Eastern States 100mi – Waterville, PA, Aug 15,2015

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Lea waiting on me hand...

...and foot.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Reesa, Lea, David, Me: aka Team NicholBeck

Stinky Wet Fierce Tricksy Muddy Shoes

Wee blisters

Elevation

PPS: I think the final race total was 57/200 people finished under the time cutoffs.