With my chest pressed firmly against the warm rock and my
arms spread wide… I somehow managed to yell back to Kyle.
“Not really sure yet. Hold on.”
Although the tips of my fingers clutched tightly to the
alpine rock… my body was relaxed and my breathing remained calm and steady. I
took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and committed to the move. I safely made it
to my destined rock and smirked to myself. I shouted over to Kyle across the
jagged rocks…
“Yea buddy… I’m good.”
I stood in silence at 14,000ft soaking in the moment.
Usually these transient moments are the ones you recognize in hindsight… but I
was completely and utterly aware that this particular moment was special. I was a happy
Sisyphus.
pic: Stichtenoth
When I first started trail running in 2009… I actually had
no idea what the hell I wanted from the sport. I simply had an overwhelming
desire to get outside, move and explore the world’s landscape in the
simplest form possible. For me
personally… nothing has ever really been about the “prize.” I didn’t play
college baseball to win a championship in the same way I didn’t set out to run
trails to stand on a podium or even compete in races. My All-American and Hall
of Fame plaques are somewhere tucked in a closet while there’s a beat up shoe
box under one of our guest beds that houses every buckle, medal and finisher
award I’ve ever received from past running events. Even though I didn’t
completely know what fueled my desire to run trails in the beginning… over the years I have found that to have a
real, raw, unfiltered, pure experience has ALWAYSbeen the driving force behind all of my trail running and life
adventures.
Over the course of my short 7yrs of trail running… I can
count 4 distinct instances in which have touched or lit a fire within my soul.
Out of these 4 adventures… I was only actually involved in 2.
1: The Magazine
It is common practice in the Andrews household to set out on
a “store hopping” adventure. Occasionally we will set out to town, grab some
slightly-less- than-nutritious but oh-so-delicious food from our favorite fast
food establishment and proceed to binge-bounce from store to store. We rarely
walk away with anything more than a good conversation and a cup of coffee, but
it is always some of the most fun and relaxing times we get to spend together.
One of our favorite places to hit is Books-A-Million. Kati will usually venture
into the land of the paperbacks while I head straight to the magazines to drool
over beautiful pictures of alpine running and mountain cabins.
On a late summer
evening back in 2013… we set out on a “store hop” and ended up at
Books-A-Million. As I thumbed aimlessly through glossy pages… an article with
the big bold words “Drunk on cheap bourbon” caught my eye. In a nutshell… the
article was about 2 ultra-endurance personas that would do a yearly adventure
together.
“An event without
sponsors, entrance fees, support tents or bumper stickers. No finishing medals.
No belt buckles. As far as fans, your wife, if she’s bothered to stay awake,
might meet you at the finish line… which is your doorstep.”
The more I read, the more I became intrigued. By the end of
the article my head was spinning with all kinds of crazy, exciting
possibilities for adventure. Up to that
point in my trail running life… I had only known about races. But this simple
article about 2 guys fabricating their own adventure and making their own rules
wasEXACTLYwhat I was looking for out of trail running. Real, raw, unfiltered, pure
experiences without the worldly external validation. Thanks Brock and Sam. The magazine sits on my nightstand and I STILL read that article almost weekly.
2: Pitchell
A few months after reading the magazine article… I found
myself in the midst of a 69 mile fun run… sleep deprived riding a stick horse
at 3am somewhere in the middle of the Western North Carolina mountains.
Pitchell is a self-supported fun run that starts on a Friday
night at midnight and runs from Mt Pisgah summit to Mount Mitchell summit. It’s
a hard, super low-key, grass roots and a pure adventure that is more or less an
“invite only” type of run (but of course you could go out and run the route any
time you wanted).
To this day… finishing Pitchell is the single most defining
moment of my trail running life. I can still vividly recall almost every single
detail of that entire weekend: the strong smell of fresh, bold coffee after
waking up on a coach in Atlanta early Friday morning... the run up Rabun Bald to
break up the long drive to Asheville... sitting on a familiar stranger’s living
room floor eating pizza, drinking beer and listening to a kindred soul strum
the guitar while waiting our midnight run departure. I remember the excitement
in Erin’s voice as the clock struck midnight on Mt Pisgah... the nervousness in
her voice as we stumbled through blinding fog in search of a white blaze... and
the disappointment in her voice when she made the decision to bail at the
halfway mark because of the ankle she destroyed as the sun was rising. I
remember the cool, crisp October breeze flowing through the bright colored
autumn trees and even the moment I decided to wander off the trail to kick a
stump just to prove to my delirious mind that it was not seeing a monkey. (it was not a monkey... it turned out to be a stump).
