War Hammer 100 (Race Recap)

London, KY

Friday, June 11

Weather - Humid and RAINY

After Vermont was cancelled, I started looking for a replacement race. Unfortunately, with the late cancellation, everything "good" was already sold out. I put my name on a bunch of wait lists in 50 mile distances, figuring that would be "good enough." Then, I found the War Hammer 100 - a small and little-known race in southern Kentucky. I emailed the race director and asked him a few questions and was really pleased with his quick response time. He even offered me a discount on the race entry if I decided to come out and run.

Initially, I didn't register. I mentioned it in passing to Ben, but I was going to wait and see how some other things shook out. I ended up signing up right before we went to Possum, about 3 weeks before race day. Possum went well and I was confident in my decision to sign up for a hot and humid run in the south.

Race Day

I had slept really well the night before, but due to our late arrival I had only gotten about 4 hours of sleep. I historically get so tired overnight in 100s that I was definitely worried about the lack of sleep going into it. There was no traffic heading from Knoxville to London, Kentucky. We arrived about an hour before the race started, which was plenty of time to use the bathroom a few times and get my stuff finalized.

I had Ben douse me with bug spray, put on my tall socks and grabbed all my stuff and I was "ready" to go. Headed over to the start line with a few minutes to the start and the race director did a quick "reminder" of which flags to look for. Since I had missed the pre-race meeting the night before, this was good information to have. I had found satellite already, but I got an error about too many waypoints and had to reset my watch, so when we were counting down I was anxiously trying to get the course loaded again. Off we went, and like usual, I was in the back. (Keep in mind, there were only about 50 people, so that "back" was pretty relative).

I was under the impression that the first half of the course would be the "hardest." We were told a few days out that cutoffs would be extended to navigate an "overgrown" course. I also thought that miles 11-34ish were going to be most technical/hard. With that in mind, I definitely wanted to keep moving, but I definitely wanted to save my legs.

I haven't done a TON of 100 mile races, but I have done enough that I can say that this was the most "single track" of all the 100s I have done.  Right from the start, it was easy to end up in a conga line because of how narrow the trail was. I passed a person or two, but initially I found myself moving off trail so someone could get around me. Although to be clear, since I was in the back, all of this was done in the first few miles. The course was BEAUTIFUL. Rolling trails and LOTS of pretty trees.

I did find that I was already rapidly overheating. With a 10:00 am start, we were already heading into the hottest part of the day. I found the first 8 miles to be very runnable, even for me. I was keeping a steady 14ish mile pace, which was probably a little slower than I should have been, but I was feeling fine. I arrive at one of the short road sections near the first aid aid station in just under two hours. The sky was starting to look ominous!

I was pleasantly surprised to see a silhouette that looked like Ben! This was a no-crew aid station, but he had talked to the race director and was told it was fine to come and spectate. I was in and out of this one pretty quick. I only filled my bottles and grabbed some watermelon and a pickle.

We had to cross the road and climb over the guardrails, but were dumped immediately back on the trail. I probably had only been running for a minute or two when the sky opened up and it started POURING. Not just "raining" or "drizzling," but full on typhoon weather. Initially I was pretty happy about it. It finally cooled down the air a bit, and I was feeling pretty good. That really didn't last long. The rain continued, and the trail got muddier and muddier.

Everything was CRAZY green at this point. Huge rock formations that were covered in moss and vines. It was truly gorgeous. Over time, the novelty wore off. There were plenty of water crossings, complete with wooden bridges that were really slick with all the moisture. I knew that the trail was going to get more difficult soon, and I was really trying to keep up the pace. Arrived at the bridge around mile 11 where we took a hard u-turn and went underneath the bridge to head up for the flood route. I found this section pretty complicated to navigate. It seemed like it didn't even look like a trail - had anyone even been on this other than the folks that marked the course and the other runners??

We finally started to head down the trail and hit a section of paved road for a bit, which I found very refreshing. I am already forgetting some of the details, but it quickly got more technical after crossing the road. We did at least have a section on a dirt road, although there weren't a ton of flags so I kept questioning if I was missing a turn, as my watch seemed over on the GPS. Finally arrived at the mile 13.3 aid station (which I already measured .25 longer...)

