Packet pickup. Credit: Marc Griffin (I think)
So, there I was.
Maybe 20 miles into Grindstone 100 and thinking two things: 1. “How the hell am I going to get this done within my time goal if the trails stay like this? Or at all? And 2. “Andy Jones-Wilkins, why did you suggest this mother-fu***** race to me?” Oh, that’s right, I wanted a Hardrock 100 qualifier. I was looking to run outside of Colorado where I could potentially perform a little better than my norm. Whatever that means. And then I started thinking about my current situation: Rocks. Small rocks. Big rocks. Rocks that move. Rocks that trip me. Rocks that are hidden by falling leaves. Rocks that no human being should be able move over quickly. Rocks that prevent me from actually making downhill progress at a “normal” pace. Rocks that remind me of how much I suck on technical terrain. Rocks that grab ahold of my poles and sling me backwards by my wrists. Rocks made even more difficult by the fact that this race starts at 6:00 pm, it’s dark, and I am navigating in the narrow space provided by my headlamp. Rocks that I want to punch in their stupid faces if they had one, and where I wouldn’t also hurt my hand adding to the aches and pains that were already adding up about 1/5 into a 100+ mile race!
Nightmare Technical. Credit: Michelle Rice
If one more person tells me “welcome to the beast coast” I am going to puke. Augh! And then I laughed at myself. I signed up for a race named GrindSTONE. Duh. Stones and rocks were inevitable. Hardship and maybe even a little despair are inevitable. I LOVE this stuff. This is why I am here. My mindset needs to change NOW. Time to embrace that I am outside my comfort zone and I must deal with it. I recalled a conversation I had with the very talented Jackson Brill after Devil on the Divide a month ago (he won by the way with a new CR): It was about how technical running is a skill, and I just do not have the terrain to perfect it by me. Wisdom from a young guy I respect (watch out by the way, he’s going to be one of the GREATS). It was just the reminder I needed to relax and accept. I was just about a mile and a half from the first aid station where my family was waiting for me with all the sustainment I needed to press on. Up until this “downhill” into Dowell’s Draft, I was moving really well. I had lungs for days due to the low elevation, my nutrition seemed spot on, and I was VERY lucky to be missing out on the normally wet, hot, and humid conditions that this course sees. I pushed the negative thoughts of how badly I could be performing otherwise away.
I came to the flatter, rolling intersection hopefully leading towards lights, music, and amazing volunteers. I found the pink flagging, starting moving forward, then wait… Am I travelling up a creek bed? Shit. I turned around and told the woman following me that we were going the wrong way. Backtrack. I kept moving and then my friend Michelle came running past. “Were only about a mile away!” she said. Michelle! Always smiling. Eternally helpful. We met at CTS Ultra Camp earlier this year and have shared the hardship of preparing for this race together. She’s become a good friend to me. I was thinking about how funny it was earlier before the race when we both tried to “rest” in her cabin at the start and we just both burst out laughing, super giddy, and flaky before the race because of all of the missed details we forgot. I was determined to follow her into the aid station and then, WHAM! I super-manned into the ground. My first real fall in a real long time of running trails. I pushed up quickly and did a quick check, amazed that I didn’t seriously hurt anything. This is TOO early I told myself. I dusted off and kept going.
My buddy Michelle and I at the start.
Slight uphill mile and I was running into the aid station. Claps, cheers, shouts of “great work runner,” and then I saw my amazing wife and family. They have never crewed for me before. Well, Jeana had a small taste at Black Canyon 100k earlier this year, but she had THE Jason Koop helping her help me and the other CTS athletes. Not a bad way to learn. My mother-in-law and father-in-law, Kathy and Martin were there to help. So was Michelle’s HILARIOUSLY awesome friend, Janna. They were amazing! They had everything laid out perfectly. Martin told me about available food choices, and informed me that I was way early and let me know how much climbing and distance there was until the next aid. Kathy gave me all the things I asked for. Jeana had my electrolyte bottles ready and they were swapped out quickly, and I told her I somehow ran out of water in my bladder and we must have incorrectly filled it to my allotted 32 oz per big section before the start. This time it was right. We reset for the next big push and I had new life. Especially after some ginger ale to help my stomach. I wasn’t sick but it felt tight. I was told that I was there ten minutes already, and I was thankful for being a bit early. Time to head out. I profusely thanked everyone and the volunteers, checked out, and then I moved out of the aid station with Michelle right behind me.
You would never know my family has not crewed.
