Cayuga Trails 50 race report

My first ultra of the year took place along the hills and gorges of Treman State Park just outside Ithaca, NY.  I signed up for two big reasons -- the timing was good to allow recovery from Boston, and although this was the inaugural year the race director, Ian Golden, is the same director who impressed me last year at Virgil Crest.  It also turned out to be a higher profile trail race than I expected, with iRunFar signing on to cover the race and a slew of elites/semi-elites vying for top ten.  That left me in the front-of-the-middle-pack, free to run my own race free from the pressures of those bounding up the hills ahead.

The Cayuga Trails 50 course is a double out-and-back with a few sections of a large lollipop or parallel routes.  That meant some interaction with the elites as they flew in the opposite direction, and some blind pursuit.  Ithaca's gorges include huge waterfalls flanked by stone stairs with nicely graded trails on the back side.  Essentially, we would run over and down two gorges before turning around to do them in reverse, then repeat for lap number two.  Originally the course was estimated at 6500 feet of total elevation gain.  Apparently someone did a training run along one loop of the course, and their Garmin touted 5000+ feet, which would have meant 10,000+ feet over the whole race.  And since Virgil Crest (my race report) was measured with the same National Geographic topo software as the original Cayuga estimates, Virgil Crest would then be closer to ~13,000 feet instead of its estimated 10,000.  No one knew for sure, but Garmin/NASA was assumed to be more correct.  Regardless, it promised to be a day of hills at some degree lesser intensity as Virgil Crest.  Another reason to run my own race.

So I toed the line with merely one goal: finish under 10 hours.

[All photos are by Nathan, using a manual focus lens on a digital camera body.]

Start line, with elites at the front.  I'm hidden half way back toward the shelter.

 Virgil Crest yielded 10:25, an improvement upon Bear Mountain (10:39) despite stomach cramps.  If this promised to be in some way less, then I was determined.  Speaking of stomach issues, I made sure I'd have eight salt pills per lap to steadily take every 30 to 60 minutes depending on how I felt.  Having quelled a stomach niggle during the NYC Half with a salt pill, I hoped any occurrence this time would yield a similar result.  And I carried all my own "food" (Clif bars and GU Chomps), pre-determining to only eat PB&J if warranted and to rely on straight up water.  Maybe it is superstitious to cut out electrolyte drink mix and oranges/watermelon/salty chips since I don't know what caused the abdominal evilness during Virgil, but I was airing on the side of controlled variables based on what worked during my informal 50k across the NJ/NY border a few weeks earlier.

The first hill began with forest road just shallow enough to cautiously run, leading to informal stairs made of railroad ties and then eventually to the famed rock stairs by Lucifer Falls.  I hiked the stairs and focused on minimizing strain on my calves, also not wanting to slide on slick rock so early in the race.  Then a little downhill, and we were at the Old Mill aid station.  I was surprised by trail quality.  This being the east coast, you assume knobby and uneven rocks underfoot for most of the way.  Aside from tree roots, the stairs, and purposefully downs logs (to dissuade mountain bikers, who are not permitted on these trails), the remaining tread was smoothed dirt, thin grass or a layer of cushy pine needles that make your knees feel some ten years younger.

Coming into Old Mill

Runners rounding Old Mill on their way out

 I had enough water and supplies so I went right past the first aid station.  This station wasn't far from the start, so Nathan and the rest of the crowd was there to cheer everyone through.  Seeing a supportive, smiling face never gets old.  (Have I mentioned before the wonderfulness of Nathan?  If not, take note now, and I'll leave out gushy stuff from here on out.)  Around the corner of the mill, and up for a short bit before a long and very fun descent.  You could really open up here, and without risk of going ass over teakettle like on the Virgil ski slopes.  From there you end up at Underpass (aid station 2).  Quick fill up of water, and off I went again.

Coast along a short stint of flat forest road, and then you meet the steepest ascent of the day.  Not horribly long, but steep enough that recent years of hikers have mangled the land from skidding out and they newly created switchbacks were marked off so no one would bypass.  The switchbacks were still at something of a 45 degree angle.  That was most definitely hiked.  Even the guy who won said he had to power hike a bit of it.  Over the top and you start to descend, again getting to open up your stride, leading to a creek crossing.  I honestly don't remember where the other two of there crossings occurred.  One tip toed over rocks with a few wet toes, one was ankle deep, and one was mostly just over the knees but with a few steps where you sink to mid-thigh.  You cross each creek four times thanks to the out-back-out-back format.

