Over the years I’ve spent a lot of time hiking, running, and camping at both Pilot Mountain and Hanging Rock state parks in North Carolina. So when I learned about the Pilot Mountain to Hanging Rock (PM2HR) Ultra connecting to the two, I immediately added the race to my bucket list. Fast forward a couple of years to this past spring when my buddy, Coop, mentioned wanting to run his first ultra. I offered to run with him once he picked a race, and as luck would have it, he sent me a message a couple of months later that he had decided on running the PM2HR 50 miler.
After signing up, I prepared myself over the next four months by running a ton, working on my nutrition, and not sleeping in. By race week I was ready. I mean, I WAS READY! Better? Too much? OK, I was ready. Well, two days before the race, Hurricane Michael blew through the course with heavy rain and straight-line winds, swelling creeks and rivers, and knocking down hundreds of trees. The race directors, along with the folks at Pilot Mountain State Park, Hanging Rock State Park, and the Sauratown Trail Association, worked tirelessly to get the trails in shape for the race. Unfortunately, with one day to go, the race directors notified the 50 milers that the first 7 miles were simply too unsafe and they had to move the start line and re-route a bit of the course ultimately reducing the overall mileage by about 4 miles. A bummer? Totally. A deal breaker? No.
Original route before Mikey wreaked havoc.
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The Race
The night before the race, I set my alarms for 1:45AM, 1:50AM, 1:55AM, 2:00AM, and 2:05AM then turned in around 8:30PM. I slept like garbage and woke before my alarms had a chance to clock in. In the shower I started going over my race day plan then realized I was using shampoo as soap and further realized that my one-hour drive to the start line was going to require some serious concentration since I had also hopped in the shower with my glasses on. Once dressed and a smidgen more alert, I stuffed a banana and a Clif Bar in my face, washed it down with a cup of coffee, then left my house like any sane person does at 2:15AM on their way to run up and down mountain trails and roads en route to a finish line at the tail end of torture.
When I arrived at the shuttle bus depot/finish line at Green Heron Ale House the volunteers and race folk were hard at work loading up supplies for the course aid stations. I parked the car, turned off the engine, and then stared into the darkness for a long, long while. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to return home and curl up in my bed and not be awake. Then I felt the strong urge to remember something important that I was thinking about on the drive over in between near death experiences with deer. I thought for a moment. Even pointed my eyes up and to the left. What was it that I was going to do? Something something…do…or…say…oh yeah, poop.
I left my car, hit the privy, then walked over to the shuttle bus to check in and pick up my bib and drop bag. I then filled my drop bag with gear and boarded the bus with the other sheeple about 15 minutes prior to our 4AM departure. Within minutes of the green flag, more runners started piling in including Coop, Mark (a friend of a friend who I’d run with once before), and Steve (a runner from another mother who was looking to knock out his second 50 miler in less than a month and claim the 2018 PM2HR 55+ throne). With us and everyone else on board, a race volunteer took roll, gave an update, and off we went.
An uneventful thirty minutes later, the driver pulled into the parking lot off of Pinnacle Hotel Road (a full 2 HOURS before the race began) and we broke out the Waiting Game—the worst bored game ever. Get it? Puns are fun! We passed the time talking to one another, going pee, and lubing up (FYI, the latter two activities were done individually…for me at least). Just before 6AM, the first 50K bus rolled in and dropped off a bunch of runners including another buddy of mine, Farmer John, who more or less told me I was going to fail miserably. I graciously thanked him for being a great person and we parted ways when the 50 milers were called to the start. Rich, the race director, said a bunch of words in succession followed by a numerical version of a backwards alphabet. I wished Coop, Mark, and Steve a good race, they returned the gesture, and we all took off.
Photo by Trivium Racing
From the word “Go!” my legs felt good. Not great, but you know how sometimes when you start a race and you haven’t run for a few days and your legs just kind of begrudgingly go along for the ride like a pair of anvils? That’s not how mine felt. My legs felt like they wanted to be there. Thank you legs.