But the moments I remember the clearest are the ones that
came at the end. After 18hrs48mins I reached the summit of Mt. Mitchell. There
was no finishers chute, no one there to hand me a buckle or a medal… hell there
wasn’t even a view! I was engulfed in a grey cloud, shivering from cold windy
gusts.
The only “prize” I received was a “great job” and a huge bear hug from the mastermind behind Pitchell. This run SOLIDIFIED the type of trail running and adventure that truly spoke
to my soul. Thanks for the real, raw, unfiltered, pure experience Mad A.
3: The Crown Traverse
TheMOMENTMike Foote and Mike Wolfe
announced their intentions surrounding the Crown Traverse I became glued to every
social media/website that would be updating their progress. Because of their
pure love and passion for all sorts of different mountain adventures… I’ve been
a massive fan of the Mike’s for years. I feel as though I shouldn’t have to
explain why their Crown Traverse moved me… just watch... you'll understand.
Real, raw, unfiltered, pure experience.
4: El Diente
Way back in February… a few hours before registration opened
for the Telluride Mountain Run… I had sent Kyle a text message. I can’t
remember exactly what the text said but it was something along the lines of:
Zach: “Hey dude… there’s this low-key race out in Telluride
later this summer. It’s 38ish miles, has about 14,000ft of vertical gain, is
super minimal and is supposed to be gorgeous…”
Kyle: “I’m in if you are.”
It literally was that simple.
On paper... the Telluride Mountain Run seemed like it was
right up my alley. It was described as being hard, minimal (only aid was at
mile 16, 26 and 31) and beautiful. It did not disappoint in ANY aspect!
We crossed alpine mountain passes along rocky single track…
pic: Stichtenoth
Scurried through beautiful fields of wild flowers…
pic:@ryanconnelly_
Attempted to ski down the snowfield at 13,000ft and followed
pink flags and rock cairns…
pic: Stichtenoth
pic: Stichtenoth
Ran old mining roads passed mining ruins…
pic: Stichtenoth
Crossed cold creeks…
pic: Stichtenoth
Meandered through thick PNW-style forests as well as hauntingly beautiful aspens...
pic:@runningmoss
Switched backed our way downwards past Bridal Veil Falls…
It was simply spectacular. Although I strained my achilles
during the first 4,000ft climb and didn't have the race I had intended… I still had a solid race and soaked in errrrything the San Juans had to offer. TMR has officially
gone down as my all-time, hands-down favorite race. If I could race one race
for the rest of my life… TMR would be it. No joke. Thanks Dakota.
pic: Stichtenoth
The morning after TMR… I zipped up my Thermoball jacket and
stumbled out of our borrowed tent into the cool, thin Colorado air. I walked
around our camp at 9,200ft trying to work out the stiffness from the 40 challenging mountain miles
the day before.
We packed up our rental and headed out of Telluride.
And made
our way to the Kikpacker trailhead.
We ran/hiked through fields as we enjoyed the cooler
temperatures and blue skies…
Soon we were well above tree line and hiking along loose
rock.
pic: Stichtenoth
Neither of us had ever summited a 14er before so we wanted to
make our first summit special by attempting one of Colorado’s 4 Grand
Traverses: the adventurous El Diente – Mt Wilson Traverse. We had planned to hit El Diente first and then
follow the ridge over to Mt Wilson.
Since we did not have helmets… we took 2 separate paths once
we started to climb so that neither of us would take a loose rock to the head.
pic: Stichtenoth
We separated pretty quickly as we climbed.
pic: Stichtenoth
I took a route that veered off to the right around a few
sharp ledges that eventually placed me on top of the ridge line.
Kyle: “So yea… some of this next section is pretty sketchy…”
After making a few sketchy (but somewhat safe) moves on the route
that Kyle had taken… I decided to drop back down to the actual trail and meet back up
with Kyle for the final push to the summit of El Diente. The summit did
not disappoint…
Darkening clouds on the horizon resulted in the unanimous decision
to nix the traverse and make the descent back to the car.
We knew we had made the right decision when loud thunder
rolled through the valley…
pic: Stichtenoth
WeREALLY knew we
had made the right decision when we started getting pummeled with hail!
pic: Stichtenoth
Thanks for the real, raw, unfiltered, pure experience Telluride.
pic: Stichtenoth
These are the 4 adventures that have shaped my mountain mindset.
My ultimate goal is not to train to run faster than anyone
else or to collect a bunch of hardware. I don’t take a lot of pictures and post
on social media to receive external validation. I train so that I can
experience the majesty of the mountains in the purest and simplest way
possible. I take and post pictures so that I can recall the way certain outings/days/adventures/people
made me feel and to show the beauty of the world in which we live through my perspective.
