Cheaha
This year of ultra running is off to a mighty good start.
God really out-did Himself on the weather for us runners last Saturday. It could not have been better this time of year. Shoot, I'd hazard a guess that it couldn't get better anywhere. No wind, average temps in the low 50's, clear, sunny skies, and mild humidity to keep our lips and noses from drying out. The trails were dry, to boot.
After a quick and very necessary trip to the wood line about 150 meters away from the starting line, I nestled myself close to the banner near the other quick runners before the start of the race. (maybe not the best idea at the end of the day). I like to consider myself a front-of-the-packer when beginning these races but I think I need to reconsider my strategies.
With my Nathan pack donned, I was prepared to sustain myself without having to stop at aid stations. My goal was to break 5 hours after all and I figured carrying more nutrition and hydration than normal with me would allow me to do that.
As I ran in to the first aid station, I noticed that this was one of the places where I waited on Tim Barnes to run through just 4 months earlier. It looked a lot different in the day time. Crossing the bridge past the first aid station, the jeep path took us along to the next portion of the trails. A runner named Jay with some amazing red hot chilly pepper shorts came a long side me and we began to chat for the next several miles.
at the end jeep road's end, the next aid station awaited us where I quickly grabbed and ate a banana half before heading up the next hill. At it's top, I reach one of my favorite portions of the race. The trail ran a long a ridge line for about a quarter mile and I could see out for a long ways off, no civilization in sight.
My pace had felt a little ambitious from the start and as I neared the half way point I began to wonder if I could hold on. At no point in this race did I ever see a mile marker sign or was I ever aware of the time. Just the way I like it, at least for a course I've run before.
At the first of two "out 'n back" aid stations, I decided it was time to eat a couple of dried figs I had brought a long. At Mist, I regretted not bringing more with me so I made sure I had plenty this time. I think they worked pretty well.
Somewhere between that aid station and the half way point I caught up with Dink Taylor, who had run a 100 miler 3 weeks prior, who encouraged me to try and catch up with some of those fast guys.
One of the Montrail team females had been running at about my pace for a lot of the race. I was impressed at how she never bothered to walk the hills that I felt were worth walking. We leaped frogged like this for a while until I pulled away. From about mile 13 to 23 or so, I felt great. Opening up my stride, I began to pass a few more folks and before I knew it I was at the major stream crossing, the location of the second to last aid station (and the location of my profile picture of this blog, by the way, taken at last year's race).
Apparently there was a place to cross this stream without so much as getting a single drop of water on your clothes. Well, as Major Robert Rogers had ordered his rangers back in 1759: "Don't cross a river by a regular ford," I followed his advice as I waded across the deepest section I could find.
Some where along the way, a branch had reached out and cut my had nice and good, but I didn't notice the blood until just now as I reached out to grab some cookies at the table. Grabbing a hammer gel, Mrs. Montrail took off up the next hill. I wouldn't see her again until the finish.
My kick was beginning to wear off.
When I finally broke out of the woods onto the road that leads into Cheaha State Park, the wind was coming out of the sails. I still had some fight left, but this upwards leading hill was slowing me down a lot. I only let one other runner pass me, though several were making an attempt.
The last aid station was in sight, though it was hard to distinguish it from some family picnickers. The flags marking the course here were a little ambiguous as I almost found my self nicking some kid's orange crush to boost me up Blue Hell.
A hasty pause for some HEED and a PB&J half, and I began my ascent. "Run, Forest, Run" some kid yelled out to me as I headed off. I feel like I have that effect on people sometimes.
Blue Hell seemed longer than last year. Rock after blue speckled rock descended beneath my feet but plenty more kept coming. I was spent. I even got passed during this section. I passed at least 3 people here last year, but my going out too quick finally caught up to me.
After about 1200 ft of ascent in less than a mile later, I hit some flat sections. One would think that the finish line was right around the corner once the Blue Hell section was over with, but one would be wrong.
I set my sights on that guy who passed me up Blue Hell as I hit the last trail head to the finish. I kind of snuck up on him as I said, "on you left" when I passed by. He realized the faultiness of his ways too late. I heard him trying to catch up with me but I wouldn't let him have it. I was tired and ready to be done, but despite this, or probably because of it, I held on to a final sprint that finished me with a time of 5:17 and change. Eh, not sub 5 but better than last year. I sure was ready to be done and down some Mellow Mushroom pizza pies.
They had music playing at the end as I walked into the lodge, the happy, warm sun blanketing my back:
"Carry on my wayward son, There'll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest..."
