Here it is, took me a while to type it up. Fixed the lopsided pictures!

The Massanutten 100 is a trail race with a long-standing history. The reason I signed up for it was that it is considered one of the toughest trail races on the east coast, and that it was held in late spring, leaving enough room for a second 100-mile race within the same year if I opted to run another one. I also liked that was within driving distance from my home.

I entered the lottery never expecting to get into the race. Yet I gained a spot on the wait list, and to my surprise, two months later I received notice that I had made it onto the start list. I was not so sure if that was good news.

My training through the winter had not been stellar. I had done a few long runs, and I had run in deep snow, on ice, and in the cold, but I had not been training seriously enough to feel in shape for tackling a 100-mile race. I had not run any distance in the heat or humidity. I had not even logged my runs. I had no plan and no desire to follow one.

As spring rolled around and I knew I would start at the Massanutten, I became more conscious about my runs. I tried to get in some longer and some harder runs with lots of elevation on technical trails. I ran a few times in the heat, did a few longer night runs on steep, technical trails, and I updated my nutrition during runs.

In February, I was forced to change to a gluten-free diet because of health problems. While the new foods definitely improved things, I found it difficult to keep up with the calories. Two days before the race I stepped onto the scale and was a bit surprised to find myself 7 lbs below what I consider my ideal race weight - “ideal” as proven to work well for me in previous long distance races. 7 lbs might not sound much, but at less than 110 lbs, it is.

As for the gluten free, I knew that my usual foods and drinks that I use during a race are gluten free, and I was confident to get some suitable food at the aid stations to supplement as needed. However, being new to this gluten free diet, I did not realize that I had not thought through the whole process.

Massanutten is an old-school purebred ultra marathon. No fancy gimmicks (like funny signs along the course, or mile markers), no big conveniences (e.g. no porter potties at aid stations), and basic foods (e.g. gels are not generally available). That does not mean that the race, or the aid stations, are skimpy or understocked. You’ll find everything you’ll need to succeed and have a great experience, and the aid station captains (who are responsible for stocking their aid stations) do an outstanding job at providing a big selection of great foods and drinks, which are available in ample amounts even for a back-of-the-pack runner like me.

Gatorade and water are available at each aid station, as well as fruit, cookies, pretzels, crackers, and warm foods like soup, ramen, bacon, eggs, or sandwiches in the night and for breakfast. This should be more than enough for any runner to get his needs met. Unless - you’re forced to stay gluten free and can’t stomach anything high fat or high protein. I knew my in-run “food” supply, consisting of Heed, Sustained Energy, and a minimum amount of gel, supplemented by protein shots from my drop bags, would be enough to just get me through, but if I got hungry in between my drop bags, I’d only have a choice of fruit, and maybe potatoes at two or three aid stations.

But, I did not foresee this until after I checked into the first aid station on the course.

I chose to run in the solo division - no crew, no pacer, no headphones.

Usually, DH and my kids crew for me, and my running buddy paces me through the night. This time, my running buddy was injured, and DH had retired from crewing after my last 100-miler. As much as I love DH crewing, I fully understand his reasons. Solo sounded just fine to me for a change. I was curious and eager to find out what “solo” would feel like in a 100-miler.

After struggling to get my drop bags packed, I loaded up the car, and on Friday morning, I drove down to VA.

I remember looking at the mountains and noting that they looked higher than the mountains at home. Quite a bit higher. Maybe twice as high. Oops.

I easily found the start/finish area, which is a miracle, as I’m slightly directionally challenged.

Check-in at the Start/Finish area

Briefing

I checked in, chatted with Gary Knipling, a veteran of the race (he has 18 MMT finishes), and after the briefing, I drove to my hotel in Luray, about 20 miles from the race.

I was not prepared for the scene that awaited me:

A ladies’ bowling club was holding their picnic right in front of my room! Now that sure would make for some restful, early sleep…

After being stunned for a moment, I decided to make the best of the situation: I wished the ladies a happy evening, then I went straight into my room and pulled the curtains.

And there it was… (imagine the sounds of angelic lutes here)

The jacuzzi for post-race soaking.

IF I ever made it through the race, that is.

1:45 a.m.: My three alarms went off.

