TNF Bear Mountain race report - my first 50 miler

Whatever anxiety I had going into this race helped me prepare for a disaster that, thanks to a few key decisions, never struck.  The race was extremely well marked and aid stations had everything I could possibly need.  North Face puts their money and resources where their mouth is, a big benefit over what smaller races are able to achieve.  There was a lot to think about since this was my first 50 miler.  First the stats:

Time:  10:39:06
Place:  4th female, 54th overall
Race size:  234 total participants, 192 finishers (165 men, 27 women)

Pre-race intake:  1 coffee, 1 PB and honey sandwich, 1 package GU Chomps.
Fluid intake:  ~5.5 L GU Brew, ~24 oz. Pepsi, 8 oz. chicken broth.
Semi-solid and solid intake:  12 gels (GU and Roctane shots, 2 Clif Turbo shots), ~2 PB&Js, 1 Clif Mojo Bar, ~3 red B potatoes (cooked) dunked into a total equivalent of ~9-10 salt packets.

Bear Mountain/Harriman State Park is only about an hour's drive north into mainland New York without traffic.  At the same time, the race starts at 5:00 a.m. and requires taking a shuttle from Anthony Wayne parking lot no later than 4:15.  I opted for a hotel with a mere 10 minutes from the start.

First alarm at 3:00 a.m., second alarm at 3:15.  It was surprisingly easy to get up, probably thanks to a body already full of adrenaline.  Chugged a liter of water, then had coffee and breakfast while painting copious amounts of Body Glide all over necessary seams.  3:40, wake Nathan, get dressed.  3:50, out the door.  At the shuttle by 4:05 despite super dense fog, and at the start/finish line festival by 4:15.  Here's where I did all the little gear fiddling, the copious Aquafore application, and three bathroom trips (two thanks to coffee, one thanks to nerves).  

Suddenly its 5:00.  Off we go.

~30 min. after the start and I'm already halfway drenched in sweat.

Among the firsts experienced in this race was running in the dark with a headlamp.  Turned out to be much easier than I thought.  We only needed it for the first hour or so of the race when everyone is in big groups anyways, so your little beam of light is shared amongst other beams.  You still have to pick carefully whose trail line you are willing to follow, just like at any time -- some will lead you through solid foot placements and avoidance of sock drenching, others will slosh and stumble.  One guy announced his desire to pass by splashing me while hydroplaning and nearly taking me out.  "Oops.  On your right."

I slowly passed one female in the first few miles wearing pink booty shorts.  I do no begrudge tight shorts; I have to wear them because anything loose will chafe me someway, somehow, even on a short run.  But booty shorts?  How the hell do all other females get away with stuff like that and not chafe their inner thighs???  I. Don't. Get. It.  Despite my conversation with myself I did notice that she seemed steady and with a controlled pace.  I wondered if I'd see her later.  I kinda hoped I would - it is encouraging to see other females throughout the course and not just a bunch of guys.

Climbs were spread throughout the course though a good deal of it stacked early.  What with the fog that stuck around until 9 or 10 a.m. and lush green spring growth, visually it made for rather serene surroundings.  It also meant that whatever amount of rain occurred in the preceding days did not dry off.  My feet were wet by the first aid station (Anthony Wayne, mile 3.9) and continued to be so throughout the course.  I tried to rock-hop around much of the detectable water/mud to minimize the effects of maceration -- good idea in theory, unrealistic in practice.  Once I realized the slosh had disappeared from my toes I'd hit another swamp or bog or creek.  At least I tried.  Thick drops of sweat ran off the brim of my hat and my over-saturated shirt was starting to over-saturate my shorts.  After multiple attempts to wring out the shirt while wearing it I inevitably removed the pack and shirt to squeeze out a good couple ounces of fluid.  I debated whether to run without a shirt, but told myself that I'd like chafe on my back from the bag.

At the second aid station, Silvermine (mile 8.6), I went for two quarters of a PB&J.  I saw the two bowls of cooked potato slices and pondered the empty calories.  If I'm gonna eat starch, wouldn't I want something else with it [electrolytes, salts, protein, whatever]?   Then I saw a guy dunk the potato into a huge mound of salt.  OH OH OH MY GOODNESS THAT'S THE BEST INVENTION IN THE WORLD!!  I immediately joined him in a salty petit repast.  Each dunk would grab the equivalent to one fast food salt packet.  I thought back to the inner thigh cramps from Traprock that I knew were secondary to too little salt.  This, I was sure, was gonna be a deal breaker for helping me survive intact. 

