Disclaimer:
My recollections and timelines of the following events may or may not match up with this or any other reality. I was running for over 15hours. I cannot be trusted.
Also, the pictures are not tied to the accounts in chronological order or logic. They are just pictures of the weekend. Same excuse for me.
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| Happy Acres Restaurant (yeah we partied) |
Mile 4:
I heard the clear sounds of someone vomiting in the darkness
just ahead. We were just past the 4 mile mark. The sun was just starting to
rise, and the intrepid group of lunatics that signed up for this race (about
200) were in various stages of a 1200ft climb. This included the mystery
vomiter.
It wasn’t so much of a normal climb (think power-hike up a
steep trail) as it was a dicey shifting dance on huge chucks of loose large
stones covered with moss and mud. Every foot placement by the light of your
headlamp determined your fate and predicted the next.
I passed the vomiter near the top and he waved that he was
ok.
The sun was getting a bit brighter now and I knew I was near
the top of the first of 18 of the major climbs in the race, accounting for
20,000+ ft of climb. Welcome to Pennsylvania trail running. You can remove the
phrase “buffed-out-single-path” from your vocabulary for a while. You won’t
need that here.
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| Swinging bench, trying to get some internet! |
Pre-Race: AKA Team Nichol-Beck
Before going any further, I have to thank my wife, Theresa,
and my incredible crew and pacers, David and Lea Becker. Without them, I
wouldn’t have entered this race nor had the amazing experience I did. Being an
ultra runner’s wife is no easy task and Reesa has been incredibly understanding
and supportive both for races and the amount of time I needed to train. Those
are often the invisible aspects lost in the pre and post-race excitement and
race reports and recaps: The hundreds of hours of training that encompass most
of the miles around races and the people who understand, accept, and encourage
you in these times.
And David and Lea who jumped at the opportunity to be my
crew and pacers and take time out of their lives to also train and be part of
the incredible complex logistical aspect of a remote 100 mile race. It’s a
crazy, selfless task being a crew, dominated by a lot of waiting, worrying,
planning, and hoping. And when the runner appears from the wilderness, the
ability to throw off all feelings and just be that organized reassuring bubble
of support and reassurance. To have them there AND my wife at the aid stations
was a real gift that I can’t thank them enough for.
So thank you thank you thank you three. I couldn’t have
asked for more in a team, wife, and good friends.
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| Happy Acres (what makes it Happy? No cell, No wifi) |
Mile 7.5:
The second big climb then a 1300 foot decent in less than a
mile into the gorge. There are almost no switchbacks in these Wilds. The “path”
goes straight up or straight down. I’m a fast confident downhill runner. I’m
light on my feet and long-legged so this is always a place I make up time. Not
in this race. There were really no places you could launch at on the downhills
to confidently land a foot to spring off from. It was loose large chunks of
stone. Not rocks. Stones. Large ones. When you landed on them either your foot
slipped off or the stone shifted and moved with you. Somehow, in this entire
day, I never fell once, but I’ve never had a wilder ride on the edge of sheer
free-falling madness than these trails. I perpetually pin wheeled my arms like
a madman, grabbed trees, took hopeful leaps into accumulations of rock and
boulders hoping for the best, and honestly, I just got lucky.
The bottom of gorge was nearly indescribable but I’ll try: I
thought of Jurassic World. Though the sun was up, the canopy rose steeply up
1000+ feet on each side at every stage of the climb so the tall pines let only
the smallest amount of bluish light into the forest floor. Everything was the
deepest of green, bordering on black, deadly silent, ancient. It is easy to
image it being 10,000 years ago. The only sounds were the faint trickling of
the creek that was mostly invisible beneath the moss-covered rocks, the labored
breath of the few runners in the section with me, and the constant rattle of
rocks shifting beneath our feet. There was no trail, just an impression of a
direction of one covered in these rocks, roots, and the occasional mossy hole.
The Lost World. The tremendous humidity gave the section a feeling of
stillness, age, and ghostly feel and that lack of sunlight made the air thick
with the wetness and danger of the terrain. It was pretty amazing and one of
the places I look forward to seeing again, despite its difficulty.
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| Pines Outside our Yurt |
Miles 8-17.5:
It was hot. In the high 80s to low 90s. Another couple of
big climbs.
In my training (which was 90% on technical hills- though I
will come redefine my definition of technical) I could power-hike steep hills
in the 20-22min/mile range for extended periods.
What I realized when I looked at my GPS watch in the middle
of this section was that the unstable footing and rocks had obliterated that
pace. It was more like 28min/mile which started to give me a sinking feeling-
that I needed to make up more time on the downhills and flats. Since my
discovery of the same issue with downhills, that left it to flats. I knew I was
going to be hitting my first crew station behind schedule. 30 minutes I guessed
(and was right) but still 1.5hrs ahead of cutoff.
