Mountain Man
I had never in my life been in a hail storm this intense. The sound of ice balls bouncing off the roof of the van was deafening. Myself and the other ROTC cadets could barely even seen across the highway as the wind, rain, and hail screened everything from view.
The ride up to Gatlinburg on Friday was arduous, taking a lot longer than we had expected. Our van and trailer pulled in to our hotel at some point around midnight before we were finally able to rest up for the next day. Fortunately, the hotel was a stone's through away from the starting line so we wouldn't have any difficulty getting to it.
At 6:30 on race morning the dark clouds from yesterday's storm were leaving a parting gift for us before they eventually blew away. Once the rain did let up and after we had gotten some continental breakfast, we strolled down to the registration tent and got our numbers. Six of our team members had opted to ruck the half marathon, while myself and Julia would run the full and half marathon, respectively. As I was milling about that area I noticed those rucking this thing far outnumbered those running. I guess it's not too surprising though as this was a memorial march.
The local Tennessee Army ROTC went to great lengths to put this march together to honor their former cadet that was killed in action a few years ago. It was a very unique race in that aspect; with a massive American flag flowing from a firetruck ladder, and a bald eagle in attendance, I'd never felt more patriotic during a race.
As 9 o'clock approached, I toed the line with a handful of other runners in great anticipation to enjoy our favorite sport and country for the next 26.2 or so miles. Dozens of v-twin engines roared to life, screaming from every one of the local Harley Davidson bikes that were in the opposite lane to see us off.
Powder ignited, the gun went off, and energy filled runners sprang from the line. I counted eight that went out ahead of me straight away. I kept thinking about what type of field I would be facing and right now I concluded that either there was more talent here than I thought, or all these fellow runners had no idea how to pace for a race of this length. I soon found out it would be the ladder.
The course gave us a quick tour of the downtown Gatlinburg area, taking us under the symbolic yellow chairlifts, before heading back east out of town along the East Parkway. About five miles after the gun went off I reasoned I was in about fourth place. I continued to take inventory of my vitals and sustainability of my current pace (7:15); right on target. The East Parkway didn't have a single perfectly flat portion to it. Though it offered some smooth running, there was a noticeable grade the entire way. A small tail wind was a nice relief. I was starting to feel a little parched and was wondering when I would be expecting the first water stop. It should've been close. I was nearly seven miles into this thing. (I would find out later that a water stop that was supposed to be located around mile 5.5 hadn't even been set up yet when I ran by.)
The East Parkway eventually gave up some of it's elevation with almost a mile of gradual decent. At the apex of this particular point on the highway, I was able to see out to some great views of the Smokey's, taking a mental pause to enjoy my surroundings. I passed another massive flag-dangling fire truck before I was directed to turn off the Parkway and on to a small residential road. I spotted a white tailgate-style tent and reasoned this must be an aid station. I was at mile 8, for crap's sake! It's about time I got some water. It was about this time that one of the runners that was ahead of me passed me going to opposite direction, looking strong. He asked me "half or full?" to which I responded "full!" "Good luck, man" he replied as he made his was back to the start. (I talked to him afterwards and he ended up winning the half). Second place then. Good, now I only had one person to catch, right?
I grabbed a large cup full of water and did my best swig as much of it down as I could while still on the move. Given that it took me eight miles to get to this first water point, there was no telling how far off the next one was. (The online map of the course made it look like there were plenty.) I then found myself running in a quaint, rural part of Gatlinburg, flanked by a small river, some intermittent bovine-filled pastures, and mountains on either side. At this point I found myself quite alone, almost to the point where I questioned if I was still on route. So far there had be no mile markers and I had only spotted one arrow directing me where to go.
Continuing along this lovely little thoroughfare, I ran under a covered bridge and followed the road further north deeper into the woods. I knew this section would be sort of lollipop-shaped and wondered when I would see the arrow pointing back down the road I came, indicating where I would expect to be heading back. I ran past this arrow around mile 10 and prepared myself for what was next.
Then the hills started comin. I saw several of those winding road signs and indeed the road was actually quite treterous as oncoming traffic didn't have much time to adjust when they saw a lone runner cresting the road.
The scenery during this section was lovely, though. The mountains to my sides began getting closer and closer to me until it was just me, the road and the river between them. At one point I head a crackling sound, almost like thunder coming from the slope to my right. A massive tree fell about a quarter mile away somewhere in the woods. What timing.
