Pinhoti 100

I can't quite remember when I first decided to run this kind of distance but I felt like it was at least a year ago. Running dizzy fifties last November I remember telling myself that this was my first training run specifically for Pinhoti. Interestingly I ran with Todd Henderson, Pinhoti's stellar race director, for a few miles of that race. And almost before I knew it I was only a few short days away from toeing the starting line to my first 100 mile race.

It was a much darker morning this year than the last. Must've been something to do with the time change or maybe the race just got started sooner, I'm not sure. I was about 100 meters in to the wood line answering nature's call when Joe called to me to finish up and that the race was about to commence. Situating myself near the very back of the pack, I forced myself to keep it slow and conservative those first few miles. The command was given to go and the anti-climatic, super slow start began. Began we had and I took the first of 10's of thousands of steps I would be taking today/ tomorrow. In my mind I had sectioned this course into 4 parts: the first 40 miles before reaching Bald Rock, site of Alabama's highest elevation, the next 28 miles up until Porter's Gap at mile 68, the tough 17 mile pinnacle section (the last hill), and the final 15 mile portion with very little elevation change. So here goes:

Miles 0-40:

I spent much of this time passing many of those I had positioned myself behind at the start. Turns out my super conservative pace was actually faster than their's. I chatted and made some friends along the way and ran behind all round great guy, Christian Griffith, for several miles as well.

Around mile 12 there was an opening in the trees that seemed to flank the trails at all times. We could see out for several miles to nearby mountain tops. Someone I was running with pointed out the top of Cheaha, the location of the mile 40 aid station, way off in the distance, it's colors almost blurred. Daunting. The next several miles went by rather quickly and without anything dramatic happening, physically or otherwise, as my awesome crew, Joe Lagasse, Lance Haney, and the other Joe, dutifully met me at the aid stations, providing me with essential PB&J's and chia seed-soaked water. I had my timex watch beep every 30 minutes to remind me when to take another potassium/sodium filled S!cap and I felt like these beeps were happening much quicker than at half hour intervals.

At mile 18 I donned my hat with ipod attached and enjoyed some tunes for the next 22 or so miles. I saw a lot of the Pinhoti trail that I had never experienced before. I ran through some sections that had been decimated by tornadoes the year before, as the runner behind me at that point pointed out. He shared some of his ultra running stories with me and helped to pass the time. The climb to Cheaha began soon after at mile 35. Though this climb is supposed to be harder on paper than the climb at Pinnacle, my "fresh" legs combined with the fact that the sun was still out actually made this climb kind of enjoyable. I was passing people on the way up and was in high spirits by the time I crested the top and was treated with the best mountain view in Alabama from Mt. Cheaha.

I trotted into the mile 40 aid station with a smile on my face as I at some sugar-filled goodies to power me onward.

Miles 40-68:

As I left the location of the finish line of the Cheaha 50k, Joe Lagasse joined me for the near verticle descent down Blue Hell and not before long, we hit the next aid station at mile 45. My fastidious logistics crew member, Lance, gave me my Nathan hydration pack and I sipped on some coconut water as I headed down the trail with the other Joe along for the ride. I greatly enjoyed his company as we chatted and joked (and maybe sang a little) about all kinds of things. It's hard to remember even now what our discourse was composed of but the next several hours went by as quick as a snap of the fingers. Before I knew it, daylight was dying as the sun set. Wow, had I really already be on my feet for that long? Fortunately, a tip from our good Auburn friend, Fred (who had paced for John Nevels the previous year), told us to bring our headlamps along for this portion. Good thing too. Had we not donned our lamps at mile 45, we would've been running with nothing more than our natural night vision to help us along the way for a good 3 miles. It wouldn't be until mile 55 that we'd see the rest of my crew again.

Trotting in to the mile 52 aid station, I heard a radio the volunteers were listening to and was reminded that football was happening today. I chomped down on some orange slices there and we were off again. As per some advice given to me from John Nevels, I had made a point to spend only the amount of time I absolutely had to at each of these aid stations. Because of this, I ended up passing quite a hefty number of other runners lolly gaggin for too long.

Just 3 miles later and we reached the Adam's Gap aid station as "Livin on a Prayer" was blaring through the woods. This was the first aid station I hit at night and it was really hoppin. Even the potato flippin guy was there. I don't know his name but every race I've done out here, this dude is always at the ready with some freshly seared sliced potatoes. While I at some of those, my crew restocked my hydration pack with more GU's and for the first time today I started taking in some caffeine in the form of Mountain Dew Voltage. I took a little more time at Adam's Gap but the potatoes and soup I ate made it worth it I think. Mr. Lagasse took over as pace man for the next 5 miles of hilly Jeep road to Claimont Gap and swapped for a second time with Joe Maxwell who accompanied me to mile 65, Chandler Springs, where Lance started pacing me for the first time.