I made a deal with myself at the beginning to use the wet, rocky, technical ascents and descents for control of my pace.  Last thing I wanted to add to The Old Ladies was an ACL tear from going too fast early in the race.  I think in the long run it worked to my advantage.  During the first third a group of a dozen or so of us had a continuous round robin of leaders depending on who was stronger at which terrain.  There were two or three europeans, perhaps french, who would bombast themselves down the slick and rocky descents like the one around mile 8.  I met a guy named Shane who had a similar slow descent for safety's sake.  As the frenchies stumbled and rolled by my head played out images of falling forward down stairs with resultant spinal cord injury.  "F***ing europeans."  I thought I mumbled in my head, turned out I said it loud enough for the guys around me to hear.  They all laughed.  After passing Arden Valley (mile 13.9) they started to fade back.  I like to think that my judicious descents were already paying off.

Not visible are the continuous drops of sweat reaped from my clothes. 

There were also boulder ascents at the crest of many climbs.  Some time between Arden Valley (mile 13.9) and Skannatati (mile 20.7) we hit a string of them, though at this point I was with a new crowd of mostly guys and one female.  At one in particular it was hard to tell where the trail went next.  Three guys fought their way straight up the rock face, huffing and puffing.  The other female stood there saying "I'm nowhere near as tall.  Do we really have to go straight over?"  I scanned right and left, saw some sort of a trail wrapping around the boulder to the left.  "I'm gonna check this out.  I'll let you know."  The guys were still grunting trying to get themselves over the rock, each blindly following those in front.  Sure enough, it was the easy (and marked) way to go.  "Over here!  WAY easier."  The female cried out "Oh thank goodness!" and I heard a different, more exhausted groan from the fellas.  Don't ever dawg genderized thought processes, people.  Hazzah!

When I rolled into Skannatati I was told I was third female.  "Seriously?"  "Ya sure are!"  Oh shit.  That was both super exciting and bad news -- since this was my first time doing anything over 31 miles I was guessing about my pace, going by rate of perceived exertion more than anything else.  This could mean its a slow year and I have a chance, or it could mean I'm gonna blow up soon.  Crap.

By the time I hit Camp Lanowa the internal debate as to whether or not to actually race was making me much more anxious than I wanted.  Again I was told that I was 3rd female, and I must admit that it feels really good to be on the receiving end of that for at least a few aid stations.  I tried not to think about it.  I ate two more PB&J quarters, two slices of potato with as much salt on it as I could get, washed it down with some Pepsi.  Then I ditched the pack (since this was an official drop bag site) -- it felt WONDERFUL to get that thing off my back, lightweight or not -- swapping it out for a Mojo bar and uber-caffeinated gels (for mentation's sake later in the race).

I like to keep my aid station stops as quick and streamlined as possible.  My mind was dead set on a clean pair of sock earlier in the race, though now that I had a good opportunity to change them out I realized that I'd get wet soon enough and it wouldn't make a difference.  Save the time, head on out.  On a whim I opted to chug some chicken broth on the way back out onto the course.  As the volunteer handed me the cup I saw Pink Booty Shorts girl sit down in a chair to fix her shoe.  Blast.  She's caught me.  The racing side of me had a little freak out.  I threw back the broth in a gulp and took off with a wave of thanks to the crew.

As I started the next stage I again found Shane.  We chatted a bit.  Gets hard to be truly chatty though once you hit this point.  He was starting to slow down.  Everyone goes through multiple highs and lows (physical and mental separately), and you absolutely must respect them.  I was in an okay patch and needed to keep up my momentum.  Not sure if Shane was in a rough patch, but he seemed to have slowed down.  I wished him well and slowly, in my best mid-race penguin waddle best, pulled away.

My head was still toying with what holding 3rd female did or did not mean.  I realized that it was too much to think about.  I needed to complete 20 more miles than I'd ever done before -- now was not the time to try to push things.  Now was the time to survive.  I had momentum, but that wasn't guaranteed to last.  Lo and behold, I turned around out of curiosity only to see Pink Booty Shorts girl headed my way.  She was having a genuinely good patch (or so it seemed from my point of view).  I was absolutely relieved.  I stepped aside to let her pass, gave her a big wave and a big smile, and wished her luck.  "You're taking over as 3rd female!  Keep it up!"  She smiled and trotted on.  I was again amazed that she wasn't running like a cowboy from inner thigh chafing.  I restarted my pace with a major load off my back.  The salty potatoes may have been the physiological deal breaker, but letting myself let go of 3rd place even before I was overtaken was the pinnacle psychological deal breaker.  The remaining ~20 miles were going to be my own experience at my own whim, and no unnecessary race stress was going to make me blow up.

An attempt to smile and give a thumbs-up to the camera.  I think the thumb made it.  The smile probably ended up more of a cringing sneer.

I think that was when I also realized why I so enjoy covering distances on my own two feet, though I'll spare you the philosophical stuff since this recount is long enough as it is.  (Fifty miles allow many, many more opportunities for self-reflection than one might think.) 

