Leg 2: 7.76 @ 55:57 (7:13/mi) - "Hard" (1431 ft drop, 238 ft gain)
Leg 14: 9.99 @ 1:29.16 (8:56/mi) - "Very Hard" (149 ft drop, 838 ft gain)
Leg 26: 4.41 @ 34:36 (7:51/mi) - "Moderate" (583 ft drop, 104 ft gain)
Since so many of our friends have written wonderful recaps of this year's relay, I think I can safely keep my perspective pretty short now that I let the time pass. I certainly had a great time with great friends on Stache and Dash and other teams, and I would certainly love to do it again.
Leading into the big weekend, I took the Wednesday and Thursday off to play it safe, but still managed to get insufficient sleep Thursday night. We pulled into Anne Marie's house at 6:30 to load up the vans, and by 7 we were on the road. I had hoped to get some reading done assuming everyone else would want to sleep, but spirits were so upbeat with Adam Gasperini driving, Emily Barrett navigating shotgun, Siobhan Havlik riding Kurt Cobain, Christi beside me, Glenn Carroll studying the volunteer manual hard, and Laura Sudduth providing loads of entertainment it was impossible for me to relax in Van #1. We became even more anxious after our short convenience store stop almost turned into a collision with Lat Purser's team van. By the time we hit Virginia, my intent to focus on reading developed into sound upright sleeping in the van. Soon after the quick nap, we were approaching
Grayson Highlands State Park, and could see some of the early starters coming down the mountain. Excitement really started to mount as we passed one of UCRR's
teams the Designated Drinkers hanging out at the first exchange point, then we saw Diane Derkowski running down from the start to meet the DD's.
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photo courtesy of Rob Ducsay...
Van 1 L to R: Emily, Me, Christi, Laura, Adam, Siobhan |
As our van parked, we hopped out, stretched, greeted some of the Crazy Legs and
D.A.R.T.'ers, grabbed the Relay t-shirts, and lined up for photo ops. A few short minutes later it was time for our entire 10:30 wave to start, we cheered as "Stache and Dash" was called over the bullhorn and before I knew it, Laura was off and running with a hoard of teams we would soon be getting to know a little better. After jumping back in the vans, we drove down the hill to the first exchange zone where we had seen the Designated Drinkers with plenty of time for me to stretch and squeeze in a few strides to loosen up. I checked-in with the officials at my exchange zone, tried to review the turn-by-turn directions, and do everything I could to be aware as I waited for Laura's arrival. Naturally, after all my preparation for this event, when it was my time to take the baton (or slap bracelet in this case), I had no idea the experience I would come to embrace.
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| Seriously about to storm down the mountain... |
Like a cannonball, I bolted from the exchange zone as if a -4% grade meant I could cut my 10k time in half. Trodding down the shoulder in my trail shoes, I thought the brief period on asphalt would only propel me faster, but I started to feel a twinge up my muscles before I found the gravel roads. The grassy shoulder wasn't stable enough, but I could hardly stand the shock of asphalt on my stiff soles. I started to think what a crappy choice on my part, but really had to spend more time focusing on my environment as soon as I hit my first gravel road. It'd been ages since I ran on country roads like this. All I could think of was "John Freaking Denver" as I plowed down the sharp hills passing one beat up old rusty truck, abandoned farm with a single remaining farm animal, and out of date windmill after another. I was really coming to appreciate being out in this
Deliverance community, when a couple of "fellars" in a little red pick-up started approaching -- the first car I recalled seeing since I left the park. Despite the camouflage they were both wearing, I could still see both of them as one leaned out of the passenger side looking in my direction. Slightly alarmed, I slowed my pace as this gent lift some small piece of equipment up to his face as he continues to look my direction and shouts, "Keep on goin'!" Holy crap! I was frightened to the point of directional confusion... "Do I dodge to the nearest ditch or continue galloping down the hill in hope that these boys can't turn around and come after me quick enough," I thought. Looking back, I think these fine friendly locals were trying to cheer me on as I just happened to pass them in the middle of whatever game season it may have been. I bounded onward and and downward contemplating how insane this much downhill was to not be an actual trail race. How does anyone's muscles sustain this much pounding, exactly what I feared from my first leg. As soon as I thought I couldn't take anymore, the course leveled off. How pleasant, and then instantly my three seconds of flat turned into sharp incline. Ouch. I thought this was supposed to be my intensive downhill leg. Fortunately, I had spent "more than enough" time studying my elevation charts and just knew this uphill would be over in about a half mile. Much to my surprise, this was a half mile that had no