West Virginia Mountain Trail Runners

Race morning was a bit foggy and warm. Weather forecast called for temps in the 75-85 range, with a 50% chance of thunderstorms in the afternoon. Race start seemed to go off right on time. Rick Freeman, Race Director, had warned us if the train was approaching Ohiopyle, less than 1/2 mile from the race start, we would have to wait. It was rather funny to hear a train come through just minutes after most of us crossed the very active rail line.
The fun at the Laurel Highlands Ultra race starts almost immediately-a climb. With over 100 runners registered, it was already a move a foot and stop. But then the trail opens up and it is runnable.
For most. Within a half mile, I try to speed up a bit and WHUMP! down I go-hard. Both knees, right elbow, right palm. Left hand was carrying a handheld water bottle, so was spared. Embarrassed, I spring up. It’s not worth the time to try and clean up the dirt out of the blood.
The first challenge of the course is the 2 mile climb out of mile 6. I had a mini goal of not getting passed through here, and I achieved that. I also passed people. I had my “up” switch going and was in a rhythm, and didn’t want to get sucked into anyone else’s pace. Before long, we were done! with “one” of the worst climbs.
Usually I am rewarded with a nice breeze up around mile 9. Not so much this day. It’s just hot and humid. The first water stop is at mile 12.
The Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail is rather unique in that there is permanent cement mile markers, every mile. While that may play with some runner’s heads, I found it valuable to know exactly how far out I was from the next aid station, and tried to conserve the water.

The first 30 miles of trail  I have been on several times, and am most familiar with. I am running leap frog with around the same people. I talk a little bit, listen to some conversations, but don’t get caught up in any deep discussions. Michael Frere, of Elite Runners-Trail Runners, out of Pittsburgh catches me right before we get to Seven Springs and we chat a bit. It is interesting to hear the active clay shooting range right next to us. There was several signs warning us to stay on the trail.
At Seven Springs I wet the bandanna and put it over my head, ala “running the Sahara” look. I know there is no shade as we summit the ski resort.
Around mile 29 is what I think is the worst hill on the course-a very steep blip on the map. I think people think about Seven Springs being the highest point. Well, it is, but then you run down from the resort, and then basically ascend to the same elevation again.

And it’s warm out. You can cut the humidity with a knife. My clothes are wet, they’ve been soaked through since around mile 2. I’m taking an electrolyte pill every hour. I probably should have been doing more. At this race, the Aid Stations are situated where there is trail access. This means the distances between AS are 7 miles-a close one-and 12 miles.

I come into the Mile 32 AS and ask how far to the next one. “12 miles”. Wild Bill was there too, and looked about as dismayed as I felt. I filled my 2 Liter bladder almost up. I refilled the handheld. I ate some food and headed out.

A few miles down the road, it’s time to run the bonus section.

Back in December, PennDot discovered the bridge that the LHHT used across the Pa turnpike was unsafe, and closed it immediately. The good news is a detour was found. The bad news is the detour is 8 miles-of road.

Dan Bellinger had run the road section and given some intel on it, which was immensely helpful. But without mile markers, I had no frame of reference on how far I had run. There is a gravel downhill, then a turn on a rolling asphalt road, then you cross the turnpike around mile 4 in the detour, then around 4 miles in a gradual ascent back to the trail.

I stop to pee and the runners who were in front of me are now out of sight. I’m alone, and thoughts are going negative. This long gravel downhill is getting to me. I’m really getting depressed and bleak. I finally realize I’m bonking and get a gel into me.

I finally make the turn onto the asphalt road. Where is the turnpike? It’s nowhere in sight. I try not to get hit by the fast moving trucks on the road. Now I can feel hot spots on my balls of my feet. CRAP. I’m getting pissed now. I’ve not had a hint of a blister problem until I hit this stupid road. I’m not happy. And WHERE is this turnpike?

I finally see the turnpike—in the freaking distance. I glance at my watch. It’s somewhere around 5pm. Now I’m worried about getting to the 9pm AS cut off. There’s no way I can do that. This adds to my already black mood. Which makes me power walk faster.

As I come to the bridge, I spot three runners ahead of me! This makes me feel so much better. I cross the turnpike and catch them.
“I am NOT Happy!!!!!” I declare. I think I scared them. Michael says I am moving well. “That’s because I am NOT happy!” Anger and unhappiness is giving me motivation to get down this gravel road, and I pull away from the three of them. The gravel is just making my now developed blisters worse.

A truck approaches from the direction I am going. It’s Rick, the RD, and tells me I’ve got “a little over a mile” to the AS. As I keep going AND going, I realize he’s lied to me. Of course he lied, he’s the RD. If he had said I still had three miles to go, I may have had a meltdown.

The AS finally (how many times have I said finally here?) appears in the distance. I’ve got a dropbag here. A volunteer keeps bringing me cold Gatorade as I rummage through my bag. I get my light, my music, scissors and some tape. I decide not to do anything to my feet until the next AS, where I think I have another drop bag. I think I now have a shot of getting to the AS within the cut off time.

The rain starts as I get back on the trail. It’s not particular a cooling rain. As it stops, it just raises the humidity level. It’s “only” seven miles to the next AS. And I have music now! I crank up my playlist. Now my mantra is “hurry hurry”. No walking, unless I am climbing. Go, go!

The soft dirt is kinder to my blistering feet, but when I set them down on a rock it hurts more. I can feel the blisters growing. That’s okay, I can run through pain.
I catch Bill and Tara right as we get to the next Aid Station. They have soup!! I eat two cups. I have not really been able to keep up with calories through this race. I’ve eaten all my gels I’ve brought. To spend more time in AS eating and drinking cuts down on your time on the trail. It’s hard to get this right.
It’s also 12 miles to the next Aid Station, with the 1230 AM cut off. It’s around 9pm. Doing the math now, I see I would need to keep a 17.50 minute pace to get there on time.
For any non ultra runners reading this far along (and thank you!) I know this sounds ridiculous. Who couldn’t “run” an 18 minute mile?
Well, okay, I’ve already run 48 miles. I’m tired, it’s still hot out. It’s now dark, so I am on a trail with a headlight. There is an actual downhill here. The trail at this point is through these huge prehistoric looking ferns, with actually cover the trail. You can’t see more than the edge of your light, and it’s hard to see the rocks on the trail. It’s very slow moving through here.
A kind AS worker had warned me of “two significant” climbs and I’m glad he did. I knew what to expect. But climbing is not keeping an 18 minute mile. I’m getting slower and slower, and the feet are hurting more and more. My mantra now is “run through pain”. And I can, or actually I can shuffle, but it’s getting slower and slower.

The worst point is when I put my right foot down in a water puddle. My burst blister explodes into fresh pain and I now can’t put my foot down, just the heel. I try to look for a hiking stick. I start crying. Which makes everything worse.

I stop crying. I can put my foot down again. But even if I make the cut off, there’s no way I can go on. A 30 minute mile does not complete a race. And now the cement mile markers are taunting me. I’m only at 54. I need to get to 56.

I get to 56. SO where is the AS? I’m looking for lights, voices, anything to show me I am close. I start to cry again. And stop. I’m not crying going into an AS. Finally I can hear voices, and see lights. Yes! I am finally done. I glance at my watch. I believe it’s 109 am. Cut off was 1230 am. And so ends my day on the Laurel Highlands Hiking Trail.

Despite a DNF, I’m  happy with my race. I kept good forward progress all day. The LH is a good, hard technical trail. I may be back again-but I may wait until 2012 when the bonus road detour section is gone!