My final "training run" was last Wednesday: a simple two miles just to remind my legs of their job. What should have been cause for celebration was, instead, a disconcerting outing to say the least. My legs ached and my body was devoid of energy. For several days, June had been fighting what we thought was a strep infection. She actually had hand-foot-and-mouth disease, a fairly common childhood ailment. Turns out, June managed to pass a mild version of it on to me; my fever, aches, lack of energy, and sore throat were the result. Despite its gruesome name (it just sounds so horrible to me-- and it doesn't help that I automatically insert a "hoof" somewhere into its name, e.g., hand-hoof-and-mouth disease), we didn't need to cordon off our house E.T.-style to save humanity; the virus just needed to run its course. Luckily for me, I was back to near-full-strength by Saturday. Whew!
Friday went pretty much as planned. We packed up the car and left our house at noon. After a quick lunch at Elmo's Diner, we headed for the mountains. Just as we hoped, June slept for most of the car ride; much to my surprise, Adrienne only slept for half of it. We eventually arrived in Black Mountain and settled into our cabin around 4:30. For the next hour, June tested out the rocking chairs on the porch and jumped in and out of Adrienne's suitcase.
It was then time for dinner, so we headed towards downtown in search of some carbohydrates. After a 25 minute wait at the only pizza and pasta restaurant in town, we were seated and ready to eat. Unfortunately, they didn't have any milk, and June proceeded to stage a stirring protest. Adrienne quickly snapped June up and headed outside to wander the streets to find Junie's fix. An angel/genius of a waitress realized a nearby coffee shop might have some milk to save the day, and sure enough, it did. Just a few minutes later, Adrienne was headed back towards our table with a smiling Junebug in her arms. Nice save! Together we quickly devoured a pizza and then headed back to the cabin. Adrienne put June to bed while I went back out for some groceries and an eight o'clock pre-race orientation meeting. The meeting was uneventful, although hearing reports of great weather and very little ice on the summit were reassuring. Back at the cabin, I made my oatmeal for the morning, laid out my clothing for race-day, and tried to relax. I think the lights finally went out around 10:15.
I slept in hour and a half stretches until about 4:15 am. At that point, I couldn't resettle myself and could only think of one thing: shaving off my godforsaken beard. I frequently go eight or nine days without shaving, but by Saturday morning, it had been over a month. Ultra-running is not a hard man's sport; sporting a beard is. How on earth can anyone stand it? Itchy, hurty, nasty--no thanks. Armed with only a once-already-used-ten-cent-disposable razor and some hand soap, I made my way into the bathroom to remove the albatross from my face. Throughout the thirty minute ordeal, I kept waiting for the razor to finally give up the fight and leave me with a strange facial hairdo; amazingly, it fought hard to the end and left me with a cleanly shaven face. Sweet relief!
At about five, I had my standard gonna-be-exercising-for-a-ridiculously-long-time breakfast: oatmeal with a touch of brown sugar and two bottles of Ensure Plus (350 calories of chocolaty goodness in each eight ounce container). Breakfast lasted all of five minutes, so I spent the next hour reading. At a little after six, I put down my book and changed into my running gear. I then woke up Adrienne at 6:20- just enough time for her to brush her teeth and to treat her chronic bedhead that she described in a recent post. June woke-up on her own at 6:30; I gave her a diaper change, Adrienne gave her a sippy cup of milk, we put some shoes over her footie pajamas, and we all headed out the door for the starting line.
Notwithstanding a mountain lion attack or being blown off the side of a mountain, my biggest concern for the day was being properly dressed. I was relieved to see most of the other runners also went with shorts, rather than pants. One golden rule of endurance sports is "don't try anything new on race day." Knowing this to be very true, I wore my never-before-worn gaiters anyways. It was a low risk proposition; I knew I could easily remove them on the course and stuff them in my coat pocket if necessary. Ignoring the maxim paid off, my shoes would have been filled with rocks and leaves without them. For most of the race, I felt a bit overdressed in two shirts plus a shell, but up at the Blue Ridge Parkway and beyond, I was thankful for the extra layers. Whether it was result of the alphabetic superiority of our last name or the general consensus that I was the favorite to win the race I can't be sure, but I was given race number "1." I wore it proudly. Enough fashion talk, onto the race.