end in sight. I can't think of the last run I've done with so many cutbacks UPHILL! Eventually, my over-exaggerated deceleration ended before I even considered walking, and I caught sight of another racer in the distance. Although I began with the notion that I would simply try to maintain the same pace as everyone else that was running this leg, I regained my fighting spirit and remembered what I came out here to do -- rack up road kills!! I imagine that any inkling of a competitive nature would force any other runners to feel the same hunger I had, but all that mattered was that I got mine. So here, in the last two miles of my first leg, it became clear, just like in any endurance road running event I've competed before, use this time to methodically pick off the weak of heart. All too easily I caught my first road kill as he was bearing right but I cleverly knew to take the left turn instead. I looked back over my shoulder and yelled a salutation. He asked if we should be going left and I reassured him that I was going the correct direction since my team captain was smart enough to create miniature laminated directions. I exchange greetings with the guy as he follows me down another dirt road, and he introduces himself as "LT." A third mile down, LT says, "Wait, you sure about this?" We reexamined the directions and realized I was horribly wrong. LT and I turned around and headed back to the course. As we turned back onto the path there were two guys bounding up the hill behind us. I wanted to surge ahead and my new counterpart seemed to let them hang with these two guys. Unfortunately, my surge came a little too soon, and the other two guys from GONADS caught up to me as we climbed. It was all I could do to hang with these guys, but I just trusted I could draft off them to the end of my leg. My instinct was that these guys must have come from the next wave of teams, but as we progressed up one more small hill, the two other competitors weakened. As they slowed, I saw a sign reading "EXCHANGE ZONE" that gave me a little wind beneath my wings. I no longer had any sense of distance, but I knew this was my time for one final kick. No matter how much the down hills hurt before, I had one last down hill to kick as hard as possible to get my team back into a competitive position. Naturally I kicked faster than I had run all week, saw all the teams waiting at the exchange zone and Christi ready and waiting. I slapped the bracelet on her wrist, relieved to have survived my first leg. The cheers from my van mates were pretty uplifting and I realized that the two guys who I used to draft up the hill weren't from a later wave start, but had just taken a wrong turn as well. Maybe it was due to navigational ineptitude on our parts, but I managed to get three road kills in my first leg. Wow, the competitive juices were pumping. I congratulated LT on sticking out a pretty good leg with hopes to enjoy a couple more legs together (yeah right, as I hoped to pound his team the 12 Monkeys into submission). Shaking hands with LT, I saw he was on a team with a guy named Billy, Carolina alumnus, that I met during the 2010 Dowd Y Half-marathon. This was a pretty good sign that there were going to be a surprising number of familiar faces throughout the relay, and as much as it was sure to be a good time, I was determined to get my fair share of road kills to make my team proud.
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| Stache and Dash Van #1's first solid meal of the day. |
If I intend to keep this post short of epic, I'll have to leave the occurrences surrounding other teammates' legs concise in hopes that they will be able to tell their own version. After the rest of Van #1 proceeded through their legs and Emily handed off to Bjorn, it was time to grab some lunch. Chad Randolph recommended we head back to West Jefferson after picking up our volunteers from a few legs back. Back-tracking, we saw the CRC/Try Sports guys waiting at Ashe Park for Ben Hovis. When we saw Ben, their only competition was nowhere in sight. Our CRC heroes had their own epic, record-breaking battle against the
Asheville Running Collective, told from multiple other perspectives. We had quick lunch at some decent pizza & pasta joint in West Jefferson by 3 and headed off to our next Transition Point, the Tanger Outlets. The van got a little turned around, but we still arrived at the Outlets with plenty of time to spare. This being the 2nd transition zone, we were able to run into so many teams. As we pulled into the parking lot, I finally found an opportunity to use my silly string and tagged one of the UCRR vans. We saw the hotties from Crazy Hot Legs with Dalena representing for the same legs as I, the Providence Harriers with
Allen also conquering the same legs I would, Team Awesome, again 12 Monkeys, GONADs, D.A.R.T., Ludicrous Speed, a couple versions of UNC teams, and many more but thankfully the ARC and CRC/Try Sports had still not caught up to the earlier waves. This was also the first exchange zone where people had to be suited up with all the night time safety equipment. I was fairly confident that the wave of night running would start separating a lot of ill-prepared teams.
