Ginkwunk Log

Events: Stone Cat 50 Mile Trail Race November 6, 2010 Middlesex Fells Trail Race December 4, 2010 AMC Mountaineering Committee Ice Program Winter 2011 AMC Mountaineering Committee Rock Program Spring 2011 Pictures: Album Running Data: 2010 2009 2008

Fri, 23 Jul 2010 100 Miles in 29 Hours Sorry, this post is incredibly long, but so is the race it describes. For months I had been hoping to run the Vermont 100 Endurance Run this past weekend. Having done better than I expected at the Stone Cat 50 Mile Trail Race in November on very low training mileage, I had been thinking that low training miles might work for me in a 100 mile race. After all, we don't run better from training, we run better from recovering from training. I ran only a few long runs, none was over 22 miles. I added a little speed work and way too little hill running. Vermont is all about hills. The total elevation gained and lost is about 14,000 feet, greater than that from Met. Everest Base Camp to the summit and back. My mountaineering friends will, of course, insist that this is misleading because it does not take into account absolute altitude, weather, technical difficulty etc. To which I reply, 'Sh! I'm trying to be misleading here.' I packed light: tent, sleeping pad, and one 3000 cubic inch backpack with a homemade camp stove, denatured alcohol, coffee, oatmeal, 2 pairs of running shoes, 4 water bottles, a change of clothes, hydration pack, and various other bits an pieces. As it turned out this was on the extremely low side as far as gear goes for a 100 mile race. Most 100 mile runners had a crew that drove between the aid stations to assist with gear, hydration and food as well as a pacer to run with through the night after the second time through the Camp 10 Bear aid station at mile 70. I planned to do without pacer or crew. This may have been a mistake. I was planning to run with friends, Steve Latour and Kevin Zelechoski, as well as Julie O'Mara, who ran in the same circle of friends but who I did not yet know. They all came with significant crew. Julie was supported by her husband and children at the aid stations while another runner I did not know planned to pace her from Camp 10 Bear at mile 70. Steve was supported by Chris Martin and Christine Matthieu, who I met on Friday. Chris ran with Steve the last 30 miles from Camp 10 Bear. Kevin would be paced by our friends Michelle Roy and Emily Trespas from Camp 10 Bear and Bill's (mile 88) respectively. Kevin was also accompanied by his excellent friends, Bill Howard and Kim who I met at the race. Bill was kind enough to offer me a ride from Chelsea on his way to pick up Kevin in Boston. My small pile of gear turned out to be fortunate since Kevin's pretty much filled the car. Bill drove us up to the starting area at Silver Hill Meadow in Brownsville, Vermont, and we pitched tents in a hurry. The forecast was for rain that afternoon and then clearing for the 4 am start, with maximum temperatures around 86 and scattered afternoon thunderstorms during the race. Fortunately the storms never came, and we enjoyed a comfortable registration, weigh-in, pre-race briefing, dinner, and sleep. This is the first race I have ever entered that required a weigh-in as protection from dehydration. It is common in 100 mile races for medical personnel to withdraw runners who lose 7% of their body weight during a race. We were weighed again at miles 47, 70, and 88. I got to meet Chris, Christine and Julie Friday night and we all chatted outside the tents for a few hours along with members of the Trail Animals Running Club as the sun went down over the hills. I knew I needed all the sleep I could get and was the first to head off to bed. I was up at 2 am making espresso and oatmeal on the homemade stove, which I understand annoyed Sherpa John Lacroix who was trying to sleep nearby. At 3 the music fom 'Chariots of Fire' began to drift up from the registration tent. The music grew louder as the 4 am start approached. Runners drifted down from the tents for a final check-in and massed under the starting banner. At 4 we were off; around 260 runners reduced to bobbing headlamps and jostling feet. Although the four of us had planned to run together, Julie and Kevin were off at a faster pace than Steve and I wanted to start. We would not see them again for hours. Steve and I had not seen much of each other for a while and chatted happily for the next few hours intermittently drawing Terry from North Carolina into our conversation for the first 10 miles or so. We ran into Terry the next day and heard that like 45% of the starters he had dropped at some point along the way. It was a pleasure running with you, Terry. Like many 100 mile races, the Vermont 100 began as a horse endurance race. Unlike most, it still has a horse category. Since my daughter is such an avid horsewoman, I spent some of Friday night talking to riders