Anyways, after that creek came the mud flats.  Ian mentioned creating a mile of trail where one did not exist before, and I'm assuming this is the place.  On the first pass the mud was just a little tacky.  Second pass, and indents were all over.  Third pass and troughs crisscrossed the trail with scant foliage available for tread along the side.  Fourth pass was 6-inch deep troughs turning to active swamp, leaving you covered in goey viscous mud up to your ankles and doubling the weight of your already soaked shoes.  Once beyond the mud and through the grass field (gorgeous!) then its more forest road and such leading down to the bottom of the other gorge/waterfall to the Buttermilk aid station.

Buttermilk was the turnaround point, sending you up a different set of rock stairs to eventually regain the trail, mud flats and all, whence you came.  That which you flew down you must go up.  With the waxing and waning rain/slight sun/drizzle, even pass looked just enough different.  While power hiking up where I had so much fun previously going down, I overheard one runner asking "Does anyone recollect even going down this in the first place?"  The main exclusion that comes to mind on the return trip was the steep switchbacks, which was descended on parallel trails further north.  Going down the stairs was relatively okay, occasionally having enough room on the side to avoid the railroad tie stairs but otherwise keeping a high cadence and (just in case) high knees.  When I came down the forest road I again saw Nathan taking photos of runners.  He said something encouraging, then said "I'll see you at the shelter [the start/finish/turnaround].  I can take a shortcut."  Yea, yea, thanks for rubbing it in.

Nathan had my food bag ready to go.  More of the same -- my extra packet of salt tabs, more water, and now I started adding soda at the aid stations (Coke to be exact).

As I took off for lap two I saw Adam, a guy I met a few minutes beforehand who was running his first ultra.  He left the shelter headed for the parking lot, then realized he was running off to nowhere and turned to rejoin the course marked by pink flags in the ground.   I teased, "Thought you were packing up to head home!"  I get very excited when people go for a new race distance.  We chatted a bit, and he had some good questions about pacing my found habits (frequency of salt pills, types of "food," etc).   I got a bit ahead on part of the runable uphill, then he caught up on the stairs, but once the downhill hit he fell back again.

Soon thereafter I met Dan, and my roll reversed.  Dan had nine 100 milers under his belt, so I asked all sorts of questions about running through the night and sleep deprivation.  We got so caught up in it that we didn't realized we missed the turn leading downhill to Buttermilk until we were about a quarter mile beyond.  "I don't remember this lake from the first lap."  "But we're still on the white trail.  Did we miss it, or did the flags get pulled off?"  Luckily when we hightailed it back to the last flag we found the turn.  Not too bad to only add on a half mile when you went off course.  Often that could mean miles of random trail searching.  We became a little more silent at point and focused on using the downhill to regain some of the time we lost.

Dan finishing the descent to the start/finish shelter to finish lap one.

 I kept my aid station time slim, getting water and Coke and trekking off again.  Dan caught up about a half our later, and we ended up traversing the last hamstring threatening mud flat crossing together.  The thigh high dunk felt amazing by the last crossing.  I think we actually sang as we crossed.  Once at the Underpass he pulled over to pee and I headed out again.  I was still able to power hike the uphills, but I was starting to feel it.  I kept my salt pill intake, and tried my best to use my hips.  I saw others in the far vicinity, but was no longer working as a pair.  I wasn't seizing, my stomach was okay, my alien toenail babies were relatively okay.

Murphy's Law.  I let myself get too pleased about my progress.  Don't know what it was.  Tree root, perhaps?  At just after nine hours of racing I caught something with my left foot, smashing my next to last toenail and possibly my big toe as well.  Flung down to the ground with arms splayed and water bottle flying.  Still managed to land on the right side.  Why, or better yet how do I always land on the right side??  Pretty sure I let out a Charlie Brown-esque scream.  Immediately got up, got my bottle, wiped my muddy hands on my sweat soaked shorts, and started walking.  A woman had been leering in the background for a while, and now she passed.  "How are you doing?"  A common question that I ask anyone I see walking.  Did she see and/or hear my fall?  I managed a benign response.  "Oh, hanging in there.  We're getting close!"  "We sure are!"  Another minute or so, the jello legs faded and I was able to trot again.