As I waited for Laura at our second hand off, I took the time to chat with Mark Ulrich and the Designated Drinkers, before he started up the same Grandfather Mountain leg that I would. The temperatures had dropped with sundown, and I had to do a lot of warming up, but my temperament was pretty casual as I waited. Chatting it up with Caleb Boyd and a few others from Kickin'
Ultra Asphalt, I heard a very familiar voice walk-up behind me. It was Ben Hovis himself. That meant the CRC/Try Sports team would soon be catching up to us after all. Surely enough, John Compton walked up behind me on the other side, and said, "What's up buddy?" or something of the nature. I thought, "Ah crap, now, getting passed by Compton is even more imminent." Thankfully, Laura came out of the dark and slapped the bracelet on me, so I could get out of there before contemplating becoming road kill so soon. I knew Grandfather Mountain would be a formidable battleground, but I really had no clue how to pace ten miles of constant elevation gain. I thought half marathon pace would be a nice prayer, but 7:30 pace was only good for the initial flat. I was alone when I started and didn't think anyone would be coming up behind me anytime soon. I just stared at the path of light on the ground a few feet in front of me as provided by my headlamp. I've done my fair share of night runs, but this seemed dark as can be. I think the biggest difference as I headed up the hill was that there were no city lights for miles around. It was eerie and magnificent at the same time. I really appreciated the solitude as I plodded along with one foot in front of the other. I managed to get one easy road kill early, but unfortunately, it wasn't Mark. I really hoped that this leg would prove me to be in better shape than Mr. Ulrich, but I knew I couldn't afford to think about much more than maintaining pace as I continued up the perilous road. Alone in the dark I was passed by a couple of unidentified team vans then suddenly heard a runner behind me in the distance. I thought it must have been ARC's and CRC's vans that passed me, so this valiant runner approaching me at such a swift pace must be John. I yelled out, "Compton?" No response. I guess it wasn't him after all, as I became easy road kill myself, I just said, "Way to go man." I looked down at the ground and thought, just maybe I could use this occurrence to try to stick the pace stronger. A couple minutes later, more footsteps, and I yelled, "Yeah John!" Bewildered -- still not him -- I offered, "Go get 'em." Thankfully, I don't think this runner knew what I was saying either. Getting passed by a second guy that wasn't even CRC was almost embarrassing. I thought I was too competitive to become road kill like this. I still haven't found a second victim to even this leg out so of course my ego was feeling even more defeated. I could only compare this feeling to the loneliness that comes in ultra-marathons or my long, slow, solo runs. I tried to accept the potential depression and stay my course. The grade of the banking turns on the road was becoming pretty annoying to me and at one point I imagined how horrible it would be if this harsh grade forced me to roll down the side of the mountain. How long would it be before anyone found me? "Sheesh, gotta find another road kill. Please God, let me rediscover self-value for the sake of my team. I really don't want to have to walk this or give in" This single leg felt like one of the five toughest runs I've ever encountered. I heard another van coming and thought again, "Dear God please let it be them!" "Woo! Yeah Jamaar!" is the cry I heard from the CRC van. Prayers answered. As they came up closer I heard Beigay spurn, "Better hurry, here comes Compton." It was comically uplifting, as I light-heartedly feigned a 100m sprint. Even though I knew it couldn't keep it up, it was a nice boost. Then another van passed right before what sounded like pretty familiar footsteps. I called out, "Nice cadence." It really was one of my peer heroes. John encouraged me with a "Good job man. Keep it up." I thought how there's no way someone with his poetic speed could possibly think what i was performing could be considered a job well done, but I retorted, "Thanks Comp, it's an honor." Again he encourages with, "You too man," dashing into the dark. I was so proud thinking how cool it was to be first hand witness to the battle between CRC and ARC. Surely enough, a couple minutes later ARC's guy came up behind me, but at that point I didn't know what to say and just gave some meaningless cliche of sportsmanship. It was at this point that I started to wonder just how long I had been climbing up this mountain. I know I'd been studying my Garmin the last half hour, but it felt like I had endured a half-marathon so far. Ugh, still another few miles to go. I shook off most of the negativity and just committed to make sure I didn't walk this mountain under any circumstances. Eventually I did find two more road kills, neither recognizable competitors, and the mountain leveled off approaching the exchange zone. I proudly announced, "STACHE AND DASH," repeatedly to ensure Christi would be ready. I figured at this point my team should have been worried about my safety. After all, it felt like hours. I was so spent I didn't know how I could survive another race effort.
After squeezing a couple hours sleep in the driver's seat, I tried to ready myself for my moderate short third leg. By the time I changed into my racers, I was feeling ready to unleash every ounce of my soul. I wanted to make sure I had nothing left in me to give by the end. For anyone keeping count, I was now 6-4 on the road kill count. I had a lot of competitive frustration to get out. I caught up with Where the Hell is Van #2?, and Boom! I was off at a good 10K clip into the foggy early morning. As soon as I left the exchange zone I realized there a heavy fog cover with lessening visibility.
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| Nearly inexistent road visibility |
I didn't care about the extraneous factors anymore, because I had less than five miles to prove my worth to Stache and Dash. I felt good cruising up and down the rural roads in this cool weather. No matter what happened from here, I was going to give it my best. I had a brief exchange as I casually passed a Master from UNC, and pulled two more road kills before I finished my final leg uphill. I gave it my all, and still felt like it couldn't be over so soon. I wanted more miles, so with Christi less than a minute ahead, I took off after her to try to cheer her on a little. I quickly returned to my team full of energy even though I had given myself 22 miles of pain. I was anxious to get on the van and cheer on every other leg of our team.
Naturally, by the time our van was complete, we had passed some beautiful scenes that almost made me miss living in the mountains. We scarfed a wonderful pancake breakfast from a church that provided a well staffed transition point, then I crashed in the van. I awoke to our arrival in the familiar center of downtown Asheville. We awaited our teammates from Van #2, then wrapped up Stache and Dash's 2011 Blue Ridge Relay with John Fillette gloriously cruising into downtown A-town and across the green with all of us on his heels. It was an experience that won't soon be forgotten. As for other insights into what our team endured/ encountered, I'll leave it to other team members to post their own recaps.
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| from L to R: Adam, Emily, Siobhan, Rob, Christi, me, Bjorn, Laura, Sarah, Jessica, Anne Marie, John |