Wow! Finally, smoother trails. I mixed hiking and running as it started heading up, but I was also a bit worried that I might be pushing too hard in the beginning. Michelle passed me and disappeared from sight. Wouldn’t see her again for a long while. I pressed on. During this section I sort of zoned out. It was the dead of night. I kept experiencing eerily strange feelings with the wind picking up and dark quiet. I can’t explain it. I power-hiked the steep sections like a beast and passed multiple people (my one true strength on this one), only to be passed again on the downhills that kept hiding things to trip me. Somewhere close to the 50k mark, my stomach wasn’t great. Not the normal nausea or dehydrated feeling that I have experienced. Grossly, I realized that with the long day and late start I had not had my, um… normal “regularity” and that I probably was not digesting normally. Basically, the feeling that I might have to go to the bathroom and I probably could not. I reached the next aid station and in true Josh Holer bluntness blurted it out to everyone and no one in particular. Some laughed, some cringed. At least I provide comic relief. One of the aid station volunteers said she was a nurse and said that I as long as I was urinating, I would be fine. I told her “well, I have gone twice in 7 hours” and she told me to start drinking more (with big eyes). So, food was going great, and I was probably still not drinking as much as I should have, and that became a problem to solve. I was drinking very well in my mind, but the humidity of this area was also causing me to sweat way more despite cooler temps, so I said I would be on top it.
I shared the next 6.4ish miles leapfrogging with another Colorado runner from Denver. His name escapes me. We would do this with each other for most of the rest of the race. The remainder of the downhill in this section was more of the same, rocky, hot-garbage B.S. I spoke of earlier and I hit a real huge mental low before the quick turn to blacktop and the North River Gap aid station at mile 37.13. My left knee was feeling cranky and the bottom right of that same heel was feeling painful. I couldn’t figure it out. Before coming around the corner, to my family and more salvation, there was another guy who ran to his crew and tried to quit. Said his knees were shot. I tried to ignore it, because I had never wanted to quit more myself this early in a race, and I was SUPER disappointed in myself for even thinking about it. I came around the corner to see my family again, and slumped into a waiting chair. “I need to change my socks for the next 30 miles” I said. Martin informed me that I was ten minutes early and I was shocked. I thought I was already an hour late or more. Not that it really matters this early. I was mentally dreading the biggest climb of the day in my head and thinking about how poorly I felt.
My wife and Kathy told me how great I looked. I started crying. Seriously. I was crying and I was only a little over 1/3 done. Then laughing and telling jokes a few minutes later. I complained about my ability to keep my time goal. Martin told me food that was at the aid station and then brought me broth with potatoes at my request. I had Nutella, and Coke. I scarfed everything down and realized my stomach was SOLID. I chalked everything up to the fact that my mind felt like I was in last push in the dark of a race that begins in the early morning and goes through the night. Just a mind game. That’s all. I switched out my headlamp for my lighter one because daylight was only 3ish hours away. That way my wife could have the battery of my powerful one ready for the next time I came through or later the next day. I was just sick of the weight on my head. My neck and shoulders were tired from using poles, and a heavy pack. Dang aid stations were so far away you needed to carry more. Especially when you are slower than you think you’ll be. But then I had new life. I was ready to own the next climb and get to the turnaround so I could I could do it all again in reverse. Hahahahaha!
Best crew ever!
I headed up the flattish trail leading away from the aid station, turned right, and then pushed up the longest frigging climb of my life. At least at that point in the race. I just kept pushing. And pushing. Darkness, wind, cold, steep, repeat. Some slight downhills here and there. When is daylight coming? I was still eating on the hour. Rotating my electrolyte fluid and water. Peeing regularly. Good enough. But getting tired. Somewhere up this climb the race leader came barreling downhill. I was impressed and jealous at the same time. Simply astounding athletic talent and grit! Onward. I crested the top of that climb and it was cold. Fog and wind. It was hard to see but there was rolling terrain and I jogged it out to the next aid station at just shy of 45 miles. I probably needed a jacket, but I just threw on my gloves. I was not really feeling the food I was carrying, so I deviated from cardinal rule #1: Don’t do anything new on race day. But holy God were those pierogis delicious! Like greasy, awesome goodness. I had those and ginger ale, and then was able to stow my headlamp. Daylight had come. I thanked everyone and ran out. The next miles were rolling until coming up on a dirt road that actually led to a blacktop road. Here we had to summit Reddish Knob which was littered with graffiti, cars, and people. I punched my bib and head down the road to the turnaround! I was about 1 mile away and saw Michelle’s smiling face heading back. She encouraged me with “almost there!” There were so many cars on the road, and apparently, there a was a dirt bike event going on, so I did my best not to gag on their fumes while they drove up the road.