Came into that aid station and immediately downed three cups of Coke and took another salt pill.  Keep the mind working, or at least try.  About three miles to the finish, per an aid volunteer.  Maybe he read my facial expression.  I gave them a hearty thanks, noting 40 minutes to finish the last three miles for my goal of ten hours.  I knew there was descent on the stairs and forest road, couldn't remember how much vertical variance in between.  These races tend to average twelve minute miles for someone like me, assuming you don't have an obstacle that really slows you down.  Time to go for broke.  Every downhill was now do or die.  Every uphill was to be run if possible, or if not then power hiked through any cramps or pain.  I kept looking down at my shoes, at the Beads of Courage attached with twist ties, currently being drug through 50 miles of mud so that they can encourage a little sweetheart like Abby through the scary parts of their treatment for severe and/or terminal diseases.  I thought of Dan Wheeless, who by sheer determination and calm tact managed to complete bike centuries with better form and consistency than those with six times as much riding per week of training under their belts.  If they can (or in Dan's case, could) get through genuinely painful moments, I can get through this.  One glance at those beads and that sure as hell shuts up the complaining part of your brain.

I've never run so much during an ultra before.  Down and down and down, not worried about stumbling anymore so much as just physically getting to the bottom as quick as I could.  The stairs gave way to railroad tie stairs, which gave way to trail an eventually to forest road.  I was suddenly aware of the amount of downhill and couldn't remember how much was there the first time.  Then, like magic, I saw Nathan's red rain shell, waiting at the same point.  A few pictures and he took off the for finish, shouting "Go for it.  She's only got thirty seconds on you."  That meant I was catching up, but I knew with a quarter mile to go I wouldn't be able to make up the deficit.  I still high-tailed it, opting for at least a strong finish.

Final descent to the finish.

9 hours 48 minutes.  Bingo.

Turns out that last girl to pass me who finished a mere 30 seconds ahead?  She was tenth.  Fall or not, had we not missed that turn then I might have even made ninth.  But, that's how trail racing goes.  And who could look badly on a race result thirty seven minutes better than your previous personal record?  But what was most amazing was knowing that, while I may have been glad to be done, I could have kept going.


And that, my friends, is how you re-kindle your motivation after a mottled spring.

Post-race toes.

Stats:

time:          9:48:15
avg pace:  11:42/mile
place:        11th female, 37th overall
race:          164 starters, 132 finishers (38 of which are female)
splits:

intake:      1 1/3  Clif bars
                 3 1/2  packs GU Chomps
                 11  salt pills
                 1/4  PB&J
                 ~5 liters of water
                 ~32 oz. Coke
                 1  big stumble, recovered
                 1  wipe out
                 3  black toenails (some re-bruised, 1 newly darkening still)
                 1  bruise outside right knee

Ski lift hills and stomach cramps - Virgil Crest 50 mile race report

Picture yourself standing at the bottom of a ski lift.  To see the top 1400 feet above (vertical feet, mind you) you have to shield your eyes from the sun as you crane your neck.  According to the course description on the website, Mars Hill technically averages a 14% grade that at times reaches 21%.  To your eyes, it looks like a 70 degree angle.  Since you somehow find challenges like this to be fun, you get to run up and down the backside of Mars Hill.  And bookending the loop of awesomeness is a similarly veined descent on road and an ascent on hiking trails running in parallel.  And - and - this encompasses the middle 10 or so miles of the outbound portion of the course, so you get to do it all over again backwards.

The upside is that you are only entered in the 50 mile race.  While you wallow in pain and stumble with cramps at the finish line, the 100 milers turn around and do the entire thing, out and back, again....

The full 50.2 mile course

Again, how's that for perspective?

There's almost no need to go into depth about the other sections of the course.  There were climbs and descents, tree roots and downed logs to hurdle.  Compared to any other east coast trail I have run on, it was decidedly less rocky and less technical.  There were occasional bouts of soft trail covered with luscious pine needles that make your legs feel 10 years younger and two hours fresher.  (Seriously.  I wanted to kiss the ground.)  The course is surrounded by green hills that feel like a warm blanket to those like me who are regularly trapped in an urban concrete jungle.  The entire race crew and collection of entrants are good people - happy to be there, happy to participate, understanding of how to help and how to mutually support.   

