A Barkley tale of not so epic proportions Posted to the Barkley list by Paul Lefelhocz on Apr. 17, 2011 Dear Barkley readers, I don't normally write race reports, but I found others' race reports very helpful as I prepared for the Barkley Marathons and hope that this report may return the favor to a future entrant. Also, Laz mentioned liking to read them and I am very appreciative of the opportunity to run the Barkley Marathons so with more than a little trepidation, here goes. Also, to give fair warning, there are a few swear words in this account; something I wouldn't normally put in writing, but feel is appropriate for this situation. You are forewarned. Everyone's Barkley experience is different and unique, but somehow, mine feels a little more unique. Perhaps everyone's feels that way to them. The short report is that I DNF'd. There is no surprise in this because, well, I have, unfortunately, DNF'd a lot of 100 mile races (I've finished 3 and DNF'd at least 12). There is also no surprise because, well, it is the Barkley, right? Was it "just another DNF"? In some ways yes. In other ways, no. Certainly in the experience of preparing for and running the race, I learned a lot - some about myself, some about running and some about the event. Entry It's 11:50 on December 25, 2010. Putzing around, reading stuff on the web. Waiting for the clock to tick over to midnight. Then, out of nowhere, my computer crashes. Damn (or stronger words)!!! Reboot. I wondered if I really needed to send in the entry right after midnight or did I have the entire day to submit? With the entry procedure an "oral history" of sorts, who knows what you're really supposed to do? Anyway, the computer rebooted just in time and at 12:01, the entry was off. Apparently to the correct email address. I figured it would be at least a couple more years before I got in; last year, I didn't even make the weight list. I have no creds for even attempting the event. As many know, this was a down year for entries. I got my regrets a few days later and shit my pants. This was not the right year to run; I wasn't in the right shape; mentally I wasn't in the right place; I had no background in navigation, etc., etc. I still sent an email to Laz thanking him for letting me in. Luckily, my wife counseled me not to back out easily; only do it if I was sure I should back out. She supported the idea of me traveling down to FHSP [picking the weekend when she had plans with friends and happened to be Super Bowl weekend]. No ulterior motives :) Reconnaissance This was really a fun weekend, if a bit lonely. I arrived Friday am, did some hiking/running during the daytime, ate in town at an all you can eat buffet or two and left Sunday pm; got home just in time for the second half. I stuck to the western side of the course and marked trails. It was too foggy to see much from the peaks, but I at least got to see some of the the Candy Ass trails and there was no snow. Due to various work commitments (which changed back and forth a few times), this was also the first race I would ever fly to. Not a big deal to many, I'm sure, but I've never been a light traveler. C'est la vie. Rolled with the punches and decided on a plan for going anyway. And afterward, I would not fly home, but spend the rest of the week in NY and Atlanta. Pre-race Nick and Stephanie needed a ride from the airport. They are a very nice couple and were easy to talk to and were not intrusive (hopefully I was not to them). We talked about the race, and it was clear that Nick was not only an incredible ultra runner, but that he is really smart and learns fast. I read 4 books on orienteering/navigation in the few weeks/months leading up to the race. Nick had taken a weekend course with some friends and clearly knew as much as I did about techniques for finding his way. I would draw the analogy to what someone told me about skiing once. You can become an intermediate skier in an afternoon. It takes 5+ years to become an expert. While Nick is no expert, it was clear Nick had progressed to advanced intermediate very quickly. I think it helps that he's studying to be a geologist. At camp, I did the usual map copying, met a few people, some who know others I know, but no one I knew. I also marked all of the compass bearings, adjusted for declination and Nick checked them. I was only off on one, but that's one too many. Thanks Nick! In conversations, when people asked about intentions and I explained I had no business being at the Barkley and why/ No one argued. The computer predicted I would make a cozy nest in the prison drains. I didn't even think that this was intended to mean anything other than on loop 1. However, I did think it was a bit of a weird prediction given the course directions and their specificity about if you go down rat jaw, you either go up the bad thing or back up rat jaw. I know the predictions are all in good fun, but for whatever reason, it still struck me as weird. [Why I can't finish is a relatively simple thing to see. It takes me just short of 30 hours to do