I remembered to ask for ice, which was truly a blessing. The next section was supposed to be the most technical and also, the longest stretch without aid. On my pace chart I showed 8.1 miles, but the volunteer said it was closer to 9 miles. I'm glad they said that. I do not think I was truly prepared for this section. The trail seemed to get even more narrow, if possible. It was graded in areas and slide paths that would tumble you down into the river. It was so muddy. I could not get into any sort of running groove at all, and unfortunately, I'm a crappy climber (still) and I don't walk nearly as fast on trails as I do on flats. I was quickly losing any sort of buffer I had acquired from the early miles. There were lots of water crossings, including ones that required us to cross the river on huge mossy boulders. One section I had to jump down about 7 feet to get to the next rock. There was a volunteer & a photographer there and I questioned how on earth I was going to get back UP that rock. I was not amused by how slick everything was. Not to mention, I don't like having to jump/climb when I'm holding poles. Please enjoy this series of photos from Photo Landmark that really accurately portray how I felt:

1 - Oh! It's pretty here!

2 - Hmmm, better walk quickly so I can figure out how to navigate this water crossing

3 - What the actual fuck?! How am I supposed to climb back up this later?

4 - Wheeee - hope I don't die/slip into the raging river

The trail just got sketchier and sketchier. I wondered at times if I was even on course because I would end up at a "dead end" of foliage and downed trees. Then I'd see a neon pink flag through the brush and realized I'd have to get through all that. W.T.F....

The leader crossed paths with me when I was about 6 hours in, and I think I had calculated that he was at least 6 miles ahead of me at this point. Second and third place crossed paths with me within the next 45 minutes or so. I was at an exceptionally frustrating section of trail where I was having to try to climb over tree limbs that were chest level when one of them told me "it's like this for a little while longer, but you can do it!" My legs were already burning and climbing was feeling much harder than it should this early in a race.

After what seemed like a VERY long time, we had a nice, not overgrown, downhill and I could tell we were finally being dumped into the Cumberland Falls area. I would see Ben here again, and I was looking forward to it, as I had run out of water, desperately needed ice and of course I wanted to complain.

Immediately I was even more agitated. The aid station didn't have any ice (UGH I AM SO HOT) and they were out of water - but don't worry, someone should be "right back" with more. NOT HAPPY. Normally volunteers are bending over backwards, but the two kids at this one seemed super uninterested in anything that was going on. I was NOT HAPPY. Ben quickly gave my calves a quick massage and I tried to get out as quick as possible, and demanded (nicely?) that he bring me more water for when I did that again, ICE, and a ... pizza.

Ben took this video while he was waiting for me at the aid station - I'm sharing so you can see how hard it was raining!

Thankfully, I was informed that the loop that we would be doing was not nearly as technical as what we had done earlier, so I was happy about that. I headed out and had a small road section to connect to the trail loop. I talked briefly with a guy who was doing his first 100 miler - I told him how impressed I was that he was doing all this without poles, and he said his brother had told him "there isn't that much gain, you don't need them." Ugh... after having done Chattanooga, I know how much poles can help me, even on small climbs. The loop wasn't bad, and I was able to do some running here and there, but really I was just trying to keep my pace up. I was watching it creep up to a place I didn't think I would see at all this early in a race.

I started hearing voices behind me, and wondered who had caught up to me, as the voice was female and I hadn't seen any ladies in a long time. When I got dumped back on the road after a 4-5 mile loop I was passed by a gal that I had seen at the aid station earlier. I was so happy to see Ben! He had, in fact, brought me a pizza, and also some other snacks and bottled water. AND ICE. My calves were still pissed, so Ben grabbed my poles and massaged them a bit, grabbed a slice of pizza and headed out. I was still mildly traumatized from the section I was heading into. Tried not to be apprehensive, but I was really worried about the climbing and technical stuff I knew was coming. The gal that had briefly passed me after the loop and I "ran" together for a bit. She also wasn't using poles and I was surprised at how well she was climbing, as my legs were TOAST. I finally let her get ahead of me, since I wasn't doing well. There were definitely more water crossings on the way back than there had been on the way out. I had my Kogalla ready to go, but I was surprised to not need it for a while. At some point I got up to the gal again, and I made another mistake of following her instead of watching markers. We got to a section where we weren't sure where to go and I certainly didn't recognize it, so I pulled out my Gaia and realized we were off track. By the time we got back to the markers, we had probably wasted close to 10 minutes. Then I also thought - am I going the right way?? Ugh - NO WE WERE NOT. Gaia definitely saved me here too. Now I'm super pissed. I'm behind on time and I keep making mistakes I should NOT be making.

