29 hours and 28 minutes
I beat the block by 32 minutes.
And here's my 2010 Pinhoti 100-mile endurance run report.
Before the race, I envisioned a couple of potential outcomes. One, the course would be a bit easier than I anticipated and I'd finish with plenty of time to spare. Or two, I'd find myself way in over my head and be beaten halfway into the race.
I never once imagined being stuck in a 29 hour race with the clock.
The big questions going into Pinhoti were:
- were my frequent long, slow runs on Lincoln, Nebraska area hills enough to prepare me for the course?
- how hard would the course be, really? And what sort of terrain and surfaces would I be dealing with for most of the race?
- if I managed to finish, how would my body feel afterwards?
One of my frustrations before Pinhoti was the lack of details regarding the course and how challenging it would be for someone in my physical condition. So, here are some things I wish I'd fully understood before flying to Alabama.
First, there is roughly 16,000 feet worth of elevation gain on this course. No, altitude isn't a problem -- but 16,000 feet is 16,000 feet. There are a lot of up and down sections, and usually there are enough downs to give you a break from the climbs. But Mt. Cheaha is a significant challenge roughly 40 miles into the race, and the 900 feet of climb and switchbacks at Pinnacle are even harder.
Second, the footing varies. The dirt trail is generally fairly smooth, but the fall leaves do hide innumerable rocks, roots, and holes that can twist ankles. I noticed that the trails at the bottoms of hills were strewn with far more trip-worthy roots; the trails near the tops of mountains were far rockier, with loose stones and slippery boulders everywhere.
As for my and my race strategy, here's a little perspective:
- I am NOT a trail runner. I do 95 percent of my running on hilly gravel roads.
- My training consisted of two and a half months of between 50 and 100 miles (weekly). I am a lazy runner. I simply ran a long ways at a pretty slow clip (9 minute miles) during training. I didn't cross train. I didn't lift weights. I don't stretch. I am, as I said, lazy.
- I was in marathon-ready physical condition before starting my training for Pinhoti.
- My strategy for Pinhoti was to start very, very slowly at the back of the pack, and slowly accelerate as I got a better feel for the course. The idea was to conserve as much energy as possible and figure out just how fast I could take things -- keep in mind that before this race, the farthest I'd run was 50 miles (the Heartland 50 in Kansas). Heartland has some hilly sections but they do not approach the kind of difficulty I found at Pinhoti.
RACE DAY
I slept maybe 7 hours total the two nights before the race. Between having to fly to Alabama on a short timeline and feeling generally anxious about not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into, sleep just wasn't happening.
When my alarm clock finally rang, I was a cranky, groggy mess. And I was more than a little freaked out.
The weather was close to perfect. We started with temps in the mid 20's and the high for the day was around 50, and there was a bit of a stiff breeze. No worries about overheating or running short on water.
The race starts in a campground parking lot and after about 200 yards hits the singletrack, so there's a significant bottleneck. I walked to this portion and waited for everyone to go ahead of me. I was literally the very last runner.
We moved through the darkness and immediately felt some of the hilly, rocky stuff we'd face for the entire race. As the sun began to rise, we could see the fall colors all around us -- reds and yellows and greens everywhere. Some parts really do look like pages ripped from a fairytale.
By the time we reached the first aid station, we'd traipsed across multiple hilly sections, and it was already becoming obvious that some folks at the back weren't prepared for the course. Six or seven miles in my calves were already balking a bit -- the low undulations on my training routes hadn't prepared me for the continuous up and down assault.
I also realized that simply following the trail wasn't super easy. Fall leaves obscured much of the track, and sometimes the flags and other markers weren't that easy to see. Between trying to spot the trail and keep on eye out for rocks and tree roots, you have your work cut out for you. I got smart early on and fell in behind other runners and their pacers, letting them find the path while I watching my footwork. When darkness set in, this tactic proved to be invaluable.
My first goal was simply to get past Mt. Cheaha and Blue Hell (about 40 miles in) before sundown. I managed to do this with time to spare. The aid stations were generally great, with super helpful volunteers. One aid station (7, I believe) was totally out of water when we arrived. That was not only a huge bummer, but had it been a hot day, it would've been the end of the race for many people. We managed to make it through the next section without a drink, but I can't say I enjoyed it.
