Suffering in the Holler: Frozen Sasquatch 50k!

Race information

Goals

Goal Description Completed?
A <6:56 Nope
B <6:30 LOL, no
C Super secret hope: Top 3 female finish Shockingly Yes

Pictures

Training

I did not follow any strict plan leading up to this race. I signed up on a whim at the end of October, then gradually ramped from the ~20 mpw I was averaging to a peak of 56. It looked roughly like the modified Hal Higdon plan I followed for my first 50k, but compressed by a few weeks, and my longest run was only ~23 miles. I would come to regret this. That being said, training went really well. I was logging some fast times, killing the elevation profiles, and generally feeling really good with some aches along the way, but no lasting injuries. Despite my compressed schedule, and less than stellar mileage, I felt pretty confident. At my first 50k I clocked in at 6:56, and I was really confident that I could come in well under that, despite the additional elevation, and maybe even break 6:30 this time. After scoping out previous year’s results, I even started forming some big fancy ideas about how that time could make me competitive for a third or fourth place finish. I would pay for this hubris.

Pre-race

Remember when I said I felt confident? That was until the weather report called for temps starting at about 5 degrees at start time, with a high of 18. not counting wind chill. yikes. I had trained in colder temps, but none of my long runs had been THAT cold. Oh well. If this is how I die, so be it. I certainly wasn’t about to drop to the 25K distance. That would just be crazy.

I spent the night before race day in a sketchy motel, didn’t sleep terribly well, but stuffed my face with everything in sight. Leftover holiday cookies are an important part of any runner’s diet. The morning of, I woke up around 5:30 am, and spent the next hour debating how many layers is too many. Grabbed a bagel and banana for breakfast and made my way to the park.

Race

Start: So cold, but I felt reasonably cheery. The prerace meeting was quick and dirty, and I was a little surprised by how few 50kers were there. It looked like a lot of participants dropped to the 25k race. We would be running the same course, with 50kers doing two laps, except for the very first climb. Without much fanfare, we started off down a paved road until the 50k course split off into the woods for the first climb. Words don’t do this climb justice, except for the words “this is gonna suck balls on the next lap”. Bright side: being forced to walk this bit gave us time to really appreciate just how lovely the snow covered forest was. Just stunning views on some nice technical, but not overly rocky and ankle-twisty single track.

To Aid Station 1: After the climb, we met back up with the 25ers and ran on a really nice gravel service roads. I was running this bit a little too hot, but it was a great stretch to bank some time, and space ourselves out a bit. After a bit more bouncing between single track and that service road, a big ol’ pack of us made it to the first aid station, and the Sasquatch sighting! During my last race, I lost a lot of time hanging out at aid stations too long, so I was very conscientious about chugging hot fluids, stuffing my pockets with pretzels, and getting the heck out of there. Obviously I was not in too much of a hurry to give Sasquatch a big sweaty hug though!
Feeling great. Feeling good. Feeling speedy.
Snacks: Warm water, Coke, pretzels to go.

To Aid station 2 Back to single track. This time a really nice descent. Absolutely gorgeous views, and now we were sorting into smaller groups. This might have been the most pleasant stretch in the race. Once we were down in the holler, we were treated something out of Bob Ross’s dream journal. Frozen stream crossings, pretty little pine stands, and all around niceness. At the bottom, we came out on another paved road, and I ran this as hard as I dared to bank some more time. Came into the second aid station cold, but still in really good spirits. They had a fire going, which was tempting, but I didn’t trust myself to leave if I got too close.
Feeling chilly, but confident.
Snacks: water, Coke, M&Ms

To Aid Station 3: Out of the second aid station was the next nasty climb. Not as bad as the first, but pretty aggressive. This had the disadvantage of being a shadier climb, so the chill really started to set in now that I was moving slower. Still very pretty, though. At the top of the climb, it was back to the service road, were I tried to make up some more time. I think this is where I actually made the fastest mile of the entire race. Scenic and gentle downhills through here. The downside was that being at the top of a ridge left me very exposed to wind. My fingers were starting to be unhappy about that. Made it to the aid station, where they were pumping some jams, and had another roaring fire. Glorious. Warmed up as best I could and tried not to stay too long, despite how friendly and funny and welcoming the volunteers were.
Feeling cold, feeling the hills.
Snacks: Hot cocoa, HEED, more hot cocoa.

