Mount Mitchell Challenge 2011

It has been a long trail from proverbial “coach potato” to a creature that operates with delight on the physical plane. When once I might have disdained the human limitation of needing to occupy the Body to exist, I have come to relish body and the occasional blood that comes with it, with near fanatical, even eucharistic, mysticism. Sure physical limitations will always exist no question, but I no longer sit back and dolefully, mournfully accept them as bars that block and imprison what I thought my progress in life should be. Instead I slip on my trail shoes 3-5 times a week and rattle my cage with a delight that sometimes borders on ecstasy.

A few years ago I met a new mountain. Not really that far from my house, but I had plenty of unexplored mountain near by to keep me occupied with the occasional ramble. I bicycled with some friends down to Mt Mitchell and took an instant delight in the place. The thinner air, the fog, the flora, the stone, and silence drilled down into me like the longing gaze of a lover. The mountain loved me. I loved the mountain.

As a runner, though quiet late to the party, I decided to run the Mt Mitchell Challenge in 2009 being far more spry at 54 than I was at 34. Members of my running tribe were all doing it. It was a mountain and a challenge, negativism need not apply. At that Challenge I failed to complete the nominal 40 miles from the town of Black Mountain to the Mitchell summit and back, and settled on what turned out to be a 7+ hour marathon finish. Two years later, feeling even more spry, I sought a re-Challenge.

The 2011 race entry opened online last September and filled up in about 45 sec. The race is a rock star in more ways than one. Being again late to the party, I accepted a marathon entry and was put on the waiting list for the Challenge. I had no real fears I wouldn't get in come race day, so I've trained with the 40 miles in mind for the last few months. I'll admit I've been a less than avid trainer for the past year or so, but maybe a smarter one. I don't commonly run more than 5 times a week, so my mileage is more like 35-45 weekly than 45-55. With my best ever showings in the half and full marathon last fall, and generally fewer injuries, I'm satisfied with my training level for the moment.

A few weeks prior to the race I phoned some good, old friends and took them up on a standing offer to come see their new house in Asheville, just a half hour or less from the race. I stopped by Jus' Running, a race sponsor, on the way and restocked on gels which have been giving great results since Santa brought me a whole box for Christmas. My tribe, the IMTR, has been chatting up the weather for race day, the likely course conditions, clothing choices, all very helpful banter along those synergies since they are true veterans at the game. The weather was called and settled on a frosty but not frigid 7am start, to bloom into a mild spring like day for the lower elevations, around 2200'. The higher elevations, 6000'+, scale back that temperature 10°. Wind? Be prepared. Cold blowing fog? Not predicted but, Be prepared. It's not the mountains job to keep you alive while you're up there dabbling in your existential whimsies.

At way too early for regular folk, I suited up in my favorite hiking shorts, a piece of long sleeve compression wear, topped with a long sleeve merino wool shirt, wool mittens wool hat, one pair of wool socks and a Torrent shell against cold, wind and fog. Shoes. I used my racing pair of Montrail Masochist as oppose to my everyday pair which have become as limber as a pair of orange house cats over the last two years . On Mitchell rocks, I'd need the best and cushiest I had.
I wore a lumbar pack with my chow and a dry piece of fleece in case the weather man wasn't quiet accurate, some cell phones for camera and timing mostly, band aids, and a screwdriver of course.

I pulled into Black Mountain well before daylight and stopped at a convenience store for some Vaseline and a Double-shot. Half the Double Shot was for breakfast. The Vaseline for any of those body parts or places that don't respond well to up to 10 hours of serious joggling.




I parked at the finish and several of us walked a few blocks back downtown to the start. Half the fun of a race is meeting old and new friends at the starting line.


There was the question of why no kilt today that I always get a kick out of. It seemed like time just flew to 7am and RD Jay sent us on our way.

It wasn't long before I discovered I had an untenable problem at hand or under foot in this case. For the inevitable and well documented ice we would hit near the summit, I'd put screws in my shoes. But I found they were just a tad too long -for hard pavement at least, and there was a few miles of pavement at the start and a little more along the way -not to mention the many, many, many miles of rocks. I had not screwed them in the whole way hoping to avert the prickling sensation of several sharp objects stabbing you in the feet every step you take. But it didn't work. After 15 minutes of that, I plopped my self on the curb, took off my shoes, unburied my screwdriver and removed the 4 most offending screws, and adjust some others. Much , much better, not perfect, but I've learned to live with not perfect.

The pavement starts to uptick a little more aggressively as we roll through the hamlet of Montreat and then some serious uptick off the pavement into the woods on softer trail. I'm catching back up to the back of the Challenge pack. Steeper and steeper the trail gets and has many of us of more modest strength walking. Hoping for a first completion of 40 miles I'm playing conservative, but Jay had announce a different cut-off than I expected for the 15 mile Aid Station that would determine if you would be allowed to pursue the Challenge. 3 hours. That's 12 minute miles. Not as easy as it sounds when you factor in 3000'+ of elevation gain some of it un-runnable steep -most of it rocky. By the time I'd made it to the second AS several of us had only 45 minutes for the 4 give or takeish miles to the cut off. The trails was leveling out some, but the rocks were pretty bad, and getting worse. I made it through but with only a few minutes to spare. I wasn't tiring really and the weather was exceeding expectations to the good side. I'm just slow, but I made it through.