The gal seemed to have lost her "oomph" and I lost her behind me on the trail. At some point I passed an older gentleman, and then I passed another guy shortly before one of the water crossings with the big boulders. As if those crossings weren't difficult enough in the daylight, they were worse at night. I was having a hard time figuring out the best way to cross, and while navigating, the last guy I had passed blazed right by me, right as I slipped and one foot ended up in knee deep rushing water. UGH.

I'm really getting annoyed wondering where this aid station is. Thanks to everything measuring long AND being off course, I don't know how far I still have to go. I finally see some lights in the distance and I think maybe that's the aid station? All of a sudden, the guy that had passed me is walking towards me with search and rescue. I'm informed we have to go back because the course is underwater and we can't cross. SO WE HAVE TO GET IN A BOAT. I'm listening to him saying that we will still be able to finish, etc., and I'm actually enjoying the novelty of BEING IN A BOAT DURING A RACE.

We get to the other side of the bank, and I realize the water crossing that we "missed" is the one that I was worried about with the 7' scramble up a mossy rock. Where we were dumped on the river, we had to climb up a goat trail that was really steep, and the guy I was with quickly dropped me. He did stop briefly to help me down a rooty hill, then I really never saw him again. When I pulled out my Gaia it almost looked like we had been put on the wrong side of the aid station? OMG DID OUR RE-ROUTE HAVE US NOT GOING TO THE AID STATION?? I was really upset at this point and actually sat on a rock and pulled out my phone to see if I had service to text Ben because I was FED UP. I didn't have service, so there was really nowhere to go but onward.

I've never seen a crawfish on a trail?? This wasn't even really near the water...

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I arrived at the aid station, right at the soft cutoff. SHIT. So now I'm upset because I'm basically already timing out, a position I never thought I would be in this early. I didn't want to spend too much time at this aid station, but I needed a mental break and some food/ice. Sadly, still no "real" food, but I had some orange slices and then headed out. It was a much "easier" section than I remember, and the flood section that had seemed so sparse was actually much easier to follow in the dark. I finally arrived back at the Spillway aid station, and Ben was there. I got there also right at cutoff. I was debating even continuing since I was already so close to not being able to finish, but figured that I would keep going until I actually started missing cutoffs.

I got some more pizza and ate while Ben helped me change my socks, as I was starting to wonder about blisters. Definitely took more time here, but at the time, I was planning on going a long time. I knew this section had seemed so easy in the beginning and I hoped to be able to make up some time. Unfortunately, about two miles into the 8 mile section, I got tired. It hit me like a brick wall. I went from alert and mildly agitated to just wanting to sleep. I resisted as long as I could because I knew that there was all sorts of creatures out. I was seeing spiders almost every single step, plus I had seen a snake, lots of toads, and of course regular creepy beetles and bugs. Finally I gave myself permission to take a 2.5 minute trail nap. As sometimes happens, it helped, but only briefly. I estimate that I took at least 5-6 of these, essentially putting the final nail in the coffin. 

According to our race guide, the first "half" was supposed to be 48 miles. When I arrived back at the start/finish (somewhere just over the soft cutoff), I was at nearly 52 miles, and my pace was about as slow as I could be/maintain to finish with the 36 hour cutoff. Ben was dressed & ready to pace. I told him I needed some food and I needed to sit. We sat outside the lodge while I fumbled through the race info to find out how much climbing there supposedly was in the back half. When I saw it was similar to what I had just done, I called it. DNF, again.

Garmin distance - 51.69 miles

Garmin time at DNF - 18:12:19

Elevation gain - 7,066'

We stayed at the finish line for a bit, and I talked to the RD's wife - who was super friendly and kind when I told her I was dropping. Yes, I probably could have completed at least another 25 miles, and I'm sure it would have been better with company, but this was a smaller event, and logistically if/when I dropped it would be tough to get back.

Ben got in touch with the hotel we had reserved for later Saturday (this was around 5:30 in the morning) and we were able to get an "early check in" so that we could actually get some sleep. Pretty annoying that once I dropped I was wide awake (insert eyeroll).

The picture below is what my feet looked like more than two hours after I stopped running. Apparently when your feet shrivel up like a prune and then stay that way for 16+ hours wet, they kinda harden that way. 

