Notes
That sort of punishing fun should be against the law.
This was one of those runs wehre the voices were very loud. You know the voices. The ones that tell you to stop. That you have done enough. That you don't need to go on. And as I kept going, the conditions kept getting worse and muddier and my body was more and more worn out. And so the voices got louder, but the finish closer (until at mile 30 I learned that it was 1 1/2 miles long, egad). "What are you trying to prove?" "Can you really log a pace like that?" "You are going to get hurt." And on and on and on. But girding my loins and with encouragement from the crazy fellow I ran with, plus the knowledge that loads of friends were looking for a finish from me after last year's DNF, I got it done.
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Last year, I dropped out of the Louisville Lovin the Hills 50k. I took a the 25k finish, thoroughly beat by the combination of the day's conditions, the brutal course and my recent battle with mono. In particular, as advertised, the course is made up of relentless ups and downs, over and over. What made last year's race special was the week of rain before race day and the 4-5 inches of snow that fell the night before the race. Come race morning, the trails were mud, much, snow or ice, and often all these at once. Every step up a hill slid back down, and every step down a hill risked losing control. Add to that the fact that all the normally-dry creek beds in the valleys were filled with up to several feet of icy runoff, and it was just too much for me that day. When the 25k course cut to the right and the 50k course cut to the left, 14 miles into the race, I took quitters road. Up the icy hill and to the lodge at the finish line. The upside was that I got to spend several hours eating awesome homemade soups while sitting by a roaring fire and watching snow fall in the woods out the window as I waited for my friends to finish. The downside, of course, is that I had quit.
Lovin the Hills takes place in Mid-February in Louisville, KY's Jefferson Memorial Forest. The forest is on the south side of town, in a fairly rural setting. The forest is set in a long strip of ridges which rise abruptly some 300 feet above the valley below. The race apparently used to be called, "Love in the Hills" to commemorate its being close to Valentine's day on the calendar. However, somewhere lost in history, the name changed to something that seems to emphasize the hills. The course starts and finishes at a small lodge that is situated atop one of the higher ridges, at the edge of a small neighborhood. All around the lodge, there are obvious dropoffs down sheer steeps to the valleys below. The race course is set up to take 50k runners on three smaller runs, which together combine to make approximately 31 miles. Throughout the entire 50k course, the trail is highly technical, with rocks, roots, switchbacks, piles of leaves, narrow-track and steep cambers.
The first of the three loops is a relatively easy 5 1/2 mile loop that has only three drops, each with a subsequent climb back to the ridge top. The first two and last half mile of this loop are about the only flat parts on the course. The second loop is a 7 1/2 mile loop has some 12 major ups and downs, with a lot of the trail barely half the width of a typical single track trail as they hug the sides of steeps to either side. Up and down, up and down. By many runners' accounts, the second loop is the hardest, from the perspective of hills. The third part of the race is a 19 mile segment that includes an 8 mile daisy chain of ridge-line trails out, a 3 mile loop called Scott's Gap, and a 8 mile return trip. The ridge-line trails are also relentless up and down trails, but the grade is generally less severe. I suspect that with good trail conditions, these would be fairly runnable. Scott's Gap trail, on the other hand, has a reputation for being very difficult, with severe climbs and drops, and difficult to follow paths that wind in and out and around trees, creeks and swampy sections. Of course, last year I missed this whole out and back section, but the stories of the trail conditions gave me nightmares for much of the ensuing year.
I returned to Lovin the Hills this year for a few reasons. First, and most obvious, the course beat me last year and I had to try again. Second, I had registered for the Umstead 100 miler, scheduled to take place 7 weeks after LTH, and this was to be a training run and fitness test. Third, running this race allowed me an excuse to take the kids to Louisville to see their grandparents so that my wife could have the weekend entirely off, a small payback for all the running she has allowed me to get away with during the year. In terms of the Umstead training, I fell ill with confirmed influenza 4 weeks ago, had to DNS another 50k in Memphis (since I could barely walk from my bed to the bathroom that day). My influenza recovery has been hampered by as pretty severe sinus infection, and I remain on treatment for that. As a result, I have lost my momentum and some important training for Umstead. My race at LTH was going to be the fitness test that would help me decide if I was ready for Umstead, or if I should take more time to prepare for a 100. A strong race at LTH and I would push on to Umstead. A failed race at LTH would mean more training. My Umstead training was on a tight schedule, and not likely to allow many setbacks. Mono. Flu. Sinusitis. Yeah, having kiddos and working in healthcare can put a damper on training.
