The Ultimate Prize! A TRUE VT 50 Experience!
My Vermont 50 story
But, before the tale, a couple things.
I can't say enough about the incredible Vermont 50 organization and director Mike Silverman. It's truly an amazing event. The race was well organized, with great aid stations and a very well-marked course, the volunteers were hard-working and cheerful-it's no wonder that all categories sold out prior to race day.
Let me also say thanks to my family who shooed me out of the house many days, to my friends who put up with my obsessive yapping about this event and to Chad Denning: buddy, without you, I would have never gotten into this...so... thanks!?!
“Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.” David Horton
In 2008 I went to Ascutney Mountain Resort to watch runners finish the Vermont 50 mile Ultra Run, to witness men and women, crafted as from granite, gnarly roots and hemlock burls, bound deer-like through miles of scuff and tree tunnels. Could a beast capable of this feat be anything but mythical? Truth may be stranger than fiction. By matter of luck or fate I arrived at the finish line late in the day and somehow missed Puck and his ilk and instead, I saw humans. Some looked incredibly fit (as I expected)... but some less so... some hobbled in agony, others were ecstatic at the completion of this monumental challenge. To see the diverse range of finishers coming across the line was inspiring but gave me more than inspiration. It gave me hope that I could someday do the same.
My own running “career” to that point consisted of short trail races-I didn't have much of a running history or clear talent. After a couple seasons of racing I would characterize myself as a “finisher.” If I took a racing nickname it would be something like “Sweep.” In spite of this and, out of a love/need to be outside I trained and trained, I managed injuries, modified gait, sought endless advice and very slowly spent longer and longer days in the woods, eventually quantifying runs not in miles but in hours and elevation change.
After a couple years I ran 50k trail events and, in the back of my mind always held the image of those Vermont 50 finishers. I would have tried the 50 sooner but, after each 50k run my feet were like hamburger, my IT bands trashed and painful...I. Was. Destroyed- a 50 mile event seemed absolutely impossible. But then, in late Spring of 2011, with no firm plans for summer events, I read that TeamAmp.Org was taking written submissions-the essay topic was something like “Why should I be given free entry to the Vermont 50?” With no confidence (hope?) that I would win I decided on a whim to put something together, and lo and behold I won. I don't think there was any jumping...I think my reaction was something like “awwwwww shhhhhhhiiiiiiii.....”
In preparing for the race some weeks the balance of my free time favored running; other weeks the important needs of three young children and family, work and so forth, won. The net result, however, was that I ran more consistent, higher mileage weeks than ever before. I closely followed a great plan in Bryon Powell's “how-to” for Ultrarunning book which is aptly titled, “Relentless Forward Progress.” His website, www.irunfar.com is also a great resource for newbies and experts.
And finally, the race:
I never really fully calmed down in the days after first gaining entry. Bryon's plan had me doing long runs of 20-30 miles- somehow those became normal. But 50 miles? 50 miles!? At every opportunity my brain stuck in a question or doubt-had I trained enough? Had I run enough hills? Had I tapered too much? Was I rested? Was I stale? What would happen after my previous longest, effort (around 32 miles) and the finish line some 18 miles later? Ahhhhiaiaia (freaking out noises)!!!!
And finally, the day arrived, 9/25/11; I awoke to a 3:30am alarm, belly still full of pasta from the night before and my gut, unsettled but fully committed. On went the pre-set clothes, grease the toes, on the compression hose, then socks-coffee and toast and out the door. Southbound on the interstate my headlights cut a swath through unseasonable warmth and humidity. At the Windsor exit a procession of cars all exited and made their way (like lemmings, I thought), toward the resort. Below the dark shape of Mount Ascutney the parking lot was alive with a sea of headlamps. Bikers in their fancy costumes on carbon machines, runners stretching and twitching, all of us drawn in silent procession to the center of this nocturnal nest to the 5:15am pre-race meeting. As we waited for porta-potties, Vermont ultra-running legend Zeke Zucker introduced race director Mike Silverman. Mike welcomed us and pointed out an old pillar of the race, Lou Schmertz from Skunk Hollow Tavern. He then went on, with voice breaking, to say that Lou had to put down his dog Dennis the day before-it would have been Dennis' 12th attendance at the race. Somehow that story, that moment of humanity amidst all the inhumane energy, emotion and amperage required to attempt the feat at hand broke me-and...I began to weep. Who knew? Several months of emotion came to the surface, leaving me overwhelmed with the stress and emotion of this momentous day. Wipe the eyes, pull down the cap and get to the start line.