Thoughts:

• This was an incredibly beautiful course. I just wish I could have enjoyed it more and/or taken pictures! I had to keep my phone in a bag most of the race, so the pictures in this post are actually all I have.
• The course also got really bad, really fast. 
• Running in mud is HARD. It's been a while since I've done it, and it was just as bad as I remembered. I couldn't get into a rhythm, and I slid and fell a LOT. In fact, it took two solid days of rinsing, pre-washing my race clothes to get all the mud out. And even now, they are only about 90% as clean as when I started this race.
• I have NO idea how I escaped with no blisters. I didn't do anything different than normal. Lubed up feet with Squirrel Nut Butter & only changed socks once. Wore my same Hoka Speedgoats. But I'm please with this.
  
• I also managed to escape with no chafing! Between the Squirrel I put on my upper body and feet, the Chamois Butt'r Anti-Chafe Cream is a freaking miracle. I blissfully have not had crotch/inner thigh chafing since I started using that. 
• I got a TON of bites on this course, even with applying bug spray more than once. I suppose the rain didn't keep it on my skin, though. I also ended up with rashes on my chest/abdomen and back. I'm not sure if that's irritation just from being wet for a long time or if I have an allergy to something on the trail (I heard there was poison oak!). I also had prepped for ticks (by using spray and wearing tall socks) and don't think any got on me, but definitely was a fear going into this.
• Am I disappointed in the outcome of this? Of course. A DNF is never fun. But with over 50 people starting and only 10 finishers, I'm clearly not the only one that struggled. And I think more than half of those that didn't finish dropped well before I did.
• Would I do this again? No, but mainly because it was hard/expensive to get to this race. I also have now DNF'd a few times in this part of the country, so maybe I just need to do different types of races. 

Transylvania 50K (Race Recap)

Bran, Romania
Saturday, May 19
Ultra Marathon #29
Weather - Rain, hail, thunder/lightning

****WARNING - EXTREMELY PICTURE HEAVY****

Last year, sometime, I decided that I really wanted a "big" race for my 40th birthday. I spent a decent amount of time searching locally and didn't see anything that sparked my interest. I expanded my searching to see what might be an option internationally. As soon as I came across Transylvania, I knew I had found what I was looking for. The course looked more beautiful and terrifying than anything I had ever raced before, regardless of the continent. Boasting nearly 11,000' of climbing, this course was going to have nearly 4000' more than the Dirty 30, which I had suffered through in 2017.

Once Kristin and Alison signed up, we began planning our race specific training, which commenced on New Years Day - Mt. Morrison. For 4.5 months, we trained in every type of weather you could imagine. I did not miss any of my long runs, logging three runs of 20+ miles (including a 26 mile solo trail run) and 6+ weeks logging 5,000' of climbing. So basically, I went into the race with as much planning/preparation that I think I could have.

Race Day

I had obsessively been watching the weather all week. It was pretty much going to be guaranteed that we were going to have rain. Thanks to the hectic traveling, I had slept amazing the night before, and woke up with my alarm at 5:25. I had laid out all my gear the night before, so really, I didn't have much to do other than eat my bagel with peanut butter and get dressed.

I met up with the gals in the hallway and we walked down to the lobby together around 6:30. Our hotel was only a few minutes walk to the start line. I briefly thought about trying to get a cup of coffee at reception, but eventually decided that we didn't have time (sniff, sniff). Arrived at the start and the atmosphere was just surreal. Kristin looked at me like I was crazy when I made the comment "it feels like we are at the start of major European race." Uh, I guess we were. I was a bundle of nerves, went through the bathroom line, and then Alison (who was running the 20K) got our pre-race picture with the castle in the background.

We congregated in the very back of the group, knowing that we were going to have a very long day ahead of us. For months, Kristin and I had planned on running together. We had done quite a few training runs together, come up with our "safe word" and felt confident that we would both feel better about the tough terrain and not getting lost if we were together. However, Kristin had woken up feeling a little sick and warned me that she may not be able to complete the event, but said she was going to start and see how it went.

The race started right on time at 7:00 am. From this point, we would have three major time cutoffs. The first being 4 hours in, after we finished 2/3 of the climbing on the course. The second at 9 hours, and then of course, the final course cutoff at 15 hours.

Our strategy from the beginning was to not push too hard, anywhere. Basically, anything that felt like a climb, we were going to be run/walking or even just walking.