It was getting cold. What time of day it was I did not know, did not really want to know, but it was somewhere in the ballpark of 10pm. By now I had on 3 layers, including one thin smartwool layer, and supposed that would be enough for the long night ahead. I was to be proven very wrong later on.

The three miles to Porter's Gap seemed to take longer than it should have. As we rolled in to where the start of the Cheaha 50k is, I reflected a bit on what I had to do next. Before I began my last big challenge of the race, I joined a roll of TP into the woods for a bit and returned a new man. I swapped my Nathan pack for my bigger, tried and true Camelbak filled with extra water and GU's for this 17 mile stretch where I wouldn't see one bit of my crew, save for my ever-helpful pacer, Lance. I saw Fred there again, (I found out here that he wasn't pacing anyone, just here to check things out. Awesome.) and he gave me a smiling face of encouragement and assured me, "Just one hill to go!" And what a hill it turned out to be. With my Camelbak donned and warm soup freshly down my gullet, Lance and I crossed the road and hit the trail leading up to the infamous Pinnacle section.

Pinnacle, Miles 68-85:

I was still feeling pretty good. Amazingly my body was holding up well to all these miles. No cramping at all (in fact, the only cramp I got all days ("s" intended) was a stomach cramp I got from eating a lot at an aid station). We ran a couple miles into the woods as the temperature continued to drop and the dark seemed to keep getting darker, in spite of the fact that the sun had set hours ago. The moon was no where to be seen but the stars we in spectacular view through the forest canopy overhead. About 3 miles after Porter's Gap, the switchbacks started. I felt like they were never going to end. I caught glimpses of the GUTS run aid station at the top, but no matter how many switch backs I climbed, there were 2 more to replace it, like the mountainside had become a giant stair master only with switchbacks.

Up and up we hiked until at last we had conquered the final switchback. I was treated with some friendly GUTS members and even saw the familiar face of Jason Rogers as I chowed down on a welcomed fried egg sandwich. (To some these egg sandwiches had become synonymous with climbing Pinnacle. There were good to be sure). I noticed one of the volunteers here had on the same Mountain Mist hoody that I have as he checked me over and commented on how I was surprisingly coherent. I wonder if that meant there were much less coherent runners who had come through here before?

Less than 2 minutes later, I reckin, we headed off, happy to be done with Pinnacle. So, Pinnacle was finished, no more hills for this section, right? Right? No such luck. When we entered the next portion of trail we realized how wrong this assumption was. The trail was handing me inclines like the government hands out money. The hills were absolutely unrelenting. I was on a ridge line where every time I figured we had to have a downhill portion, I was proven wrong yet again. Despite this frustration, I did pause once where the trees had opened up and I looked out to the midnight skyline. I quoted Psalms 121 in my head and was awed by this creation. I hadn't seen stars like this since I was in Colorado. The night was very clear, no cloud cover and no moon in sight. And being on the ridge line, there was no buffer for the high altitude winds. I had left my head band and gloves in my other hydration pack so I couldn't even whip those out. Burrr. The Camelback I was wearing was the kind that had a strap around the waist as well as across the chest. Interestingly, as I swayed from side to side when I ran, the friction between the straps and my 3 thin layers of tech fabrics actually warmed me up in those spots rather than causing any kind of rash. A few more grueling miles later and we got to the last aid station before mile 85. I couldn't stand around too long. My body temperature seemed to drop exponentially the longer I stayed there and I resisted the temptation to stand near the fire, less I enjoy this comfort a little to much and end up staying much longer than I needed to. I had some soul warming chicken noodle soup and Lance and I were off again, down a long Jeep road. 6.5 miles and we would be done with the hills. At first this road seemed to be going in a general downward slope, so I could still run a bit. Lance kept encouraging me by telling me how strong I still looked. Lies are necessary every once and a while, but I swear, he said it like he meant it. I guess I'd believe a lot of things at this point.

Even though I started to build some momentum down this Jeep road, it was quickly stolen from me as it started heading up again. And up it went. Again, unrelenting. Though it had probably been only 4 miles, it took nearly an hour before we hit single track again, and again, the trail seemed to keep going up. On the few portions that led us down hill, I still couldn't run. Fatigue, loose rocks covered in a deep blanket of leaves, and poor visibility kept me to a swift power hike. Oh, and by the way, my headlamp's batteries were on dire straights so I had to turn it to the dimmest setting lest they run out on me. I'd have a serious problem on my hands then.

How long was this damn trail? We had to be getting close. As it finally began to descend more than it ascended, I got passed for the first time since mile 20. At long last we cruised into the energetic mile 85 aid station, Bull's Gap. I could see Sylacaugua in the distance.

Mile 85-finish:

While my friend Zach Koch from Huntsville, representing the Fleet Feet crowd, refitted my headlamp with new batteries, I tried to eat a good bit of food. I had some more soup, maybe a cookie or two, and some other stuff that I now can't remember. This was where I got my one and only cramp.