Soon I heard two guys who actually were ridiculously chatty.  I almost was irritated by the fact that they were able to be so damn chatty, but then I realized they were going my pace and were pretty funny.  I'll take humor any time I can get it!  If I remember their names correctly, Nick was the fellow racer and Eric was his pacer.  Camp Lanowa was the first opportunity for pacers to start, so Eric had sounded super fresh and upbeat because he actually was super fresh and upbeat.  Go figure.  Either way it was nice to have the company.

A good chunk of the course after mile 20 was pretty darn runable, with rolling forest roads much like those of the previous photo (the attempted smile).  There was also a long uphill climb on a road, which it seemed everyone else also walked.  I had parlayed back into contact with Nick and Eric.  I was in a bit of a concentrated mode to get up the hill with as little effort as possible (as though that was possible - hah!), but again I was glad for their banter.  After about 10 minutes it began to level off, at which point we restarted our penguin waddle.  Uphill may take more muscle power, but it at least reduces the leg pounding.  We all suddenly became acutely aware of a large SUV in oncoming traffic that had stopped in front of us.  Images of shot gun wielding and defensive upstate NY yokels flashed through my head.  "Um, why are they stopped?"  "Huh.  Um, dunno."  "Creeeeeeepy..."  Once within 50 feet Eric noted they had a video camera propped onto the side mirror.  Still creepy, I though.  For whatever reason my chosen response to the cameraman was to hold up the pinkie-index-thumb hand signal.  What does that actually mean, gnarly?  Rock on?  Whatever.  Waddle onward, ye sweaty salty fool.

There was another aid station in there, Tiorati (mile 34.2), and while I remember crossing it I don't remember much of what was around it aside from still being at the same pace as Nick and Eric.  Eventually we made it back to Anthony Wayne (mile 40.3), where our second drop bag was allowed.  I wasn't thinking about the view anymore.  I was thinking about keeping myself mentally stable.  I wanted the Mojo bar and the super-caffeinated gels in my bag.  And yet my bag wasn't there.  I stared at them all for a good minute while a volunteer checked under other bags for mine.  They were all lined up like they were supposed to be (in numerical order), but there were much fewer than I'd expected to see.  Turns out many of them were not forwarded correctly.  So.  Plan B, eat an extra salty potato and drink twice as much Pepsi.

I set out grumbling, not only in my head but also in my knees.  Anthony Wayne is a good sized parking lot, and we ran up the exit road for a bit before turning into the woods again.  For whatever reason my knees felt the pavement and simultaneously decided to complain.  Nothing debilitating, but an all around ache nonetheless.  For a moment I worried, then I realized that it was not patellofemoral or IT-band specific pain - just an all around ache.  Okay self, let's bargain.  Rocky technical hills: hike.  Rocky and wet regardless of incline: walk/rock hop.  Wait, I just reasoned with myself at mile 41 of a 50 mile race.  Is that possible?  My legs are still moving.  But I can't make the same central pattern generator argument with my mind.  Don't be a nerd, focus on moving forward.  Keep drinking, keep moving.

Nick and Eric were around there somewhere, I think slightly ahead for this jaunt.  Two others I had seen way back at the start had also caught up and were bounding ahead on good momentum.  We were no longer on the nice, smooth forest roads.  We were now back in rock and fallen branch laden swampy trails.  I was in a low stretch and let the merry men, who seemed to be okay, do as they may.  I threw back one of the super-caffeinated gels.  Eventually I started to feel okay, and we left the mucky swampy trail for a rocky hilly trail.  I wasn't saying much, but I'd caught back up to the boys.  Nick and Eric were okay, the other two were having another rough moment.  One, in fact, was puking just off the trail a few hundred feet short of the next aid station, Queensboro (mile 44.7).  With about one hundred feet to go was a runner wrapped in an emergency blanket escorted by three EMS folk.  He was at least on his feet, and was able to respond when I bid him to feel better.

I wanted this race in the bag.  I also knew that the next stage was the laterally tilted, super rocky, destroy your will stage that broke me last year.  I wanted out of this aid station quick.  I asked for broth while I ate my salty potatoe wedge.  Seemed like 2 minutes went by, when it was probably 20 seconds.  The volunteer warned "It's a little warm, so be careful."  I blew on it, tried one sip and searing pain when across my entire tongue as I spat it back out and nearly choked.  That wasn't warm, it was boiling.  And my tongue was burned.  Big time.