a 100 miler the few times I've completed one. I can climb about 2,000 feet in an hour, on a treadmill and with a moderately high effort. While I've never tried it, I'm sure I can't do that for 30 hours straight. Barkley is generally agreed to be well in excess of 100 miles. If you make the simplifying assumption that you travel no distance while climbing and that while the non-climbing parts are net downhill, but have significant sections that are not very runable and that evens out to being like on a relatively flat course or maybe some slight net downhill which would allow me to go over 100 miles in those 30 hours, you calculate that in a perfect world, I could just meet the 60 hour limit with no downtime and very little slowdown in climbing. Being an ultrarunner, you know nothing goes as planned and this simple paragraph shows it's just not possible. Doesn't mean I can't try.] The other thing that occurred to me in camp is a familiar thing I'm reminded of at ultras. I don't even have the right body type to do well at this kind of stuff. I knew it going in, but seeing people around camp just reinforced that I have no business being at the Barkley. The only saving grace is that a lot of other people have no business being there either; it really is that hard. The early start I had gone to bed when it got dark. Lay there for a while and eventually fell asleep. I woke up at about 11:50 and woke up in a way that I knew I wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon (I generally don't sleep well, and especially before races with a known start time). When the conch shell sounded, I silently thanked Laz for sparing me the tossing and turning that would have been inevitable, but wondered if I'd get lost or how much caffeine I'd need to make it through the night. The start and a few books I got to the line too early like I always do and stood around for a few minutes, then sat down. Stood up with a few minutes to go and was far enough back that I didn't see the actual lighting of the cigarette but saw everyone move off and saw the smoke. There was a fair amount of passing back and forth at the back of the pack on the way up Bird Mountain. More than I'm used to at other races. While Frozen Ed had passed me moving quickly at the start, I caught up to him after a few switchbacks and he was kind enough to count switchbacks with me on the way up (although we got it wrong by the top; not a good sign that we couldn't even count to 14). As the descent began, I quickly realized that my lights were not as powerful as others, but with people running so closely together it wasn't a big deal. Eventually we come up to some blow downs and everyone directly in front of me starts going the long way around. I shine my light through and see what looks like a path through so I just keep going and end up in front of the group. Someone yells "good work". Too bad there aren't more blow downs :) I didn't stay in the front for long. Down to book 1, start the ascent, climb up, keep going. This is all easy trail. Groups formed and split, reformed. As we were approaching SOB ditch, another runner comes from the other direction and tells Kent and me who were together in a group of two at that point that we're going in the wrong direction. This person insists they know the course and have already crossed SOB ditch so if we haven't crossed it, we must have done something wrong and must go back. Now, it's dark and I've only been here once, but I'm thinking short of a blow down covering the trail, it's really hard to mess up before SOB ditch so I don't turn around. But I also know it's dark and my navigation is as fallible as anyone's so I don't go forward. It seems to make sense to let a few runners catch up with us and see if someone can help. Less than a minute later, Frozen Ed and a few other runners show up and say we're almost to SOB ditch, but not quite. We keep going. Suddenly I realize that not only must I be able to navigate the course, I must be able to figure out which runners to listen to and which to ignore because they have less of a clue than I do. Great... Finding Books 2 and 3 was a bit of an adventure that I'd be happy to recount in more detail, if you care, and ask me about it on the trail some time (that goes for lots more details I'll leave out). Suffice it to say that the navigation was not easy, but I was with groups that knew a lot more about the course than I did and could generally become found after small miscues in navigation. I almost lost the group after the first water drop, but was able to make it back on. I did lose a glove in my rush, but having 3 pair with me (for various conditions), it ended up not being a big deal. Losing one glove reminded me of a story I read by a marathoner (Higdon, I believe) who had one glove for a race and it ended up being a good thing because he switched it back and forth at intervals to keep either hand from getting too cold and it was just the right level of distraction to allow him to focus on running well, but ignore the discomfort. It's strange