I was expecting to see a friend of mine from Huntsville here to pace me to the finish, but due to some miscommunication, he was unable to make it, so the Joes stepped up to finish off pacing me. The unrelenting hills were over. Jeep roads were really all that was left, save for a few pieces of single track. I put on my gloves and head band and swapped out my hydration pack again for the lighter Nathan pack. Joe Lagasse and I headed off.

By now, I was quickly getting to the point where power walking was almost the same speed as my shuffle jog was so I opted for the former for the hill sections as well as some of the flat. Oh how cold it was! Joe and I chatted again to pass the time as we rolled into the next little aid station at mile 90. The pre-poured cokes they had for me were partially frozen. The only warm stuff they had, and thank God they had warm stuff, was soup and potatoes, the usual. I had some of them before I headed onward.

At this point I was dismayed. I had expected to see my crew here again and get some more clothes on. They were not there and I feared for the worse, that I would not see them until the finish 10 miles later, which, at this point, would take me several hours to traverse. The jeep road eventually gave way to some single track. Some guys that I had passed at previous aid stations had caught a second wind and I was passed by a few more people. I was ok with that at this point. Really it was refreshing to see fellow runners now, even if they were passing me. Misery loves company I suppose. About two miles away from the final aid station, mile 93 I think, I was at my lowest point. The bitter cold was killing me. As I shivered, I knew that running would help warm me up, so to stay warm, I tried to run though my body protested oh so much. My appearel was ill suited for these kind of "dead of night" temperatures. It was colder than it had been on that ridge line. By now it was about 3:30 or so in the morning. Through out most of the day, I was on pace to finish in under 24 hours. After Pinnacle, though, the wind was absent from my sails and all hope of that achievement was lost. I wasn't too upset though, I just wanted to finish.

Joe and I hit another Jeep road that led to yet another trail head to take us to the last aid station. I saw some cars up ahead. Then someone who I thought I didn't know, camera in hand, told me, the car's just up ahead. Car? Since when were aid stations referred to as cars? Wait...JOE! My crew was here! A miracle! I wouldn't freeze to death after all. I put on my favorite Mountain Mist hoody and ate as many chocolate covered espresso beans that could fit in my mouth. I went ahead and took off my hydration pack, the water in the nozzle was frozen so no use trying to get water from it now, and was ready to go. Before I left Joe aimed the video camera at my misery-stricken face and asked me how I felt. Quoting Union Admiral David Glasgow Farragut and mustering as much diaphragmic fortitude as I could I shouted, "Damn the torpedoes, FULL SPEED AHEAD!!!" and started walking away.

My spirits were lifted a bit now that I had another layer on and the final aid station was just ahead.

This last section of trail, no longer part of the Pinhoti trail system, was unexpected. We went through open fields, over a half man-made, half natural dam, and through what looked like what could be someone's backyard. I even commented to Joe that I felt like we had hit private property. Civilization at last?

I started to see the sun rise for a second time. What a phenomenon that was. I had forgotten sunlight. For the longest time I felt like Frodo making his way up Mt Doom. But there it was, twilight was approaching, eventually giving way to sunlight. Sunlight! Beautiful, merciful Sunlight! Oh, how I missed thee! Even recounting this memory from just yesterday threatens to produce tangible tears.

Joe Maxwell and I hit a gravel road and presently found ourselves flanked by barbed wire fences. Sure enough, we were in rural Sylacaugua. I saw some house cats sprint across the road we were on, some of the very little animal life I saw through out the race.

Oh what a joy the sun was! I imagine this is how Noah must have felt after he saw solid ground for the first time in 40 days. My legs received new life and I was running again. Maybe a 10 minute pace? I don't know but it was recognizable as a run so far as I could tell.

The gravel gave way to the hardball road to the finish at the track. I saw stadium lights to my right and Joe and I for a second thought it might be the finish. Drawing from my experience as a crew member last year, which, by the way, had paid massive dividends all day long, I knew better. I still had at least a mile to go.

Rounding a corner I saw a new set of stadium lights as I recognized the bleachers on the far side as those at the finish line. Could it be? Was I there at last? Picking up my pace I was directed across a small field and on to that beautiful, unkempt asphalt track. I gave it everything I had left and rounded the far end of that track on across the finish line.

I honestly didn't know what to think. Was I really done running? Over 25 hours of relentless forward motion finally come to a stop? I was handed my belt buckle and was in a state of disbelief. I sat down, in front of a heater, for the first time in about 26 hours. Someone gave me a handshake and many congratulations came my way. I still didn't quite understand that I was done. Finished. No more Pinhoti 100, 2010. Veni, vidi, vici. Solo Deo Gloria!!!!

Right after the finish

And of course we have to have a picture of my feet after the race, enjoy:

P.S. I'll have my video up in about 2 weeks time.