As the sky softened, I watched wave after wave of bikers with headlamps take the line and move off into the Vermont night. And then finally the announcement, “50 mile runners, take your places,” and, with no remaining option to bail, I lined up and glanced to make sure I wasn't standing with fast guys/gals. Around me were the standard characters; the Vibram Five Fingers guy, the gazelles with road flats on, the nature guy (long hair, beard, no shirt), the over-the-hill belly guy with worried wife snapping a last photo, the Ultra-Runner poster boy and so forth. And then, with little fanfare we began, walking across the start line in true Ultra fashion, then off, into the dark, out of the resort away from lit interiors and comfortable things, past flashing escort lights down paths unknown.
As I moved in that first mile, I contemplated the hills-their dark emerald forms cutting into lightening sky and I felt the magnitude of the journey, the effort and preparation for this moment and its arrival; I thought of my family and friends who've given me so much and I began to weep again, and continued on, one foot in front of the other...as I would the whole day long, running down, down, into a bowl ringed with green mountains and the expanse beyond.
We made a right onto Brook road off 44, took a quick left and started up a hill which was part of the Irene re-route. Chad Denning had warned me of the hill and the subtraction of the normal 4-5 mile warm-up on Brook Road. I happily slowed up at the hill and began striding- this was the finisher's plan. First, run whenever comfortable or, when the effort would be moderate. Two, conserve energy and stride up all hills from the beginning. Three, use my Garmin satellite watch to monitor/execute a very moderate pace. Using these tactics should keep me ahead of cut-offs and with some luck allow me to finish. Goals: rejoice in the day and the splendor of Fall, make it to mile 40, 50 if possible- I had absolutely no time goal- just get there.
As I strode up the hill, I saw Josh Robert (Team Robert), a familiar face from other races. Josh was at the 50 for his 11th time-I knew that if I could stay with him or even slightly ahead I would be guaranteed to finish the full race under the cut-off. Josh's experience and relaxed approach (how many beers the night before? His pre-race routine involved visiting not only Long Trail but also Harpoon) and course knowledge were incredibly valuable and refreshing.
And so, the early miles ticked away-hills, hills, hills and then the first stop at Coon Club (mile 3.7) where I refilled water, grabbed snacks and moved out, noting the mileage to station two, Dart's (mile 8). The trail moved through incredible foliage bordering fields and classic stone walls on a ribbon of single-track which cut it's way through pine, hardwood and ferns and eventually, back out of the hills toward the first handler station at Skunk Tavern (Four Corner's Day Care, mile 11.8). Through much of the first section wet conditions and the 700-plus bikers who had passed before me wrought havoc on the trail. With a ¼ mile to go to the Skunk aid station, I tried to move quickly on the perimeter of a boggy section and lost not one but both shoes, stuck below the muck level, full of quick-mud. Nothing to be done, I pulled out the shoes and squelched my way to drier land to scrape out mud and try to get my much larger sock feet into my now, much smaller, shoes. At the station, I hosed off my socks and cleaned my shoes but had to keep moving- I did have a dry pair of shoes and socks on the course- I would just have to wait 20 miles to get them! At this station I was greeted by my wife and children-this was incredibly meaningful and again I found myself overwhelmed with their willingness to give up their day to support me.
With soggy feet and a fistful of snacks I left Skunk, made a right on Brownsville Rd. and tried to get some momentum for the long slog up Town Farm Hill. I knew from training hours spent here that it would be a tough section. It's the longest stretch on dirt road, almost 7 miles to the highest point on the course and an aid station, Garvin Hill (18.8). The reward was absolutely spectacular, a breathtaking 360 degree view of the mountains. Everyone paused and soaked it up, I was now running with Josh and his buddy Grant and Josh's girlfriend Leah (running the second leg of the relay). I scooted out of the station slightly in front of them, I knew they would catch up. The long descent to Cady Brook aid station (mile 22.7) was a highlight- as we descended we could hear the brook and were greeted by another full aid station after the 3-4 miles of downhill.
The next section, from mile 22 to 26 (which I marked, thinking “one marathon down, one to go!”) was tough. I don't know if it was low energy or the rough, muddy trail conditions but my pace during this section dropped-at many points the rutted road was full of water and made for slow going. I also began to have some soreness in my right knee and tried to resist, as long as possible, dipping into my limited allotment of Excedrin. I assumed part of my malaise was due to the rising heat, I was low on calories and really loaded up at Margaritaville (mile 27), filling my hat with food. Two quarters of PB&J, a quarter of turkey sandwich, a quarter of grilled cheese, a cup of ramen noodles in broth, a cookie, two cups of soda, filled my water, took salt tabs and started the drugs. Four miles to go to the Dugdale's aid station (31 miles) and well on track to get there ahead of time- I was still ahead of the cut-off by almost an hour. Somewhere between Margaritaville and Dugdale's Josh passed me. I was bummed as he slipped away and as my knee continued to bark, I feared that my finishing chances were dimming slightly. But, I continued moving (“Relentless Forward Progress”), surprised as I was most of the day by a feeling that I could look at my pain but somehow disassociate- acknowledge it but not suffer. Stay positive.