what one will think of at 4 am in the back woods of TN. The descent to the new river was an adventure and then some. Mostly it was about trusting the compass, finding footprints, aiming off and consulting the map and course directions. I did much less than my fair share, if anything useful at all, but it was an amazing thing to observe. More books and a few hills When we were crossing 116, it was nautical twilight - we still needed lights, but looking at the sky, you could tell it would be light soon. Book 4 took some searching around the marsh - the group was 6-10 at that point and one the book was found I pulled a few pages for people who had trouble reading the page numbers (something useful in return for those who knew the course!). No one turned me down when I offered. Climbing the spectacle, I needed no light, but a few had theirs on. The group narrowed, some going ahead, others falling back. While it is steep, it is not too long - easy to say for loop 1, right? I was glad I was wearing long pants and a long sleeve shirt and pulled out the "serious" gloves. Over the top, down some steep trail and to the neo butt slide. I yelled out "who hoo, neo butt slide" or something similar. I wasn't being serious in terms of the yelling, but meant it more as a joke. Not knowing me, I don't think anyone else in the group understood this so I immediately apologized for my irrational exuberance. And explained that sometimes humor is a good way to deal with stuff. I also realized that I was actually having fun. The group did seem to understand the humor thing. [warning, context sensitive reading required below] Here is also the place where you arrive at a "bench". I explained to the group that I felt like a dunderhead because when I first read the directions in camp, I thought it meant a bench. I quickly realized that is probably not what was meant and discussed with another virgin and we both figured out what to look for. Someone in the group said that I shouldn't feel bad because she knew someone who had come out and looked for a bench. The traverse to book 5 was uneventful and we found it quickly (arriving at the road first, if you care). Then up to 116 and pig head creek. It was nailed due to others in the group who know the course. This would be a theme for much of the day. I was surprised that you could not see the pig head from the road. PMT. I fell back a bit here because I generally don't go when it's flat, but it's short enough that I stuck with the group up rat jaw. While I haven't said it previously, it was abundantly clear to me very early on that I was the weakest runner in the group that had formed, but I pushed to keep up due to not knowing the course and it was very clear that several in the group knew the course quite well and/or had good navigational and tracking skills. To them I am very grateful. I'll mention here that generally my heart rate was pushing mid to high 170's on ascents and mid 140's on descents of loop 1. I generally will not have my heart rate vary so widely in a run (where intending maximal sustained effort; training runs are different) and would ascend slower and descend a little faster, but such is the nature or running in a group for me; this also meant I had to keep up on fluids and food which I generally did; and lastly, that even a normal 100 miler would not be possible for me at this effort level; a 50 miler or on a good day, a 100k maybe; I can maintain the mid-170's HR for the 6-7 hours necessary for me to do a 50k at a hard effort level. Dropping to the 140s on the descents would allow me to extend this time frame a bit, but not too much. Allan Holtz's heart rate data astounds me. He also has been kind enough to share his goo recipe with me; I can't eat that for any length of time either. I mention my being the weakest runner in the group here because on the way up rat jaw, this was becoming more of an issue. Not too significant yet, but I knew I had to keep up on my food and water consumption (I actually knew it earlier, perhaps my point is that I knew I needed to go to the next level of effort/attention to it on the way up rat jaw). In retrospect, my assessment of my abilities relative to the group appears to be quite accurate. I looked at the race times of those in the group I could find and they are universally faster than I am. Many briers on the way down rat jaw and I was generally more willing to slide and go off my feet than the rest in the group. (or slide with one foot under my butt) I began to wonder if sliding was better as it is probably easier on the quads than the braking necessary to stay on your feet which looked moderately difficult. Since I was in road shoes, sliding was not much of a problem when I wanted to. (I generally have a hard time finding shoes that feel good on my feet and usually end up with road shoes as a result; had it been raining, I'm sure I would have wanted something with more traction) The prison and the bad thing I grabbed the gate and swung down to the tunnel floor rather than jump down into the water and