After leaving the castle grounds, with "Highway to Hell" blasting from the speakers, we turned right onto the streets of Bran. We were in the very back of the back, and followed by a police car. We were maintaining an "easy" 11:30 pace in the first few km (I changed my watch for this setting since that's how our map/elevation profile was listed).

We then, finally, moved off the paved road (and lost our police escort) as we entered the more rural parts of Bran, the dirt roads out of town. We struck up a conversation with a young Romanian that was wearing last year's race shirt. He had finished the previous year, so we felt better that he was in the back with us and that our pacing didn't seem too slow.

I had started in my UD jacket (the new one they sent to replace my last one that lost it's waterproofing), but was already getting warm with the climbing. Stopped to take off the pack and jacket, and to start using the poles.

The more we climbed, the more we realized that the sky was looking pretty dang scary. We were keeping a good pace, but we kept stopping for various reasons, and I was anxiously keeping an eye on my watch, concerned about our frequent breaks - and we hadn't even reached the hard parts yet!

From here we had a small runnable section (like maybe 3/4 of a mile total), where we entered the "forest." The trees were HUGE, and very, very green. The leaves (needles?) were very strange looking, I compared them to tassles people had hanging off their clothes in the seventies.

We finally reached the area where we were directed onto the trail by two volunteers. This is where shit was really going to get serious!! The climbing started right away. Thankfully, the course was not going to be exceptionally technical right from the beginning, just steep. I was not having to many issues with the climbing, the lower elevation of Romania helped IMMENSELY. Normally I struggle most with a high heart rate and not being able to breathe, but I wasn't having any of these issues.

Kristin rocking the climbs behind me!

I absolutely loved this section of the course. It was very serene, not technical, and just overall really pretty. I took a few pictures. It was at this point of the race that Kristin and I began having serious talks about whether we were going to stick together. She was not feeling well, having to stop to breathe and be sick, and I was really concerned about missing the buffer for the first cutoff. It was starting to drizzle again, so while I was waiting for Kristin I put my lighter UD rain jacket back on. We briefly moved into an opening on what seemed to be an ATV trail. Kristin finally told me to go on without her, she said she was struggling too much with breathing and high heart rate. She assured me she would be fine, so I went on without her. :(

And oh boy, did the climbing start. At this point, A would say something like "and this is why we have switchbacks!!" This section of the course reminded me a lot of Chattanooga, with all the trees and downed leaves. It wasn't raining very hard yet, so nothing was slick. There were some sections that were runnable, and I finally was starting to catch up to people.

One of the things I was most concerned about (outside of #alltheclimbing) was getting lost. I had downloaded the .gpx of the route and loaded it into mapmyrun so that I could tell at any given point if I was on course or not. I found the course to be very well marked. There were markings on trees and rocks and lots of yellow/red flagging. I had finally reached the "first summit" of the big climbs. A very short meadow section, where I turned around to take a picture of all the big trees that we had just run through. I probably passed 4-5 people on this section alone, mostly people that were stopping to eat/change clothes, etc.

The reprieve was not long, we were back in the woods in no time. This was the section of the course where I kept thinking "this is where it's so steep that the ground is in your face." I was definitely very glad to have brought my trekking poles, as those that didn't have them were really starting to struggle on these steep grades. I briefly spoke with a Polish gal that didn't have any, and she had last-minute not brought them because she couldn't check them in her bag. I'm so glad I had done my research on this. At the first mini-summit I turned around to take a picture of what I had just come up... unreal.

This tree looked like some sort of medieval torture device 

We were back in a very lush, green section of the woods. There were some downed trees that we either had to go over or under, and of course the climbing was just relentless. I was quickly losing the buffer that I had for the first checkpoint, so I tried to not linger too long, usually only allowing 10-15 seconds on breathing time when the climbing became too overwhelming. We then hit the next "summit" section. The fog was unreal. I was a bit disappointed that I wasn't going to have any of those amazing mountain views, but to be honest, I was also just worried about the cutoff, so I would not have had too much time to enjoy it anyway.

I was able to get some view of the valley, where everything was blanketed in a layer of fog.

It's about at this point where I can't seem to remember so many details of the race. I remember reaching this section and realizing that we were basically above treeline. I remember seeing across the valley a small building and asking my Romanian friend if that was our first aid station, to which he replied "you wish." Ok, I guess that means no, then?