Now I can practically lollygag the rest of the way. I have a 7 hour pad with a little over a mere 25 miles to go. Sweet. And did I mention the weather was getting an A+ for being fabulous? I'd been to the top Mt Mitchell twice before, in May and June. Today's weather was by far the best. Stunning blue skies, marginal wind, a feel good radiant exposure, with temps at least approaching 50°.

The next section of trail was about 3 miles of wide horse trail –practically level, though swampy in several places. The mountain was thawing and coming to life. It felt you could have a taken a slice out of Nature's exhilaration and eaten if too. The only concern that remained was how much icing would be on the cake at the top. Two other guys and myself strolled into the Commissary Ridge AS, the last before the top. We turned straight up the ridge into an old spruce forest onto some deeply rutted, rocky and rooty, sometimes steep single track. The forest had a definitive Tolkein-esque attitude. Not merely a place, but an animation of mystery, beauty, and adventure wrapped in twilight and scented with a sweet mix of peat and the pungent resin of spruce. Any moment it felt an elf, dwarf, troll, or some other legend might spring from behind a rock and challenge you to a game of Dungeons and Dragons -with real dragons. What ever else the climb was, it was a mile and a half of challenge. Had we not had some good thaws of late, this section could have been a capitol Challenge. The snow drifts that I had envisioned had mostly receded but there was a ¼ mile plus of thick sheet ice and snow filling the luge-like trail. The screws in my shoes did finally get to redeem themselves. You could pick your way along the trail margins in most places, but I was more confident with a little extra grip.

As quickly as we had plunged into the forest, we popped out into the summit area into a brilliant 360°sky replete with an endless blue draping a horizon with a full set of mountains for teeth. The highest point in the eastern USA. 6684'. I still felt strong and even giddy though it had taken me 5:04 to cover the 21 miles to this promontory.



You could say it's all downhill from here. Not quiet true for the trail we'd be taking, but the sentiment definitely buoyed my spirits. There was more ice and much steeper trail to reckon with going down by a different route off the summit. I went down alone. The trail was not an easy read every step of the way and I was thankful for the occasional M&M or bit of snack food that the trail running Hansels and Gretels had left in their wake. I cleared the deep woods again at a place I think called Camp Alice. Some volunteers were on a gravel road directing us final few off the mountain. I took a longer than normal break to remove ALL the screws from my shoes and stash my shell in pack as it looked as if only smooth sailing would see me to the finish.

Well, that almost turned out to be the case. The next mile of smooth gravel road turned out to be ALL up hill to the inch. It was about a 3-4% grade that I suppose could have been run, if you're into that sort of thing. I decided to focus on just finishing instead of an arbitrary sub-this or that, and that seemed well within reach even at a stroll. The next AS was at the state park ranger station where we took to the pavement once more back down to Black Mt Gap on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Sans screws was much better, but I still enjoyed the soft grassy shoulder for impact relief in occasional spurts. It was a couple miles back to the third AS and with only 12-13 miles to go, pretty much all downhill for real this time. I'm just beside my self with mirth. All the AS volunteers at all the AS were a delight with friendly help offered freely. Here I got two cups of Ra-men noodles with a chunk of pork BBQ that really hit the spot. And I was on my way.

This first section back on the Old Toll road had a very moderate up tick, but turning down on the west side of the ridge the footing became downright surly. I hadn't noticed how rocky this section had really been. Maybe I just do better with up-rock than down rock-but after a mile or two my attitude took a steep downhill turn for the worse. I wasn't hurting that much or even exhausted. I was slowing down and getting impatient. I did take yet another caffeinated gel and that seemed to help, but the thin air giddy from the top was gone and this run was starting to be work.

I was looking forward to the final AS before leaving the woods. Probably on account a growler of local brew that had graced their table on the way up. By force of grace, gravity, or whatever, I made it back there with only one cup to spare. It was a delicious Porter that, with a few handfuls of potato chips, quenched the lingering down demons. But a another situation developed as I was spinning with delight on my virtual bar stool. The end of the pack, 4 younger dudes, showed up with the sweeper. Uh-oh. Serious prospects of a DFL swept my virtual celebration under the rug. They certainly looked fresher than I felt. We all left, almost together. I tried to keep up but soon they all were in front of me as struggled to keep the distance tight. We made it down a mile of STEEP too painful to think about. I blew off the last AS at the bottom now fully back in the escarpment of civilization -roads, cars, sidewalks, crowds of people who didn't smell bad, and all that exaggerated fear of disorder.

As I was slowly falling back, the accomplishment of merely finishing was caught in a demonic crossfire of rational and irrational pride. Ultra and trail peoples supposedly tend to be less about who's faster and placement and more focused the collective accomplishment -and to an extent this is true. But I'm not perfect. When I had nearly escaped the ambush and nearly come to a gentleman's agreement with my psyche that a DFL is still a finish, to look at the bigger than ME picture, 4 more sagging runners came into view. The odds now appeared greater that someone would lose steam along with me. I was plunged back into a second ambush. But this time I didn't return fire. I just ran.

It felt like we were running at least -probably looked more like a turtle stampede to the passing traffic. With less than a mile to go, two of my compatriots faltered and I didn't. My trail tribe was there to see if I would finish and I did. I downed two hotdogs, collected my finisher's fleece and Beth awarded me a finisher's cupcake that Jenny had sent along in her stead. I rolled out of town back to my host's house and took a long, long hot bath.

It was a Challenge.
JJJ