climb up which put me near the front of the group for the first time in a while. A few others caught up on the way through the tunnel and as someone else in the group commented at the time, we had a good group at that point. (and two of the three women in the race so no complaints from me about ultras being a bunch of guys running in circles; don't tell my wife :)) I thanked James Earl Ray at book 7. We went left of the water tower and started climbing. And kept climbing. Then we climbed some more. And some more. (for those who have been out there, you know that at this point, we were maybe a third of the way up). I'm generally of the view that if you are willing to take your time, any hill isn't so bad; it's only if you need or want to get up it at a certain speed that it becomes bad. If you share this view, the bad thing will change that view. It is bad. At this point, I was quite thankful that I had spent a few bucks on a watch that has an altimeter and a compass. The compass because it made taken a rough bearing a lot easier and faster even if the bearing is not quite as accurate as using an orienteering compass. The altimeter so I had some idea of how much vertical was left and could meter my effort relative to the hill and trying to keep with the group which I was able to do moderately effectively up the bad thing - not being the last one up. Partway up the bad thing, I considered if it would be prudent to drop down to the trail after book 8 and call it a day. I had also done this up rat jaw, remembering the course directions about once down at the prison, there are only two options and both suck. Memory being what it is (or isn't), I don't feel I can accurately say how seriously I considered either option - more seriously than I should have in retrospect, I suppose. It's easy to sit here now and say it wasn't that serious a consideration, but it's also tempting to say the bad thing wasn't that bad. It was. The rest of the loop Down zipline one of the group who had been a poor descender all day started to fall back more. I did my best to keep the group in sight, but fall back so the slower person could see me. I made a minor navigational error as a result, but largely this descent was one of the funner parts of the course for me. Book 9 was found quickly and we started the ascent of Big Hell. Early on in the climb, I was being outdistanced by the strongest member of the group (who I suspect stayed with us because of the navigational challenges - it was clear that he could out run and out climb anyone else in the group) and several others, but I wasn't last. By 1/3 to 1/2 of the way up the climb, I was clearly last and struggling to keep touch. I also knew at this point that as long as I kept the last of the group in sight and could find the right capstone, I would quickly be back on trail and could make it back to camp with no navigational errors as long as I turned the correct direction on CTT (which based on reports from prior years, I knew was not assured). So, I fell back. Whether this was due to physical tiredness or knowing I could navigate on my own, I am not sure. I suspect physical tiredness was the larger factor. Regardless, I made the top and caught a few runners from another group who were clearly quite tired (they had been just above PMT, descending when I had started the climb up rat jaw, so ground had been made up). This would have been a psychological lift in any normal race, but was even more so here because among the group were people I only see at start lines and finish lines if they hang around after they finish. To say it was weird and surreal is an understatement. [I also fully recognize that this is not a fair way to judge myself or others; someone could be having a bad day; had navigational challenges or numerous other issues could have arisen; I say it only because it was the way my mind was working at the time] Being realistic, I figured they'd pound the trail down CTT much faster than me. I was wrong. I also passed a couple of people from the group I had been in on the way down CTT. Apparently I still had some downhill left in my legs (but not much). CTT didn't seem to take that long, but it was the easy direction. (and I lost almost 20 minutes on the two strongest members of our group between the climb up hell and the trip down CTT to the gate) I got to the gate, turned in my pages and Laz asked if I wanted to save them. I said no without even thinking about it. Perhaps I should be more sentimental, but it didn't even occur to me that people would save them. Had a short conversation with JB on the way back to my tent and he was very kind and encouraging. He even let me know that Frozen Ed was still in camp and suggested I try to go out with him. But I decided not to. Partly because I knew Ed was climbing better than I was and partly because I wanted to try on my own. Amazingly, I had taken no caffeine in this loop which is unheard of for me. Maybe something about the 1 am start (I didn't drink coffee in the hour leading up to the start figuring I'd