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| How the Grindstone 100 ended! |
Let's backtrack to where we left off in March at the Terrapin 50k. I finished a very strong race and was heading into Promise Land 50k the next month with newfound confidence and energy. That race went OK. It was hot as holy hell with miles of quad-busting climbs all while little gnats circled my head whispering obscenities into my ears. I gritted it out and finished the race ready for a much-needed pre-summer break in my training. After a few weeks of regrouping, I doubled down on my training for Grindstone 100, the 4th race in the Beast Series, set for September 16th. I was ready to put in the work and get that third 100 mile finish.
Training in the summer is my worst nightmare. I hate the heat and tend to sweat more than the average person. I can't ever seem to carry enough water or apply enough lube. But I was determined to nail those issues in my training and get to that starting line ready for a fight. I trained weekend after weekend on the GS100 course. Many times, I logged miles on ungroomed trails that were covered in hip (sometimes shoulder) high weeds, briars and stinging nettle. I literally left my blood, sweat and tears out there training on that course. I practiced navigating the treacherous rock scrambles by headlamp, and powering up the steepest climb, Little Bald, in the midday heat. I tested out all of my gear, picking clothes that didn't suck during training runs, and foods that stayed down and keep me moving. In total I estimate around 1000 miles logged and over 100k feet of vertical training. On paper, I was fucking ready.
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| This is how my summer training looked! |
Race day came, along with a 6pm start. I slept in, ate a good breakfast and lunch. Had all of my gear prepped and ready, drop bags filled with everything I may need. Each bag had my go to nutrition, Long Haul powder, Spring Energy gels, Stroope Waffles, and Instant Mashed Potatoes*. I calculated exactly how many calories I needed to consume per hour and had my watch set to alert me every 35 minutes. My crew and pacers were prepped and ready to rock and roll. (Karl, Jason Ultraman, and Drew Midland). I had a rockstar team and we were going to crush this thing. Karl and I headed to Camp Shenandoah for packet pickup, race brief and drop bag drop off around 12:30. I placed my three drop bags in the designated piles on the lawn under the midday sun and didn't think of them again. After the meeting we headed back to our RV for me to get changed, do the final prep and pick up Jason. We would arrive back to camp with a hour to start, energy and excitement high.
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| My amazing Crew (Karl & Jason) |
I lined up mid-pack next to the badass Emma S. who is a junior in college and also competing in the Beast Series. We chatted a bit before the start and the conversation calmed my prerace jitters. The clock struck 6 and we were on our way. This race is known for its relentless course, with insane climbs and gnarly descents. While offering little to no "runnable" flat sections. My plan was to stay smooth and controlled in the first half to save my legs for the back 50. The race is an out and back, so once you conquer the course on the outbound, you know what is in store for the return trip. I stuck with a group of 5-6 people that were cruising at a safe and conservative pace. I tucked in ready for the first big climb. Out came my trekking poles and I was ready to dig into this mountain. Unfortunately I found myself climbing the stupidest mountain ever (Elliot Knob) behind the biggest know-it-all tech guy from CA. HE WOULD NOT STOP TALKING! This would be the first big challenge of my day, and I did not pass the test! I let him get into my head and turned on the gas, powering past him up this 15-20% grade climb. Clearly NOT saving my legs for shit. I was finally able to only hear the subtle annoyance of his voice as I crested the top of the mountain. Touched the fence, quick pee, and I was on my way back down.
The next section to Dry Branch Gap, I got lined up with several guys that were taking the rocky sections nice and smooth and safe. I felt like I could have gone faster but thought about my vertical K that I just sprinted earlier and settled in with the chill crowd. I was nailing my nutrition and adding yummy additions from the aid stations. All systems good, feeling strong coming into the Dowells Draft aid station at mile 22. This would be the first time I saw Karl and Jason as well as my drop bag. I came upon Karl who was totally surprised at my arrival. He said I was an hour ahead of schedule and he was just starting to get my refills ready. I told him no worries, and that I would sit for a second to get myself together. At this point I was drenched in sweat. Honestly, I was drenched at mile 5. Clark the RD told us at the brief that we were so lucky this year as the humidity was very low. Haha, it was low at noon, but not at midnight! I grabbed a towel from Karl and tried to blot the moisture from my compression shorts, as I was irritatingly sopping wet. Jason grabbed my nutrition bag from my drop bag, including my mashed potatoes* and I was on my way. I would not see the guys again until mile 37 at N River Gap.