There's no right or wrong way to do these adventures. Everyone has their own way, rhyme and reason for being out on the trail. Some people love the race scene... some people do it for the "bling"... some people love the online/social media aspect... and some people just want to be a part of the amazingly supportive trail community. Whether it be a one mile fun run or a 100 mile race... as long as you are being 100% true to yourself and real... you've got my full support.
But as for me... I just want that exhausted, used up, euphoric feeling you get after a long day of moving through rugged terrain under your own power. Real, raw, unfiltered, pure experiences with real, genuine people. That's really all I want. And maybe a good colbeer. ;)
pic: Silversnatch
"There's a lack of realness in our reality
now. Every experience is manufactured, filtered and produced... which is why so
many of us are finding such catharsis in the mountains. Mountains aren’t
anything but real… they can’t be anything but real." - Famous J
If you didn’t sing the top line… shame on you. If you don’t
know who Coolio is… I’ll be accepting your apology in the form of candy or a
106 word essay. Either is fine… candy is preferred. And before some Keyboard
Warrior (still one of my favorite words Dan) bravely scolds me from behind
their screen… I am well aware that Coolio said “West Coast” and not “Beast
Coast.” Beast Coast is simply a term
used by East Ultra that references the gnar gnar that we run and call home.
One of the races I had my heart set on last year was the
Cruel Jewel 100 but an injury kept me from the starting line of CJ as well as
Fat Dog 120. But thanks to the ongoing support and amazing work I’ve received
from Dr. Beau and Dr. Sloan of the FARM… I've been running and moving well since last summer! Nothing
creates more confidence than heading into a race healthy and injury free.
The North Georgia Mountains have a certain mystic around
them that draws me in. They always provide such a humbling experience which
usually involves equal parts of fun and
suffering. And it doesn’t help that I have a soft spot in my heart for Cruel
Jewel. I was a part of the inaugural running of the 56 miler when it was a bare
bones, no frills, race director drew a line in the gravel and said “Go!” kind
of race…
(Pic By: Jason Green)
It was one of my first longer efforts and somehow walked
away with 1st overall.
(Pic by: Chuck Ellison)
Hell… I’ve even got the crown on my back…
I had a few motives
running Cruel Jewel this time around:
It's one of the hardest, most gnarliest races on the East Coast and probably the country
I needed to renew my Hardrock qualifier
Cruel Jewel is about as cruel as they come. 106 miles with
33,213ft of gain and 33,213ft of descent is no laughing matter… that’s why I
brought along 2 very serious individuals to help crew and pace me: John Gregg (OJG) and Matt Denton (Silversnatch)
The Thursday before Cruel Jewel… I picked up OJG at the
airport… even made him a sign...
It worked out where he had been in Florida on business and
we could ride up to his cabin together. Someone had been mentioning Taco Bell
on a text message chain so we made a quick stop before we hit the road. Joel(2.0) had created a bad ass tshirt design for our adventure…
We immediately changed into our Team DG2Fs shirts so we
could get a picture in front of the Taco Bell sign (fun fact: Taco Bell is
2.0’s favorite restaurant).
OJG: “Mam. Will you take a quick picture of me and my friend in front
of the counter?”
Cashier: “Ummmm. I don’t think I can do that.”
OJG: “We just really want a picture together in our shirts. It’s for a
scavenger hunt.”
Cashier: “I’d have to ask my manager.”
OJG: “No no no no no. Don’t do that. I just need you to take a
picture.”
Cashier: “Oh. Yea I can do that.”
After we placed our order OJG looked over to me…
“Did I accidently ask her to split a molecule or something?”
Oh this trip was going to be so much fun. We laughed and
carried on all the way to his cabin tucked away in the Nantahala. OJG’s wife
(Katie) had BBQ waiting on us when we arrived and we all sat out on the deck
drinking colbeer and talking. Some of Katie’s family were coming up for a long
weekend so we stayed up drinking until they arrived.
Thankfully Cruel Jewel 100 didn’t have one of those God
forsaken 4am start times. CJ starts at noon and OJG’s cabin was roughly 1hr15mins
drive to the starting line at Vogel, so I casually woke up at 7am and started
moving about the cabin. Katie had made oatmeal for breakfast and we all sat
outside and enjoyed a lovely morning chat over coffee.