I fell in behind an agreeable runner (Greg) and his pacer (Leah), and we spent most of the rather frigid night together. I would not have wanted to run alone in the cold and dark. Considering some of the dropoffs on the sides of trails and the fact that the trails were hard to see, it would've been very easy to get lost or fall and get hurt without anyone to find you right away. I did not have my phone but cell phone service in this area is spotty and at times nonexistent.
Hitting the halfway point (mile 55) in the darkness was pretty surreal. Bright lights, tons of food, loud music, lots of people partying. Slipping back into the darkness and coldness of the woods after that was equally surreal.
At about mile 70 we were slowly beginning to tire. And at every aid station, they reported that we were losing time and getting closer to the cutoff pace, at which the race organizers pull you from the course.
We weren't messing around during any of this. Our longest aid station tops were 3 or 4 minutes -- just long enough to slurp some hot soup, refill water bottles, and take off.
Yet at about mile 74, were were pressing. Greg was weaving on the path, stumbling and getting visibly exhausted. We still had not reached the aid station at the top of Pinnacle. My vision was getting blurry and my left calf was beginning what would turn out to be a total revolt.
At the Pinnacle aid station we were told we were just a few minutes ahead of the cutoff. We pushed onward. But shortly afterward, Greg said he thought we'd fallen too far behind the clock and that we'd never make it. He looked really, really tired.
I too, was very, very tired. So tired, in fact, that part of me would be relieved when the volunteers at the next aid station told us we had to stop. I'd sit by the fire, drink hot soup, and wait for a ride back to my crew. I was too tired to comprehend any concept of disappointment.
About 10 minutes later, we saw headlamps catching up to us. Turned out it was Joel and his pacer, Robert. Robert was fresh and bubbling with energy and said that we were quickly approaching a much easier -- and faster -- section of the course. He said we could make up time there and still beat the cutoff.
I went on with Joel and Robert. Unfortunately, Joel's blisters began to get the better of him and he slowed.
By this time the sun was coming up, and the sense of urgency was palpable. Without a consistent clip now, we'd miss the cutoff. I pushed ahead without Joel.
As I wound down the mountain to the aid station at mile 85, the sun was fully shining and my pace was quickening. I had a good feeling about the way things were going.
My crew was happy to see me, as they'd thought maybe my race had already ended. They loaded me up and pushed me on my way.
The Jeep roads were a huge relief to me after 20-some hours of trails. I could focus just on running and less on watching my feet. And as Robert had promised, this stretch was quite a bit easier in terms of hills, although there were still plenty of uphill sections.
I began building a bit of a time cushion. At about mile 90, I ripped off my sweatpants and 10 minutes later totally regretted it -- the 25 degree air chilled my muscles immediately and my left calf began to lock up on me. Later, I would see just how close this ill-timed decision came to ending my race.
But I had enough momentum. I pushed through and finished with only 32 minutes to spare. The guys I'd had the privilege of running with all night showed up about 10 minutes later, and it was a great feeling to see they'd made it. Todd, the race director, and his wife were both there to congratulate all of us.
15 minutes later, after sitting down for the first time in nearly 30 hours, I could hardly walk. A week later, my left is still sore and today was honestly my first good day of nearly limp-free walking. My left foot is still somewhat numb and the swelling is not completely gone.
In short, I wasn't totally prepared for Pinhoti. My gravel road training did prepare my feet and ankles for the rough ground -- I didn't get a single blister and my legs didn't suffer any aches due to twisting and jarring.
But I was not prepared for the endless climbs and long descents. Were I to offer one bit of wisdom to anyone training for this race, it would be this -- train long and hard for steep hills. This is an arduous course and the ups and downs will eat flatlanders alive if they haven't found some hills to train on.
The other critical tip? Find a pacer to accompany you through the night. I was extremely fortunate that I found Greg, who was super friendly and a stubborn runner, too. Without Greg and Leah I suspect this race might have ended in a bad way for me.
This was a great experience and I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect. I met some very, very nice people, saw some beautiful scenery, and got everything I could handle (and more) from the course. Highly recommended.