I was very happy to hit the turnaround. I sat in a chair and a very nice volunteer took care of all my needs. I busted out my staple “does anyone know when this 10k ends?” line, and everyone laughed. I was freezing! I donned my jacket, pulled the buff over my ears, and kept my gloves on. My volunteer told me the food choices and then brought me a sweet pancake filled with eggs, which I devoured. Then more Coke. Another volunteer said he had Fireball whisky and PBR. I said, “Not on your life!” I applied some pain cream to sore areas, and then had more food and then joked about eating with some very disgusting fingers. And then I had to go. It was windy and freezing. Definitely not normal weather for here. The aid station had cars setup to help people stay warm.
I thanked everyone and then dodged the cars and motorcycles as I crossed the road to head back out. 51.6 miles and well over 12k in climbing at this point. Onward! I have to admit that I was a bit frustrated going back up the road. The motorcycles were really pissing me off. I guess just the noise and the smell. I came up and around the curve leading to the dirt road again and had to barrel through a group of them just sitting there blocking the way. I ran into my Denver buddy again who explained that he just summitted Reddish Knob again because he couldn’t see the turn that they were blocking. Oh man! I was upset for him. On the way down this runnable road, the motorcycles just kept coming, and I stayed on the flat section with ZERO care for their access. I refused to move. I sort of felt bad, but not really. I was glad to get to the bottom and head back towards the next aid. This rolling section felt more up than down to me and I was very happy to get there. I went into brainless mode and just kept plugging, but the aid station came slower than expected.
I swore and said F this Sh** when I got there. The volunteers laughed and said “woohoo, keep going!” I said, “No, F this race. I NEED you guys,” and they laughed. They helped me top off, and I ate more pierogis. SO satisfying. I took a couple tums, and some more ginger ale, and on I went. Able to take off my jacket and gloves now. The biggest uphill of the day became the biggest downhill of the day with the biggest uphill of the day. I did not remember this many climbs (aka downhills) on the way up. It was hard. And the steepness was hard to run down, but I was so happy for the daylight that made it easier to find my footing, so I just went into that blank headspace and charged forward waiting. And waiting. And finally, I hit the left turn back to the aid station and my family at mile 65.3. I was fired up here. I finally had new life and my pacer was waiting! Michelle had reached out to East Coast Trail and Ultra Runners on Facebook to find me Corinna. Yep, I selflessly helped crewed and paced people all year long and did not coordinate my own pacer too close to the race. I was so glad to find someone that ran ultras and lived locally in Staunton, VA willing to put up with me for 22+ miles. We talked a bunch before the race, and she agreed to help out. She had never paced before, but I was excited to let her give it a go.
I decided that this would be last sock change with about 36.5 miles to go. I took my time and kept carrying my light headlamp in the hopes that we could make it to mile 80 before the sun went down (again). Then Corinna would run with me to mile 87 until Jeana could run with me for the last 14. I ate ravenously at the aid station. Finally, they had noodle soup. I had Nutella and ginger ale too. I was still eating my “Bullseye Foods,” (thanks Koop) which consisted of Probar Bolts, Rice Krispy Treats, Rice Balls, Honey Stinger Waffles, and Skratch, but between aid stations. At the aid stations, I needed something different to mix it up and since a few new foods weren’t hurting me, I went for it. Jeana tried to get a picture of me and I gave her a “rolled eye” look. Kathy helped me change my shirt and then gave me a neck massage with this cool motorized peanut thing. I also needed to apply some strategic lube because I was starting to chafe in some not so great undercarriage places which can ruin your day if not taken care of. Martin gave us the time hacks and off I went, thanking volunteers, telling my family I loved them, and chatting with Corinna about the plan.
Not in the mood for photo. Sorry Babe.
Corinna was the BEST pacer. She was not pushy. Suggested things. Reminding me to eat and drink. Took some photos. She kept encouraging me and telling me I did great on running blocks. If she had never done this before, I would not have known. We had her first taste of the reallllly sucky rocks going back up, but we had daylight and a mission to meet. I joked that I at least had an excuse to hike now that we were going UP them. We pushed solidly and spent a lot of time getting to know each other on the way up to Lookout Mountain aid station. I was in good spirits and was able to joke with my nurse friend from earlier about STILL not going to the bathroom. I had some more soup and Coke up there, and then the volunteers forced me out of there. We had some more climbing up to the top and then the one buttery stretch of trail on the way down. Somewhere in here magic occurred. We were on our way into mile 80.3, but I was running! And I mean, anything that didn’t trip up my increasingly tired legs.