Before long, Coop caught up with me on Grassy Ridge Trail and we hung out until I had to stop to remove my outer layer. Before you judge me, let me stop for a second and say it was 48F at the start and I was feeling pretty lazy which is why I didn’t remove my shirt before the race. Now that I was running and already sweating, the long sleeve shirt clearly wasn’t necessary and given the forecasted high of 64F and the potential for mucho mas sweating, I decided to remove my shirt.
Anyway, Coop offered to stay, but I told him to run ahead and that I’d catch up. I should’ve accepted his offer because my headlamp batteries were nearly depleted (I’m 80% sure the headlamp party my kids threw when we lost power during Hurricane Michael had something to do with it..maybe…probably) and I was pretty much relying on Coop’s lumens up to that point.
Well, he was gone and when I got going again I was just sort of feeling my way forward. I’d like to continue this story by impressing you with my owl-like night vision, but I can’t because I nearly killed myself a handful of times including when I turned off of Grassy Ridge Trail onto Mountain Trail. My right foot took the inside which meant my left foot took the downhill slope. I slipped, but managed to Scooby Doo my way up the side of the trail and back onto flat ground. A quarter mile later, after kicking a fillion tree stumps and random rocks, I got up with Coop. “All good?” he asked. “Yeah, I just need to run behind you because I can’t see schist.”
Around the third mile we caught up with Steve on a long switchback up Mountain Trail. The three of us stuck together for a few miles before parting ways on Grindstone just shy of the Ledge Spring fork. Good luck Steve! At the split, Coop and I took Lower Ledge Spring around the side of the mountain on the way to the knob. Having hiked and run this section multiple times, I can say that it…is…a…doozy. From the fork, the trail runs about a mile to the top and is a more or less 100% ascent over rocks, roots, and gigantic stone steps. Needless to say, we walked much of it, reaching Jomeokee Trail after about 18 minutes.
Photo by Trivium Racing
After a quick counterclockwise lap around Big Pinnacle via Jomeokee we made our way to the first aid station about 1 hour and 38 minutes into our morning where we filled our bottles, snacked up, and headed back out towards the Upper Ledge Trail. From this point, the route out of Pilot Mountain State Park is a fast and mostly downhill 3.25 mile jaunt to Pilot Mountain Park Road. There have been days that I’ve gone down Upper Ledge to Grindstone at 5 minute pace. Not because I’m fast, but because gravity is an intense, Brawndo-drinking motivator. The kind that just keeps pushing you when you say “Stop!” and then you have to find a new trainer, but even when you do, gravity is right there looking through the restaurant window with deadpan eyes holding the head of your new, now former and less abusive trainer. Go away gravity! It’s over between us! Only it isn’t and it never will be.
On our way down, we did our best to keep gravity at bay. I purposefully planted each step. Most of the time I’d land on steady ground, but other times, I’d slip and slide on the wet, rocky trail. Eventually, and thankfully, we found ourselves on flat, rockless ground before exiting Pilot Mountain via Sauratown Trail. Once out, we had about 2 miles of road until we reached the next aid station—about a mile on Pilot Mountain Park Road and another on Old Winston Road. It was boring, steep, and seemed to go on for more than it did. On the plus side, running on pavement gave my legs a reprieve and helped me to recalibrate physically and mentally.
Photo by Trivium Racing
The next part of the course was somewhat familiar to me as I had run it, and got lost doing so, a couple years prior. You see, my friend Jody, an ultrarunner and misguided Vikings fan with a penchant for getting lost, invited me, a Bears fan with a penchant for doing stupid things, to join him and some other runners (including Rich) as they ran this section of the course prior to the 2016 PM2HR race. Well, the lead pack took off leaving Jody and me. Then he took off and it was just me…by myself…without any knowledge of where I or they were going. About 4 miles in, Jody reappeared just in time for us to get lost. And that is why I remember this section of the race.