Well, race weekend finally showed up. The kiddos and I drove up to Louisville, and thankfully everybody went to bed well. So I actually had a good night of sleep. Got up, got ready and drove through the dark to the hilltop where the race began. I was a bit unsure of what to wear; it was high 20s with clear, crisp skies. Since we would come back by the car between the first and second loop, I risked overdressing. So bundled up, I grabbed my bib and went back to my car to wait for the race. While waiting, I saw several friends come through the parking lot at different times, and one, Naresh, even hung out with me in the car. Naresh has run Monkey twice, and in the past couple months has run a bunch of difficult, technical 50k races and one 100 miler. He every bit as crazy as I am, and is currently much stronger. Ultimately, we would start together and spend the entire race running one right ahead of the other. Anyhow, the time came and we all went up to the starting line. A few words from the RD (Todd Heady of Headfirst Performance puts on a few good races), and we were off.
The first loop was a delight. The week leading up to the race had been fairly dry and cold. Midweek brought a few inches of snow, but it only remained on the shaded parts of the course, which were nonetheless plentiful. I ran the first couple miles with a woman named Shannon, who I knew indirectly through friends and Monkey. The trail was frozen, dry, firm and wide. The first two miles before the hills hit passed easily. By time we got to the first hill, Naresh had caught up with me and Shannon had fallen back. The first descent was fun, and the climb that followed steep but manageable. The rest of the hour on this portion of the course was great, far better than last year. I was feeling good and having fun. I finished the loop at an approximate 12 minute pace, which was an improvement over last year. I grabbed some drink and a cookie from the aid station, stowed all my now-excess clothing in the car and headed out for the next loop.
This year's course included a few changes from prior years. The most notable was the elimination of the asphalt road connecting the second loop with the rest of the course. In its place was an added descent way down down down a hill, around a small damned lake, and then back up the hill. The path then gradually dropped down the other side of the ridge, crossed an access road, and then cut cross country along a quarter mile where there probably had been no trail just a week or two before. This short segment was covered in a thick mat of leaves and had patches of briars hanging in the way. From here, you run the second loop, the one that is made up of endless ups and downs. Again, this year's trail conditions were improved. They were snow-covered and icy-slippery in quite a few places, but much of it was bare, dry and runnable. The trails were fairly narrow and cambered, so trains of runners built up. You could not easily go faster or slower, and so Naresh and I settled in and ran with a group. We were all able to be fairly conversational, and we all talked quite a bit, despite some of the tall and steep climbs and precipitous descents. This year, the creek beds were nearly all dry. There was a small aid station right before the end of the loop. By the end of this loop, the day was warming and the snow was beginning to melt. As a result, the trail was starting to get a little muddy. Not bad, but not dry. Little did I recognize this as a harbinger of what was yet to come.
As we came off the second loop, through the briars, and then back up to the ridge, the 25k runners split off. Our overall pace had slowed to a bit slower than 13:30 per mile, including time at the aid station. With the course changes, the split was in a totally different place than before. As a result, I really did not know what was to happen at the end of the race when we would return to the finish area. But that was a long way off. At this point, I was feeling a little tired and stiff. My body was telling me that I did not have quite the miles for this sort of endeavor. I was 12 miles in and the voices were beginning. You know the voices. The ones that tell you to stop. That you have done enough. That you don't need to go on. "What are you trying to prove?" "Can you really log a pace like that?" "You are going to get hurt." And on and on and on. Over the course of the day, the voices would grow louder, more persistent. But at mile 12, a long gentle descent made up of a dry frozen trail lay before me. And so I cruised on down it and to the first real aid station, stocked with Coke and cookies and crackers and all sorts of other goodies. This was the aid station that sat at the edge of the long run along the ridges and to Scott's Gap. Naresh and I took some calories in, then crossed a wooden bridge and headed up to the ridge.
At this point in the day, the sun was high and shining onto the snow. The ridge top forests were quite pretty, and felt fairly desolate despite being fairly close to several small suburbs. The trail climbed high up onto the ridges, but once there they were by no means flat. The ridges themselves undulated, carrying us up and down. In other places, the trails flanked the sides of the ridges rather than sitting atop them. The major climbs also often included switchbacks. There were a lot or roots, downed trees and rocks on the trail. And with each mile, the trails seemed to get a bit softer and stickier. About halfway down the trail, we dropped down into a valley and hit another aid station that I did not expect, and that was a welcome sight. Then back up the ridge and on to Scott's Gap. The entire time, the voices were growing louder and my legs were becoming more tired. I was beginning tithing about dropping out once I got to Scott's Gap. Somehow I had it in my head that getting to that point in the course would prove a victory beyond what I had done last year. Regardless, I carried on. Naresh and I paced each other forward, relentlessly forward. Along the ridge, we hit our marathon split in a speedy 6:36.
As we made progress outbound, the top runners started showing up headed back. Everybody was very positive and yelled supportive comments to each other. As we went on, we heard more comments from people about the mud. As we descended the final hill separating the ridge from Scott's Gap, a runner climbing up the other way said something about the incredible hill and mud. I was not sure if he was talking about his current climb, or what he had just left behind. Indeed, this last hill was becoming fairly sloppy. We would soon see. Down the hill, through a last bit of woods, and then to the aid station at the Scott's Gap loop. I had made it that far. And I felt like I could go no further. Naresh and I drank some Coke and tried to eat a little. However, my stomach had turned and so I stuck with drink. I was fairly wasted, but kept reminding myself that the best way to finish a tough ultra is simply not to listen to the voices telling you to quit. The best way to finish is not to stop. So after a couple minutes, we headed out to discover what Scott's Gap trail was all about.