Jeana, Corinna, and I at the start
Running uphill in the 70's. Credit: Corinna Stitt
I was doing 11:30 pace on those sections, which for me, is amazing. Some of them were slight uphills. This clicked by. Corinna got to talking about David Goggins and we started passing people. His concept of #takingsouls. So, we would run a bit, hike an uphill, and then we would see someone and Corinna would say “go get them!” And we did. I would whisper as we passed and say “taking souls…”. Somewhere really close to the aid station, we caught up to Michelle and Janna. They were like “Hey!” All I could muster was, “she’s making me work SO hard” and kept running! They said “GOOD!” as we passed. I was rounding a corner and we saw a truck. I was coming up and then realized it was the aid station, so I passed one more dude to make it into the aid station at Dowell’s. Way too much fanfare before immediately stopping and sitting. Oops.
I was finally tasting the finish line. I was also starting to think that sub 30 hours was a reality. My confidence was rising. I had some grilled cheese and then applied some more strategic lube. I donned my powerful headlamp. More jokes and laughing and setting up the pack for the final stretch. I had Jeana fill more water. My feet were really starting to hurt. Especially my left heel. But I didn’t care. We set me up with enough to get to the last real fill up and pacer swap out. Michelle came in while I was finishing up and looked great. I hugged and her and said I was sorry I did not talk more when I saw her, and then ran out chasing a time goal. I was so ecstatic to still have a bunch of daylight. Corinna and I were able to easily navigate the area I got lost in and fell in an eternity ago. Then we started the long, crappy, rocky section back up. We powered through well, but my feet were twisting and turning and folding and bending again. Somewhere in there we had to turn headlamps on again. But we moved forward well and most of the downhill into Dry Branch Gap aid station was not too bad. Almost 89 miles in and I was finally fading. Corinna called out to Jeana when I got there and it was perfect because they were ready to get me going. I had more grilled cheese and Nutella and Coke. Before the race my coach Adam suggested I get a waist lamp to help. I shrugged it off saying I had spent enough money on stuff. At this point, I sort of listened and was able to get my spare headlamp around my waist to point at the ground for more focus, which helped a ton.
I said that my feet really hurt, but I didn’t want to change socks. I wanted to go. I thought foolishly that Jeana and I could cover the remaining ½ marathon-ish in about 3:15 to hit sub 30. Normally, it would be a piece of cake. But I was almost 90 miles in. I also told Jeana excitedly that Corinna and I had tackled the two really bad rocky sections so she wouldn’t have to. That would prove to destroy me soon. I hugged Corinna goodbye, who was now my new lifelong friend and thanked her profusely. She was going to go home and take care of her dog, then head to the finish line. Jeana and I set off towards the final aid station. On our way out the only directed way to go from volunteers, we ran into a guy who said he hadn’t seen flagging in a while. He was solo. I assured him this was the only way to go and we started our strong hike up. We passed quite a few people on the first big climbs. A few were falling and some were so dead looking that I was worried for them. I was still on my mission and happy to have Jeana telling me stories about the day and relaying messages from friends congratulating me. I was strong for a bit, but then the rocks and rough terrain came again.
I DID NOT remember this being so hard in the beginning of the day. Even when still dark out. We stayed near the same few guys leap-frogging for the remainder. No one else passed us. But I started to go south. Jeana relayed to me after (like a good wife and pacer) that she was appalled at how much I was tripping and stumbling and falling over the rocks. When we finally stopped climbing and hit the gravel road back downhill to the last aid station, I was done. We were at about mile 92. I knew sub-30 was gone, but I was okay with it. I just whined and groaned and Soldiered on. I complained a lot. I even sat on the side of the trail to eat. One time I heard our new friends behind us close by and I apologized and said “Guys I am so sorry for sounding like a whiny baby on these rocks. I am just SO sick of not being able to run on this stuff.” One of the guys said, “It’s okay. At this point, you are allowed to and I just want to get this done and NEVER think about it again.” So much for having any more fun. I felt that way too.