With the help of Rory… I did a quick gear check. She
checked, rechecked and checked a 3rd time to make sure my soft
flasks were working properly. Finally she was satisfied with her inspection and
gave me her stamp of approval. And I thought TSA was tough…
We finally got out the door around 930am. We figured getting
to the park around 1045am would be plenty of time to pick up my
packet/bib/SPOT, get all my stuff ready and chit chat with some runners for a
bit. Well… we ended up having some issues at the pump at one of the gas
stations, picked up a hitchhiker who was thru hiking the AT, dropped him off
and then we decided to stop for a bathroom and coffee break at a coffee shop in
Blairsville. We finally arrived at Vogel at 11:20am and was greeted with a big
hug from Silversnatch. I got my feet lubed up, said good morning to the
legendary Bradford Poppins and chatted briefly with some of my local Bham peeps
(Sachiko and Jessica who were here crewing/pacing Jonathon.).
“GANGSTA!!!”
I heard Ashley (the Godfather of the Trailgangstas and
creator of East Ultra) yell across the parking lot. We communicate back and
forth regularly but it was great seeing her. I hadn’t actually seen her since Grindstone 100! We chatted
and joked a bit as we waited for the race to start.
**if you get a chance, go read her recap of her Cruel Jewel
experience!!!!**
Leading up to the race I was asked “What’s your goal for CJ?
To finish before *insert whoever’s name*?”
UGH. I loathe this and I’m sure my face showed it.
Everything is NOT a competition. I love this sport because it is an
opportunity for me to challenge myself. For me to push MY limits. For me to
better MYself. I literally want to see every single person achieve and blow
past the goal that they have established and worked so hard to accomplish.
There’s no room under my umbrella-ella-ella-a for people that are super
competitive, cut throat and don’t support other runners. That’s the quickest
way to get dropped from my AOL Buddy List.
“We don’t need competition between people. The last word always belongs
to the mountain.”
My game plan was simple. Run a steady race, have fun with my
crew and enjoy the journey. If it was one of those magical days where
errrrything clicked and I was on top of my game… I wanted to try and push a sub
30hr finish.If not… I wanted to roll in
around 33hrs.
Every good ultrarunner knows that 100 mile races are won in
the first 3 miles… so I made sure to start at the front of the pack and sprint
out of Vogel. I figured I’d keep the sub 8min/mile pace for the first half of
the race and then probably have to slow it down some… maybe even to a
9:15min/mile pace… for the second half.
Yea… didn’t think you’d buy that one ;)
I did go out with the lead pack though. I have run enough
races in Vogel to know I didn’t want to be caught in the conga line heading up
Coosa. My plan was to run the first 3 miles to Wolf Creek with the leaders and
tail off when we started the climb up Coosa. I really enjoyed talking with the
leaders for the first few miles. I’ve followed Nickademus’ career throughout
the years and even watched him destroy Fat Dog 120 last year in some of the
harshest conditions I’ve ever seen. He was as you would expect… laid back and
chill. I really hoped he would have a killer day and he did (taking 1st
overall with a new sub24hr CR).
I cruised into White Oak Stomp (mile 8.1) feeling a little
fuzzy. The temperature was rising and I was in a weird funk. I killed both of
my soft flasks and refilled before leaving. I felt a little dehydrated
(probably from all the colbeer from the previous night) and my dark piss
confirmed my beliefs. It seemed like no time had passed when I reached Fish Gap
(mile 15.7). Molly was working the aid station and we spoke briefly before I headed
out. I ALWAYS FORGET how rough the Duncan Ridge Trail is after Fish
Gap. Jonathon came screaming past me and we exchanged a few words before he
disappeared down the trail. Next to pass me was Bob Watters. Bob is probably
the single most impressive 100 mile runner I have EVER met. He is like a well-oiled, dependable machine that lays
down 100% solid races. I have nothing but respect for that cat. Per usual… he
ran a solid race and finished in an amazing 30hrs53mins.
I somehow made it to the turnoff and left the DRT. I was finished with the
hardest section of the race and wouldn’t have to fight that Dragon again until
the following afternoon. I let gravity carry me down the long descent to
Skeenah Gap (mile 20.6) where my wonderful crew was waiting for me.
The above picture may look like I’m happy and feeling
fabulous. Well… I was happy… but still was pissing dark yellow/almost brown…
which wasnot fabulous. I’m an extremely positive person and over
the years I’ve learned that no matter how shitty you feel… or how shitty of a
day you’re having… if you let that show through your body language and
attitude… it makes it so much harder to dig out of that hole. That’s why it’s
very rare to spot me without a smile on my face when I’m out in the woods. I
love trail running… even when it sucks.
My super Southern accent comes out on 3 occasions:
when I'm tired
when I've been drinking
when OJG is around
Cruel Jewel brought the trifecta.
“Worst 20 miles of my ultra career.”