My garmin told me I was approaching mile 12 and I knew I would be expecting some gnarly hills soon, according to the elevation profile on the event's website. And sure enough, a little orange arrow pointed me up and impossibly steep hill no race director would ever in his right mind put in a road marathon. But since when have RD's ever been in their right minds?
For the next half mile, running was straight up futile. I was marching up a steep mountain side on a jeep road. It was kinda nice to get off the pavement for a little while and pretend I was running an ultra somewhere, but it was killing my pace. I kept wondering when I would ever see this guy I believed was in front of me. After reaching the top of this ridiculous climb, I was rewarded with an aid station. Another guzzle of water and my first of two GU packs of the day went down the hatch.
The next several miles were annoyingly undulating. The downhill portions were almost as steep as what I had just ascended. After another several miles of this I was spat out onto a larger road and saw some guys up ahead throwing rocks across it and into the river on the opposite side. This turned out to be the next aid station and it seemed like these guys hadn't seen a runner in a while. I was thankful that this one wasn't as far away as the last and got a salt tab in me before I headed on.
I pulled off the main road and back on to some single wide back roads, about as wide as a driveway. The roads climbed and fell and climbed again. I had about 10 miles to go and knew that if I wanted to finish closer to three hours this is where I would need to think about picking up the pace. That wasn't going to happen. I kept climbing up and up as the roads slithered through more forest. I couldn't even see the next aid station until I was right up on it. I think I surprised the guys working it when I saw someone jump from their sleeping bag under the tent they had set up. I was really beginning to wonder if I was the first person they had seen come through here all day.
From here the road curved its way downward and I knew I was close to finishing this loop. Not a few miles later and I was back at the covered bridge. A Humvee was coming across it at the same time and I had to practically suck in my gut to slice by it. I started running past some other full marathon ruck marchers going in the opposite direction. I was glad I wasn't them.
Though the weather turned out to be pretty great that day, not too warm, somewhere around 60 degrees, I was running low on fluids. The water point that served as the turn around point for the half marathoners was just up ahead. I really needed to hydrate. Rounding the corner I saw the cacophony that was now the aid station. Dozens and dozens of ruck marchers who decided to take a breather congested the road. I started shouting for them to move and that I needed water. To my great dismay one of the volunteers there (get it, cause I'm in Tennessee?) said the were OUT OF CUPS...crap. I had taken a salt tab in anticipation of getting some water. Now it was lodged in my throat, and with barely enough saliva left to even spit, it wasn't going anywhere. I was too stubborn to stop and ask someone for water (after all, I was still racing) and continued on.
Heading west on the East Parkway, the last major ascent of the day was ahead of me. Songs like these started playing in my head. This was tough. This was where the marathon really humbles you. 20 + miles on your legs, body depleted of electrolytes and water, sun beating down on your back and no end in sight of this mile-long stretch of hill. A leather-clad biker on the right side of this road asked me if I was running half or full. "Full!" I shouted back and he revved up his machine and started escorting the first place marathon runner up this final stretch, POW/MIA flag waving behind.
I got words of encouragement from other ruckers who, confirming my suspicions, yelled "alright, first full marathoner!" Eventually I saw my fellow Auburn ROTC half marathon ruckers making their way back the same way I was running. They mercifully gave me some water. I must have downed a half liter in no time flat. Confirming a few more of my suspicions they told me I looked like death before I headed off.
The road continued along a gradual decent while I was blasted by wind from the front. God Almighty, this was hurting.
That aid station that wasn't here the first time had sprung up and was giving out gatorade. I grabbed some and chugged it. That turned out to be a poor decision as the powder wasn't mixed up at all. When I got the the bottom of the cup and took in a mouth full of strong, lime powder I nearly threw up. I'd never felt this nauseous during a race before.
The finish line was nearly in sight. I rounded the corner of where our hotel was on and knew I was nearly there. I half sprinted, half limped across the finish line fighting off cramps in every part of my legs. Though I wasn't too excited about my time (a few seconds slower than a marathon I had run this time last year) I had just won my first marathon.
I would later find out that this course has an elevation gain of over 8100 feet. To put that in perspective that's more elevation gain than the Pikes Peak marathon at about 7900. Another way of looking at it, Steamboat Springs, CO sits at about 8100 ft above sea level. That's a lot of upward travel.