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| The Elevation Profile so I couldn't forget the suffering! |
I was still moving well, and spirits were still high until... I started eating my second pouch of potatoes and they tasted kinda funny. I figured it was my tastebuds revolting from all of the other sugary food I was eating, so I just downed the rest, chasing with a big gulp of water. About 30 mins later into the next climb I felt my stomach revolt. I had to find a place to shit and I had to do it NOW. The trail was either a narrow stretch on the side of a mountain or surrounded by nettle. I found the first break I could, turned off my headlamp, and had the first of many poops in the woods. Sidenote. Last 100mi race, Rim to River in 2020, I had no stomach issues but peed constantly since I was out there for so many hours. I came home with some pretty bad butt chafe and was sure it was because I didn't have good wipes. So, this time I was going to be prepared. Well, I was prepared for 2 trips to the side of the trail, not 8. For the next few hours, I was ducking in and out of the trail. By the time I got to the NRG 1 aid station I was definitely getting dehydrated and was chafing like a MF. I meet the guys, told them about the poopy taters and sat down ready to reassess. I wiped, dried and Vaselined my undercarriage to the best of my ability on the side of a very well-traveled trail. I was hella bummed that my only savory fuel was ruined but would supplement with snacks from the amazing aid stations.
I left the river a little down but refreshed and ready to climb the even stupider Little Bald. Seven miles of technical, back, and quad breaking assent. I had trained on this climb two different weekends and knew it would be a beast but had all the confidence in the world that I would beat it. By the time I finally got to the top I could barely walk without my ENTIRE undercarriage burning like flames in hell. I tried to adjust my shorts, adjust my stride, anything to allow me to move without pain. Nothing worked. I had another 2 miles of rolling mountain jeep road to navigate before the next aid station. The sun was coming up, the wildflowers looked amazing, but all I could think about was quitting. The pain was unbearable. I alternated a sad jog with shuffling steps to get to that Little Bald AS. When I got there all I wanted was lube. I grabbed the biggest handful, ducked behind a truck, and layered a good inch of Vaseline between my legs and cheeks. I waddled out, ate a quesadilla, and told the runners around me that I was probably going to drop at the halfway. Everyone tried so hard to convince me otherwise. Even the loudmouth jerk from the first climb was there trying to salvage my race. I nodded in silence and went on my way.
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| Top of Little Bald from my training run |
I had another 6.5 miles until I would be at the halfway, see Karl and pickup Jason as my pacer. I couldn't wrap my head around how on earth I was going to make it to the aid station, let alone, get to my car so that I could fucking quit. I was alone on the dumbest stretch of jeep road, shitting on the side of the trail, crying to myself that I knew my day was over. I kept going back and forth in my head about sticking it out. Walking another 50 miles with bloody nether regions, all in the quest to conquer this Beast Series. Pride, ego and will had hold of me and were not letting me go. I finally made the call to quit. I screamed at the top of my lungs, and when my food alarm went off, I laughed, said "Fuck You" and quit eating. I then called Karl once I got service at the top of the mountain and told him we were done. He tried so hard to pump me up, telling me he would get me fixed up and that I could finish this thing, he made a valiant effort. But he knew I was done. The tone of my voice, the description of my wrecked body, it was time to DNF.
I was sad shuffling down the 2.5 mile asphalt road toward halfway, head down, tears on my cheeks, when I looked up and there was Karl and Jason. They climbed the road to come and walk me in. At that moment it hit me that it really was over. I felt such sadness at my defeat, but also such a feeling of love as I hobbled down this road to the car. I finally hit the bottom, content with my decision, and told the kind volunteer that I was done. He then stood up and screamed at the top of his lungs to the HAM radio guy, "We got a DNF over here, number 116". I laughed so hard at the public announcement of my failure, screaming back, "we got a loser over here"! I made my way over to the car, sat down, disrobed, and climbed into the back of the car ready to get the fuck off of that mountain.
*Potato thoughts. I had trained all summer with my taters, but always made them from fresh boiled potatoes or instant with water. When Karl and I were prepping my taters the night before we followed the directions and made them with milk, as directed, not even thinking. However, those potatoes sat in my drop bag in the midday sun, baking and rotting. Inevitability the demise of my day, my shitty, shitty day, was a dumb mistake. Milk in the potatoes.
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| How I SHOULD have ran the race, SANS PANTS! |
I am now out of the Beast Series, with my first ever DNF. It has been a very hard emotional journey dealing with this result. More thoughts on that later. I would like to thank my amazing husband Karl for selflessly helping me pursue my outrageous goals. Training with me on dumb trails, hot long runs, and sprained ankles. He took amazing care of me all night long during the race, driving hundreds of miles all on less sleep than me. Thank you to Jason Ultraman who drove all the way up to pace me and ended up running zero miles. (Haha payback's a bitch Jason). Thank you for helping crew all night and sacrificing your weekend to help me chase this stupid goal. And to Drew, who never even made it out to the trail, I'm sorry friend. One day in the future I promise we will get to run/shuffle some mountain trails together. To Clark Zealand, and all of the incredible volunteers, thank you for an amazing and unforgettable race. I am not sure I need to come back to chase this buckle, but if I do, I know I will be cared for by some of the best.
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| No Finish Line Pic - No Buckle |
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