Coop and I left the aid station, crossed the train tracks, waved to a police officer who was defending us from traffic, and followed a few others down the trail, over grass, through a field, by someone’s house, and eventually to the aid station at Brim’s Grove Road. I took a moment to refill water, mix up Tailwind, slurp down a Gu, and munch on a salted, boiled potato. Holy balls that potato was heavenly. The texture, the salt, the carbs. Oh yeah. It was g-o-o-delicious.
We left Brim, jogged the trail for a bit, then came to a sandy beach at West Prong Little Yadkin River. On approach I considered my options a) go around b) go over, or c) go through. Since C is always the best guess, I ran straight through the frigid, wet anti-inflammatory. From the other side, we continued through Sauratown Trail (Section 11) until we popped out on Old Mill Road and took it for a quarter mile to the next aid station. As one of the volunteers filled my water bottle, I helped myself to a cup of tangerines.
Can I just say that all of the race volunteers were wonderful? That’s rhetorical by the way. I know I can. I’m going to. Seriously though, I’ve run races where the volunteers were angsty gothic emo rave teens who flipped their hair back in disgust of everything and focused on being angry on account of being mistreated by society and because…guhhhh. Yeah, these volunteers were not that. They were awesome. Almost too awesome. Suspiciously awesome. Kool-Aid kind of awesome? No. Not that. They were just really, really great volunteers.
Once refueled, Coop and I continued down Maize’s Lane to the end of the road, hung a left, and rode the downhill to the bottom of a long ascent up Sauratown Mountain. We walked and jogged and walked and walked and jogged. At one point I turned to look back and there was Mark charging up the hill. Not like a reindeer prancing through the snow, but like an ursid hybrid gunning for my innards. I’m telling you, that guy ain’t human. I’m 90% on that claim. Well, he caught up, said howdy, and then hung out with us mortals until the drop zone a few miles later.
Photo by Trivium Racing
At the drop, Mark met up with his family, and Coop and I changed out gear, snacked, and filled up on water. As we finished, Mark passed us on his way out. “You heading back out?” I asked. “Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m sure you guys’ll catch up.” On the inside I’m thinking “Clearly you have higher hopes for us than we do for ourselves.” On the outside it came out, “Yeah. Probably.”
From the aid station we picked up Thore Road for a mile and a half before returning to Sauratown Trail (Section 7) just past Rockhouse Road. Seven became six and trail became creek. At some point, we zigged when we should’ve zagged, and then I remembered that I told Rich to “Hold my beer” when he said it was impossible to get lost because the course was so well marked. Well, the joke’s on you Rich, we got lost. Sure, it was for like 15 seconds, but we got lost. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for us to right our wrong because even though we saw evidence of a stampede going in the direction we were headed, we didn’t see any flags. So, instead of continuing to not see flags, we stopped, turned around, and scanned the area for markers before finding one and figuring out which way to go.
Back on the right path, we jogged a tenth of a mile until we reached South Double Creek which was fairly wide and about knee deep. Coop plowed through like a hippo, while I opted to keep my new shoes and socks dry by crossing the creek on a pair of fallen trees like a GALL DARN PRINCESS!
The trail (now Section 5) wound around and eventually took us back to Rockhouse Road where it climbed all the way to the bacon aid station (I had three pieces BTW). From the station we followed the trail between grass and trees, crossed a road, and rejoined Sauratown Trail (Section 4) for a bit until we popped out of the woods at NC Highway 66. We then followed the road for 1.25 miles, hung a left on Moore’s Springs Road (which suuuuuuucked), took a right on Mickey Road (which also suuuuuuucked), before finally riding a downhill back into the trails (Section 1) on our way to the next aid station.
From the station we trotted down the road to the trailhead at Tory’s Den en route to Moore’s Wall and arguably the hardest part of the day. Within moments of entering the trail, Coop was already pulling away. We’d yo-yo on the switchbacks and the incline, but once we hit Moore’s Wall Loop (the split for the 50K) I lost him for a good while. My legs were heavy. I was battling thirst. I was tired. But I had Coop in front of me which meant I had a goal—to catch him.
