bring my camera. After three straight days of running, and NO BEER, I was losing my marbles. I did go back and take some pics afterward, but most everyone (myself included) will be seeing these areas in the dark. Before you set out on this last segment, SUGAR LOAD!!! It'll perk your mind and body up, and give you energy to get past the last "hump" to the gap!!
Nimblewill Church Rd to Nimblewill Gap: 7.3 miles*
*pavement ends after 2.4 miles
*climb starts from 3.9 miles
*3.4 mile climb, 1000-1100 feet gain There will be an aid station at the gap.
Nimblewill Gap to base of falls: 6.43 miles*
*about 2 miles of mud and slush
*pavement begins about 4.1
*uphill a quarter mile, left at the stop sign, and on until the next stop at the top of the falls
*long steep 1.7 mile downhill begins on the right, hope your brakes are in good shape!!
*at the bottom, take a left, go about .4 to the base of the falls (but the finish is before that)
If you've made it this far, you've covered 64-65 miles...give or take! More importantly, you're a survivor! Congratulations on completing the inaugural Georgia Death Race! Now go pick up your spike, grab some bacon, and call it a day...or night...or...never mind, just collapse with exhaustion, there'll be others there to carry you.... :)
***NOTE*** If you did not arrive here, then you A) made a wrong turn, B) dropped earlier, or C) ARE DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!!! But the good thing is that you can resurrect yourself for another attempt next year.... ;)
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