We had a section of some downhill, but the course was already getting slick with mud, and I got passed by a few people as I didn't want to fall or get injured. I was wearing my New Balance Leadville shoes, the most substantial trail shoes I have, and I just don't have the greatest footing on these. We ran along the inner part of the valley and crossed our first snowfield, which is where I slipped and fell for the first time.

Ran across the valley and me up with a photographer (pictures to be posted at some point in the next week, so we are told). Back on the other side of the valley where we will do more climbing. We arrive at the section where we have to grab onto a chain for a small jump from one side of the trail to the other. Not as dramatic as I seemed to think from the videos I had watched, thankfully. (Edited to add aforementioned pics from the volunteer photographer!)

We were still doing a lot of climbing, but it wasn't the kind where I was hunched over my poles. It was more the slow and tedious climbing. We finally arrived at the first checkpoint, and it was just that. One guy who was taking note of our bib numbers as we passed through. To get to the first aid station we would need to descend some (of course), and then we would get to go back up again.

Looking back across the valley where we had been earlier in the race:

Now, I'm starting to get panicky. I don't have a ton of time to get to the aid station to meet the first cutoff. WHERE IS THIS AID STATION?? The trails are getting muddier. We are on a plateau, and I remember that we definitely had to go DOWN to get to the aid station. Where are the descents??

Turn a corner, and the climbs down began. In most races I can usually make up for my crappy climbing skills by bombing the downhills. Not in this race. Not even close. I'm not a tall person and there were certainly sections that required me using my hands to lower myself down. And did I mention that it was slippery? Finally, I come to a clearing and I can see the aid station! I have made it with about 15 minutes to spare. I filled my pack (we are spoiled in the US to have volunteers that help us do this!) and grabbed some food - mostly cheese and chocolate. Yum.

Not a bad looking aid station?

Next up was what I was dreading most, the infamous "chimney climb." I took a decent number of pictures at the base, as I knew we would be leaving the green lushness, for some alpine climbing.

The rain was starting to pick up. I knew that the highest points of the course were yet to come, so when I found a place where I could stop, I took off  my pack and tried to change into my tights. FYI, it is not the easiest to change clothes when it's raining and everything is covered in mud. Somehow I got my tights on and I also added my last-minute REI jacket as an additional layer. I was still in the same pace group as my Romanian friend, and we could hear people cheering from the top of the chimney. I said something to the effect of, "that's going to be us, right? In like an hour?"

At the very last section before the snow/ice, I pulled out my Yak Trax (purchased in 2010 before I ran in Alaska, and NEVER, not once, worn before this day). Luckily, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to use these, and I got them on without incident. Put on my mittens, and started the climb.

To begin with, this section is definitely single file. You are at the mercy of whatever pace the person in front of you wants to go. Which in my case, was SLOW. And slow was fiiiine by me. It was so incredibly slick. Again, I'm not a tall person, and some of the footholds were a bit far apart for  my comfort level. I usually tried to maintain a steady 20 steps, then rest for a second. I was incredibly glad to have poles on this section as well, and was really impressed when the lead 30K runners (most of whom did NOT have poles) were climbing past me. Somewhere, maybe 2/3 of the way up, my foot slid and I slipped about 15 feet down. In that microsecond I thought, "this is it, this is how I'm going to die." As soon as I was thankfully able to stop myself, I was immediately pissed off at having to redo the section I had just slid down.

Once we got closer to the top there was a rope that we could use to steady ourselves and help heave us over the summit. At the top was an amazing guy taking pictures and cheering us on. To me, he said "you are strong!!" And boy, did I feel like I was!

Photo cred: Bogdan Popa

I asked which way to go, and he directed me to my left (up yet another climb), "unless you want to drop to the 30K and then you go this way." I didn't even stop to think, I kept going for my race, no way did I come all the way to Romania for a 30K.

This section was not incredibly steep, but it WAS where it started to hail! As if the rain was not "interesting" enough, the hail was really coming down. It differed from hail in the us, as it was really more of a frozen clear rain, than the white balls.

We finally got to a summit, and this section was actually something I could run, finally! It was a little rocky, but it was wide and not overly technical.

We arrived at another checkpoint, and told that the aid station was still ahead. I came to this next section, and waaaaay down below I feel like I can see the aid station. This is the next time cutoff and I feel like I have plenty of time, and really, how far/long could it be?