The ride up to Gatlinburg on Friday was arduous, taking a lot longer than we had expected. Our van and trailer pulled in to our hotel at some point around midnight before we were finally able to rest up for the next day. Fortunately, the hotel was a stone's through away from the starting line so we wouldn't have any difficulty getting to it.
At 6:30 on race morning the dark clouds from yesterday's storm were leaving a parting gift for us before they eventually blew away. Once the rain did let up and after we had gotten some continental breakfast, we strolled down to the registration tent and got our numbers. Six of our team members had opted to ruck the half marathon, while myself and Julia would run the full and half marathon, respectively. As I was milling about that area I noticed those rucking this thing far outnumbered those running. I guess it's not too surprising though as this was a memorial march.
The local Tennessee Army ROTC went to great lengths to put this march together to honor their former cadet that was killed in action a few years ago. It was a very unique race in that aspect; with a massive American flag flowing from a firetruck ladder, and a bald eagle in attendance, I'd never felt more patriotic during a race.
As 9 o'clock approached, I toed the line with a handful of other runners in great anticipation to enjoy our favorite sport and country for the next 26.2 or so miles. Dozens of v-twin engines roared to life, screaming from every one of the local Harley Davidson bikes that were in the opposite lane to see us off.
Powder ignited, the gun went off, and energy filled runners sprang from the line. I counted eight that went out ahead of me straight away. I kept thinking about what type of field I would be facing and right now I concluded that either there was more talent here than I thought, or all these fellow runners had no idea how to pace for a race of this length. I soon found out it would be the ladder.
The course gave us a quick tour of the downtown Gatlinburg area, taking us under the symbolic yellow chairlifts, before heading back east out of town along the East Parkway. About five miles after the gun went off I reasoned I was in about fourth place. I continued to take inventory of my vitals and sustainability of my current pace (7:15); right on target. The East Parkway didn't have a single perfectly flat portion to it. Though it offered some smooth running, there was a noticeable grade the entire way. A small tail wind was a nice relief. I was starting to feel a little parched and was wondering when I would be expecting the first water stop. It should've been close. I was nearly seven miles into this thing. (I would find out later that a water stop that was supposed to be located around mile 5.5 hadn't even been set up yet when I ran by.)
The East Parkway eventually gave up some of it's elevation with almost a mile of gradual decent. At the apex of this particular point on the highway, I was able to see out to some great views of the Smokey's, taking a mental pause to enjoy my surroundings. I passed another massive flag-dangling fire truck before I was directed to turn off the Parkway and on to a small residential road. I spotted a white tailgate-style tent and reasoned this must be an aid station. I was at mile 8, for crap's sake! It's about time I got some water. It was about this time that one of the runners that was ahead of me passed me going to opposite direction, looking strong. He asked me "half or full?" to which I responded "full!" "Good luck, man" he replied as he made his was back to the start. (I talked to him afterwards and he ended up winning the half). Second place then. Good, now I only had one person to catch, right?
I grabbed a large cup full of water and did my best swig as much of it down as I could while still on the move. Given that it took me eight miles to get to this first water point, there was no telling how far off the next one was. (The online map of the course made it look like there were plenty.) I then found myself running in a quaint, rural part of Gatlinburg, flanked by a small river, some intermittent bovine-filled pastures, and mountains on either side. At this point I found myself quite alone, almost to the point where I questioned if I was still on route. So far there had be no mile markers and I had only spotted one arrow directing me where to go.
Continuing along this lovely little thoroughfare, I ran under a covered bridge and followed the road further north deeper into the woods. I knew this section would be sort of lollipop-shaped and wondered when I would see the arrow pointing back down the road I came, indicating where I would expect to be heading back. I ran past this arrow around mile 10 and prepared myself for what was next.
Then the hills started comin. I saw several of those winding road signs and indeed the road was actually quite treterous as oncoming traffic didn't have much time to adjust when they saw a lone runner cresting the road.
The scenery during this section was lovely, though. The mountains to my sides began getting closer and closer to me until it was just me, the road and the river between them. At one point I head a crackling sound, almost like thunder coming from the slope to my right. A massive tree fell about a quarter mile away somewhere in the woods. What timing.