After some oatmeal and coffee for breakfast, I got dressed (anyone guess who my sponsor is), packed my supplies, and, to the majestic sounds of the Emperor’s Waltz from the radio ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2s3ZrALhrAA ), I conquered the winding, narrow mountain road to the start.

Some last minute notes, lights on, and at exactly 4 a.m., off we went.

The crowd started out as if it was a 10k. Hello? This was not only a 100-mile run, it was also fairly warm, and the air was saturated with humidity. The first 4 miles were paved and gravel road, and even though I had already started out toward the back of the pack, I was passed by many runners. I could not believe it, I had never experienced the field starting out this fast in any ultra that I’ve run. We’re talking sub-9-min miles here, at the very back of the field, on a gentle uphill. I guess it was the many local runners who knew the course and were used to the warm and humid conditions, who were pushing the pace that much.

Running along the road was a chore. And I was getting frustrated by the fast pace. I remember a lady running with me for the most part. Secretly I called her “Clank-clank” because she had a bear bell attached to her water bottle. Clank, clank, clank in the dark - how paranoid can you be believing that after 190 runners had passed a spot that a bear would still linger there and attack you? Clank, clank - for 100 miles??

She seemed to be very happy to be running with me, and she chatted mercilessly, random things, none of which made it into my memory.

There was a water stop at mile 4, where the course hits the single track.  I arrived there almost dead last. I dropped Clank-clank, but to my dismay, the field still did not spread out. I stayed surrounded by runners, all of them chatting happily and pushing the pace, while I was huffing and puffing and sweating along. I got a bit dizzy and had to slow down even more. My frustration grew with every step. Up the hill, over rocks (“Massanutten rocks” - true!), further up.

At sunrise, some stunning views emerged: 

But then, more rocks:

And some more uphill:

I remembered that XtremeTaper had warned me to not let my guard down toward the top of the ascent: Up on top, it was not easy running, but rather a maze of large rocks and boulders, where you’d have to skip along. And I found it just as he had said.

With the rising temperature and high humidity, it was a very tough stretch.

I arrived at the 12-mile aid station, Edinburg Gap, in somewhat bad shape, and all I could think of was finding a place where I could sit down. I ran past the tables, straight to a truck which was parked on the side of the road, and plopped down on its rear bumper. I must have looked pretty bad because a volunteer came right up to me and asked if I was ok. I told him I was dizzy but otherwise doing well.

And then… with a halo of bright light surrounding him (it might have been the rising sun behind him, though), XtremeTaper  appeared out of nowhere and introduced himself. I was happy to see him, even though I did not talk much. I was still struggling to recover and get over that dizziness. He is a very kind and nice guy, and he gave me some reassurance. We chatted for a little bit, I refilled my pack with water, and then I went on.

As I left the aid station, I was not sure what to do. My thought all along had been to drop from the race at the aid station because I was feeling so bad, and because I figured I had no chance making it through the cutoffs later. On the other hand, I had now seen Taper, and I did not want to disappoint him. Neither did I want to disappoint all the people who were following my progress on the live webcast and who were rooting for me. So I just hung in there.

About 13 miles in, and NOT a happy runner.

I felt my legs starting to cramp, and I knew this was because of running too hard in the heat. I drank enough liquids to avoid dehydration, but the lack of real food due to limited availability of gluten free options at the aid stations, which I had not thought out beforehand (this was clearly my own mistake, I can’t blame the aid station captains for it) started to affect my performance. I was hungry, and the gel and Sustained Energy could not quench this. However, I did not want to slow down for fear of falling behind the cutoffs. So I just popped Endurolytes religiously, two every hour (or what I thought was an hour, as I did not have a watch with me), and after two or three hours, the cramping stopped, and my legs felt fine again.

From the Edinburg Gap aid station on, for most of the race, I was running alone. Every now and then, usually shortly before an aid station, another runner would magically appear and check in with me at the aid station, so that it looked as if I had had company, but essentially, for the next 85+ miles, I was on my own.

The up and down continued, mostly over large and smaller, sharp, rough rocks. At one point, I tripped while I was walking over large rocks, and I bumped my shin. It hurt a lot, so after a very quick look, making sure no bones were sticking out, I decided to ignore it. It hurt for at least another 15 miles, and in between, the bump swelled up to form a huge welt, but then the swelling disappeared again, and halfway through the race, the pain subsided.

