I arrived in Wellsboro and checked into the historic Wells-Penn Hotel. Huge old building that smelled like age and generations. The room was nice and clean and the staff was friendly. They realized that they were hosting a bunch of us maniacs and marveled at what we were about to attempt.
I stopped across the street and picked up my pre-race packet and loot, grabbed a sub from subway and spent a quiet evening in my room. I packed and unpacked my gear. Too heavy and cut ½ of it out. I figured comfort needed to win at that distance.
Slept fitfully as usual. Breakfast across the street at an old school diner: pancakes and bacon and coffee. Perfect carb and calorie count (I hoped).
To the race. Same starting point as the GMC 25K I did last October. Beautiful place nestled in the Tioga state forest.
9am start time.
Off I went, prepared as I could be. I knew my main issue would be food. I have a hard time in the long races keeping enough fuel on board. I figured a gel every 5 miles and something more substantial every 10 miles. So was the plan.
Gorgeous trail pacing the Pine Creek. Crushed stone and pretty flat… downhill on the first half of the race… 32 miles, then back.
15 miles in and felt pretty good. My legs were sore though… stiff and now I had hit my normal long distance run. I haven’t done anything over 15 since the 50K in April.
At this point I was on around 10min miles. I had to keep checking myself though when my pace increased as I knew I would pay for it later for sure.
Near 20 miles, the sun started kicking my ass a bit. The enormity started settling in a bit. I tried to keep the scope small, thinking only about 5 miles sections. My mind would drift off for long stretches, imagining the turn-around and what it would look like and how it would feel. I tried to push those thoughts away as best as I could.
Around 20 miles I hit a rest stop and chatted briefly with another runner, Gordon. He’d completed a 50 miler before and we started running together.
After we agreed that I wasn’t slowing him down and he wasn’t slowing me down, we settled in on a pace together. We didn’t initially discuss it, but thought that we should do 11-12 pace and we’d be ok.
As we found out, the race was about 2 miles longer than expected. Approaching the turnaround, we kept expecting to see the place but it seemed forever out of reach. The last 8 miles to the turnaround were some of the longest ones I’ve run.
We stopped at all rest-stops. I choked down a gel, a cliff bar, some cookies, whatever I could. It got more difficult each time and was a real effort. Filling up the camelbak was time-consuming but I had no choice… I needed to drink 1.5 liters each interval. That was hard too, but Gordon kept reminding me. He had 2 bottles on his chest and emptied these each section.
I took salt caps nearly every aid station and 1 ibuprofen every 2 sections.
I peed once at about 10 miles in and only one other time at about mile 50. I knew I was dehydrated, but the only thing I could do is keep drinking as much as I could.
My feet eventually got VERY sore. The stone took a toll for sure.
I didn’t feel blisters but I was pretty sure I had one or two. All in all not bad.
We hit 40 miles and both of us felt a bit of a lift. We ended up running around 9 hours together. Crazy thing for strangers to do, but comfortable too. We talked about our lives, running, family, not much religion or politics though. He was an attorney from Baton Rouge. We got along great.
There’d be long stretches of silence. Only the rhythmic sound of 4 foot-falls on the stone and the creek to our left on the way back. We’d check in with each other regularly. At points we’d power-walk and take a few seconds to stretch as the miles took their toll.
It became our survival system and way to get through the grind.
The last 15 miles were, without a doubt, the toughest. At that point, my body was pretty broken down and my feet were moving on their own, powered only by habit and inertia.
Two aid stations left in that stretch. One at 12 miles remaining and one at 4.
Night had fallen and we donned our headlamps. The forest was impossibly still and pitch black. Without light you could imagine how easy it would be to just give up.
It rained for an hour on us. Nothing heavy. Just a slow drizzle to make the feet wet and uncomfortable.
At the 12 miles to go mark I filled up my camelbak again, choked down a gel and some fun sized twix bars, then got the feet moving again.
The 8 miles after that were the worse for sure. I imaged the aid station, saw lights that didn’t exist. We hadn’t seen any other runners since the turn around. We figured less than 10 people in front of us, which surprised both of us.
Mentally, this was the real gut check. The darkest place for sure. We checked in with each other more often… took more stretch/power-walk breaks to try to stay loose. Long-sleeve shirts went on too. The drizzle finally subsided.
In the darkness the forest is so different. You end up weaving some, transfixed by the pattern of your light on the path. A couple of times we bumped into each other.
When we saw the light of the final aid station, we both agreed it wasn’t a mirage.
We heard the volunteers ring the bells announcing out arrival and it couldn’t have been more welcome.
Only 4 miles left. A quick drink, and off we went for the last stretch.
They were tough miles. I thought maybe the final bit would be easier, but they weren’t. They hurt more than any of them.
Another light in the distance and we were disappointed to realize it wasn’t the final turn. Still another 2 miles.
Then, gratefully, the left turn onto the road, out of the forest, up to the finish. We crossed the line together, 12hrs, 58min, 30seconds. 8th and 9th place overall I found out later… 3rdand 4th in our age groups. Crazy.
They had a wonderful tent set up with hot food and drinks, but I never can eat after a race. I gulped down a liter of Gatorade, thanked the crew and my running partner and headed back to the hotel as fast as I could before the pain and soreness really hit. Too late though.
Only injuries were 2 blisters, but some chafing, and some nasty pressure sores on my back from my camelback. The latter were the most uncomfortable and I had a terrible sleep before the 4hr drive home the next morning.
The race itself hasn’t really sunk in yet. 64 miles. 13 hours of running. Almost 2.5 consecutive marathons.
I’m satisfied with my performance though. It was tougher than I thought it would be for sure, but I never doubted I’d finish.
