Grindstone miles (First 100 Digging Deep ) Date: 5-6 October 2012 Time: 27:17:09

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Estella Matthews
5 years ago
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1 Grindstone miles (First 100 Digging Deep ) Date: 5-6 October 2012 Time: 27:17:09 I have always enjoyed running for long periods of time. While not always easy, I like to log many miles at all hours of the day. These distances allow me the time to interpret nature in my own little way and to momentarily think that I have full control of my life. They allow me the time to experience freedom and to test myself, my body and my physical and mental limits. I am not sure what part of my first hundred miler was the toughest, but for me this race came down to four cyclical factors in life: fear, courage, strength and truth. Fear -- Confident in myself yet scared of the unknown. I have run many miles by now and have built a lot of comfort in the 30 to 60 mile range. I was now going to push it a little further and attempt my first 100 mile race, the Grindstone 100. This race covers miles and has 23,200 feet of elevation gain and 23,200 feet of elevation loss. I knew that I was going to finish it, but I did not know what kind of shape I would be in at the end. I was not going to quit. I knew that. Brooke knew that. This characteristic is one of the better ones that I possess, but it can also be my weaknesses. Of course I was scared, but I didn t show it and I wasn t going to allow it to get in my way. After caravanning with my good friend Mark Guzzi, I arrive at Camp Shenandoah on Friday October 5, Mark would be running the race as well, but for all intents and purposes, I was alone. My wife was with me in spirit, and was probably more nervous than I was, but on the grounds of Camp Shenandoah, at that moment, I was alone and I was going to face the first 66 miles, and the last 20 miles, alone. I weigh in at 161lbs and carry on. Courage -- I could have been best described as a duck on a pond that day. On the surface, I was calm, collected and ready to rock and roll. Underneath the surface, my heart was racing and my emotions were beginning to function far more than I needed them to. We had a pre-race meal/brief at around 12pm - that went until roughly 2pm. The race starts at 6pm. I set up my tent and attempt to take a nap like many of the veteran ultrarunners out there. It didn t work. I may have dozed off for 15 minutes, but I was too amped up to sleep. I get up and head back to my car. I slowly put on little pieces of my gear over the next few hours and walk around the camp in an attempt to calm myself and get out of the emotional bubble I was in. I start asking others around me what they were going to wear. Do I wear a long sleeve shirt? Pants? The weather report had shifted in our favor and was expected to be 5-10 degrees warmer. Still in the 50s, but great running weather for a night run. If I have learned anything from my prior ultra s it is to listen to myself and my body don t worry about what someone else is doing. I decided to stick with a short sleeve shirt, shorts and old wool gloves that I have had since my VMI days. 515pm rolls around and it s time to head over to the start to check in. There is no turning back now. It is going to work out, one way or another. At 555pm, I start thinking about Brooke, Bodhi and Pepper. I miss everyone. I am thinking about them and I know they are thinking about me at least Brooke is. Little man is too young to know what his Old man is doing with his free time. 6pm is here and I start to trot. I ran the first few miles with Mark and then went on my way. I needed to settle into my own little space before darkness arrived. I settle in with David Snipes and few other friendly faces. I am following the pack and not paying too much attention to the trail. It is early. My mind and body are fresh. There is no need to pay attention, just run and enjoy the high I was on as I tackle the first 5 miles of my first hundred. It won t mean much now, but somewhere in the first few

2 miles I remember Snipes commenting on a log sitting at a diagonal over the trail. He said, this is going to be fun to climb over on the return. Little did I know it then, but that little piece of information would be the only thing I remembered about the first 15 miles of the race. The course would be a blank to me 25 hours later. I get through the first hour or so and begin a big torturous climb, Elliot s Knob. On the way out, we summit Elliot s knob and then come back down to hit the trail access. Going up, I see a young gentleman with a Naval Academy shirt on. Of course I ask about his naval experiences and tie in the common bond that USNA and VMI share. He comments that this too was his first hundred and that this first climb was unlike anything he has seen