At the next aid station, Woodstock Tower at 20 miles, I had access to my first drop bag. I  dropped off my lights, replenished my hydration pack with Heed and my food bottle with Sustained Energy, topped off my gel flask, and gulped down a protein shot. I had a volunteer adjust the duct tape on my shoulder, which I had stuck there to avoid chafing from my backpack. The volunteer told me I was chafed raw already, but I asked her to just stick on more tape, and I’d be good. This was the smallest pain that I felt in my body at the time.

I sat down in a red lawn chair, and another runner sat down next to me. He was just in the same bad shape as I was, sweating and feeling exhausted. We both remarked that we had never been that exhausted that early in a 100-miler. It felt like mile 85. We both considered dropping. But then I realized that I was showing a bad attitude, and so I just strapped on my pack again and left the aid station. I never saw that runner again, and I assume he actually dropped from the race.

Next was a “flat” section, which, however, was not flat at all. It was a constant, grinding up and down over small hills, on winding single track. I did make good time, though, I ran a lot because the fear of not making the cutoffs was always on my mind. I also knew that I would spend considerable time at the aid stations where I had access to my drop bags: refilling food and drink containers, chugging down my protein shots, lubing up my feet and other sensitive spots, applying sunscreen and insect repellent, changing batteries in my lights in the night, and adjusting clothing. The “full-service stops” took me about 20 minutes each, and there were 6 of them in total, and two shorter drop bag access stops.

At the other aid stations, I would just grab a few pieces of fruit, perhaps top off my bottles and pack with water, and leave within 2-5 minutes.

Noon was approaching, and the temperature kept rising. There was a short stretch in full sun, to me, it looked like a desert.

I looked up to the sky and was hoping for a little help from above - both figuratively and literally. Big storm clouds were building up, and there was a good chance of some rain in the afternoon.

But it would take many more miles before I started feeling better.

The Elizabeth Furnace and Shawl Gap aid stations at 33 and 38 miles, respectively, came and went. I took my time at Elizabeth Furnace. I briefly talked to a woman who mentioned that she had finished this race twice before, and that she had always arrived at the halfway point before 12 hours. Not so today, the heat, at 90 degrees meanwhile, was slowing us down considerably. She seemed a bit battered, yet optimistic, but I never saw her again later, and I didn’t see her finish the race, either.

I noticed that my liquids were just rushing through my body, and I felt thirsty despite drinking a good amount. I realized I might not be taking in enough salt, and I was happy to find some potatoes and salt on the food table. Finally some real food for me, yay! I had four or five potatoes with salt, and this seemed to fix the fluid situation and take care of my hungry stomach as well. The protein shots also finally kicked in and provided some extra power. I found the long uphill out of Elizabeth Furnace less bothersome than I had feared.

The clouds got darker, and it started to drizzle, and then to rain. It was a very welcome cool-down.

At Veach Gap (mile 41), I retrieved my lights from the drop bag. I knew it was a bit early for that, just afternoon, but when I had planned out my drop bags, I was not sure what to expect, and I did not want to risk getting caught in the dark without a light.

The climb out of the Veach Gap aid station was hard. Long, steep, twisty, lots of rocks, and some muddy sections, combined with - you guessed it - more rocks. Some shorter climbs, it seemed to never end. After a long downhill, where I tripped twice but just caught myself in time, I ran straight through through the Indian Grave aid station, knowing it was just a few more miles to my next drop bag at Habron Gap.

Habron Gap was a major stop for me. I took care of all sensitive areas, refueled and replenished food and drink, and got ready for the night. A storm was brewing above, and I knew I would get wet again. Almost 10 miles to the next aid station, with night falling, that sounded like it needed some more thorough preparation.

The climb out of Habron Gap was brutal. If I had thought the climb after Veach Gap was long, well, this one was much longer. It was not too steep, but with almost 60 miles already on my legs, it was tough. Shortly before I reached the ridge, I met up with another female runner. A thunderstorm was raging all around us, and the rain started pouring heavily just after it had gotten all dark. I was happy to have company then, firmly telling myself that if there were two of us in the storm on the ridge, the chance of me getting struck by lightning was cut in half. Right, right? Had to be right.

