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?