That is NO
exaggeration. It really was the worst 20 miles I’ve ever experienced. From a
time standpoint I was actually ahead of schedule at Skeenah… but from a life
standpoint… I was not in a good place. I sat down and drank 2 soft flasks and
ate a banana while I listened to OJG and Silvernsnatch tell me about all the
fun they’d had running up Blood Mountain and drinking colbeer…
I finally departed Skeenah and had Silversnatch tuck an
extra soft flask in my vest. It was only 5 miles to the next crew accessible
aid station and my goal was to take it easy and drink as much as possible
throughout the next section. I very much accomplished that mission and rolled
into Wilscot (mile 25) feeling much better.
I was greeted with an unexpected cheer station at Wilscot!
My girls Sunny and Missy were up for the 56 miler (which both did extremely
well in – Missy 3rd overall and Sunny 4th overall - congrats
guys!) and they decided to swing by and show their support!
I was in and out of Wilscot pretty quickly. I still hadn’t
completely lost the fogginess in my head so I continued to hit my hydration
hard since it was only another 5 mile section before seeing my crew again. I
really enjoyed the section between Wilscot and Old Dial Road. The woods here
contained beautiful singletrack and an old fire tower. Somewhere along the
descent to Old Dial Road aid station (mile 31) the fog in my head lifted and I
started feeling normal again. My head and piss were clear so I celebrated in true DG2Fs
fashion…
My crew loaded me up with a jacket and my headlamp to get me
through the night. I wouldn’t see them again until I reached the turnaround at
Camp Morganton some 20 miles down the trail. I left Old Dial Road feeling
relaxed and refreshed. The next section was roughly 6 miles but 4 of those
miles were on the road. I was hoping to push it a little bit harder on the road
but the lugs on the Salomon SLAB 5 SG’s were beating up my feet pretty badly.
The road quickly made a sharp turn to Negativetown. The road went from a
hopeful faster section to a “maybe I should just throw myself in front of a
car” section. The sun was setting and the world was growing dark… and so was my
mood. Thankfully I conjured up Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night” and before I
could get through the entire song… I was happy again… and thus spawned an out loud
version with my own lyrics…
“This Friday night…
Yea I’m running in the
dark
This stupid race is
f*cking hard
Almost got hit by a
blue car”
This tune carried me all the way through the rolling asphalt
and up the short steep gravel road into Stanley Gap (mile 37). I took a seat at
Stanley Gap and chatted with a friendly aid station worker while I ate some
noodles but quickly took back to the trail. The section to Deep Gap had a long
but gradual 3 mile ascent before plunging 2 miles into the aid station.
I reached Deep Gap (mile 41.7) and quickly refilled. We had
to run a 6 mile loop and come back to Deep Gap before heading to Morganton. I did not enjoy the loop. I didn’t bonk. I
didn’t feel bad. It just simply was not fun.
I tagged in at Deep Gap (mile 47.5) and quickly headed off to
Morganton. After a short hike up the road… I coasted down the long asphalt
descent until the route turned off the main road. I was almost to the Camp
Morganton road when I heard a car slow down beside me.
We chatted for a bit as he drove alongside me. He was kind
enough to agree and grab some supplies that I had stowed away in my car for Violeta’s
nutrition for Thunder Rock 100 next weekend. (Thanks again buddy!)
I finally reached the turnaround at Camp Morganton around
2am and walked into the warm building.
The following statement is one of the reasons I love OJG:
“I’ve had 8 beers and am ready to pace 30 miles.”
I sat down and switched into my Salomon Sense Pro1s. I was
over the big lugs and knew my feet would be destroyed if I had to go through
another road section with those puppies. Silversnatch refilled all my flasks,
brought me some chicken noodle soup and a coke.
Once OJG and Silversnatch broke the news that “porn kills love”I knew
it was time to leave. Since we wouldn’t see Silversnatch again for 20 miles… I
hoped he would be able to catch a few good hours of sleep in the back of Hotel
de Andrews.
Once on the road we started chatting and catching up on how
their day had been. OJG told me all about the colbeer that had drank, where
they ate and who they’ve been hanging out with in between aid stations. It was
good to actually have someone to talk to. I had run alone practically all day.
Hell… the longest conversation that I’ve had prior to the one with OJG was the
one with Jason Green a half hour earlier.
We hiked the long road section back to Deep Gap (mile 53)
and started the Deep Gap loop again. The loop breezed by this time! It was so
much better with company. We ended up passing by my California buddy Jason. Dudes got a rad ass style!