Back to start: This part was fun! All down hill single track! Wheeeee! Came through here pretty hot, all while tiny smart head voice was reminding me “you’re gonna need those quads for later”. I did not take that advice. I would regret that.
I got to the start feeling good, but reeeeeally apprehensive about having to do that whole thing over again. I felt concerned about the cold upon hearing that the temp was low enough that almost all the liquids at this aid station were frozen. they did mix me some slushy HEED on demand though, which was rad. The only thing that motivated me to actually get moving again was hearing that I had made my goal of finish loop one in about 3 hours. Spot on for time goals! I decided to reward myself by taking a few minutes to pee in the heated bathroom instead of saving it for the woods. Less efficient, but so worth it.

Loop two I was correct. The first climb sucked way harder the second time around. At this point I was also running solo, having lost sight of any other 50kers. I normally love the peace of finally running alone, but something about the possibility of freezing to death alone was really demotivating. I was feeling really rough around the edges by the time I got to the first aid station again. This was turned around with an infusion of hot cocoa and the news that I was the second female to come through. Good news! Sasquatch promised to hold up anyone else coming up behind me. I stuffed my pockets with potato chips, and fleetingly thought “why am I stuffing my pockets with chips? that was such a dumb idea”

The next decent felt shaky, but good. Happy feelings, unhappy quads. Unfortunately, this petered out by the time I made it back to the paved section. I knew I should be going hard here to make time, but the lower temps in the holler were really getting to me. Legs just refused to move quickly. My core temperature felt fine, but the muscles just felt like sludge. Dark thoughts started creeping in. Luckily, Aid station two appeared on the horizon. This time with more tater tots. I credit those tots and the chicken broth they gave me with saving my life. I also saw two runners at this station. They looked as sad as I felt, which gave me hope.

The next climb was bad. terrible. awful. I knew it would be. I was correct. It was cold. I was tired. I was praying just to make it off the godforsaken mountain with all my fingers intact. I was praying to just die on this godforsaken mountain quickly. For about 2 miles, the only coherent thoughts I had were “You have stupid fucking hobbies” and this scene on endless loop. I finally pulled into the last aid station and nearly cried tears of joy for more broth and hot cocoa. I ran into the two runners I saw at the last station, and another one caught up with us. solidarity. I plodded out with renewed hope that it would all be over soon.

Last descent was not awful, but I couldn’t go nearly as fast as the first time. I definitely needed those quads, I definitely did not save them. At one point, there were a few particularly steep meters were I had to drop my pride and my ass and butt scoot down the slope to keep from wiping out. Not my finest hour.

The last dash across the parking lot to the finish was extremely satisfying, because it was also a dash back to the heated bathrooms. I hobbled across and was met by the RD with a hug, a pair of socks, and a sweet painting for my second place win! It was definitely one of the more original trophies I’ve ever seen. Final time was 6:57, which was 1 minute over the time I was sure I could beat. I now regret taking the three minutes to pee between loops. It was disappointing, but I was so glad to be done and so surprised that I was the second female finisher that the disappointment didn’t stick.

Post-race

I ate so much veggie soup, and schmoozed with other runners and volunteers. I pet a dog. It was good. I didn’t stick around too long, because I still had a 2 hour drive back home and I just wanted to be somewhere properly warm, but it was nice to get some warm food in my body.

Final thoughts

For as much as I suffered, and was undertrained and over ambitious, this was a really well run race. The RD was great, the volunteers were incredible for sticking it out in the cold, and the swag was unusual and fun. I walked away with a homemade finishers “medal” made out of local wood and engraved with a sasquatch, a new Smartwool gaiter and a pair of socks, and of course my custom painting! It was a small, local event, and the masochist in me is already thinking of signing up next year (but maybe just the 25k!)

White Grass 5k Snowshoe Run and Hike

WVMTR Annual Letter for 2017

December 28, 2017

Dear Friends,

It’s a cold morning across the Mountain State, below zero at dawn in much of the eastern mountain counties and single digits statewide. Certainly it will warmer for our first club event of the year. Frozen Sasquatch is 9 days away. I spoke to Mike Dolin earlier this morning and he’s promising slightly warmer, but still frozen temps for the race . . . a relatively safe prediction.

