H9 50 (ish) miler 2018

I've been close before, but this year's H9 50 was my first official DFL. And I've never been happier.

Spraining my ankle (yes, again!) a few days after the Silverton Alpine Marathon in Colorado (on the last day of my vacation!) I was worried about my ability to even start H9 this year... then I remembered how much of an enormously slow, giant ass hike it is! I did the math, and realized that if I was able to average a 3 mph pace, I would take over 2 hours off my 2017 time (19:31.) I took a few days off, continued to cross-train, and tested the ankle out on some short trail runs. Race weekend eve arrived, and Brad and I loaded up the adventure van and set off for Vogel State Park.

On the way there I tried to convince Brad to attempt the 50 with me, but he was adamant on dropping down to the "fun run" (still a tough 27 miler!) He had been nursing some recent injuries as well, and was making the smart choice. (We can take turns being reckless, right?)

Arriving at Vogel, we checked in down by the lake, picked up our shirts, and did some socializing with the other human sacrifices. About an hour later, we headed to our campsite and set up our tents. Merle, another runner from the Upstate SC area joined us for dinner and drinks (a fancy affair around our picnic table) and we all attempted to head to bed early. My race started at 6:30 and Brad's started at 7:30. The plan was to get up at 5:00, cook a big breakfast, and head down to the start around 6:00. I set 6 alarms on my phone, always paranoid that I would miss the first, or my phone would malfunction, and lay awake in my tent trying to sink into sleep. I dreamt I missed the start. I was off on some adventure hours away by car and was racing to Vogel to make it there in enough time to start and finish the race. I woke up. Not even 2:00 am. I got up, used the the restroom (yay hydration!) and lay back down; checking my many alarms before closing my eyes again. I woke up again. 4:00 am. And again. 6:25. What???????! "Brad!" "What?" "It's 6:25." "Shit."

"So you're dropping to the marathon, right?" "Nope!" I knew Perry (the RD) allowed late starts as long as the runners understood they were held to the same cutoff times as everyone else and that the clock was already running when you started. I was glad I had packed my drop bag and my vest the night before. I hit the bathroom, brushed my teeth, put in my contacts, got dressed, and crammed a Pop Tart in my mouth. "Ready!" Brad drove me down to the start. Marathon runners looked bemusedly at me as I hustled into the group shelter with my poles and well-stuffed pack. It was still more than thirty minutes before their start and I was a little overly loaded up, and I was carrying my drop bag.

To my relief, the drop bags had not gone out yet, and I added mine to the pile. I checked in, wrote my number on my leg with a sharpie, and thanked Perry for the "late start option" on my way out the door. I checked my phone. 6:55. I started my watch, made a mental note to add thirty minutes to the time, and started walking up the road back towards the campsites and eventually the trail. I took a minute to make sure I had the course downloaded on Trail Run Project before moving away from the campsites (where I had cellular service.) I would be spending quite a bit of time alone on the course and wouldn't likely have the luxury of "following the idiot in front of me."

I was a little over an hour in when I reached a fellow H9-er. She was coming towards me, down the long climb I was headed up. I checked in and asked how she was doing. She said she just really wanted a cup of coffee and to call it a day. I asked if she wanted to join me for the trek to the next aid and station, and if she'd like some caffeine, but she was fine and had plans to enjoy the rest of her day. I told her how good it was to see another person and she told me there was another guy not too far up ahead who had lost his watch and was looking for it. Within ten minutes, I reached him. He had found his watch and was back on track. We traded places and chatted for a bit while I led the climbs. Eventually I pulled ahead. About a mile and a half from the mile 8 (Firepit) aid station the climbs turned to fire road and the front runners of the marathon caught up. We chatted for a bit and rolled into the aid station. When I got here, Thompson's initial reaction was "Wow! You're at the front of the pack!" Susan "She's doing the 50." Thompson "Oh well who cares, you'll catch up to some people by Fish Gap." Which was what I had been thinking. I wouldn't hit the Fish Gap Aid Station until mile "25" (27) but I knew it was a popular spot to hang out for a bit and regroup. I slammed some calories and thanked Thompson and Susan for the aid. I hoped I would see them later!

From the aid station, the course filed into some winding single track, downhill for a bit, but not easily navigated with my recently sprained ankle and cumbersome brace. I skipped along and let a few more light-footed marathoners in front of me. The next manned aid station would be Wolfpen Gap in about 4 miles and I knew there would be more fire road and runnable downhill on this stretch. It went by quickly, it was an unseasonably cool day, and as I tried to think of a word for enjoying these trails alone in these conditions, I kept coming back to "serene." Runners and volunteers were already joking about this year's race as the "bad weather year." (SO MUCH SARCASM.)