Some photos from the starting line:
The race started in downtown Black Mountain at 7am and proceeded to follow three paved, relatively flat miles into the town of Montreat. As the course wound through the small campus of Montreat College, I said goodbye to the flat portion of the race, not to be seen again until 34 miles later. After a very steep climb through the town, the race left the pavement and entered single-track trail. At this point my legs felt good, but not great.
The single-track, and the rest of the course for that matter, was in great shape. There was a fair amount of run-off trickling down the sides of the mountain onto the trails, but the really muddy spots were mostly avoidable. With two miles of single-track running behind me, I arrived at the first aid station to cheers from the volunteers. They were clearly charged up to see the top-seeded/best-last-name entrant come through their station. "Go number one!" With no time for autographs, I sailed on through without stopping.
After the first aid station, the course changed from single-track into a slightly wider and much more rugged "road." The views off the side of the mountain were amazing, but given the challenging terrain, I spent most of my time staring at the next three or four feet of rocky trail ahead of me. I passed three or four hunting camps during this portion of the race, but unlike the Fat Ass 50 I ran in last month, no shots were heard and no guns or dead animals were in sight. Some of the folks at the camps gave a reluctant nod, but most kept their focus on splitting their firewood, cooking their meals, or whatever else it was they happened to be doing as I strolled on by.
About twelve miles into the race, the trail spit me out onto the Blue Ridge Parkway. I ran along its paved surface for about a mile and a half until I arrived at the third aid station, which also served as the turnaround point for the marathon course. At this point, I was two and half hours into my journey and still feeling good. I kept my time at the aid stations to a minimum; at most of the stops, I'd grab half a banana, a handful of trail mix, and some water to mix with the Cytomax powder I was carrying. With no cramps or stomach upset the entire day, my fueling protocol proved to be a resounding success.
Not far beyond the third aid station, I reentered a single-track trail that would eventually take me to the summit of Mt. Mitchell. This portion of the trail was very runnable and before I knew it, I had arrived at the fourth aid station, just two and a half miles from the summit. Here, the weather, the terrain, and my rate of progress towards the summit all changed. The sky darkened and the temperature fell precipitously towards the top; as I mentioned earlier, now I was grateful for my extra layers.
About a mile and a half from the top, the steepness of the trail increased considerably. The steepness combined with several short stretches of ice and excessively rugged terrain made this section unrunnable for me. I'm sure some of the more experienced trail runners were able to comfortably navigate this portion of the course, but for me, it was simply a slow climb to the top. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally saw some daylight at the top of the trail.
I had reached the summit in just over four hours. The view from the top stretched about fifteen feet-- it was completely fogged in. The brutal winds combined with the thirty-some degree air temperature must have put the windchill in the twenties, if not the teens. Given the lovely conditions, I didn't hang around long before making my exit. I grabbed some trail mix at the summit aid station and headed down an even steeper trail than the one I came up on.
About a mile and a half later, I finally found myself on runnable terrain. Evidently, I had not looked very closely at the profile of the course because the two-plus mile uphill I now found myself on was a total surprise; I thought the race would be all downhill after the summit. In all honesty, I didn't mind the climb; it allowed me to gain ground on a few runners that had passed me on the technical ascent and descent of the summit.
Part of my preparation for this race was shedding a few pounds. If you know me at all, you know I can eat like crazy. So to lose weight over the last three months, instead of having four helpings at each meal, I only had three. It's hard to call that a diet. In the past few years, my weight held steady just north of 180 pounds. On race day, I tipped the scales at 170 even. For those keeping score at home, that's 62 pounds less than my most bloated football playing weight. The last time I weighed so little was my sophomore year in high school. I sincerely hope I don't look as fragile as a I did back then. When I'd get hit on the football field, most people, my mom most especially, held their breath in fear I had been broken in two. Enough talk about weight, back to the race.