The Physical:
1- I packed up my race gear Friday night and tried it on, fully loaded. My camelbak-pack and my waist pouch. WAY too heavy and bouncy. I cut half of the gear, most of which was really non-essential security blanket kind of stuff: rain poncho, extra socks, extra food, stuff like that. GONE.
2- I heavily lubed by feet with “Body Lube”: a product highly recommended to me by other ultra-runners to reduce (notice I didn’t say eliminate) blisters and chafing. My first mistake was here. Although I put plenty on my feet and near my shoulders where the straps would be, I neglected my inner thighs and private areas. Cough. Taint. (sorry)
3- Shoes I used were my road shoes: Pureflo . Probably only 100 miles on them and always my most comfortable pair. That was a good call.
4- Compression socks. No issues with those either.
5- Under armor compression shorts. Also a minor error there as I grabbed the slightly more worn ones. Ok. Not a minor error at all.
The outcome: (damage)
Feet bruised from the pounding of 64 miles. Still hurts to walk 6 days later. Only 2 blisters that I really didn’t notice until the 50 miles mark but never factored in. That was all upside.
Downside: The compression shorts were a little worn in the crotch area, so not perfectly smooth like the rest of the shorts. Before half-way they started chafing a couple of spots and were a constant source of annoyance and repositioning the whole race practically. Left some lacerations and nasty welts in very uncomfortable places.
Now the unexpected: the pack I wore was very comfortable for the most part and has a foam cushioning between my pack and the gear. Over time though… the constant movement started wearing and basically created 3 or 4 very large pressure sores on my back that bled in the last 15 miles. Irritated by the constantly wet and sweaty compression shirt, they were really uncomfortable in that last 15 to 20 and stung the whole time. No danger of falling asleep though! Ha! The compression shirt itself was perfect. No chafing on its own. A couple of minor lacerations near each shoulder just from the pack movement.
Now, 3 days later: calves are great. Quads great. Never a problem with either. My left (non-repaired) Achilles is sore from over compensation I guess. Abs and back are back to normal. They just got a bit sore. My feet are the only real lingering ailment. Bruised and sore. I find walking on my tiptoes most comfortable. Not totally practical unless you want to be institutionalized though.
Now I have some lessons anyway for next time. Gear-wise I’m going to go half again… I didn’t need the stuff. The headlamp probably was the only thing that would have been nice to have waiting at a drop zone. Carrying all that stuff does wear you down, but I was happy to be in the state I was considering I had no frame of reference for such a distance.
The Mental:
Now some days of reflection on this subject. How much of the race was mental? Maybe 75%.
Much of my attention was focused on three things: food, water, and pace.
Pace was at the forefront in the beginning as everything I read informed me that whatever pace I started at was too fast. I held a 10 min mile pace as my target and that held until mile 15 or 20. It slowed a bit as the sun pounded.
The scenery was beautiful and I daydreamed a lot in that section. The trail ran parallel to the Pine Creek the entire way. Sometimes it was utterly still, other times rapids.
As the race progressed I focused more on how far to aid stations and fuelling. This became more and more crucial the further I went.
It was a great mental relief to hit the turnaround that happened at 32 miles instead of the 30.8 theoretical. Those last few to that point were really tough, waiting for that air station to appear.
The next 10-15 miles were an upswing simply because of the lift from knowing I was on the way back, and making good time. Mile 45 was really the turning point where the race shifted heavily into the mental aspect. A slow drizzle, a continued incline until the end, and some large gaps between aid stations were all part of this.
Looking back I wonder: what did I think about? It’s hard to say. Sometimes a song stuck in my head for an hour, sometimes my mind floated around on the surroundings. It’s a blur. Often I counted steps, checked my pace, stopped for a quick stretch, focused on water consumption. I drifted from one thing to another a lot, never really staying anywhere too long.
Night fell and I had my first experience running with a headlamp. The forest was incredibly dark, and the lamp lit up only a small section ahead of me, downward so I didn’t step on the many frogs that appeared at sunset.
Now the long views ahead were gone, and it was a seemingly endless journey into nowhere. Nothing was now a familiar touchstone. My mind clung mostly to the estimates until next aid stations. Only a couple more hours. HOURS my mind would say back. So crazy.
Then more rain.
The aid stations appear like an oasis. A distant light. My eyes played tricks on me from time to time and my mind disappeared entirely for sections and I just reminded myself to grind it out and keep moving: that slowing too much just meant longer before an aid station.
The last 12 miles were the toughest by far. I knew it was 8 until the second last station then 4 to the finish. I was spent at this time and just kept drinking as much as I could, knowing I had only peed twice and was dehydrated somewhat.
As I approached the last aid station at the 4 mile out mark, I had a great mental relief: Almost there. Hearing the volunteers ring the bell upon seeing my approach because of the headlamp was so welcome.
And then the last push out of the wilderness now dotted by a few far-off houses and their warm lights.
Then the finish and the cheers of the faithful race organizers as I crossed.
So the mental: did I ever question if I would finish? No.
Did I want to quit? Plenty of times, but I was relieved because I knew I wouldn’t. One of the great motivators for pace in the second half of the race was the realization of actually how long I’d be out there if I sacrificed a reasonable pace for walking. I wanted to be done.
5 Days later at the race seems like a dream. It’s truly unreal. It’s hard to explain what it feels like unless you’ve been there, when you measure small rests by hours and the physical discomforts are just irrelevant in mental way. I’m glad I did it. It was truly the first race that really tested my capabilities. I look forward now to the next one at a longer distance. I think. Maybe ask me in a few weeks about that.
I’ve come a long way since being unable to run 5 minutes on the treadmill...