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| Queen and King of the Yurt |
Crew Station #1 – 17.5miles
Blazing hot now, on a short 1/4mi uphill run to the AS
parking lot. I felt good though.
My wife and crew were there, totally organized and ready to
go. I drank, got my bottled refilled, chugged an extra bottle of Gatorade,
changed my drenched shoes and socks, dried my feet, and was off. It was a bit
of a blur to me. Nothing but positive energy, love, and support, but I didn’t
want to stay too long. I knew I was losing time. I remember handing my
sunglasses off and reporting that I wouldn’t need them again. They asked me a
few follow-ups to this and I just remember nodding my head and saying: no. I
don’t need them. Ever.
This is a function of being in race-mode and battling. I had
just come out of 5 hours of complete solitude and struggle up and down that
terrain, and then you’re in an aid station with people. It’s very overwhelming.
I see the look in other runner’s faces so I know it’s in mine too. Kind of
glassy, far-away, distant. Aid stations are like a blast of alternate reality:
like coming out of shock or going into it. I already warned everyone that if
I’m a little less chatty, it should be expected. They handled me just right
though. Perfect.
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| Lea waiting on me hand... |
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| ...and foot. |
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| Bins for Race, Chair for Sitting |
Mile 17.5-24.7 (aka 26.7)
At the 17.5mi crew station, my GPS watch had recorded
17.6mi. I was very pleased with this. It’s reassuring to know that you’re on
track to meet your plans and timing for food and drink- that you’re on course,
and that where you are is exactly as you expect. When you have a variable
distance between aid stations, this is crucial info for food, fluid and heat
management.
So more climbs: Hard back to back ones after the crew
station, and it was getting progressively hotter. My watch told me 100F in some
of the worst sections- variable by cover and humidity.
The next aid station was supposed to be 7.2miles so at 24.7.
I drank my last bit of water at 24.6. When I reached the aid
station 2miles later I was thirsty and hot. The course map was off 2miles in
this section. I was never off course. This is not a complaint, just a fact. 2
miles extra was another 30minutes of running. And it occurred to me, 30 more
minutes out of my cut-off buffer. I would be down to 1hr buffer. Time to get
moving.
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| Winner's Swag |
Miles 26.7 to 36.5 (aka 41.5)
There were two problems. The first was that making up time
is totally possible in very specific sections of a race, but not others. Steep
climbs and downhills made up most of the race, so there weren’t many places to
steal time back. In this section it was one large steady climb for 6 miles.
The second problem was that without notice, my right quad
cramped up completely. It locked and I went to a knee. That didn’t help. I
stopped and tried to massage the cramp away. I’m not a cramper so this was very
unusual. I was successful and moved on. 1/4mile later it cramped again. This pattern
consumed the next chunk of running until I hit the aid station at Happy
Dutchman which was 30.5 on the map by 33.5 on my GPS. More time lost. I hopped
on the scale at the station and saw I was down 6 pounds. That was too much and
I knew it was primarily fluid because I was eating perfectly. (thanks to Boom!
Nutrition for that)
I drank a ton extra, took some salt tabs to help retain a
bit and hoping to help with cramps. I knew I was dehydrated because of urine
flow and color. It had been 3 hours or more since I last went and it was getting
too dark.
From that point, I don’t remember much. Just a few things:
Occasionally I’d dip my hat and neck buff in the cold stream
that was reachable, but the bending would flare the cramp even worse so this
was infrequent.
I saw 12 bears that were only bear-like logs. It’s a
conspiracy of logs and not very nice of them to be so bear-shaped.
I almost stepped on a snake that was curled up on the grass
on a grassy section of a trail transition.
A white-tail deer burst out of the forest to my left, maybe
only 15 feet away. Normally I would have jumped out of my skin. In my running
haze I didn’t even flinch, and just waved and said: “Hey deer.” And my voice
sounded like it was from another person.
I was consistently blasted by the leg cramp that wouldn’t
allow me to lift it much over a few inches from the ground, so I assumed a
shuffle that carried me through the miles. I knew time was a problem, but there
was nothing I could do- and there was never a single moment I considered
quitting. Not one.
I had a few emotional moments on some hills as a dragged my
way up slowly, knowing that each minute of reduced speed meant I was going to
miss the cutoffs ahead. I thought of my wife and crew and imagined how hard it
must be to wait there, watching the time and the runners come through and
wondering where I was and if I was ok. There is absolutely no cell signal
anywhere in the area including our camp ground, so I had no way to let them
know I was still grinding along. I knew they would be there though. By this time
there were almost 5 extra miles on the GPS beyond the course marks, which
translated to about 1:30 in extra running time, which meant with the pace I was
going, cutoff was seemingly imminent.