The following Saturday January 13th will be our Annual Meeting. You might think that an annual gathering in January in Helvetia a bit unwise, and possibly more would attend should it be in July. Could be the last January meeting, maybe you should plan on coming. We’ll have a run, a warm, plentiful lunch and a meeting where you can help plan 2018 activities. 10:00am at Lehmann’s. Feel free to bring something for the table. If you have comments for the meeting, but cannot attend, please forward. There is plenty of floor space and several couches if you care to stay Friday or Saturday.

Here are a few notables for 2017. . . . . .

  • WVMTR membership, it is strong and growing. Membership increased 10% over 2016. 1900 runners participated in out race events this year, highest ever.
  • Mountain State Trail Run Series – higher participation this year
  • The club supported member-organized club runs in Thomas, S. Charleston, Winfield, Elkins and Marlinton.  Others are encouraged.
  • We continue to work with WV Running Resources Network, check out their new website.
  • Partnered with the USFS to field mark Wilderness boundaries in northern Mon National Forest, work to be in 2018
  • Held Volunteer Trail Work days on the Mon NF, Kanawha SF, Fox Forest Elkins, Little Creek Park So Charleston, Haulin’ and KT race courses
  • Had a heck of a good time!

Some years at this time you have the opportunity to vote for Board of Directors. This year there are three expiring seats. The three current board members, Ashley Dolin, Pete Daly and Adam Casseday agreed to serve again, there were no additional nominations. Consistency is good, but so too can be change.

All the best to you in the coming year,
Dan Lehmann

The West Virginia Mountain Trail Runners is a 501(c)3 not for profit organization whose purpose is to promote running and the healthy, positive qualities running and fitness encompass.

The 2017 Highlands Sky 40 Mile Trail Run: A Race Report

Author: Krista Rogers.

There wasn’t a bit of chill in the morning air as I zipped shut the tent of my husband and four-year-old daughter at the Canaan Valley Resort campground. I walked into the darkness, headed to the resort’s lodge to board the bus to the starting line of the Highlands Sky Trail Run. If it was warm in the valley at 4:00 a.m., would it be cooler at 4,000 feet at midday? This was one of many questions I brought with me to my first Highlands Sky.

I was especially concerned about the climbs I would face. On the Highlands Sky website, the elevation profile looks like a thrilling roller coaster ride minus the loops. The line for miles 2 to 5.5 is nearly vertical. A disclaimer reads: “Steepness is exaggerated, it’s really not as bad as it looks.” This did not reassure me. Were my weekly runs up northern Virginia’s Little North Mountain (emphasis on “Little”) enough? Would the West Virginia hills do me in early?

Then there was the nagging question I always have when I’m among ultrarunners: What am I doing!? Every mile of running means eight to twelve minutes (or more) not keeping up the house or garden, working my job, or enjoying quality time with my family. In the month before the Highlands Sky, I had wanted to run sixty miles per week – and I did. Am I a bad mom? A bad wife? A bad employee? What do I get out of running such long distances that justifies the time, effort, and pain?

We boarded the bus at 5:00. At 5:51 the sun rose at the starting line. At 6:00 we were off. The first several miles felt easy. We left the road after two and a half miles, crossed a field of tall grass, and entered the woods. The narrow trail, flanked by stinging nettles, funneled us into a single file moving gradually upward. Two more miles went by. Runners chatted. Suddenly, the trail switched back and steepened. The distance between runners lengthened. Up, up, up we went. I searched for blue sky through the trees. Another half mile passed. There it was! In a few minutes we were at the top.

At about six miles into the race we were at four thousand five hundred feet, and the beauty of the forest was mesmerizing: the pink and white mountain laurel blossoms, the soft feel and rich smell of pine needles, the curious rocks, the intricate mosses, the shallow yet dark pools of water here and there. The silence broken only by the song of a single hermit thrush or chickadee. The narrow green tunnels of the trails. I relished the feeling of being up high. The hill really hadn’t been that bad!