Well. Once we got off the connector, our first task was to climb straight up, with about 175 feet of climbing over 1/5 mile, which took nearly 10 minutes. Atop the hill, we had a brief runnable section, and then the fun began. Down a buttslide hill. Then onto a long section where you could run maybe ten paces, then had to walk or crawl ten paces. The trail was hampered by dry but steep creek crossings, acute winding right and left, areas where the trail nearly vanish, and loads of obstacles. After some 20 minutes of this, the mud appeared. This mud would impress mud connoisseur. it was deep. And slippery. And sticky. The mud was everywhere, but was the worst on the downhill steeps. Every step forward threatened to take you sliding into the woods. Or to twist an ankle. Or, in my case, your right knee. I suspect that the melting snow combined with the sliding footsteps of all the runners who came before us just deepened the muck. Every step forward required meticulous foot placement. In the end, Scott's Gap trail took us nearly an hour, for just about 3 miles. Wow. Back down to the aid station, I sat down in a chair to recover. And think. Of course, in this kind of run, thinking is bad. And this had become one of those runs where the voices were very loud. "Why bother?" "You have no business even considering Umstead." "Just stop and get a ride back to the lodge." But we had completed 23.5 miles, or so. There were less than 8 to go. Naresh made me get up and go. And I did. I figured I could think, if I wanted to think, while moving forward. The best way to finish is not to stop. But boy did I feel bad.
Back onto the trail, up to the ridges. Just go forward, relentlessly forward. I was cursing in my head, weary to the bone, and aching in my thighs, right knee and back. My sinuses were draining, my head hurting and my lips chapped from the salt. This was a very different race from what it had been on the first loop. Onward we went, up the first mucky hill and onto the ridge. However, by time we got up there, the entire trail had undergone a transformation. Gone was the runnable flat, thought technical trail. In its place, the mud had spread. It baffled me during the race, and it baffles me now how a trail at the highest point on a tall hill could get that wet and muddy. Water is supposed to flow downhill, but somehow these high trails seemed to grab water that was nowhere to be seen just hours before. At this point, the fatigue in my legs and the deep sticky mud made running the ups nearly impossible, and running the downs not much easier. That really only left the few flats for running. The rest of the return trip was spent fighting for foot placement and grabbing ahold of trees to avoid crashing down the sides of the steeps. But the miles kept clicking away and we were making steady progress. The best way to finish is not to stop.
Around mile 28.7, or so, we were trying our best to run on a snowy, muddy, cambered, narrow trail aside a steep. A fellow had hiked back from the finish to take pictures of his friends. As we ran by him, he cheerfully called to us, "you are almost there, just 3.8 miles to go!" Naresh and I were both incredulous. It is common for 50k races to go over, if not way over, but I had understood that this one on this day was going to be close to the true distance. Thinking through the course in my head, I could not imagine where the extra distance would come from. I had hoped prerace that I could finish 50k in 8 hours, or so. Doing math in my head, I had been on pace to hit 50k in 8 hours, but not this longer distance. Not really sure whether to believe the fellow, we continued on. When we got to the 30 mile aid station, the woman there encouraged us, "only 2.4 miles to go". So yeah, it was true. When she said that, my spirits fell. I felt that I was already mentally and physically beyond what I could handle for the day. But. The best way to finish is not to stop. So I walked on. I also called my parents to tell them that they'd get to play with my kiddos a bit longer than expected.
Naresh and I headed up the long climb that had been such a great, runnable downhill trail around mile 13. At this point in the day, it was a difficult and now-muddy uphill slog. But somehow we got up it, and half-heartily jogged some of the flatter sections. Along the way, we passed the 50k split at 7:58, or so. So I got my sub-8 50k. And when the lodge was finally visible through the trees, we had one last surprise. A course marshall pointed us downhill. Back down another deeply muddy, slippery steep, around the lake we circled between the first and second loops of the race earlier in the day, then back up up up. The mud remained relentless, as did the climb and the technical nature of the trails, all until the bitter end. But then it was done. Onto the driveway for the lodge, around a corner, and done. Naresh and I sprinted to the end, but my legs were trashed and he handily took me down. My finish was 8:19:22, for 32.5 miles (~52k).
Finishers received a small wooden hear-shaped medallion with the race logo branded on it, and with a small leather strap (identical in style to the Monkey medals) and a small spruce sapling. Naresh and I took pictures of our slimed feet, then removed our shoes and went into the lodge for some soup, solid food and coffee. I was zapped out to the core. But I had finished.