Back in the fall my buddy, John, asked me if I was running Pilot Mountain Payback again. I told him that I would run it provided I was able to train for it. If I learned anything from last year’s adventure it’s that the marathon isn’t really a marathon. It’s a come-to-Jesus journey in which you run up and down a mountain with the hopes that you don’t come to Jesus before you cross the finish line.
Flash forward to the first week of January when I found out I had a kidney stone. Pretty awesome, right? Well, a week later I ran a 15-mile trail race. Pretty smart, right? Over the ensuing few weeks I ran a grand total of 40 miles which averaged out to about “not enough to run a trail marathon” miles per week. That’s when I told John that I wouldn’t be participating.
Then Mother Nature intervened…
Three days before PMPB, a huge snowstorm hit the southeast and dumped more than 18″ on Pilot Mountain. As a result, the race organizers pushed the race back a couple of months to April 12. Not long after they posted the news, John hit me up again to see if I’d be running the race or if I was going to bail. It basically played out like that scene from Back to the Future 2 when Biff challenges Marty.
So I told him, if I pass the kidney stone and get in shape, I’d run. A week later I passed my kidney stone. Condition #1 satisfied. The next day, with only 46 days before PMPB, I started training.
Training
The first week I ran 13 miles including a 5-mile long run. Then 19 including an 11-mile long run. My long runs increased to 16 then 20 then back down to 16 then 8. When all was said and done I had run a mere 23 times (twice on trails) for a total of 152 miles. That’s about a quarter of what I usually run when training for a regular marathon let alone a trail marathon with an elevation profile that entails 3,588′ gain and 3,584′ loss.
I thought to myself, “Screw it! What’s the worst that could happen?” BTW, don’t ever ask yourself “What’s the worst that could happen?” because something bad will always happen.
Race Day
Last year’s race was a very comfortable 39°F. This year’s forecast called for temps in the upper 70s. Last year the race started at 9AM before daylight saving time. This year’s race started at 9AM after daylight saving time. That means the sun will have an hour head start. Given last year’s time of 4:41, I calculated that I would be getting overheated within an hour of the start time and near my melting point by the time I crossed the finish line.
John and I arrived around 8:15AM (after getting lost on the way to the start line). We grabbed our packets, met up with Chad (who we ran with us at Triple Lakes), snapped a photo, then waited for some dude to yell “Go!”.
Eventually the dude said “Go!” and we were off. Twenty yards later, we hit our first creek crossing and opted to jump from rock to rock in order to keep dry. No sense in getting wet before a 4-5 hour run, right? I went. Success! Chad went. Success! John went. Succ….SPLASH! So much for that plan.
After we stopped making fun of John for busting his arse we began the long, steep climb up the first hill. Let me pause for a moment. The race organizers must have some seriously warped minds. Not only did they plan the route with a huge creek crossing 20 yards from the start, but they managed to also include a 200-foot climb immediately after.
Since my plan was to run with John the entire way, and since he and Chad walk the hills (an ultra race tactic), we walked the 200 feet to the top. For the next few miles we shuffled along around 12 minute pace. By the time we hit the first aid station I was a sweaty mess and had blown through my 20 oz bottle of water. I refilled, grabbed a couple extra dixie cups of agua, and continued.
More running. More hills. More heat. By the aid station at mile 8, I was once again out of water. A volunteer replenished my liquids, and I scarfed down a PB&J. Yes. I ate a sandwich in the middle of a race. I was hungry. I like PB&J. Hungry + PB&J = Eat. As I chewed, I stared at what was before me—a big friggin’ mountain.
You see, this is the point in the race where we begin to climb 1,236′ over 3.5 miles. It’s also about the time I started thinking about those goats that can scale the side of a mountain. The ones that are clearly asking themselves, “WTF am I doing here?” Yeah, I was a mountain goat asking myself the SAME EXACT THING.
We left the aid station, crossed Pinnacle Hotel Road, and hit the trailhead. If memory serves, the trail marker read:
Last year, at this point in the race I had no idea what the trail was like and it was about 35°F. Strenuous just meant that it was probably going to get a little harder. This year, I knew what to expect and I could feel all 70 degrees of sun bearing down on me. Strenuous became a four-letter word.
We ran for a bit and at one point the conversation came to a halt. With no one saying anything I turned the discussion inward (because that’s what you do when you run long distance). I started wondering to myself, “How is it that I’m running through the woods yet there is virtually no shade? There are trees everywhere yet the sunbeams manage to find a direct path to my body.” These thoughts were clearly fueled by my propensity to be what one would call a “heavy sweater”.
Right, so on we went. Chad blazed the uphills using his poles. And John and I followed behind wishing we had poles. About a half mile later we came across a trio of female runners making their way up the mountain. One of them, Katie, ended up pulling away from her group and joining ours. After another mile, Chad pulled away from our group, and the balance was restored.
There we were. Two dudes and a lady following red blazes, climbing over rocks and roots to the top of a mountain for fun. I had to remind myself that I paid for this experience. That I “wanted” to be there. What is wrong with me? <– Mucho en realidad.