I heard a runner approaching behind me and let him pass. He joked that he was going .0001 mph faster than me, and I appreciated it. It was Chris, a runner I had met the night before. We fell into conversation and arrived at the aid station quickly. I refilled my water and dunked a potato in salt. We chatted with the volunteers for a few minutes then headed up the fire road. The fifty mile course would fork from the marathon course a short ways in and I kept my eyes peeled for signs. A few minutes into our climb we met the "watch guy" coming down the climb from the wrong direction. His back was hurting him and he had taken an alternate route down to the aid station in an effort to get there with more ease. We wished him well and after he passed, Chris joked that I should have asked him for his hat. It read "DFL." 20-30 minutes in we hit the fork and parted ways. Chris said he looked forward to seeing my name on the finishers list. That boosted my confidence, and I refocused on reeling in that next aid station.

The course continued with gradual downhill until I hit Lipstick and Lugnuts (a little over 19 miles in.) They were set up in the blazing sun, which had apparently just come out; and they offered me a beer. I gratefully accepted, and after kneeling down to pet their sweet pup "Kale" headed down the trail. I was still ahead of cutoffs but I had a funny feeling about the next section. Theoretically Fish Gap was less than 6 miles away, and the vols seemed to think that was true... but I seemed to remember it wasn't. I crushed the beer in the first five minutes of my trek, and stowed the can in my pack. Just keep moving forward.

I reached Mulky Gap, the mile "22" water drop, where I would cross the road and begin the climb to the Fish Gap aid station. My watch read 24 miles. Fish Gap is mile "25." I hoped beyond hope that it was really only a mile to the aid station (and not 3) but I was beginning to remember my 2017 race more vividly and knew it would be longer. Mulky to Fish (and vice versa on the inbound) is the most technical section of trail on the course. It climbs, it's overgrown, and it's rocky. Towards the middle of this three mile stretch is the most scenic spot on the course, with a gorgeous view of the surrounding mountains. This is also the "rocky" section, where places to safely put your feet are limited, and are obscured by tall grasses. It was in this section that I met the race leaders on the inbound (the top two men would go on to shatter the existing course record) and even they weren't attempting to run. One ill placed footfall and you would be fucked. I love this section, and I hate this section. I tried not to think about completing it in the dark later. (And when I did... I hoped I would have company.)

27 miles in, I arrived at Fish Gap. It was a big party, as I knew it would be. Joy was cooking hot dogs and runners lounged in tailgate chairs refueling; some drinking beer, all contemplating their next move. We would complete a "loop" of dubious mileage ("12") from here, before arriving back at the aid station and beginning the trek back to Vogel. (Also dubious mileage.) I immediately assumed all the runners hanging out were on the inbound and had already completed the loop.

I felt like I only had a few minutes to get in and out of the aid station before cutoff but was told I had more than 45 minutes and was encouraged to take some time to regroup. I sat down on a cot and grabbed my drop bag. Joy brought me a hot dog and a coke and asked me what else I needed. My arms were starting to break out from inevitable brushes with poison ivy. Joy had some tea tree wipes and Benadryl topical gel. (Thank you Joy!) Both helped a lot, in the short and long term. While I ate, I found out that a few of the runners had been hanging out at the aid station awhile. I asked if anyone wanted to join me on the loop. Jason thought about it, and asked me how long I thought it would take. "Well... we have a little more than five hours, so... less than five hours?" He passed. I understood. It was a long fucking time. I hoped it would only take four.

I set out and immediately went the wrong way. I wasn't looking where I was going and missed the very slight right (marked by ample signage) heading out of the aid station and continued straight on the overgrown forest service road. About half a mile in I realized I was in the wrong place. I wasn't running into any inbound runners, and the brush did not seem to have experienced any traffic. I checked Trail Run Project and confirmed that I needed to be up on the ridge above me. I hustled back and, embarrassed, hollered at the aid station crew as I turned onto the trail. "We told you to turn right!" "Yeah..."

The next three miles included equal parts climbing and descent. About a mile in the course veered off trail and went up into the trees. "To green loop" a sign read. I remembered how frustrated I was with this maze of flagging and made-up trails last year and just laughed. My mind was set on making it to the aid station at the start of the green loop. I ticked off the climbs and made it to Shawn the Vegan's aid station at Knight Creek. I would hit it again after completing the Green Loop, which consisted of mostly rolling fire road, and a little bit of technical trail, before making my way back to Fish. According to Perry, the loop is 3 miles. According to Shawn it is 4. According to me it is 5. I chatted with Shawn and an inbound runner, Glenn, for a minute or two before making haste to start the loop.