God really out-did Himself on the weather for us runners last Saturday. It could not have been better this time of year. Shoot, I'd hazard a guess that it couldn't get better anywhere. No wind, average temps in the low 50's, clear, sunny skies, and mild humidity to keep our lips and noses from drying out. The trails were dry, to boot.
After a quick and very necessary trip to the wood line about 150 meters away from the starting line, I nestled myself close to the banner near the other quick runners before the start of the race. (maybe not the best idea at the end of the day). I like to consider myself a front-of-the-packer when beginning these races but I think I need to reconsider my strategies.
With my Nathan pack donned, I was prepared to sustain myself without having to stop at aid stations. My goal was to break 5 hours after all and I figured carrying more nutrition and hydration than normal with me would allow me to do that.
As I ran in to the first aid station, I noticed that this was one of the places where I waited on Tim Barnes to run through just 4 months earlier. It looked a lot different in the day time. Crossing the bridge past the first aid station, the jeep path took us along to the next portion of the trails. A runner named Jay with some amazing red hot chilly pepper shorts came a long side me and we began to chat for the next several miles.
at the end jeep road's end, the next aid station awaited us where I quickly grabbed and ate a banana half before heading up the next hill. At it's top, I reach one of my favorite portions of the race. The trail ran a long a ridge line for about a quarter mile and I could see out for a long ways off, no civilization in sight.
My pace had felt a little ambitious from the start and as I neared the half way point I began to wonder if I could hold on. At no point in this race did I ever see a mile marker sign or was I ever aware of the time. Just the way I like it, at least for a course I've run before.
At the first of two "out 'n back" aid stations, I decided it was time to eat a couple of dried figs I had brought a long. At Mist, I regretted not bringing more with me so I made sure I had plenty this time. I think they worked pretty well.
Somewhere between that aid station and the half way point I caught up with Dink Taylor, who had run a 100 miler 3 weeks prior, who encouraged me to try and catch up with some of those fast guys.
One of the Montrail team females had been running at about my pace for a lot of the race. I was impressed at how she never bothered to walk the hills that I felt were worth walking. We leaped frogged like this for a while until I pulled away. From about mile 13 to 23 or so, I felt great. Opening up my stride, I began to pass a few more folks and before I knew it I was at the major stream crossing, the location of the second to last aid station (and the location of my profile picture of this blog, by the way, taken at last year's race).
Apparently there was a place to cross this stream without so much as getting a single drop of water on your clothes. Well, as Major Robert Rogers had ordered his rangers back in 1759: "Don't cross a river by a regular ford," I followed his advice as I waded across the deepest section I could find.
Some where along the way, a branch had reached out and cut my had nice and good, but I didn't notice the blood until just now as I reached out to grab some cookies at the table. Grabbing a hammer gel, Mrs. Montrail took off up the next hill. I wouldn't see her again until the finish.
My kick was beginning to wear off.
When I finally broke out of the woods onto the road that leads into Cheaha State Park, the wind was coming out of the sails. I still had some fight left, but this upwards leading hill was slowing me down a lot. I only let one other runner pass me, though several were making an attempt.
The last aid station was in sight, though it was hard to distinguish it from some family picnickers. The flags marking the course here were a little ambiguous as I almost found my self nicking some kid's orange crush to boost me up Blue Hell.
A hasty pause for some HEED and a PB&J half, and I began my ascent. "Run, Forest, Run" some kid yelled out to me as I headed off. I feel like I have that effect on people sometimes.
Blue Hell seemed longer than last year. Rock after blue speckled rock descended beneath my feet but plenty more kept coming. I was spent. I even got passed during this section. I passed at least 3 people here last year, but my going out too quick finally caught up to me.
After about 1200 ft of ascent in less than a mile later, I hit some flat sections. One would think that the finish line was right around the corner once the Blue Hell section was over with, but one would be wrong.
I set my sights on that guy who passed me up Blue Hell as I hit the last trail head to the finish. I kind of snuck up on him as I said, "on you left" when I passed by. He realized the faultiness of his ways too late. I heard him trying to catch up with me but I wouldn't let him have it. I was tired and ready to be done, but despite this, or probably because of it, I held on to a final sprint that finished me with a time of 5:17 and change. Eh, not sub 5 but better than last year. I sure was ready to be done and down some Mellow Mushroom pizza pies.
They had music playing at the end as I walked into the lodge, the happy, warm sun blanketing my back:
"Carry on my wayward son, There'll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest..."
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