We hit the final aid station and I can’t remember much. I had let the need to eat go about 30 minutes longer than I should have because I was holding out for their food. I don’t even remember what I had. I just remembered that this section was the unmarked white blaze trail that continued for 3 miles, and then there was about 2 to go around Camp Shenandoah to the finish. I mean why make it an even 100 miles and just go straight down the road to camp? I guess that is Clark Zealand’s choice and prerogative, he’s the race director. And it makes the challenge bigger, so good. We left the aid station, crossed a road, and then some railroad tracks I remembered. We had one big climb left, but it felt way longer and worse this time around. On our way up, the blazes were easy to follow, and I was happy because I was worried about getting lost.
We came upon a group of people standing around. Someone was hurt and needed an ambulance. Having a medical background in the military, I asked if everything was okay. A few were on the phone and a lot of people were handling it. I told Jeana we should go because there was just too many people with their hands in the cookie jar. I felt a little bad, but I also needed to be done and more people complicates things. We started downhill and turned off the double wide road on a section that I missed earlier which was only marked with an arrow made out of sticks. This section was not allowed to have markings of any kind. Then on the remainder of the downhill, I was mentally done. I tripped and stumbled and lost direction in creek beds and dealt with more of the rocks, rocks, rocks, rocks, rocks. Poor Jeana. I was okay otherwise. I mean legs and all. My left heel was so painful and my right ankle was really irritated by my shoe digging into it. Nothing I could do. I was STILL running runnable, but for shorter breaks. But she had to listen to me whine and have my little meltdowns. We hiked and ran around the camp when we saw markings again knowing that we were close.
Jeana texted her parents and I got mad. What the heck is wrong with me? Only time of the day I was a little mean or irritated with my loved ones. I didn’t know why. Part of me wanted the finish line to be a surprise, but then I was over it quickly and realized how tired they were too, plus Corinna needed to know. It was late. They all thought I would be two hours earlier. I apologized. My wife had done what I have already told I here I would never do again: Crew all day and night and then pace someone after. She’s my hero. And does not even run ultras. It was almost 2:00 am on the second night/morning/whatever. We came around the pond, and made it across the grass slowly. Then we hit the road and I ran as strong as I could. We turned the final corner and they had little torches lighting the way to the finish line. I crossed side by side with my wonderful pacer wife and the announcer congratulated me, and handed me my buckle and finisher shirt. Official time of 32:10. 101.85 miles and 23,000 feet of vertical gain and descent for a total of 46,000 feet of change. Way slower than my first 100 at Run Rabbit (and way harder too). It looked like a morgue with people lying around having finished or waiting for their runner. I cried of course. Kathy and Martin were there and so proud of me. Corinna had to get home and work the next day, so I did not get to see her, but doesn’t matter. She’s family now. I jokingly told the announcer I wanted to tackle Clark and he joked back and said that’s why Clark is resting inside and I am doing this. Funny! I sat in a chair, was wrapped shivering in blankets, and brought food by my family, then Martin went to get the car to take us back to the Airbnb to rest.
Done! Thanks babe.
This race humbled the crap out of me. As Jeana and I were flying in the day before, I looked down at the mountains. When we were driving in from the airport, I looked over at them again and said, wow, those look like little bumps. This should be great! Ahahahahaha! Famous last words. The East Coast is a rocky nightmare for a guy like me with smooth Colorado trails to train on. No joke. Totally cancelled out my altitude acclimation. Granted I could breathe fine and my heart rate was the lowest it’s ever been, but it also could have been really hot and humid. So, there’s that. And it’s fine. I am choosing to proudly proclaim that I pushed through a huge personal challenge and multiple obstacles. As David Goggins says, “This is training for LIFE.” As much as this sucked in the sense of difficulty, I wouldn’t trade the experience for the world. These things make me a better person and show me that I can do anything. This race showed me just how much I am loved by family, friends, and even strangers alike.
Awesome buckle.
I have already publicly thanked everyone but I want to state again just how amazing my wife, and parents-in-law are. Corinna for pacing me and helping me rally at the end. Michelle for being my friend, giving me a full course writeup, and sharing her cabin with me before the race. Andy Jones-Wilkins and Adam St. Pierre for coaching me and giving me the tools to train successfully. I could not have done this without any of you! Clark puts on an amazing race, I suggest you try it if you want to kick your own ass. The people are wonderful and humble, and give great perspective about the fact that we GET to do this. Also, they give out amazing swag. Gigantic thanks to all of the volunteers and families offering help and encouragement. This is a community. And finally, to Bill, the ranger at Camp Shenandoah who helped me track down my forgotten drop bag and turned out to be a fellow retired Soldier from Fort Carson. Small world indeed.
Keep moving forward.