I had read on the website that miles seven to eleven were quite technical, and they were. The trail was an actual stream bed, sometimes flowing, for stretches. Other times, roots or rock fields made the going slow. I was fascinated by everything around me on the high plain, but I didn’t linger. I went on as fast as I safely could, and came to Aid Station #2 with forty-five minutes to spare until the 9:15 cut-off.

Then came the steep descent of miles eleven to twelve and a half, and the subsequent railroad grade. The upland pines gave way to a typical hardwood forest. Here the going wasn’t any less technical than the previous miles. Actually, it was worse. A handful of runners passed me as I picked my way down a slick stream bed. The railroad grade, on which I had hoped to make good time, was muddy despite dry weather conditions. We crossed springs and streams, hopscotched over rocks, and wound around fallen trees. Grass and mud masked the trail, and between markers I got the sensation that I had lost it a few times. Eventually the course took us back up to four thousand feet and drier trails, but the roughness underfoot was wearing on me. I longed for aid station #4 (mile 19.7) and the forest road.

When I finally broke out of the woods and came to AS#4, my joys were three: the forest road, my four-year-old daughter, and my husband! All were a way to reset and refocus, and the effect was marvelous. From here I looked forward to an easier course so that I could reel in some of the runners who had passed me earlier. There were just two problems: my daughter’s reluctance to part with me tugged at my heartstrings, and the long string of runners ahead of me on the straight-as-an-arrow FR 75 would not be reeled in. My legs were sluggish. I barely kept pace. My body felt like I was still on the trail.

By midday it was hot and the road offered little shade, so the clouds that blocked the sun now and then were a blessing. A cool breeze sometimes met us in the dips in the road. Slowly I began to gain on other runners, especially on the hills. I ran past Aid Station #5 (mile 22.7), and recognized the unmistakable long braids of Race Director Dan’s son, Willie, as he turned to leave the table. Willie had given me helpful advice at the pre-race dinner, where my daughter had complimented him on his hair: “Two braids like Anna!” He had also brewed the beer. I decided to stay with him as long as I could.

The vegetation grew sparse on this, the Road Across the Sky, and a broad shrub and heath barren came into view: the Dolly Sods. Willie, a few other runners, and I were approaching Aid Station #6 (mile 27). There the course left the road and crossed the barren on a trail to the horizon. It looked appealing from a distance. As I turned to leave the aid station tent, my lower back and my right knee twinged. I hobbled on, wondering where the pain had come from and hoping it would go away.

The trail greeted our small group almost immediately with a wide mug bog, then rocks to hop. We next climbed an unexpectedly steep hill. (We’re already at the top of the world, I thought. How can we go up?) Beyond that, the plain looked deceptively fast, but the low spruce hid rocks and bogs that slowed me considerably. The heat of the afternoon made the soupy black ooze as warm as bathwater. Runners began to pass me once again.

It occurred to me that my knee had been bothering me for weeks, and I hadn’t really noticed. Now there was no denying it. The trail had aggravated whatever it was, and my knee felt like it would buckle at the first awkward step. From that realization on I walked over rough spots. Willie ran ahead, out of view. I walked to the horizon, over a low hill, and across more plain. Mud. Rocks. Willie, far ahead. Horizon. More plain. Hikers smiling sympathetically. Runners passing me. Mud. Rocks. Horizon. No more Willie. Trails converged, and then split off. I had no idea where or how far along I was; I had inadvertently left my watch at AS#4. I attempted to run and found I could not.

Next came the boulders, into which the trail simply vanished. Around each corner, it was a guessing game where to go next. I came to a runner just standing there, too overwhelmed to look for the next fluttering orange tape. My mood was black as the mud puddles. Finally I saw the white tent of Aid Station #7, an oasis that placed me back on the course. It felt like a finish line; I ignored the fact that I was only at mile 32.9.

“There’s my friend!” said volunteer Clara (Dan Lehmann’s oldest daughter and Willie’s sister) inside AS#7, also known as the “Lehmann Aid Station.” I smiled. I had met Clara, too, the previous evening. We had chatted on the playground outside the Canaan Valley Resort lodge when my daughter joined in play with Clara’s three-year-old twin girls. There Clara and her brother Lars had given me a volunteer’s perspective of the race, reassuring me about things like cut-off times. Willie had joined us at the pre-race dinner and shared a runner’s advice. And after dinner there was a wild game of duck-duck-goose with the kids. I felt like a new in-law at a family reunion, trying to figure out how I was related to all these wonderful people. Ah – that was it: ultrarunning!