We rolled back into
the Deep Gap aid station (mile 58.7) refilled and started the long 2 mile climb
out. The game plan had been pretty straight forward. Power hike the ascents and
then run the flats and downs. I told OJG I had ZERO excuse not to
run the downs. After a very blurry and sleepy climb… we made it to the turn off
for the out and back to the Weaver aid station. I hadn’t really studied up on
the course that much so I didn’t really have a good idea of what to expect on
this portion.
This. Section. Was. Awful. It felt like we descended into
the depths of Hell. I just couldn’t understand how we could keep moving
downwards. I mean… there HAD to be a bottom right? Eventually we found the
bottom level of the Hell called Weaver (mile 63.7) and I plopped down in a
chair. This would be the last time I would sit for the rest of the race. I’m
not sure I have ever felt so much pain in my legs when I got up to leave.
“OJG. Dude. My legs. They hurt. They just f*cking hurt. Like bad. They
hurt bad. My legs.”
Now I realize I’d been on my legs for some 17hrs or so...
but this was a different kind of hurt. Thankfully OJG kept me moving and within
a few minutes of climbing the pain was gone and I was moving steady again. The
trip out of Weaver was pretty slow and rough for me… but the sun started to
light up the sky and I knew it would bring rebirth.
When we topped one of the climbs we saw an older man with
what we assumed was his grandson sitting on a log holding a shotgun. My first
thought was…
“Oh hello tiny hunter. I’ll take one shotgun blast to the legs please.”
Though I don’t think a shotgun blast could have been any
more painful that what I was voluntarily putting my legs through…
OJG: “Let’s go ahead and run this section so we don’t get blown away.”
The trail started to flatten out but I was still walking. OJG
called out from behind me:
“What would Caballo Blanco do?”
I astutely answered:
“He probably wouldn’t do anything. He’s dead.”
Of course this wasn’t the answer OJG was looking for so I laughed,
started running, and gave it another shot…
“Haha… He’d probably run this section.”
The sun had brightened my spirits a bit and shed some of my
sleepiness. We finally topped the climb out of Weaver and steadily ran the
ridgeline back down to the Stanley Gap aid station (mile 69) where Silversnatch
was waiting on us. Silversnatch immediately jumped on refilling my flasks,
stuffing my pack with gels and even had a cold coffee for me. He was
unbelievable throughout this race.
I felt a rumble in my tummy as we left Stanley and started
down the gravel road descent. I took a small off road detour when the road
flattened. We were still in the woods and I felt it was better to go ahead and
clean out the system before I was forced to do it in someone’s lawn. Because
that’s actually happened before when I was a kid. It was not a pleasant experience. My parents got a
note from the neighbor who’s yard I had fertilized and I got whipping. Ahhhh
memories :)
Again I hoped the road would bring a quicker paced effort
but it didn’t. Thankfully I was in good company and the conversation made the
road portion pass quicker than before.
We rolled into Old Dial Road (mile 75) and Silversnatch was
nowhere to be found. I grabbed some food from the aid station and refilled my
flasks. We chatted with Jessica and Kevin for a bit until Silversnatch pulled
up. Jess had said Jonathan hit a rough patch a was taking a quick nap in the
car. Jonathon ended up rallying and finished in 36hrs04mins. The Birmingham
crew ended up with a 5/5 finishing rate between the 100/50-mile race!
Silversnatch whipped into the aid station with MacDonald’s.
If I hadn’t just eaten a grilled cheese, I would’ve snatched up a biscuit. But
I declined and tried my best to pretend to be mad at him for not being at the
aid station when I arrived. But I am no trail diva and come on… can you really
be mad at a face like this?
I left Old Dial with one trekking pole. Yes. 1. Silversnatch
had brought his 1970s poles and we could only get one working properly at the
moment. Nevertheless… the pole helped during some of the extended climbs in the
section. OJG had left me in a great mood when we rolled into Wilscot (mile 80).
OJG had gotten me through the night and was now ready to
hand me off to Silversnatch for the last 26 miles. Over the course of the 5
miles… Silversnatch had gotten the 2nd pole to work. Now we were in
business! We left Wilscot and Silversnatch caught me up on all the happenings
that had taken place over the past 25hrs. It was extremely nice having someone
around during the late stages of an ultra. It didn’t even feel like we were at
a race. It just felt like we were out on our normal Saturday run. Before I knew
it… we were at Skeenah (mile 85.5) talking with OJG again!
Skeenah would be the last crew accessible aid station until
I reached the finish so we had to repack the headlamp and some extra food. I
was hoping to finish before sundown but I knew the last 21 miles were the
hardest on the course. The Duncan Ridge Trail can be terribly mean so I didn’t
put too much pressure on myself. Spirits
were high and I was in a good place mentally… obviously…
The climb out of Skeenah
suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked. It was just the worst. Eventually
we reached the turn off onto the DRT. I smiled and thought to myself…
“Just another hard time on the Dragon’s Spine.”