The answer is in soooo many of my other posts/recaps. MUCH FURTHER THAN I THINK IT IS. This is where the downhill started to get scary for me. It was so steep, so technical and soooooo  muddy and slippery.

Because of all the rain fall, there were now little streams to cross on the course. There were areas where again, I had to "climb" or jump down to get to the trail below. I was so slow on this section, and all the people I had passed earlier were going around me now. It was frustrating. Finally, after what seemed like forever, I could see open field again, which meant a little more running. It also meant that water was pooling and it was soggy everywhere you stepped. It was a little difficult to find the trail in this section, as nothing actually LOOKED like a trail. But I just kept on. I had a handful of people in my line of sight in front of me and just tried to follow their general direction.

Everything was going just fine until we got to a roaring river. What. I can't see where I'm supposed to cross. There is no bridge, no rope, no "rocks," at least nothing that is currently above water. I'm not dry by any stretch of the imagination, it's still raining. But up to this point, my feet feel relatively dry (or at least not cold and wet). My Romanian friend comes up behind me and he just barrels through. Son of a... so I do too. The water is very cold, and it's probably upper calf deep. It's maybe 15' across, and the only good thing that came out of it is that I did not fall (although I came close) and my shoes looked really clean for a few  moments afterward.

Within ten minutes, I was at my last mid-course time cutoff. I had made it with about 45 minutes to spare. I spent a bit longer at this aid station. Filled my pack, had my first cup of coke, and had lots of food (cheese, chocolate and gummy bears).

I tried not to linger TOO long, and I headed out. The next section was actually on road. I enjoyed this as a break from all the slickness of the trail and ran most of this section. Then we got off the road and started our last long climb. Another section where switchbacks would be appreciated, but weren't there. Not more than 10-15 minutes into the climb, the rain really picked up. And, just for fun, the thunder and lightning started. I was with a woman from England and we spent a few minutes discussing how having metal poles at this point might not be the best idea. My goal was just to get up as quick as possible,  mainly so we could start going back down again.

I have no pictures from this section because I was too wet and cold and my phone was tucked away to stay dry. I ended up pacing with an older gentleman that didn't speak any English. After a long climb, we arrived at a little hut in the middle of nowhere. This was not a checkpoint, but merely a building the size of a shed, where we could spend a few minutes getting warm. As nice as the sounded, I just wanted to get to lower elevation, and quite frankly, I was getting a little tired of this race!

The downhill commenced, in thick fog. I was running what I could, but it was wet and muddy and gross, so I mostly settled for a jog with the poles. This was the longest that I was ever alone on the course, and I probably was never even really that alone, it just felt that way because visibility was so poor in every direction.

Finally arrived at our final aid station. This was just a tent in the middle of nowhere, being manned by two English guys. When asked how I was doing, I replied "I've been wondering why I make such poor life choices," which they both thought was hilarious. A half dozen or so of us were all there at the same time, including Katrina, a woman we met at the expo. I ate my body weight in cheese and chocolate and was treated to a cup of hot fruit tea. We were told there was only 13K to go, omg I can do this. I am somewhere in the vicinity of 11(?) hours on course and in my head, a 14ish hour finish seems possible/reasonable. As I understand - hill, plateau, hill, downhill, small hill, 5K on road with some hills in town. GOT IT.

I am the last to head out, just as a few others are coming in. I feel like I am moving really slow, but in my head, I have plenty of time. I finally pull out my phone just to get a picture of some of the mud. This is nowhere near as bad as it was in spots, but it gives you an idea of what it was like.

Meanwhile, it is still raining. We get out of the meadow-y section and are back in the trees. This is where we really have some of those scary steep descents (like the ones in the beginning, only now everything is wet and the mud is seriously above the ankles at this point). The faster 80K people are coming up behind me now and they must have magic shoes or balls of steel because they are blazing past me almost  like I am standing still.

The hills have lots of tree roots and I simply cannot stay upright. Every few minutes I'm sliding, falling, but at least always on my backside and not face first. My forearms and wrists are starting to ache from all the strain of gripping the poles to keep from falling.

Hit the very last big climb, and it is a soul-sucker. It is VERY steep, and every time I get to a "summit," it just seems to keep going. Due to the fog, I can't even tell where the top is, if there even IS a top. Every once in a while, there is a break in the trees where I can see the beginnings of a sunset - I have been out here a LONG time.