My garmin told me I was approaching mile 12 and I knew I would be expecting some gnarly hills soon, according to the elevation profile on the event's website. And sure enough, a little orange arrow pointed me up and impossibly steep hill no race director would ever in his right mind put in a road marathon. But since when have RD's ever been in their right minds?
For the next half mile, running was straight up futile. I was marching up a steep mountain side on a jeep road. It was kinda nice to get off the pavement for a little while and pretend I was running an ultra somewhere, but it was killing my pace. I kept wondering when I would ever see this guy I believed was in front of me. After reaching the top of this ridiculous climb, I was rewarded with an aid station. Another guzzle of water and my first of two GU packs of the day went down the hatch.
The next several miles were annoyingly undulating. The downhill portions were almost as steep as what I had just ascended. After another several miles of this I was spat out onto a larger road and saw some guys up ahead throwing rocks across it and into the river on the opposite side. This turned out to be the next aid station and it seemed like these guys hadn't seen a runner in a while. I was thankful that this one wasn't as far away as the last and got a salt tab in me before I headed on.
I pulled off the main road and back on to some single wide back roads, about as wide as a driveway. The roads climbed and fell and climbed again. I had about 10 miles to go and knew that if I wanted to finish closer to three hours this is where I would need to think about picking up the pace. That wasn't going to happen. I kept climbing up and up as the roads slithered through more forest. I couldn't even see the next aid station until I was right up on it. I think I surprised the guys working it when I saw someone jump from their sleeping bag under the tent they had set up. I was really beginning to wonder if I was the first person they had seen come through here all day.
From here the road curved its way downward and I knew I was close to finishing this loop. Not a few miles later and I was back at the covered bridge. A Humvee was coming across it at the same time and I had to practically suck in my gut to slice by it. I started running past some other full marathon ruck marchers going in the opposite direction. I was glad I wasn't them.
Though the weather turned out to be pretty great that day, not too warm, somewhere around 60 degrees, I was running low on fluids. The water point that served as the turn around point for the half marathoners was just up ahead. I really needed to hydrate. Rounding the corner I saw the cacophony that was now the aid station. Dozens and dozens of ruck marchers who decided to take a breather congested the road. I started shouting for them to move and that I needed water. To my great dismay one of the volunteers there (get it, cause I'm in Tennessee?) said the were OUT OF CUPS...crap. I had taken a salt tab in anticipation of getting some water. Now it was lodged in my throat, and with barely enough saliva left to even spit, it wasn't going anywhere. I was too stubborn to stop and ask someone for water (after all, I was still racing) and continued on.
Heading west on the East Parkway, the last major ascent of the day was ahead of me. Songs like these started playing in my head. This was tough. This was where the marathon really humbles you. 20 + miles on your legs, body depleted of electrolytes and water, sun beating down on your back and no end in sight of this mile-long stretch of hill. A leather-clad biker on the right side of this road asked me if I was running half or full. "Full!" I shouted back and he revved up his machine and started escorting the first place marathon runner up this final stretch, POW/MIA flag waving behind.
I got words of encouragement from other ruckers who, confirming my suspicions, yelled "alright, first full marathoner!" Eventually I saw my fellow Auburn ROTC half marathon ruckers making their way back the same way I was running. They mercifully gave me some water. I must have downed a half liter in no time flat. Confirming a few more of my suspicions they told me I looked like death before I headed off.
The road continued along a gradual decent while I was blasted by wind from the front. God Almighty, this was hurting.
That aid station that wasn't here the first time had sprung up and was giving out gatorade. I grabbed some and chugged it. That turned out to be a poor decision as the powder wasn't mixed up at all. When I got the the bottom of the cup and took in a mouth full of strong, lime powder I nearly threw up. I'd never felt this nauseous during a race before.
The finish line was nearly in sight. I rounded the corner of where our hotel was on and knew I was nearly there. I half sprinted, half limped across the finish line fighting off cramps in every part of my legs. Though I wasn't too excited about my time (a few seconds slower than a marathon I had run this time last year) I had just won my first marathon.
I would later find out that this course has an elevation gain of over 8100 feet. To put that in perspective that's more elevation gain than the Pikes Peak marathon at about 7900. Another way of looking at it, Steamboat Springs, CO sits at about 8100 ft above sea level. That's a lot of upward travel.
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