And so at about 8.5 miles into the race I found myself on the downhill section of road.  I tried to use the momentum and avoid a quad-bashing controlled descent, so I kept the cadence high and tried to avoid lingering too long on any footfall.  I regularly train on a nearby .3 mile hill of this grade.  This one kept descending for a total of 1.1 miles, then hooked up with a couple turns for another .4 miles of milder downhill leading to the next aid station.  I definitely felt it at the bottom, a little tingle throughout my legs.  Having learned a huge lesson from Traprock's festival of hamstring cramps secondary to inadequate salt intake, I was grateful to have packed and carried 8 salt tabs to supplement said stations.

Barely out of the aid station was the ski lift hill.  I took my two chunk of peanut butter and jelly so slowly nosh as I ascended.  No sense on blowing all your energy trying to ascend fast; rather, you must take care of yourself.  The tingle from the downhill became the odd sense I have not experienced since college at Iowa.  That was my last time I worked out in a gym, where if you are not careful with effort levels and angles on an elliptical you'll cut off blood flow to your feet and get the numb-tingles in your toes.  I developed the same response while marching up the ski lift hill. 

While I wouldn't call my training for this race perfect, I did have the Escarpment Trail Race to add a new mix of hills.  It is the same cumulative elevation gain of 10,000 feet though squeezed into 18 miles.  But on the Escarpment Trail, the grade is steeper and the terrain is rocky enough that, in effect, the course is a stairwell on steroids that requires use of handholds.  Here, it is a smooth incline aside from the bumbles of mud and grass heaps.  Not steep enough to use your hands (aside from on your thighs as Euro "hiking poles"), consistent enough that your ankle is on constant stretch or your calf is constantly in contraction depending on your ascent technique.  A few times I turned around to go up a dozen steps backwards just to take the pressure off for a few seconds.  Scott, the 100 miler ascending at my pace, gave a knowing smile.  That led to the first of a handful of nice conversations with fellow runners.

You turn the corner at the top and have a steep descent on a gravel road, again trying to not bash your quads too much now that your whole leg is on fire.  Then you ascend another steep section.  There's a couple of rolling stretches mixed with a couple of steeper ascents - a fancy way of saying I have no recollection of what happened during that stretch.  All I remember is a not-quite-but-almost hand-over-foot ascend up a mud hill.

Steadily a young woman in a pink tank top gained on me fast throughout the entire series of climbs.  Turned out to be Rachel, a 100 miler with whom I previously had a small chat during the benign initial section.  Every uphill she would power hike easier than I've ever seen before.  She was kicking ass and taking names.  But it still helped my confidence, because for all the distance she'd close on me during an ascend I could in turn recreate on descents.  It turned out to be a consistent parlay of order for the first 25 miles.  Rachel was so positive and full of youthful spirit that at a point I had to ask her age.  "Twenty four.  Yea, I'm older than I seem."  I told her it was more of a benefit than she realized.  She went on to describe that she absolutely loves hills to the point that she gets giddy.  And when she is further and further into a crazy long race she becomes deliriously giddy, apparently much to the dismay of we older (or, as in my case, "older") and more cynical folk.  We had a lot of fun joking about when we'd next pass each other.  And it was a blast to run for so long with another female.

But I digress.  After getting through the multitude of false top-outs you eventually make the long descent on the backside of the loop.  Your legs can't open up on this kind of grade.  Well, at least not if you are a mortal such as I am.  I tried instead to sit my butt back and keep a high foot cadence.  And breath between the winces and muscle twinges.  Eventually you make it back to the same aid station as before.  That whole loop mess?  4.2 miles in one hour.

I walked a short bit to let my legs breath while I stuffed my face.  Short, since the trail paralleling the loop is but a couple minutes away.  After the jarring introduction to the loop it all seems easier.  You simply use denial when it comes to knowing you'll do the loop in reverse at some point.  This section and the fifth section were when Rachel and I were together as much as the parlays would work out.  The fourth aid station had watermelon and oranges.  I moaned audibly as I inhaled.  As we closed in on the fifth aid station and turnaround point the rolling hills created a resultant downhill, so I pulled away from Rachel at some point.  Somewhere in there was a very big near fall, my left foot catching on something.  Not until I was within a mile or two did I see anyone on the return.  One guy told me that I was the second woman on the course.  For now, I thought.  Just keep moving.