I forced my legs forward. One step at a time. Whenever there was a flat spot on the trail I mustered up a jog. If it was a downhill, I’d channel my inner runner. I kept telling myself it was only a matter of time before I caught up with Coop.
The fire tower atop Moore’s Knob
Photo by sweetwilder.com
Once I reached the top, I paused and considered visiting the fire tower. I really, seriously thought about it. I mean, look at it. What a view! But, I stuck to the plan, hung a right, and tore down the steps…because of course there are steps. There are always steps. There are always so many steps. Why are there steps on the mountain?
Well, I knew if I was going to catch back up with Coop it’d be on the downhill. And, I was right. Within a couple of minutes I spotted him, pulled up beside him, and we finished the mile-long, knee-busting descent down the stairs to the next aid station at the campground.
I chugged a soda, filled my water, and we were back at it on the way to Wolf Rock. Given our location, we had about 8 miles to go. Four to the aid station at the Hanging Rock parking lot, 2 to the one at Hanging Rock Park Road off Indian Creek Trail, and then 2 to the finish line. I kept telling myself (and Coop) that we just needed to get up Wolf Rock. From there it was pretty much all downhill to the finish. In my head I was thinking the climb was straight up for a mile. But it wasn’t that steep and we only had a half mile before we reached Wolf Rock. When we did I let out a huge sigh of relief, surprise, and excitement (it was a really big sigh). I knew exactly where we were and how much farther we had to go. My legs were rejuvenated. My spirit was rejuvenated. I was rejuvenated. Coop, well, I don’t think he was as rejuvenated.
From Wolf Rock we had about a mile before we hit Hanging Rock Trail then another 0.75 to the parking lot and 4 more to the finish. If we kept up a 13-minute pace we’d cross the finish in a little over an hour. Coop took the lead and was looking good up until we hit Hanging Rock Trail. “If you’re feeling it, go.” he said. “OK, but I’ll see you at the next aid station.” I told him which translated to, “My buttcrack is so chafed right now that if I don’t appropriately lube up I’m not going to make it so I’ll see you at the aid station.”
Upon arrival, I shot a few cups of soda, ate some pretzels, then proceeded to hide behind a bush to apply my special lotion. Thankfully, the relief was immediate. I reappeared from the leaves about the time Coop finished filling his bottles. He looked to be hurting. The same kind of hurt I was feeling when I was going up Moore’s Wall Trail.
As we ran, our differing paces put distance between us before I eventually pulled away and made my way down the mountain. Once I passed the second of two waterfalls, the visitors cleared out and I picked it up to about a 9-minute pace; passing a couple of 50K runners and a pair of hikers before reaching the last aid station where I waited for Coop to arrive. As I stood there, the 50K runners from earlier came and went. Then the hikers. And then, after a little bit longer, Coop showed up (which put my mind at ease).
“Two miles man.” I said, “Just 26 minutes to go.” He didn’t say anything. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement. He just started running again. And so on we went. With a mile to go, we had it made. We plowed down the hill, through four ankle-deep creeks, and eventually to the Indian Creek Trail parking lot off of Flinchum Road. All that separated us from the finish was 1,000′ of gravel road.
Shoulder to shoulder we made our way up and around the bend until volunteers directed us to make our final turn into the Green Heron Ale House parking lot where the finish line awaited.
We did it.
Photo by Trivium Racing
Post-Race Thoughts and Thanks
PM2HR 2018 was a fantastic race! The weather, the course, and the company were amazing. I really wanted to run this race and I’m super glad that Coop made the suggestion. I want to thank Rich and Libby and all the volunteers for pulling this race together in spite of the mess created by the hurricane, and for making it so all we had to focus on was running. Big thanks to Coop, Mark, Steve, Jim, Jody, and Farmer John for helping me prepare for and run the race. And, I want to thank my wife and family for putting up with my running schedule and eating habits. And you, thanks for reading. It’s been a pleasure.