about what endurance riding is all about. Like us, they don't run all out all the way through. They 'trot when we can, walk when we have to, and canter when the horse is willing.' It was a huge pleasure to get a glimpse into this world. The horses start at 5 am, an hour after the runners. Within about an hour the leaders among the horses are passing the main pack of runners. We were passed at a canter by almost all riders within the first 15 miles. At the first aid station accessible to handlers (Pretty House), Steve and I stopped for a minute to grab a drink and a bite to eat. I was roundly berated by an aid station volunteer for not drinking enough fluid. We waited while she watched me down two cups of water. Somewhere between mile 23 and mile 25 Steve's illiotibial band, a long piece of connective tissue between the pelvis and knee that is critical for maintaining a standing position began to give Steve problems, particularly on the downhills. After leapfrogging with Steve a few times, it was clear that he needed help from his handlers, who he would see at mile 30. I continued alone. At mile 25 an unmanned aid station had run out of water. I filled up with Heed and pressed on. Soon I caught up with Kevin and Julie. They were suffering from lack of water, and were drinking from a spring and joking about giardia and antibiotics. I kept going. I later heard (at mile 88) that Julie had dropped; at the finish line I got the troubling news that she had gone to the hospital. By the post-race barbeque she was up and about, and now a week later she is feling better. At mile 30 I reached the Stage Road aid station. I filled in Kevin and Steve's crews about what was going on with their runners, and bless them, they treated me as their own. Christine filled my water bottles; she even added ice. I was feeling good and was on a pace to finish in under 24 hours. The hottest part of the day was coming, and the temperature eventually reached 91 degrees. I had taken off my shirt to stay cool and was beginning to pass other runners. When I came into Camp 10 Bear at mile 47, my weight was down 3% of my starting body weight, and this earned my a stern warning from the medical personnel about dehydration. I drank up, grabbed a bite and headed out. I had planned to change shoes here, but my feet felt fine. This was the first aid station where I saw cots. Many were occupied. I still felt great so I plowed ahead. I began to see runners on the ground at the side of the road waiting to be picked up by emergency vehicles. The heat was brutal. Around mile 50 I began running with Adam from Lebanon New Hampshire, but formerly of Johnson City, Tennessee, right next to my family's ancestral home, Elizabethton. We talked about hikes in the White Mountains and unsanitary aid stations ('You spread Vaseline all over your balls and ass with your hand and then dip right into the M&M's' -- for the record, I didn't use the Vaseline) while driving up a brutal single track climb. I felt ready to run the next downhill and left Adam until he caught up with me in the middle of the night. View Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run (First Half), July 17-18, 2010 in a larger map I descended into the Tracer Brook aid station at mile 56 feeling like the king of the world. I was on pace to finish in 24 hours; my body felt great; and I was more than half way done. The race director for the Stone Cat Trail Races (Gill, I think) was volunteering at Tracer Brook, and was really excited to see me changing into a shirt from his race, my only other ultramarathon thus far. He asked me where I was from, and at his instigation a cheer went up for Chelsea. For the rest of the race as he drove from station to station he always cheered me on calling me 'Stone Cat.' Although I was ahead of schedule, I had my nighttime gear on now and had a phone. I texted my wife and daughter that I was doing well. Their messages the next morning were a great comfort. Leaving Tracer Book, the course climbed yet another brutal hill. The battery on my GPS died. The map above reflects the race up to this point. Click 'terrain' to see the hills. I now found that I 'had no legs,' in other words my legs were largely refusing to run. I stopped at a stream in a small hollow. I stretched. Two runners passed me. I had not been passed for hours. I realized that in the condition my legs were in, I had lost my time goal of finishing in 24 hours. It would now be a matter of struggling to reach the finish within the 30 hour cutoff. I pushed ahead slowly. Eventually I fell in with Tony from New Jersey running his 3rd 100 mile race. Tony was having a tough time, too. He had thrown up a few miles before and was dehydrated. Having ended his last 100 mile attempt dehydrated and on IV fluids, he was bent on finishing in good time. We each tried to run occasionally, but mostly walked as briskly as we could. Tony