take a caffeine pill or make some instant coffee in one of my bottles when I went through a lull; mental energy would be fine for the start). During the night, I also typically go through a significant lull where my body just shuts down. I often say things like "2 am sucks no matter what or 4 am sucks". Maybe starting the night "fresh" allowed me to get through it and then the natural pickup with daylight made me forget about the caffeine. Loop 2 Coming down from CTT, one of the people I passed asked how long I planned to take in camp. I said I wasn't sure, but would try not to take too long as there wouldn't be much time. Unsaid, I took the implication that I was expected to go back out; it turns out this person didn't, but I am still appreciative of the push. I probably would have gone out anyway, but the nudge didn't hurt (even if it wasn't intended). I got my new number from Laz and was off (I was appreciative because my first number was 6 which could easily be mistaken for a 9 if one was tired and not paying attention; when Laz gave me the 6 on Friday, I sarcastically thanked him for such a great number and underlined the 6; he just laughed). The ascent of Bird was slow, but fine. I knew I was going slow and needed to speed up so I took a caffeine pill. No effect. Near the top, I was passed. Never a good sign, but the person who passed me had gotten lost at Indian Knob so I didn't feel as bad about it as I would have otherwise. When I started the descent, I could move reasonably, but I knew it was not fast enough. The race was catching up with me. Sometimes a slow ascent can be followed by a quick descent and I'll get moving again. Today was not one of those days. I grabbed my page at Phillips Creek and due to having drunk so much to get there, filled up one of my bottles from the stream even though I was carrying ample water for normal travel. I considered it insurance of a sort. It was heating up and I was in direct sunlight (in which I generally don't do well). The next ascents took forever (and a day). It was clear that the end was coming as a fizzle and not a crash (I never really know which it will be until I get there). I sat by the side of the trail a couple of times to see if the five minute rest "trick" would get me going. It didn't. I contemplated another caffeine pill or my first ibuprofen, but ultimately decided against either as adding them without sufficient hydration brings risks I chose not to accept that day. As I approached the turn off to quitter's road, Sue Thompson caught up with me. We were approximately 4 hours into the loop and still had a significant way to go to book 2. She asked how I was doing and I said fine, but was just too slow. She agreed she was too and we simultaneously declared our intentions to take quitter's road back to camp. Shortly after she arrived, I started to feel a little better - not unexpected from having the company and starting a conversation. I contemplated saying "hey, I'm feeling a little better, should we keep going" but the words never came out of my mouth. We had a nice conversation on the way back to camp and I got to hear of Sue's adventures at the Barkley which I much enjoyed and am appreciative of her sharing with me. Back at Camp Shortly after finishing, I was having a conversation with Stephanie and the world started to "close in". I commented that I was getting light headed and needed to sit down. Luckily, a rock was close. Shortly after sitting down, I apparently started feeling woozy. A few people noticed this and maneuvered me over to a chair by the fire. Laz, Naresh, Stephanie and a few others provided me immense help - first determining that I was lucid and generally ok. Naresh got me chicken and baked beans. Special thanks to all for the help. After the race I got to see the gang of 4 (Nick, Jon, James and Joe) finish their fun run. That was a neat experience. As was seeing Blake Wood finish just a few minutes before them. It was a real nail biter for the 40 hour cutoff. Knowing Blake had left 2 hours before the gang of 4 and seeing him come in about 20 minutes before the cutoff, I figured there was no way they would make it. I was wrong. They had persevered and stuck together. It was incredible. Later that evening we got to go out for a celebratory meal and beer that turned out being just a meal since it was Sunday and we were in the wrong county. I am thankful for being asked along and getting a chance to hear first hand about the experience (and to James's Dad for picking up the tab; if not mentioning the "big salad" was a big deal in Seinfeld, I feel compelled to mention it) I've never finished a 100 miler the first time I've started it. I hope to make it back to see if I can finish this one. (even though intellectually and logically, I know I can't; I would have said the same thing about more than a few other things I've done in my life). I'm still not sure if I exceeded or fell short of the computer predictions. On which loop was I supposed to build this cozy nest in the drains at the prison? Paul Lefelhocz