Though it's understood that many of our readers are normal folks, who enjoy normal activities and normal distances, from time to time we like to offer a glimpse into some of the less sane events and people who participate in them.2008 Uwharrie 40 Mile Trail Run – Race Report
By Tim Long
Sunny, cool day in the woods, challenging race course, great new friends, and enjoying it all for 40 miles, what more could one ask for? Ibuprofen perhaps.
The race itself is very well organized. The volunteers act as though they get paid $1,000 each to be there for the day. Everyone who is a participant in races needs to remember to thank the volunteers profusely, and then thank them again. Without them there seriously would be no events.
I was a nervous wreck for the week leading up to the race, worrying about everything from DNFing at my last 50 miler in September to the small injuries and pains that seemed linked together one after the other over the last three months, so I was happy to have the alarm go off at 4:00AM on race morning. I’ve noticed over the years of competing that on the morning of the event right up to the start line my worries are gone. It’s like a light switch goes off during the night before a race. Even sleepy, I’m focused and efficient those mornings.
Arriving at the event at 5:50AM, I had plenty of time to sit in my truck, listen to music and go over the strategy for the race: start slowly, stick to that pace at least until the 20 mile turn around, test myself by picking up the pace a little, then tear into it, all while eating, drinking, taking in electrolytes and trying not to fall in the creeks. I thought about this until it became a mantra, “start slow, then go,” start slow, then go.” Typically, it’s been the opposite for me, “go hard, then hold.” That, however, has failed me twice now and only seems to work in races of 50k and under.
After dressing and standing in the dark by the big campfire with everyone, I made my way over to the start. Ultras are interesting to me (in many ways) in that no one jostles for position to be at the front of the start line. There are typically five people who plan to race one another at the front, then everyone sort of stands around talking and joking with one another.
From the top of a big Rubbermaid container, a petite woman gives some directions on where we enter the trail, then yells “Go!” and we’re off. A very large group has already put a gap on the rest of the field and it takes every atom of my brain screaming, “Don’t you dare go with them!” to keep me from pushing my pace. My plan is to make the turn around somewhere between 3:05 and 3:15 hours.
In roughly 20 mins the first group is out of sight and I’m settled in trying to focus on clean, efficient footing and drinking constantly. Soon, a small group of four of us are the second pack. I start talking with Steve Core from Virginia. He’s running with a buddy from NJ who’s having trouble. For some reason I stay with them at a very slow pace for 45 mins. Then Steve must have told his friend that he was leaving him, because Steve, with me in tow, increases his pace noticeably and we’re off on our own with no one in sight behind us. I feel better at this pace. It hasn’t occurred to me yet what time I may have lost in the meandering pace we’d been doing for an hour. Steve and I chat constantly about his club, the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club. There are some heavy hitters on that club: Annette Bednosky, Sean Andrish, and Brian Schmitt to name a few. Steve’s definitely no slouch himself and is a smart ultra runner, so I’m happy to be running with him. Following him through the numerous water crossings was almost comical; he was like a monkey on the sparse rocks and on fallen trees, all of which he used like a bridge. He didn't get a drop of the ice cold water on him. I, of course, tried to mimic his footing and fared well enough, even over the frosty tree trunks, one of which was no more than 4" in diameter and slippery as though it was covered in axle grease. At one of the deeper crossings, I lunged for a rock, shot off the edge of it like a wet bar of soap and plunged my right foot up to mid calf in water that must have been defying physics by not being frozen solid, because it was certainly cold enough. So now I have the odd sensation of one dry foot with all the feeling in it and one foot completely soaked and frozen numb. I had to take it for granted that it was doing what I wanted because I had no idea without looking at it, since there was no feeling. I also have a tendency to linger at aid stations chatting with the cute girls “manning” them (come on, cute girls handing you cookies, filling your water bottles and saying you look great.....can you blame me?). If I wanted to keep up with my new running partner, there’d be none of that today. He only stopped at every other station, and even then just for an instant - barely enough time for me to get a recipe for the super homemade cookies they had.
As we’re getting close to the 20 mile turn around, Sean Andrish (current champion and eventual winner) is coming back our way. He crosses our paths at 3 hours, so now I’ll know how far back we are from the leader, once I get to the turn around myself, check the elapsed time from 3 hours, and double it. The other leaders start coming at us and I count off nine of them. So now I know I’m in 11th place (behind Steve, who’s in 10th technically). That’s the way we arrive at the 20 mile point at 3:13 hours. I’m a little nervous at the slow pace I’d been running for the last three hours, so I dropped off my warm clothes, put on a short sleeve shirt, tightened my shoes, and grabbed some food all in one fluid motion.