yet he was already suffering a little bit. I offer some words of encouragement and carry on. He will be fine. He would later finish sometime on Sunday morning, nearly 1.5 days later. After that communication, the pack begins to spread, and I am officially on my own. Darkness sets in. I begin to follow fluorescent streamers for the next 12 hours of my life, taking everything 200 yards at a time. I am running strong, enjoying the miles and come into mile 20 or so aid station fully charged. John Cassilly helps me attain my drop bag. I change into a fresh shirt and down a cup of soup. He finds a very think pair or wigwam socks in my bag and asked what they are for. I laugh and comment that I have no idea what shape my feet will be in with I get back to that aid station 80 miles in. I keep moving. Somewhere in the next 5 miles, something makes a huge, unique noise/snort on the right side of the trail. It sounded as if it were 3 feet from me. I can t see anything. It doesn t sound like a deer so I don t even want to know what it is. I keep moving, don t look and pretend that I didn t hear it. I don t even want to know. I hit mile 35 or so and am feeling great. I had a pair of road shoes in my drop bag at that aid station but decide not to change shoes. In hind site, I probably should have. I weighed in at 160lbs I had only lost 1 pound which means that I am fueling and hydrating properly for the energy that I was putting out. I tighten my laces, feeling really good, and press on. At this same aid station, on the way back, would be the first time that I would see Brooke. This would be around mile 66. I make it up to Reddish Knob, another big climb, in great time. I was so hungry and that climb lasted forever. It is roughly 6 miles of climbing to get up to that high elevation. I get to the top and run about a mile into the next aid station. Perogies, yum! I slam many of them down, have some soup and carry on. The best kept secret is that a little grease can take you a long way in a situation like this. I had nearly reached the turnaround in just about 12 hours. This was very good time, but a little bit faster than I had planned. I hit a little mental low at around mile 48, but got back on track at the turnaround (~51 miles). Around this mileage, runners can meet a pacer for the first time if they so choose to have one. I chose to tackle this one on my own. Tim Craft would later jump in with me for 14 miles, but the rest of the miles were filled with solitude. I continue through where other runners are picking up their pacers and David Horton says, good job Kyle. This lifted me more than he will ever know. I did not expect anyone to acknowledge me as my good friends were all running and Brooke was not there yet. It solidified the fact that I was, in fact, doing a good job and all of that hard work thus far was paying off. I think at this point he knew that I was drudging through the rest of the race nearly alone. I have already passed the half-way point and was now heading back to Camp Shenandoah. The sun was rising. The beautiful sights at this elevation overtook the nasty winds that rolled in. About 3 weeks prior to the race I had purchased a lightweight windbreaker for times like this. It was serving a lot of purpose in my drop back at mile 80. I see Mark somewhere around mile 55 and we exchange jokes. I offer him my gloves because it was very windy where I had just come from, he kindly comments, no way Nancy, real men don t wear gloves, or something silly like that. After the race I found out that he wished he would have taken me up on my offer! I hit the aid station around 59 miles and know that I am nearing the 6 miles of constant descending. This would be one of the hardest parts of the race for me. The grade beats the hell out of me and seems to go on forever. I am excited to see Brooke for the

3 first time at mile 66, but my feet are on fire and my quads are screaming. I had never felt anything like this before. I finally get down to the aid station and comment to Horton, there is nothing good or fun about that mountain. I weigh in at 159lbs and kiss Brooke. I think she knows that I am in bad shape my legs are shot. I need to let my feet breathe and change shoes. I go back to the car and take my trail shoes off. I elevate my legs on the car as Alex Hall passes me he was a new found friend from the Grindstone training runs. He quickly says, let s go, fearing that I would get sucked into the comfort of the aid station and never leave. Little did he know that I had no intention of quitting, I really just needed about 10 minutes to recharge. That was the best spent 10 minutes of the race. I lube up my feet and put on the most comfortable shoes in the world at that point. I carry on. Tim is going to jump in with me for the next 14 miles, to mile 80, and then go back looking for