I was holding back tears but wanted the salty fluid, so asked for ice cubes to cool it down.  "Too hot?"  No sh*t, Sherlock.  What the f*** would I want a boiling hot cup of ANYTHING for?  To sit and sip while reading a book?  This is the END of a FRIGGIN' 50 MILE F***ING RACE.  I don't care if it is "palatable," I just want it chugable.  Seemed like five minutes went by (probably one minute), and she had carefully shook one lone ice cube into the cup.  She paused to chat with a fellow volunteer about something before cautiously trying to shake the next ice cube from the cup.  I should have been out of here three minutes ago.  Do NOT f*** with my transition times.  I am the only one who should be guilty of slowing me down.  She still wasn't finished.  I was fuming.  I wanted to be D.O.N.E.  F*** it.  I'm out.

I crossed the single mid-race timing platform and took off, mouth full of pain, wondering if I'd get blisters on my tongue, and one minor mishap away from going ballistic with tears.  Had they flowed, it would be been all out.  Nick and Eric were pretty close ahead; I'm rather certain their presence (read: not wanting to look like a fool) was the reason I held it together.  The anger fueled the fire enough that I took the momentum swing and passed them again.  I knew what was coming up, and I was very grateful to know exactly what to expect.

And yet, each section seemed a mere quarter of what it had seemed last year.  Was I that mentally foregone last year?  Did the tongue burning ironically decrease the terrains intensity?  I can honestly say nothing I have done has been as physically hard as this stage last year; was experience really the main factor for this?   Whatever.  I'll take it.  I even ended up singing made up songs to myself about rock hopping. 

I hit the very last aid station, 1777 (mile 47.2).  Refilled the water bottle.  Tongue was painful so opted against any more food.  Confirmed that Pink Booty Shorts girl was still holding strong in third (attaboy, girl!) and that I was still 4th.  From here on out I was smelling the barn, moaning and groaning all the way.  Pure desperation to be done.  But it was a fortified desperation, not a near-collapse desperation.  I literally ran as much as my penguin waddle could muster.  I hit the last downhill and used it for all its worth, moaning louder and louder with each step.  I was through the bridge tunnel and could hear the finish festival in the distance.  I think I actually managed a real run through the finish.  The chute was lined with cheering people.

DONE.  Ohthankgoodness I can finally SIT DOWN.

The feeling of standing still without any need to go anywhere felt downright weird.  I had my hands on my knees, scanning the crowd that was staring back blankly.  I had no idea what to do with myself after nearly 11 hours of moving forward.  Nathan called out from the side.  I stumbled over, put my head on his shoulder, and proceeded to cry.  He walked me a little ways over to our friends who ran the marathon relay with him, and I was still crying.  Took about five minutes to get it all out. 

Eventually I made it to the recovery ice bath, managed to stay in there a full 4 minutes before the burning became too bad.  Changed into dry, clean clothes, saw my feet for the first time.  You saw the picture of the shoes up above in the gear photo - at the time they had a mere 17 miles on them.  They now have 77 miles clocked and look like this...

Forgot to get a shot at the finish festival.  Pretty sure they weighed 4 times their normal weight due to mud and water.

...which produced feet looking like this...

Not too bad considering the amount of mud.  Aside from a few mildly tender toenails the bilateral third toe blisters were the extent of the damage.

Will had finished well.  I ended up finishing ahead of the french girl.  I had no food aversions following the race, and none of the painful hard palate reactions to food once we stopped for burgers on the way home.  There was some confusion as to which females had the podium.  Sportstats online listed Pink Booty Shorts girl, real name Ashley Kumlien, as 2nd and me as 3rd.  We knew that was incorrect.  Ashley said when she crossed the finish line that there was no mention of her earning 3rd like she was told.  In fact, the officials checking in bib numbers at aid stations told her she was 3rd female until the very last station said she was 4th.  She hadn't seen anyone pass her, but she did see other females around due to multiple races sharing the final stretch of the course.  At the awards ceremony the 2nd place female did not show.  Later I cross checked the names listed on the race's Facebook page with the Sportstats list, found both the 1st and 2nd place females listed by Sportstats as male.  Okay, so I guess I got 5th, but that still didn't jive with what I was told by officials at all the aid stations.  A few days ago the pictures were published online - Jocelyn, the supposed 2nd place female, is in fact male.  TNF also corrected the podium listing on their Facebook page.  So, 4th place for me. 

Sunday morning I was able to descend the stairs of our building reasonably well.  Sunday afternoon I was glad that I had immediately thrown everything touched in the race into the washing machine the moment we got home the night before.  I've walked to work throughout this week, but that's been it in terms of exercises.  Well, that and supporting Min to Max assist patients at work.  I'm glad we have a somewhat lighter caseload these days.  By Wednesday evening/Thursday morning my legs finally seemed their normal size, even with using compression socks all week at work and at home.  Sunday I may actually try a run, but I may not.  Will see how it goes.  I will enjoy getting back into it soon, though for now I am happily satisfied to have a week off.