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| Near the Start |
Mile 36.5 (aka 41.5) Ritchie Road
Sometime a mile or so before Ritchie Road I saw David, my
crew member coming up the trail to look for me. I think Lea was there too.
Honestly I don’t remember. I had been in a long excruciating haze, alternating
form brief bits of running and shuffling through the quad cramping. It had
become mechanical but ugly. Fortunately I had my z-poles and I used them to
keep moving and keep as much weight off the leg as possible. I was relieved to
see David and I could tell he was worried about me and the time- but as always
he was supportive and positive, and we muddled our way into the crew station.
It was pretty empty by this point. I may have been the last
into this one, the cutoffs clipping others behind me or the course making them
drop. Regardless, my eyes welled as I saw the aid station and my wife by the
side of the road clapping and cheering me in. They plopped down a chair, and
began to prep me as fast as possible. I drank, and ate something quickly. I
asked how much time I had to get to the next aid station 4.5miles away. Lea,
told me 1hr. My heart sank. She just said: “Hey, run hard and knock out some
miles.”
I wouldn’t quit. Not here, not anywhere on this course or
this day. David jokingly gave me some mustard packs to eat (funny because of
our recent experience at a Spartan race where a runner misunderstood the idea
of eating mustard to help cramps and was photographed smearing mustard on his leg).
I ate one anyway with a laugh, then jumped out of the chair, waved to them, and
kept going. I was, in fact the last runner permitted through this checkpoint.
It was mile 36.5 but actually 41.5… so much for the buffer. As I passed the aid
station, people cheered. It felt good.
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| Race Loot Pack full of Amazing Things |
Miles 41.5 to 40.9 (aka 46.7)
The last section was 5.2miles, not 4.5. It didn’t much
matter at that point. I ran from the aid station for as long as possible, then
shuffled, then ran again, and repeated.
It was a strange section of the race, characterized by a
major downhill section. But first, everything must go up, so I did. Then into
the deep woods. The sun was setting and I put my headlamp on. In some sections
I needed it, others, the sun still lit the woods. It’s was silent and actually
a little spooky.
Then I made my way down an utterly brutal downhill rock
slide section to the forest floor again. The humidity was high and I pour
sweated, even so close to sunset. As I moved I reflected on the day.
I realized that unlike any race in the past, I never really
had any major down moments that are common in ultras. You have ups and downs in
various lengths and durations: it’s part of what happens when you run 10+ hours
normally. Not today though. It was up mostly, and even with the muscle
problems, I really didn’t get down much. There were moments of disappointment
in those last few miles alone (and I was truly alone as anyone behind me had
either quit or been cut) but that disappointment was mostly for my crew and
pacers who wouldn’t get to join me for the rest of the race.
I reflected on my effort and couldn’t fault myself. I tried
but I knew I had given all I had that day. I wasn’t even pissed about the extra
mileage. It’s part of racing. I’ll know better next time.
During the last mile before the Hyner Aid station I saw
David and Lea coming up the path. It was perhaps the easiest portion of trail I
had all day, but I was still walk-shuffling. Seemed kind of fitting at the end.
They joined me and we made our way out the last bit of the trail to the gravel
road that led to the aid station (this was very unique as 99.9% of the race was
in the woods). When we rounded the last section to the straight away, I saw the
lights in the distance, and a young guy appeared. He was sweeping and picking
up the markers. When he saw me, he dropped back and said: “I won’t pick up
another one until you pass. Great job not giving up.” And he did just that. I
broke into an uncomfortable run and David and Lea joined me, and the young man
did too, picking up the illuminated signs behind us.
I saw my wife in the distant darkness, illuminated by my
headlamp, clapping and cheering. I felt the emotion of it all hit again then
hard. It was over. The end is the beginning is the end. That’s what went
through my mind. We embraced with tears. 46.7 hard earned miles. DNF but never
quit.
In the darkness, Reesa, David, Lea and I sat in the aid
station parking lot for a few minutes, drinking and eating a bit, talking a
little about the day. I was still in woods running mind so a little
disconnected shaky from now not running. 15.5hrs will do that to you. We packed
up and went back to our camp at Little Pine and called it a night.
Important PS:
There was a lot more to the weekend. Enjoying the park,
having my wife with me, camping with a new friends, David and Lea, the yurt,
sitting by the fire, falling asleep in the afternoon shade, getting to know
each other better, being a quite beautiful place with great people. Dinners
together, watching some people finish the 100miler… so many great memories that
are more important than the race itself. The races themselves are only the
obvious things that can bring so many great times together. Thanks again gang,
and to the tremendous race, volunteers and organizers. It was a wild ride and
we’ll be back.
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| Reesa, Lea, David, Me: aka Team NicholBeck |
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| Stinky Wet Fierce Tricksy Muddy Shoes |
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| Wee blisters |
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| Elevation |