Mark to pace him the rest of the way in. We start at it slow as I am still in a lot of pain. He offers great advice and keeps his friendly voice going with any and all comments about running, life and the like. I mention to Mark after the race that I felt bad as I was only really giving Tim one word answers. He jokingly replied, that was one word more of a reply than I gave him while he was pacing me. We trudge up many steep grades. Every now and then we would pass a big tree that had fallen and was conveniently placed on the side of the trail. Oh look at this I would say as I sat down. I count to 30 and say here we go! I have a cup of coffee at the next aid station and make some jokes with the fellow station workers. I am getting it back now. Tim and I do a quick ranger shuffle for the next 5-7 miles and I hit mile 80. He acknowledges my pain but we continue to push through it, finding the courage to persevere. I am back to my normal self and ready to finish this thing. I see my beautiful wife. I am in much better shape than the last time she saw me. She kindly asks if I want to sit down and rest and I reply that I need to keep going with the momentum I have. I give her a hug, shake Tim s hand and set out to tackle the last 20 miles on my own. This would be one of the hardest endeavors I have ever taken on. It s time to really dig deep. Strength -- I tell Brooke that if I can just get to the next aid station, I should be fine. I would be within that 15 mile zone of the finish and I don t remember any huge climbs between there and the finish. I was wrong. There weren t any very steep climbs, but there were some very long climbs. After making up a few cuss words, I finally arrive at the top of that next climb near chimney rock. I head down to the next aid station and run into a fellow VMI grad, Spencer Robbins, who was crewing for someone just behind me. He quickly jumps in to help me top off my water and asks if my gloves are dry enough. I think they. A quick cup of soup and big pat on the back from Spencer and I am back at it. The next two climbs I had totally underestimated. I was alone, I was getting cold and the climbs dragged on for hours. It was at this point that I started to not really remember the trail. I don t remember the climbs being this long. I don t remember being on this side of the mountain, I thought we came down on the other side. My mind started to play tricks on me. I was in control but not in control. I felt pain, yet euphoric in nature. I began to draw conclusions that varying clusters of rocks were in fact runners taking a break. At one point, I almost said hello to a rock formation and asked how they were doing. I hadn t seen a runner in a long time, it makes perfect sense that someone would be out here taking a break. Not. Good thing no one I know saw me attempting to have discussions with inanimate objects. I begin to look for places to sit and rest but fear that there are snakes hiding behind these loose rocks of a trail, I have to keep moving. A few miles later, still climbing, I begin to get control of my vision. Not getting back normal vision, but second guessing what I am seeing. Telling myself that those are in fact rocks and not people. Or that the object is in fact a tree and not a person hunkering over a tree taking a break. Then I lose it. The Taco Bell dog is sitting on the trail about 100 feet away. He is sitting perpendicular to me with his head cocked to the side. I get closer, he is still there. I close my eyes and turn to the right. I look back. He is still there. As I get closer, I start edging to the right of the trail to go around the dog. I

4 start going around and then see that it is just a branch with a few leaves and some of the leaves do, in fact, look like ears. I begin to get control over these crazy visions, but still feel as if I had one too many beers. I don t remember seeing any beers at the last aid station. I finally make it to the Elliot s Knob descent. I see a group of three guys in front of me. I feel as though I am in no condition to say anything to anybody. As I near the dirt road, I wonder what the heck I am even going to say to them. I am out of it, yet still in control. Luckily this guy says something to me first. We chat for a brief moment and he compliments me on my effort thus far. He says, very few get to see the dirt road in the daylight, most hit it sometime in the second night. This is your first hundred with no pacer in sight, keep it up. I don t know how I am going to get down this steep grade. I begin to pretend like I was skiing, going side to side. A combination of that, jogging backwards and thinking about just getting to the bottom of the mountain got me there. My quads are shot. I get down to trail access and run into Jennifer Nichols, the first place woman. She is doing fantastic, but seems to