The two mile uphill eventually took me past the Mt. Mitchell State Park Visitor's Center. From this point on, the race was almost completely downhill. The run down the paved road out of the state park was painful on the quads, but easy on the eyes. To my left was an expansive view of the surrounding mountain range and to my immediate right clouds were being pushed violently over the crest and somersaulting down the side of the mountain.
I soon found myself back at the marathon turnaround aid station. It was here that I realized I would be finishing far earlier than I had told Adrienne. One of the race web pages incorrectly said the winning runners would likely start finishing around 2 pm and I didn't think to verify this. Before reading this, I thought I would finish in seven and a half to eight hours. After reading it, I thought I would be lucky to finish in nine. Anyways, I started getting worried that Adrienne and June would miss me at the finish. Much to my dismay, my cell phone wouldn't turn on. Every few miles from the Blue Ridge Parkway back to Montreat, I tried turning it back on. "Verizon" would pop up on the screen and then go black. Wretched gadget!
From the Blue Ridge Parkway, the course followed the same trail back down. It was much rockier than I remembered, but I somehow avoided falling the entire race. I did, however, kick the hell out of my right big toe near the end. Closer to Montreat, the trail took a slightly different path back into town. The single-track trail ended and took a brutally steep descent through a neighborhood behind the college. After 15 miles of downhill, it was the last thing my quadriceps needed. Nevertheless, my legs stayed attached and I continued my march towards the finish.
The finish was at Lake Tomahawk Park in Black Mountain. I was half way around the small lake when I saw Adrienne and June waving and waiting for me at the finish line. I was so happy, relieved, and thankful they were there. I knew it had taken a lot of flexibility on both their parts to be waiting for me at the finish line, but I appreciated even more their flexibility in allowing me to train for this event. While they waited for me to finish, June apparently played the part of the mayor: checked things out and visited with her constituents.
When I finally crossed the finish line, June lunged at my legs. She was adorable. Adrienne gave me a kiss and we headed to the picnic shelter to grab some goodies.
June watched closely as I ordered up a cup of chicken noodle soup. I waddled around for a little while, picked up my finisher's fleece jacket, and slowly regained my wits. The race had been terrific, and except for a blister on my big toe, I had made it through relatively unscathed. Taking a group photograph of our feet at memorable locations is a family tradition of ours; here's the photo from the finish:
For those that care, my heart rate and altitude data from the day and a rough map of the course:
There was no time to rest. We made our way back to the cabin for a shower and quickly went right back out the door. I spied a beautiful playground while running through Montreat so we headed there. June had a blast, and the playground and weather were so nice none of us were in a hurry to leave. As you can see, June is becoming a well-traveled playground connoisseur.
After an hour at the park, we finally loaded ourselves back into the car. We took a short tour of Montreat and then went to the post-race dinner. We were all pretty frazzled by this point in the day. We didn't stay long and soon we found ourselves back at the cabin. June had a bath and went to bed. Adrienne and I talked and had some wine before we both, exhausted, drifted off to sleep.
On Sunday, we had breakfast, packed up our stuff, and drove twenty minutes to Asheville. We were hoping to find a camping store to get recommendations for an upcoming trip, but the stores we found were closed.
A quick stop at a coffee shop gave June her first taste of hot chocolate; she didn't seem too impressed. It also gave her a chance to run around before we made the turn for home. She slept most of the way; Adrienne and I stayed awake. Finally back in Durham, our house was a welcome sight for all of us. It had been a long race of a weekend.
If you just made it all the way to the end of this marathon length post, you deserve your own finisher's medal.
Chapter 2. Cousins from Tennessee
We all had a really swell time together and it was wonderful to get the chance to spend quality time with Lori and the kids. Paxton and June formed a special bond that was characterized by June wanting to do everything Paxton did about a nanosecond after Paxton did it. And Paxton playing with June, picking her up, trying to make her laugh , and so on. Also, herding her, as you see here.
The kids decorated Easter cookies, then demolished them in less than 24 hours. June was allowed to have one cookie. She enjoyed it tremendously.