Get to Dugdale's. Dugdale's was the second handler station- I planned to see my family, put on fresh shoes and socks, get a fresh shirt and hat and try and reset mentally. I arrived before my projected time and missed my family but, was happy to see Josh just exiting Dugdale's (I jokingly heckled “I caught you, you bastard!”) and knew that his company would distract and lift my spirits. I also knew that ahead was uncharted territory-I'd never been on my feet for this many miles- each step was a personal record.
Josh and I reveled in the single-track on Blood Hill, with its long, winding switchbacks and wild apple trees. During the long descents my knee was tight and complained if I really ran on it- somewhere in there I told Josh to move ahead, he was feeling good and we all know you have to capitalize because the discomfort will return. I last saw him spraying his head with a hose ahead of me on a switchback as I climbed to do the same. In the section from 35 to 40 things began to get even uglier. I went through Fallon's (mile 37) and saw runners dropping like flies. My knee hurt, the heat of the day peaked, and I was low on calories again. I knew that if I could get to 40 things could improve. Keta (my pacer who would run with me to the finish) would be there smiling and ready to move-her positive spirit and friendly face would be so sweet!
Approaching Goodman's aid station (mile 40) I heard whooping and, maybe even my name from far away-a voice which sounded like my wife's echoed across the high grassy knoll of Goodman's field. Alas, I couldn't muster the energy to look up as I crossed a long, dry, exposed field and up to the aid station. I had my shirt over my head and just stared at the ground in a stupor- moving as quickly as possible. Getting closer to the station I realized that in fact my whole family was there-children squealing, holding signs, jumping, all gathered to witness me dragging my A@# up the hill and into the station. A quick greeting, stuff in some calories and then quickly back into the woods and on our way. Even as I related my raw emotional state to Keta, yet again I choked up, WHAT THE HECK?! I had prepared for hills, I had plans for nutrition and hydration, I had managed chafing in seven hidden locations---but blubbering, emotional outbursts---nobody warned me about this!
The next period, from Goodman's to Johnson's I was all over the place. Having lost time since Dugdale's I worried that I might not make it to Johnson's aid station (mile 47) before the next cut-off. We needed to get to there by 5:45pm-it would be tight. I remember repeatedly asking Keta, “What time did we leave Goodman's?” I just couldn't keep it in my head. The trail in this section was technical- winding over rock outcroppings and dropping through mudholes, we passed a woman who I had run with earlier- she had dropped me but now, was flat on her back in the middle of the trail, getting attention from her pacer. On and on, up, down and around hills...we finally emerged to a house and quickly came to a sign which said “5 miles to go.” We were elated and completely surprised that we'd covered 5 difficult miles since Goodman's in about an hour. Slowly I was coming back to life- calories and my single 5 hour energy drink were miracle drugs. We came out onto Bible Hill road and we were flying- sort of- 9 min/miles at mile 46, I remember feeling smooth, light and easy. I knew the end was in sight when we finally entered Johnson's with a couple minutes to spare-I think I even mustered a small fist pump knowing that I would finish barring a physical collapse! We leapfrogged with bikers as we began the climbs up the side of Mt. Ascutney on the cross country ski trails. Up and up-more climbing! AAAhhhhhhh?! Finally the two mile sign...and then the, “You're almost there” and then, views of the tent far below us. At last, downward, criss-crossing Nordic trails, under chair lifts, my knee screaming. I had trouble even walking on the steep pitch and thick grass of the ski slopes. And then the whoops of my family from far below, the moment to celebrate was at hand.
As I approached the final switchbacks a photographer caught me tearing up but too dehydrated to produce a tear. My kids were waiting and screaming, “DAAAAAAAAADDDDYYYYY!” My oldest had made her way up the course and was entirely ready and capable of smoking me on the downhill. My wife was jumping like Bob Barker had called her name- other friends had assembled too and at that moment, I could have flown. All the anxiety and effort, doubts and fears gone, gone, gone. I did it. Somehow, I did it. And then down the shoot, as an incredible sunset tinted the clouds above and the mountains below. The end of an incredible day.
In the few days that have passed since the race, my body has mostly recovered-memories of pain have receded and I find myself hungry to re-live the journey. I'll see you out there.
the Vermonster