I dunked a potato into a bowl of salt, smiling as I laboriously chewed and waved thanks as I left.  It felt like only a few minutes, though it may have been more, when I passed not just a few but a crew of folks still headed outward.  In that crew was Rachel in the lead, to whom I gave a hearty high five and a holler, and three other women amongst a handful of men.  You figure there's a train chasing you, but you don't expect a literal running train.  Eesh.  Just keep moving.  I also saw Elaine, who had a marvelous second wind and thus a second place finish at the Traprock 50k.  Realized to late for a high five, so we exchanged hollers.  A little scary to know who is tracking you down, but energizing at the same time.

A half hour later a woman in bright clothing suddenly appeared behind me.  I was trying to use the momentum but cautiously, knowing that the loop was out there waiting our return.  I let her by with some encouragement.  I decided to try to maintain third place.  I also saw my mother in-law's coworker who was doing his first 50 miler with little training secondary to a farming accident over the summer.  His wife managed to spot me before the start, so once I heard of his reasons for nervousness I had given all the practical advice I could think of.  He wasn't sure he'd finish, and yet he was maybe 4 miles from the turnaround.  Good stuff!  I was glad to see him still out there.

After the aid station of watermelon goodness at mile 30 the uphill started again.  I again hiked, hoping that my power hike would at least hold off the other women from the power train.  I actually hoped Rachel would catch up again, but I knew she had to spread her energy over twice the distance as I did.  She might have lingered at the aid station for good reasons.  You never know.  I saw a dude a ways up ahead who I recognized from a brief exchange earlier, and managed to slowly reel him in.  You focus your eye on them, add in a conscientious breathing pattern, feed off their pace to help your momentum, and then thank them as you pass.   As we exchanged sentiments about "hanging in there" I noticed a woman running - yes, running - up the hill behind us.  Sh*t balls.  As we crested and made our way through a few rolling hills I tucked in behind my conversation mate for a few minutes.  I hoped that she was blowing her steam by running and that my judicious hiking would win out in the end to maintain third.  Once the downhill started I let loose as much as the now goopy, mud slung, downhill and yet side slanted trail would let me.  I saw neither of them any time I looked back.  At some point on that descent was a 5+ foot slide down a mud incline.  Yahoo.

Eventually I passed the aid station.  Grabbed more peanut butter and jelly sections, and started the reverse of the loop.  Just as I got out of sight of the aid station I heard someone yell, "There's Heather!" followed by cheering.  Sh*t balls.  On this kind of a hill you can't judge, you can't force.  You just survive.  Just keep moving.  I saw another guy I recognized, Michael, up ahead.  He was not having a good time.  Once nearby we exchanged commiserations.  He told me to fight back for second place.  I laughed and said I was trying to simply hang on to third.  I kept hiking up around the bend (let's face it, "power" hiking is a relative term at this point...), only to hear Mike call out that Heather was indeed running up this hill too.  Sh*t.  Balls.  I grumbled something of a thanks for the heads up, let out a big sigh, and told myself to run the less severe inclines.

I held her off for a bit, but we were only half way up the climb and the grade got steep again.  (On the elevation graph, it's the hill leading up from mile 36.3.)  We eventually hit the dipsy-doodle hills on top, and as I gently began to jog along a momentarily flat/down stretch she finally matched me.

Me: "How the hell have you run up all these hills?!?"
Heather: "I don't know!"
Me: "Have you done many ultras before?"
Heather: "No.  Just road marathons.  This is my first ultra."
Me: "Dude..."

After a few beats of silence to let that sink in, the sadness of forfeiting a spot was immediately replaced by complete awe for her performance.  Both she and Rachel should do Sky Running events, where the races tend to go straight up significant mountains much like the ski lift hill but longer.

It was then that my stomach started to cramp - not my abdomen/intestines, not even an abdominal muscle.  My actual stomach.  Never experienced that before.  I was already periodically hiking my legs back to life.  Now I had to do the same for a visceral organ.  I tried pacing my breath, but this wasn't CO2 related.  I hunched over and stuck my fingertips as far under my left ribs as I could while still moving forward (your muscles don't just turn off, so I couldn't really get in there) and did my best to mobilize my stomach on the move.  I was able to take the sting off so long as I was on a flat section or an uphill.  Somehow running downhill was what aggravated things. 