Steep climb. Steep descent. Steep climb. Steep descent. That's practically the DRT in a nutshell.
Eventually I just quit trying to keep track of where we were. I knew sooner or
later we would end up at Fish Gap and honestly I was just tired of thinking.
When we peaked at the top of one of the climbs… the trail flattened momentarily
and we marveled at the old growth and massive trees. One reason I love Silversnatch is because he adores these
kinds of areas and it warmed my heart to hear the excitement in his voice. I
love little things like that. Little things like listening to someone speak
about something they truly enjoy.
“Look at that vine! Think it will hold me?”
Silversnatch walked over to a huge tree with a vine that
disappeared into its lofty canopy, gave it a little tug and then swung out
10-15ft. Oh the jealousy. It looked like so much fun and I really really wanted
to play… but I feared that if the Dragon saw I was playing and having too much
fun… it would release a fury on me that not even Beowulf could defend. It was
so relieving to see my friends having so much fun. Crewing/pacing is such
an incredibly selfless act and I usually tend to worry more about my
crew/pacers than I do about myself during races. It took a lot of pressure off
seeing them having fun and enjoying the experience just as much… if not more
than me.
I was hungry by the time we rolled into Fish Gap (mile 90).
It was 7.6 miles to the final aid station. I wanted to get some food in me to
tide me over because I knew all too well how rough this section would be. I
had a few salty potatoes, a cup or 2 of Mountain Dew and refilled all my soft
flasks. Silversnatch had spotted one of the aid station workers reading a book
about Caesar and I tried my best to listen in on what sounded like an
intelligent conversation… but my mind started to wander and all I could think about was Gretchen Wieners…
Then I started quoting Mean Girls in my head… “Four for you Glen Coco. You go Glen Coco!!”and then I found myself getting frustrated
because I now wanted to watch the movie… and I couldn’t… because I was in the
middle of the damn woods.
** this recap could have been finished hours before but I
stopped to watch Mean Girls. Yes… because of some random kid reading a book
about Caesar in the middle of the woods at mile 90 of an ultra... I stopped my
recap to watch Mean Girls. This is my life. Cats and Mean Girls. Adulting.**
A mile or so after leaving Fish Gap the first 56 miler blew
past us looking fresh! The 2nd 56 miler passed us at Mulky Gap. Just
like the climb coming out of Skeenah… the climb out of Mulky Gap suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked.
But like all long, extended climbs… it eventually ended and we were rewarded
with a handful of beautiful views of the mountains through breaks in the trees.
The weather for the race had been unreal. God couldn’t have blessed us with a better
weekend for racing.
It’s strange when you KNOW
a trail so well but because of the lack of sleep and high mileage already on
your legs… you forget all the twists and turns that you normally recognize. I
know we were moving slow… but this section seemed less familiar and longer than
usual. Needless to say… I was extremely happy when White Oak Stomp (mile 98)
came into view. I got my flasks refilled, took a few salt tablets and ate a
gel. I accidently dropped my gel wrapper on the ground and looked the aid
station worker straight in the eye…
“Sorry man… I can’t pick that up. It’s just not going to happen.”
He just laughed and picked it up for me. We left White Oak
Stomp for the final miles back to Vogel. We had one more major climb on the
backside of Coosa and then it was practically downhill for 4 miles to Wolf
Creek. I won’t go into details because we all know the climb up the backside of
Coosa sucks... even on fresh legs. There was supposed to be a little sumpin sumpin
special happen on Coosa Bald if we made it there before sundown… a lil sumpin
involving Silversnatch getting nakey and taking an epic picture on the bald…
but he convenientlyleft his
phone behind...
The trip down Coosa was steady but slow. Somewhere along the
way we tipped over the 100 mile mark…
“Welp. You’ve ran a 100 miles. Time to call OJG and have him pick us
up. The race is over.”
Hahaha! I wished it was that easy. We passed through Wolf Creek (102.3) and started making the
final push to Vogel. There isn’t anything terribly hard about the last 4 miles…
but I knew it would take a while to get back to the park. I had already
accepted that we would have to throw on our headlamps for the last 30mins so
Silversnatch dug it out of my pack and I went ahead and put it on. Time drug on
and on as we continued to round corners and I started getting anxious to see
the road crossing for the final push to Vogel.When the road came into view I really just wanted to stop and give
Silversnatch a big hug. He tends to revoke my “man card” pretty often (either
for wearing manpris, tights, loving cats a little too much... you get the
picture) but somewhere during the race he gave me a 2nd Man Card and I really needed to hold onto that one
for when I want to do something a little more extreme. I passed on giving him a
hug and we headed along the rooted/rocky trail back to Vogel. The campground
lights finally came into view and our feet struck concrete as we made our way
back to the start/finish area. After 33hrs04mins the adventure had come to an
end.