peed by the side of the road and grew concerned that he might have blood in his urine. Tony asked me for a second opinion. I know of no other environment where a total stranger is likely to ask you to examine their urine for blood. I came to the conclusion that he was merely very dehydrated. Eventually I was able to run along a bit, and did not see Tony again until the middle of the night. At almost exacly 9 pm I reached Camp 10 Bear for the second time (mile 70). I weighed in at 186, just about right, changed shoes and socks, and moved out. This is the point where most runners pick up pacers. The sun was now down; I turned on my lights and found myself very much alone. I pushed along as best I could following the green glow sticks that marked the course at night. At some point along here I found an unmanned aid station. My hamstrings were sore so I laid down and put my feet on the table. Another runner and his pacer came through and examined the aid station fare: water, Heed, M&M's, and a pair of feet!? They asked me if I wanted them to send someone back for me. I told them I was fine, got up and staggered along. I dragged my weary body into the Westwinds aid station at mile 77. I laid down again and talked to Terry from Corning, New York. I thought wistfully of the joys of glass blowing. Terry had run Wasatch before, but was having a tough time. We agreed to stagger on together. He waited briefly for his friend to bring a shirt. While waiting he decided to drop, and I continued along alone. Son after this Adam and Tony caught me again. Tony passed me, but Adam eventually dropped. I stumbled on alone. I was exhausted and began to hallucinate. I saw all kinds of wonderful creatures in the light of my headlamp, the most spectacular being a 30 foot albino peacock. I was in pain, and for every ten steps I took forward, I weaved five or six steps sideways. I determined to stagger along to Bill's aid station and sleep 20 minutes there, get a cup of coffee; and if that did not help, I would drop. Around 4 am a runner and his pacer passed me. I greeted them and said I thought we were close to Bill's. The pacer said I was wrong by about 2.5 miles, a totally demoralizing idea. The next thing I knew, a volunteer was directing us to Bill's. Fucking Tool Pacer! At Stone Cat Emily had recognized me fom the bob my gait gave to my headlamp. This time I was ten feet from her when she saw who I was and asked, "What do you need?" "20 minutes' sleep and a cup of coffee." She directed me to a cot and covered my eyes with a stuff sack. Bill and Christine were also at Bill's aid station. Emily woke me up at dawn, Christine gave me a cup full of potato salad, and the race director from Stone Cat barked, "Stone Cat, get going!" and I staggered to my feet. The brief sleep, new sunlight, and potatoes worked their wonders, and I was ready to move again. The last 12 miles, while technically easy, took me forever (nearly 4 hours) in my Dead Man Walking state. By now I knew I would finish within the cutoff, and the race became a simple matter of tolerating pain. I was passed by a few runners still capable of actually running, but I didn't care. As I reached the finish line a cheer went up. Emily, Bill and Kim were there, meaning that Kevin and Steve were close behind me. They found me a chair where I sat dazed with a finisher's medal around my neck. Soon Steve and then Kevin finished. I got up to find a place where I would have reception to text my family, but the severe head spin that followed sent Emily, Bill, and Kim into action to bring a chair into my collapsing range. Sadly this did not work out, and I slid alongside the chair onto the ground. Emily, and either Bill or Kim (I'm quite hazy on this) helped me to a Red Cross cot where I rested for a few minutes while other people discussed IV fluids. Within a half hour I was able to pack up my tent and backpack and put them in Bill's car. He had also had very little sleep the night before. After the awards ceremony and barbeque, Bill stopped for coffee in Lebanon, New Hampshire. I stayed in the car with the windows rolled down like a dog. I must have fallen asleep, because I don't remember Bill returning. The next thing I knew he was waking me up in front of my house in Chelsea, and my wife and daughter were unloading my stuff as I tried to bend my knees. 45% of this years runners dropped in the high heat and humidity. These included my friends and companions Julie, Terry, and Adam along with many others. Tony ended up beating me by 24 minutes dehydration and all. Steve not only ran with ITB problems, he developed blisters that Christine treated in a delicate trailside surgery involving duct tape at mile 88 while Steve slept soon after she handed me my potatoes. These blisters later resulted in an emergency room visit. Kevin, too struggled through his own Odyssey to reach the finish. [/streph] permanent link