Charles was at Knight Creek when I arrived the second time, and we joined forces to make our way back to Fish Gap. It was so nice to have company! The climbs clicked off quickly as we chatted about upcoming trips, past races, and good-naturedly cursed Perry for the crazier off-trail ascents as we made them. As we grew closer to the aid station, I pulled a little ways ahead. I wanted to take a few minutes at the aid station and was worried about time.

Joy had a cup of Ramen ready for me when I arrived and I grabbed my drop bag and located a dry shirt and sport bra. Despite the cooler temps, it had been a humid day, and I was soaked. I made the change, refilled the water in my pack, put on my headlamp, and dug into the ramen. Charles arrived and informed us that he was bowing out. His goal race (out west!) was in a few weeks, and he wasn't sure if he could keep up. I was sorry to hear it. I was looking forward to having company in the dark miles, and was not looking forward to descending down to Mulky alone. Joy received a call and asked me if I wanted a friend of hers to leave me a Coke down at Mulky. Yes! I headed out. The last cutoff was midnight back at Firepit with Thompson and Susan. It was theoretically less than 7 miles, and I had more than three hours to get there, but as ever, mileage is dubious, and while I was trekking steadily, my pace was not fast.

The rest of the race would be a constant stream of spider web dodging, spider web walk-throughs, and attempts at spider web dismantling (using my poles.) I'm sure it was entertaining for the nocturnal wildlife. I was relieved when I finally reached Mulky, as I knew the most technical parts of the course were now behind me. I drank the Coke, silently thanked the volunteer who left it for me, and continued on. Four miles to Thompson and Susan...

On this stretch I became insatiably hungry. I was stopping every 15 to 20 minutes to eat and I knew I didn't have much food left in my pack. I found a packet of Tailwind that I hadn't realized I was carrying and poured it into my hydration pack. Hopefully that would patch some of the hollowness I was feeling. My stomach had not been upset during this event, but it had been extremely active since Knight Creek; inconveniently so. I had changed up my nutrition a little, incorporating a "marathon pack assortment" of Spring Energy gels into my rotation, and I think it may have been a little too much (fiber?...) Who knows... but I was depleted, and I was ravenous. I ate my last Pop Tart with what should have been a mile to go until reaching Firepit, and thought about what sounded good to eat when I got there. Except I didn't get there... and time was running out until midnight. I quickened my pace, and panicked as to whether I was going the right way. At one point I saw glow sticks in the trees, and rejoiced that I was there, but it turned out to be a hiker's campsite. After what felt like an eternity (or just an extra mile...), I was finally there. It was 11:59.

Thompson and Susan loaded me up with food, Thompson making me a drink with warm broth mixed with some kind of high-calorie carbohydrate drink (did the trick!) Perry called as I was getting ready to leave and asked if I was still there. "Nope! She just left..." They both looked at me and laughed. I had better actually leave... Thompson gave me a play by play of the next part of the course, and I headed out, sad to leave two of my favorite people, but happy to be almost done!

I had less than 2 hours to climb about a mile and a half up Coosa Bald, descend for about the same distance, then run three miles of mostly downhill fire road back to the park. I could do this, and I was going to do it under cutoff.

When I made it to the road I made a deal with myself about running... the deal was that it was happening. 3 miles of fire road can feel endless, and the only way it was going to end sooner was to move faster. I had had wonderful company on this section last year, and let myself zone out in the memory. (I had also been incredibly miserable.. I didn't zone out to that part!) When i finally reached the end of the road and the entrance to the small section of trail leading down to the park, I rejoiced (and quickened my pace!) I had ten minutes to make it under cutoff.

Reaching the park road, I started hauling ass. I wondered if people would still be awake. Would Brad be awake? Would I have to walk the mile back to the campsite? I hoped Brad was awake. Close to the visitors center I crossed paths with someone and she began jogging alongside me. "Your friend is up there! He's waiting for you! You have three minutes!" We kept moving, and there was Brad. He ran it in with me. I made it to the group shelter and high-fived Perry (who WAS still awake!) My finish time was 19:59. The slowest recorded H9 finish within cutoff! We all laughed about it and Perry handed me my finisher's heavy metal, and a special prize for being DFL; a lawn gnome. It was a good day.

My moving time was the same as the year before, but my 2018 experience was without the significant lows I experienced in 2017. I was proud of myself for spending so much time alone in the woods, and for how clear-headed I felt the whole time. During my time in the woods I brainstormed what I felt like the "nine H's" could be. This is what I came up with:

1. Humans

2. Heat

3. Humidity

4. Hills

5. Hours

6. Hurt

7. Hell

8. High fives (or HUGE spiders. Either one.)

9. Hugs.

Perry has since clarified that H9 is a reference to Dante's Circles of Hell. H9 levels of hell:

1. Limbo (on the course)

2. Lust (for heavy metal)