Eventually the trail T-boned with Ledge Spring trail. We hung a left, said “Hey” to the race organizer at the fork, and zigged and zagged for a time before we hit the stairs. Good God. I hate those freaking stairs. Why are there stairs on a mountain? Why! Why not an escalator? Or one of those rope pulls on the bunny slopes? Or a reverse zipline?
After about a million stairs, we made our way to the aid station at the parking lot at the top. It was pretty anti-climatic. You see, when I backpack into places where folks drive to it often takes some wind out of my sails. This was quite similar. Bummed and a bit tired, I refilled my empty water bottle, downed the refill, then refilled my bottle again with hopes that my strength would be restored. A quick photo op later and John and I were back on the trail sans Katie (who showed up at the aid station as we were headed out) and sans the strength I had hoped would return.
Before we began our descent we had to run a lap around the knob. As we did we passed Chad who had run his lap in the opposite direction. That was the last time we would see him on the trail. Kind of a bummer, but that’s the reality of running with a dude that has some serious feet.
Around mile 12 we began our descent, and I started to really feel the effects of the heat. Normally, I can figure out where to plant my feet three or four steps in advance. Thanks to the onset of heat exhaustion I could barely figure out where to put one foot, one step at a time.
Eventually, I planted my Five Fingers on top of a rock covered with dry leaves. As I did, I realized I needed to be going in the opposite direction. If I continued going in the current direction I would’ve tumbled down the mountain. So, I attempted to push off the rock going the other way, but my foot slipped on the leaves and I fell to my knee with the full weight of my person (multiplied by speed and gravity).
Holy cannoli that hurt! I saw blood. My brain processed the blood. I saw cuts. My brain processed the cuts. Then my brain just froze. It was like someone in my brain was involved in espionage and they were trying to download a file, but the bad guys were close behind so everything moved more slowly. 10%….20%….40%…60%…80%…100%. File transfer complete! Yeehaw! Sadly, when my brain opened the file it read, “Get fu$%#ng moving!” So I did. Stupid brain.
Mile 13 turned to 14 and then we got lost. Well, I got lost. We were near the campground where the trail meets the road. I just stared off in the distance like an idiot. I noticed a park ranger driving by, flagged him down, and he gave me directions where to go. Exactly where to go. He said this is how you go. Go that way. That way is the right way. If you want to go a certain way that was the right way you should go THAT WAY!
Did I listen? No. Of course not. I had one thing on my mind, water. I really needed there to be an aid station so I ignored the ranger’s directions and walked around looking for it. Guess what? I was wrong. It wasn’t until John and Katie (who was back with us at this point) ran into a couple of hikers who said the aid station was about a half mile from our current position. Back on the trail, all I could think about was drinking water. A half mile later, I was refilling my water and sipping on dixie cups of Gatorade.
With nine miles to go I was now experiencing the full force of the sun’s 79°F heat. A half mile later we (collectively) got lost again. “Follow the white dots” they said. “Stay to the right” they said. Well, guess what? There were no “dots” to the right. The white “dots” went to the left in the opposite direction. The correct way was straight ahead and the blazes were triangles. It took us ten minutes to figure this out, and it wasn’t until we came across two hikers who told us they had passed other runners. I’m pretty sure I was getting hangry in addition to exhausted. Things had clearly escalated from bad to worse.
Back on the trail, my right knee was beginning to swell, and the hamstring on my opposite leg was aching thanks to overcompensation. Limping, I continued with the group along the rolling terrain. A short time later we came upon a very angry 4-foot black snake just shy of the aid station. The little fella was visibly angry. We stared each other down and parted ways. At the station, I refilled my empty water bottle, ate a couple of PB&Js, and John, Katie, and I pressed on.
Not too long after we refueled, I stopped to tend to my hamstring. John stopped to make sure I was good to go. And Katie took off. Now it was just the two of us. For the record, we did not hold hands. Just wanted to make that clear. Walk, run, wince, repeat. We hit the final aid station, refilled again, and began the last four miles in way worse shape than what we ran our first four.
Several hundred footsteps later we popped out across from the parking lot at Hauser Road. That’s when my chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself. I took a second to make sure I wasn’t dying. When I determined I wasn’t, I chalked the pain up to bad running form and John and I continued on down the trail. A half mile to go.
As we neared the finish line I could sense John was falling behind. Not really. I barely had 3 of my 5 senses let alone a sixth one. Nah, I just turned my head and saw that he was behind me a ways. Since I had told him I would run with him the entire way, I turned around with less than 50 yards to go, caught up with him, and ran with him to the finish line. Well almost. I finished .041 seconds ahead of him. ZING! Take that JOHN!
Post-Race
My overall time (5:37:51) was horrible. Seriously, it was awful. And while I love the race for its challenges and organization, I don’t think I could run it again if it were held in April. As noted above, I’m a heavy sweater. And because I sweat so much I need more water than the average runner or human or camel. Whatever. I need a lot of water when it’s hot. In fact, this is my water and food consumption during the race.
And when the race was over I had another 40 oz of water and a Heath ice cream bar. All that food and water and I was still down 7.5 pounds.
Long story longer, if the race is run in February, I’m game because it’s an awesome and horrible race. Otherwise, I’ll be skipping it (unless John calls me a chicken).
Ah, who am I kidding? See you next year!