I quickly grabbed my buckle (the biggest buckle I had ever
seen) and walked into the building to get warm. The temperature had dropped and
I knew I would be freezing in a matter of minutes. I sat down for a few minutes
before OJG came in and grabbed my pack. We headed to the car where Bob, Jess
and Silversnatch were waiting. We quickly spoke and exchanged congratulations
before leaving. I gave a big hug to Silversnatch before we parted ways. I can’t
even begin to express how grateful I am to have people like OJG and
Silversnatch in my life. It’s hard to explain the pure selflessness of
crew/pacers. I feel like a special bond is formed between people when you work
together to accomplish this kind of thing. It ties you together in a unique way
and it is something you’ll always hold close to your heart. A simple thank you
just isn’t enough and doesn’t do it justice… but at the moment… it was all I
had to give.
We left Vogel and I peeled off my socks and shoes. Despite
not changing socks one single time during the 33hrs… I surprisingly had ZERO
blisters! I thought I felt the skin rip off of my pinky toe at mile 8… so in
that moment I swore not to take off my socks for the rest of the race. Those
are the logical decisions you make at mile 8 right?
We pulled through a MacDonald’s and grabbed some food. OJG
wouldn’t let me pay for our meals…
“Listen man. It’s my rule. If you run a 100 miles. I buy you
MacDonald’s.”
Post 100 MacDonald’s seems to be my thing. Though it wasn’t
quite the experience we had when Joel and I hit up MacDonald’s after Grindstone100… that dude was crazy.
We had an 1hr15min drive back to OJG’s cabin so I
immediately passed out after scarfing down my food. I woke up to…
“Coming in hot!”
We were rounding curves through the Nantahala Gorge. I
quickly opened my eyes and saw some dude in all black walking down the side of
the road…
OJG: “Did you see that dude!?” Good. It wasn’t a hallucination.”
I woke up the next morning on the couch. My original room
was the loft upstairs… but yea… that wasn’t happening. Katie had made an
amazing breakfast for everyone. I’m not sure exactly what it consisted of… but it
was the best damn breakfast casserole I’d ever had! I spent most of the morning
falling in and out of sleep between cups of coffee. I eventually came to my
senses and we all headed down to the NOC for lunch and beers.
We sat alongside the river, enjoyed good food, colbeers and
warm sunshine.
Katie caught us up on their adventurous weekend! Mimi (her
82yr old grandmother) had not only hiked Max Patch…
But this bad ass grandma also went down the river!
I can only pray I'm still that adventurous at 82!
I couldn’t thank the Gregg’s enough for their hospitality!
We wrapped up lunch, said our goodbyes and I started making my way back home.
The drive normally only takes 4-4.5hrs but I knew this one would be a lot
longer and rough. The prolonged sitting was making my feet swell and my legs
tight… so I stopped every 30-45mins to stretch out and walk around. I knew no
amount of Red Bull or candy would help keep me awake for the drive… so I
promised myself the moment I felt the least bit sleepy I would stop and take a
nap in the back of my car. That moment came at the Alabama state line.
After an hour (maybe even 2) I woke and continued home. It
was so good getting back home to the Kati and Wobbles! These kind of reunions
are some of my favorites!
The next 2-3 days I wandered around the office and home in a weird
daze. I kept apologizing because my mind was still so exhausted from the
experience that I just couldn’t make a lot of sense out of anything that I said
or did. With the exception of a tight calf muscle… my legs actually felt really
good. I feel like I’m finally starting to dial in my training. But it’s been a
very relaxing and enjoyable recovery so far…
I’ve already been asked if I had plans to go back and do
Cruel Jewel again… and the answer is no. I loved the experience, I love the
North Georgia Mountains and everything that Cruel Jewel is... but I really hope
I don’t have to do that race again. Regardless of what Karl “Speedgoat” Meltzer
says… a 100 miles IS a long freakin way to run. Of course I plan on
covering the 100 mile distance again… but it is hard for me to wrap my head
around doing the SAME 100 mile race over again when there are so many races and
regions to explore!
What’s next? Nothing for a while! I’m really really really looking forward to a few months of relaxed
mountain running and exploration before diving back into training for another
race.