“What can I get you?” Clara asked me. “Two ibuprofen and a salt tablet,” I replied. “My back hurts.” I forgot to mention my leg. Again Clara reassured me. There she was, in the tundra on the edge of the world, taking care of me instead of her girls. There I was, running instead of taking care of my daughter. I was grateful – to all of them. I left the tent and headed out along the rim of the valley. Slowly my knee loosened, or the medication took effect.

I was unsure of the trail ahead; I had studied the early hills on a map, but I had not looked at this part of the course much. It was supposed to be the “easy part”: a quick climb up a ski slope and the “butt slide” downhill to the finish. I joined a small group of runners and we made our way past the last few boulders, down a gradual hill, across an old dirt road, and through some brush to a ski slope. There the fluttering orange tape beckoned from high up the slope. Heat emanated from the hard-packed earth baking in the sun. I cursed.

The group walked ahead, and I climbed after them, breathless, to where the hill flattened a half-mile later. There the course cut into the woods on what was barely a trail, and continued upward. The other runners were out of sight ahead of me, but I could hear their voices – first to the right and above me, then to the left and below me. Suddenly we were going nearly straight down a steep, wooded hill. I relied on orange tape and rotted wooden mountain-bike jumps to show me the trail. The voices faded and, once again, I felt lost between markers. How could a trail possibly go here? I ducked under branches and trudged downhill through fallen leaves. This went on for over a mile.

The gravel road I finally reached brought me back, in more ways than one; I found I could run again. I decided not to stop at Aid Station #8 (mile 36.9) to avoid a stiff knee. A racing mother of four (I soon learned) caught up with me and pulled me along as we discussed the pros and cons of jogging strollers. “I did all of my weekday runs with a stroller,” she told me. I was very impressed. “You go ahead,” I told her. “No, I’ll stay with you,” was her reply. We ran together for more than a mile, until my knee pain got the most of me and I decided to walk again.

A mile later, at Buena Church, the course turned onto a roadside trail hidden by shin-high grass. The wide valley grew familiar, but it was another mile before I came to a site I recognized: the entrance to Canaan Valley Resort across Route 32. I passed the resort’s big blue sign and found myself on the road I had walked to get to the bus that morning. Just ahead of me was a runner whom I had passed several times on the course. He was walking. I ran to catch him. Only a mile and change to go!

We turned onto a newly graded dirt road and came to yellow “do not cross” tape where the grading ended. Ahead and to the left were dirt piles and tree stumps. To the right were the resort’s trails, marked in orange. I turned right. It was the wrong choice; I had failed to see orange tape fluttering from a tree on the left where a makeshift trail ducked behind a dirt pile. After twenty minutes in the woods within earshot of the finish line, I came back to the same spot and found the orange course marking leading away.

Minutes later I came down the paved sidewalk to the finish line, and my daughter lunged toward me. My heart leaped. I grinned and hoisted her into my arms. “NO!” she yelled and wiggled furiously. She had wanted to run across the line with me. I put her down, and we crossed holding hands. My husband looked on and cheered. I hadn’t even looked at my time. Suddenly it didn’t matter. The race was over, and motherhood tugged at my arm. “Come on!” my daughter said, pulling me toward the finish-line food under the pavilion. “Can you get me a cookie?”

Final thoughts: The forty plus miles of the Highlands Sky Trail Run greet a runner with beauty in abundance, as well as the camaraderie of ultrarunners and outdoorsmen – and especially that of Dan Lehmann, his family, and his friends. I brought many questions with me to the Highlands Sky. Some were the questions of a nervous runner, and some where the questions of a mother. The trail answered most of them, as always: its beauty restored me while its ruggedness brought forth the effort and perseverance in me that I needed to finish. I had it in me after all! The Lehmann Family took care of the rest of my questions. Thank you, Dan, Adam, Willie, Clara, Lars, and families, for restoring me, too, with your hospitality and the example you set for runners, parents, and people in general. Thank you for a great day and a great race.