I run best alone, so I was a little relieved when Steve had to adjust his shoe. Now I was in 10th place and running alone. I gradually increase my pace and find it very comfortable. All the other 40 milers, including the lead women, are coming at me on their way to the 20 mile point, so there is a little extra effort watching the footing while crossing paths (the women's race was wide open without last year's top finishers present, and the first five women were within 3 mins of one another just before the 20 mile point). There were also some hellacious rocky downhills. I’ve trained specifically on sections like these, and have gotten to a point where I can fly downhill. It’s a lot easier to make time on someone going downhill rather than up.
The 20 mile participants are now coming at me (they started an hour after the 40 milers). I recognize and know a surprising number of them. They’re very motivating, “Go, Tim!” “You look strong!” "Catch them!" the typical stuff you say at races, but still feels good. I’ve now gone through a couple aid stations, at mile 23 and 26 and have an idea of my true pace. I’m running a negative split! This is virtually unheard of in ultra events. The ratio of splits is typically 1 : 1.3. [You figure it out, I need to get back to the story]
So, now I’m on fire mentally and feel pretty much as well as I did three hours earlier. I pick off the guy in 9th place, then the guy in 8th. I’m in my element now, running alone in the woods with all senses firing. Every time I go by them it’s like they’re standing still. I know how they feel and sympathize. Then I see the guy in 7th place at the top of a very long climb. I’m on him so fast that he says, “Man, you came up on me like a cat!” It bolsters my confidence and focus even further. I run with him long enough to chat. His name is Ronnie from the Triangle area, and, like most ultra runners, is down to earth, and very nice. I begin to pull away from him and soon don’t hear him behind me anymore. I’m beginning to get a binding cramp in my right quad, but tell myself it’ll go away (the cramp, not the quad).
I get to the 32 mile aid station at 5:09:30 hours with only 8 miles to go. Amazing. I’d run the last 12 miles in 1:56 hours. At this pace I figure even with the somewhat slow early split and even if I run a little more conservatively the last 8 miles, I could finish in 6:27 hours. Then the unthinkable happens. I come to an ambiguous part of the course where it crosses a creek. For illustration purposes, the course at this point is shaped like an “F” with me running from the bottom-up. The correct course is the first right turn, but it’s not well marked and if you pass it, there is another right turn about 30ft beyond it that is very wide and “obvious”. I ran to the second path, looked at it for a minute, then crossed the creek and started running up that path. I start to get a sickening feeling when I don’t come across any white markings on any trees after a while, so I stop, look up the path further and see “Private Property” signs on a couple trees. My heart sinks and I’m so mad at myself that I can’t think straight. I look at my watch to see how long it takes me to get back on track, so I can gage how much time I wasted and turn back around. The whole time I’m running back to the correct course, I’m swearing constantly and quite audibly. Finally, I’m back at the correct turn and try to regain focus. Ten minutes later I finally catch back up to Ronnie (again), who looks perplexed at my ability to pass him once then pass him again 3 miles later. I explain what happened and he seems genuinely sorry for me. Now, I’ve slowed my pace some, knowing that no matter how hard I run I won’t catch the top five guys. I’d been getting splits from the aid stations on the runners in front and was certain I’d catch all but two of them. I do catch the guy in 6th, who looks like a mess. I tap him on the arm and tell him to stay on it, but he just looks at me blankly with salt caked around his eyes from sweat.
I run the last couple miles comfortably but at a nice pace and finish in 6:40 hours in 6th place (to give an idea of the talent out there this year, that time would have been good enough for 2nd place last year). Not counting the minutes added on while lost, I had run the last 20 miles faster than everyone, even the winner of the race. Turning an even (or negative) split in a 40 mile race would've been sweet. Next time for sure. Is getting lost an excuse? Hell no. It's part of ultra races in the woods. I finished where I finished and the rest is speculation. Congratulations to all the competitors; there was some hot speed out there. The disappointment and frustration of running off course is smothered by the satisfaction of finishing 40 miles and feeling well enough to do a cool down run afterwards. In other ultras where I’ve gone out too fast and/or didn’t hydrate correctly I couldn’t walk back to my truck afterwards. This was a huge step forward in my ultra running. Nice little spread of food at the finish. I had a couple bowls of soup and talked with some new friends. I can’t wait to start training under Howard and get back out in the woods again for some long runs.
A special thank you to Dr. Mike Duffy of Greenapple Sports and Wellness (one of my main sponsors - and friends). The confidence he gives me by making sure my body is in top working order is like a gift. Dr. Duffy pinpoints problems and applies the correct treatments that keep me running comfortably, day after day. I owe this race to him for being so good at what he does.
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