Mike caught back up to me, and we began our own parlay that narrowed with each passing as we made our way through the remaining dipsy-doodles, alternating between my stomach and his hamstrings.  At one point Mike was ahead and no one was behind, so I took my only pee during the race at 7 hours 40 minutes in.  I managed to catch back up to Mike again.  Then Heather came running back towards us asking if we had missed the turn.  We reassured her that we were on course.  My mind sparked a glimmer of hope that maybe I could fight for third after all.  We found the turn off down the mud slide, which Heather had passed before turning around, and off she pranced while the downhill flared up my stomach again.  I think that glimmer of hope lasted a whole twenty seconds.  Reality check: just finish the damn race in one piece.  Right.

We hit the first of two big downhills on the loop.  It was harsh on the legs, but steep enough that the pace was still relatively slow and so by some good grace did not aggravate my stomach.  We turned to head up the last climb of the loop, spotting Heather just about to crest the top.  Mike: "She's still running."  Me: "Yup.  Friggin' Energizer Bunny."  She was even wearing a pink tank top.  Despite being out of ear shot I still wished her a finish just as strong.  Mike and I fell into step and opted for good conversation.  We were suffering, but we had a good time.  We didn't see Heather at all when we hit Mars Hill headed down.  And we probably looked, and sounded, ridiculous as we made our way down to the aid station. 

Heather was not too far ahead of us leaving the aid station, but I also knew that the road hill awaited us.  We did our best plod-along jog on the less severe incline, switching to a hike the moment we hit the base of the main drag.  Heather was still running.  Definitely the ultra shuffle, but definitely running.  Mike and I laughed and kept up the conversation.  Soon another guy popped up next to us.  Hadn't a clue where the hell he came from.  Apparently he had seen us and made an effort to catch up.  Safety in numbers.  We welcomed Ethan to our hobbling group.

Eventually we made it to the remaining section and a half of forest trail.  We ran as a group for a while.  Eventually Mike got a second wind, so Ethan and I cheered him on as he took off.  I had to walk a bit for my legs again after hurdling a handful of logs, so I then cheered on Ethan as he took off.  Bit by bit I made my way to the last aid station.  I picked out a potato chunk with high surface area and dunked it into as much salt as I could get.  The volunteers cheered for my salt acquisition methods, then laughed for a good minute as I stood motionless and moaned in my salty euphoria.  This is the delirium that comprises the latter chunk of ultras.  More watermelon, and off I trodded.

The last section was a blur.  Every five or ten minutes of shuffle-run was followed by at least a few minutes of hiking and poking at my stomach.  I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure no other females were coming from behind.  The only two who appeared were from the relay race, so they were actually running and were full of vigor and good wishes.  With about two miles to go I caught back up to Ethan, and the two lead 100 milers passed on their second outbound trip.  I gave them a big high five, and they reassured me that I was close.  What felt like a gently rolling nothingness at the start of the race became a slight downhill to the finish that wreaked havoc on my stomach.  I kept walking and poking.  Ethan eventually passed again.  Thankfully no one came from behind.  I managed to keep Ethan in my sight, and with a half mile to go I managed to shuffle-jog through the objections from my stomach, the idea of being done outweighing the pain.

After all that, would I do that race again?  Yes :)

Total time: 10 hours 25 minutes.  Fourth female, 13th overall out of just over 100 finishers.  Only 21 minutes behind the lead woman, and 9 minutes after the gazelle Heather.  Manage to best my Bear Mountain 50mi time despite the increase in elevation.  Mike finished just after her, rounding out the top 10 overall, Ethan just behind Mike and ahead of me.  Rachel came through at 10 hours 40 minutes, but in my stupor of recovery I missed getting to cheer on the start of her second half.  I saw Scott as he loaded up with food; he made it to the base of the ski slope loop for a total of ~60 miles but dropped at that point.  Better to take care of yourself when you need it.  And my mother-in-law's coworker Allen?  He finished in 14 hours 42 minutes.  Attaboy.

My full stats, as per the race results on the Virgil Crest Ultras website:

They still weighed about 2 pounds each the next morning.  And they smelled gloriously.  *Gag*