June's intense look. Taken at Elmo's Diner. What would we do without Elmo's? We ate lunch there both days Lori and the kids were here. Very kid friendly, fast service, big menu with lots of healthy and veg options and lots of greasy spoon stuff, too. And my favorite huevos rancheros anywhere. I'm always a little embarrassed to be showing my face there again. Paxton said it was the best grilled cheese ever. See? Elmo's. And my dad is never here an hour before he wants to know when we're going up there. We'd all go hungry without it.
If you're reading this on the northern side of the Mason-Dixon, please don't hate us for the beautiful days we had. Beautiful enough to spend the afternoon outdoors with nothing heavier than a sweatshirt. Paxton made some very beautiful drawings for June. I'll truly be sad when the rain comes again.
Action shot--Cole, Lloyd, and a frisbee. Please ignore the sorry state of our lawn...the only thing I can say in its defense is that it's pesticide- and fertilizer-free. This is what an all natural, zero-effort lawn looks like:
The house was much quieter after Lori and the kids took their energy and their fun back to Knoxville. We were sad to see them go. And it wasn't until after they were gone that I realized I didn't have any pictures of the moms, only the kids. Isn't that how it always goes? Next, Lloyd's mom arrived the day after they left. That post will come soon...
But she's a determined little lassie, I assure you. She stuck it out with that shovel and moved a few molecules of dirt at a time.
After a while, yard work lost its gleam and it was on to the birdbath, filled to overflowing by the nearly 3 inches of rain we've had in the last week (praise the Lord. It's been a dry, dry time down here, in case you haven't heard). Here's an action shot: splash!
More exploration....
So, June has gotten funny about having any article of clothing taken off; she wouldn't let me either take off or straighten her hat. We're getting pretty good at just going with it. More difficult is when her clothing opinions extend to what I want to wear...I have 2 pairs of shoes that I can't wear around her because she just totally flips out.
Dirty....muddy.....wet.....happy....
....ditto.....
Here's an old favorite, the rain gauge. A wonderful little gadget to take apart and reassemble.
We didn't get all that much work done, but we got very dirty and we were very happy. That is, we were happy until the time came to strip off all those wet, dirty clothes. That's when the tears got going (I'm telling you, she's just funny about that, and most of all about the shoes! Don't try to take off her shoes!). Oh well; she's still a sweet pickle through and through.
to wit: a wrapper, both sides of a bubble tape dispenser (surely you're thinking the same thing I am--they still make that?), the bottom of a red plastic cup (oh tattered red plastic cup, what a tale of collegiate debauchery you could tell), and some other odds and ends. Not pictured: twigs, acorns, old dead brown leaves, and dirt worked so far under June's fingernails I thought maybe it might enter right into the bloodstream. Also not pictured is the storm grate that was the source of much curiosity and many delighted squeals.
2. Daffodils
The single-track, and the rest of the course for that matter, was in great shape. There was a fair amount of run-off trickling down the sides of the mountain onto the trails, but the really muddy spots were mostly avoidable. With two miles of single-track running behind me, I arrived at the first aid station to cheers from the volunteers. They were clearly charged up to see the top-seeded/best-last-name entrant come through their station. "Go number one!" With no time for autographs, I sailed on through without stopping.
I had reached the summit in just over four hours. The view from the top stretched about fifteen feet-- it was completely fogged in. The brutal winds combined with the thirty-some degree air temperature must have put the windchill in the twenties, if not the teens. Given the lovely conditions, I didn't hang around long before making my exit. I grabbed some trail mix at the summit aid station and headed down an even steeper trail than the one I came up on.
June watched closely as I ordered up a cup of chicken noodle soup. I waddled around for a little while, picked up my finisher's fleece jacket, and slowly regained my wits. The race had been terrific, and except for a blister on my big toe, I had made it through relatively unscathed. Taking a group photograph of our feet at memorable locations is a family tradition of ours; here's the photo from the finish:
A quick stop at a coffee shop gave June her first taste of hot chocolate; she didn't seem too impressed. It also gave her a chance to run around before we made the turn for home. She slept most of the way; Adrienne and I stayed awake. Finally back in Durham, our house was a welcome sight for all of us. It had been a long race of a weekend.