be in so much pain. Her quads are shot too, but much worse than mine. Her pacer keeps her going strong. I go around and continue to run my race. I looked her in the eye and said good job as I trot around, being careful not to knock her of balance on that tight single track. Darkness starts to settle in. The trail does not look too familiar to me. I don t remember running along the creek for this long. I don t remember all of these loose cobblestones and I certainly don t remember running on that long sandy road for many miles. I could swear that we did not run that way going out. I was wrong. I finally hear a big blow horn from the next aid station. They can see my headlamp and I can see a few lights in the distance. This is the last aid station before the finish. I am doing it. I am greeted by some great folks. One gentleman tells me, these next 5-6 miles are going to last forever - It is hard to follow - Pay close attention and slow down, it is easy to get lost at night. I cross over a railroad track and begin my journey to the finish line. If the last 10 miles didn t make any sense to me, these last 5 miles certainly didn t make sense. It was dark, there was a limited amount of fluorescent streamers. Instead there were pink streamers that seemed to be spaced out much further than they were the night before. I cross many fire road intersections that begin to appear as if I have crossed the same one multiple times. The elevation change is minimal, but the terrain was very rocky. It became very hard to look for the streamers and watch your step. The miles seem to go on endlessly. I can taste the finish, but I wonder if I somehow got off track. Are these streamers from some other run? I cross my fingers in hopes that I see something I recognize. I ponder how the heck I am going to explain to Brooke what I am feeling. I think I will say something like, I am in control but not, I don t know if what I am saying makes perfect sense or not. I am cold, tired and hungry. Oh yea, and I taked to the Taco Bell dog today. Many minutes go by, fingers still crossed. The Snipes log appears! I remember that. I am reassured that I am on course and should be within 2 miles of the finish. I make it out to the dam but can t figure out how to cross it. I can see the finish line area but don t know how to get there. I hear a runner and his pacer coming up behind me. I ll be damned if I am going to get passed after 101 miles of pain. I figure out how to cross and run in the last bit as if I was running a 10k. Within 50 yards I hear, what s your number. 51, I said. I hear Brooke s calming voice. I am too cold and too tired to celebrate much I still smile. I found the strength to run my race and finish as strong as I know how. I made it through but probably should have had a pacer just to be reassured that I was doing the right things and that I was not going crazy. I had a warm shower, ate half of a sandwich, downed a Gatorade and fell asleep in my tent. I hear people finishing their epic journeys all night long. Truth -- Through times of adversity often comes truth. Running distances like this is not supposed to be easy, otherwise everyone would do it. I have learned to enjoy the high times while they are present and to embrace the low times. Although it may not seem like it at the time, the lows do pass and a high is right around the corner. You just have to keep pushing on, just as in life.

5 I learned a lot about myself. I tested my limits. You never know how far you can go or how much you can do until you try. I tried. I had a great support system throughout both my training and the race. I know myself better now than I did going into Grindstone. I learned a lot about other people. There were many runners on the course that weekend of all shapes, sizes and talents. We were all out there doing it together. Some finished faster, some finished slower but we all share the common thread that we covered the same distance. The most heartfelt moment of the entire race, for me, was not my finish. It was the next morning, sitting on the porch of the camp cabin, watching other fellow runners coming in pushing it with all they had to get there within the 38 hour time limit. Some runners drudged through a whole second night battling much colder weather and rain. I was empowered that morning, watching these individuals digging so deep to finish, after nearly 38 hours of continual movement and solitude. Many of the ultrarunners out there share a physical ability to compete in these races. Mental strength is the big differentiator. I was so proud of these runners that morning. They endured pain for longer periods of time than anyone else, but they didn t quit. That moment, and all of its meanings to me, will forever be in my heart. Thank you Grindstone.

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