Just when I think I cannot take one more single minute of all this damn mud... I see the road. FINALLY. In my head, I think, a 5K!! I can totally do this!! Especially if it is on the road!!!

My legs are pretty trashed from all the climbing, as well as the "braking" on the downhills. Quads are screaming, and honestly, I"m just incredibly tired from being out on the course all day long. I employ a run as long as I can and take short walk breaks. When I had arrived at the road, I had an hour and twenty minutes, which really seemed luxurious to me!

After being on the road for maybe a mile or so, all of a sudden we are back on the trail. WTF. I thought we were done with trail when we got to the road. It's getting late and dusk has settled in. It is getting a little difficult to see, but in my head, I'm really almost done and I don't want to take off my back to find my headlamp.

I keep trudging along. At one point, my knee locks out and I slide and roll my ankle. I yell out "not fucking now!!!" I keep going, but starting to get stressed and upset as time is ticking by and I still have no idea when and where I'm getting off this dang trail!

I think I am finally done when I got dumped onto those dirt roads outside of town. Only it appears that we are still climbing. HOW ARE WE STILL CLIMBING IF WE ARE ON OUR WAY DOWN??

Ugh!!! So it's getting darker, and my watch has long since clicked past the 50K distance and I am still not there. I actually  miss my first turn of the day, but luckily realize it pretty quickly and pull up mapmyrun (which is still going, thankfully). I get back on course and finally decide I need my headlamp so that doesn't happen again.

Where the eff is the end of this race?? I have now less than 20 minutes until the course cutoff. I run when I can. 15 minutes. WTF WTF WTF. Keep going. Ten minutes or so to go and I finally see that we are getting dumped behind the sports arena where we had picked up our packets. YAY, THAT MEANS I AM CLOSE!! I am doing a run/walk at this point, but again, in my head, I'm really close.

We are directed to run through an arch. AND THERE ARE GD STAIRS. WTF. WHY AM I CLIMBING AND WHY AM I NOT DONE YET? 5 minutes to go. I am running up the stairs. Then I realize that I am behind a fence on the other side of the damn castle again. WHY WHY WHY??? I am run walking and watching my watch. I'm not going to make it. Back on the trail and it is foggy AF and I see a descent and it's just as steep as when we were on the mountain. 3 minutes. I said screw it and just slide down, there is no quicker way to get down.

I'm on the verge of tears. All of this way and this course, now over 53K, is relentless and never going to end. Back near the road, and I see the finish. Time has run out and I am not there. I hear people cheering, but I've missed the cutoff. I cross the finish line in 15:01:06. I missed the cutoff by barely a minute. Thankfully, they are lenient, give me my medal and I'm done.

Clock started 2 hours prior to my race, with the 100K

There are only a handful of people at the finish line, it's now 10 pm. I grab a few things to snack on and am starting to head back when I see Kristin and Alison. It's then that I actually shed a few tears. So many emotions all coming to fruition, and the frustration of finishing just outside the time limit.

The back of my tights, post-race

Elevation profile

Thoughts:

• Well, I wanted an adventure, and I got exactly that. Assuming that we had better weather conditions, I'd like to think that I could have completed this course about an hour sooner. While my biggest fear was the climbing, I really underestimated how hard the downhills would be, especially with the undesirable mud. As an aside, that is the only thing I did NOT - and could not - train for - steep, technical, muddy as hell, downhills.
• In years past, there were many concerns and tales of people getting lost. They really did a great job marking the course, and other than the one turn I missed, I was never lost. Had I put my headlamp on sooner, I likely would not have missed it.
• The mandatory gear list is NO JOKE. I am glad that I "overpacked" and brought more than I thought I needed. For ME, one rain jacket would not have been enough. I wore two jackets most of the race, and never felt like I was overdressed.  The one item I wished I had? Waterproof gloves. Also, even if you think your pack is waterproof, get one of those waterproof bag things to put over it. I had a waterproof bag inside my pack that held my extra long sleeve top & hat, but everything else in my pack was saturated when I was done.
• While we had a half dozen checkpoints, there were only three points with aid. Plan to go a very long time without support.
• It is no joke to quit this race. The next day I was listening to tales of people who stopped (in the 100K) and it was not easy to get them off the course. This is pretty much as far in the middle of nowhere as you can be. It was awful & glorious at the same time.
• I will likely edit this post as I remember more, I just wanted to get as much written as I could remember. Also, I will add official race pics after they are posted.