The rain kept pouring, and I was just pushing on, enclosed in the light bubble from my headlamp. At some point, where the trail got more technical, I dropped the other runner and was on my own again.

There was a twisty, hilly section after the ridge that never seemed to end. I lost my sense of direction right after the first few bends already. Up and down and around, on and on it went. I was happy that the trail was well marked. It was not always possible to see the next marker from the previous one, which sometimes left me a bit confused and insecure, but then, when there is no intersection, just one trail, where else would you go but straight ahead on that trail. At intersections, the no-go areas were clearly marked off, easily visible even in the night.

The Camp Roosevelt aid station appeared, with happy lights and the familiar nighttime scene: a fire, warm foods, and some people sleeping around the fire, carnage from the hot day before. To me, this looks always scary, and I try to stay away. So I just topped off my pack and left quickly. It was getting cooler now, and I wished I had a jacket already, but I had jackets only in my next three drop bags, for the later hours of the night and early morning. Well, at least my body sure would not overheat any more.

The next section was twisty and bendy again. I started to dread the trail, I had no idea where it would lead to next. The elevation profile, which I had printed out to carry with me, had dissolved in the rain - I had been too lazy to seal it tightly in a protective cover. I was not amused. I just wished the whole ordeal was over soon. How many more aid stations, how many more miles? The whole race I had just managed to scrape through from one aid station to the next, always expecting to either drop or be pulled from the race at the next stop, yet that had never happened. Now I was close to mile 70, it was in the middle of the night, and I was still running - not exactly happily, but running. I might just continue and tough this thing out, and then look like a hero! If I could just only make it through the next cutoff.

I had gained some speed, and meanwhile, I was almost three hours ahead of the cutoff. This should suffice for the rest of the night, provided I did not linger at the aid stations. Which was tempting, as I was now getting very tired. At times, I fell asleep while walking, so I tried to run as much as possible. With the cooler temperatures, this was not all that difficult to do.

I started hallucinating. Figures appeared out of nowhere, animals and people. Just when I approached them, poof, they disappeared as quickly as they had shown up, and all that remained was a tree, a rock, or nothing at all. I thought this was very peculiar and funny.

At the Gap Creek aid station, I did the full program of taking care of myself again. I was happy to find a jacket in my drop bag, which actually was a half-zip sweater. Darn, no full zipper to keep the thing open. I did not want to get hot again, so I just flung the sweater over my neck and shoulders, over my backpack and all, and found it to provide just the right amount of warmth this way.

I changed batteries in my headlamp, and then, for some unknown reason, I decided to change socks. I had never before changed socks in a race, but my feet were wet, and the skin was getting soft, so I thought a new pair of socks would do me good.

I was wrong.

The socks that I changed into were thin, and they did not go well with the shoes. Five miles later, I already started developing hot spots on the side of my heels, and my soles were burning crazy. Unfortunately, there were no more socks in my later drop bags, so I was stuck with my choice. Great. By the time I’d cross the finish line - IF I ever crossed it - my feet would be steak.

Campfire at the Gap Creek aid station

There was a hill out of the aid station, leading up to a ridge at mile 71. From here, the course made a loop, and for now, we had to continue  uphill for another mile or so. On the second time out of Gap Creek, after finishing the loop at mile 98, we’d go down the hill toward the finish, but that would be quite a while later.

Further up it was for now. But I made a mental note that on the second trip, the uphill would be long and steep, but eventually end earlier than expected. That kept me going.

The way to the next aid station was tough, with lots of shorter climbs and downhills, essentially “flat”, but never flat at all. Dark night, lots of rocks, some mud, and rain on and off.

This about shows all that was to be seen there (the whitish ghost in the center is a rock).

I arrived at the Visitor Center aid station early in the morning, still looked like the middle of night to me. 24+ hours out on the trail, and I was still rolling. What a journey.

I was cold and shivering, but I still did not want to wear the sweater, just have it around my shoulders. Better cold than hot.

I decided to leave the batteries in my headlamp, and when they died, I would just use my handheld backup light. I had done this at Eastern States, and it had worked well and saved some time. And well it worked this time, too. About an hour after I had left the aid station, and about an hour before sunrise, the batteries died, and my little backup light provided more than enough light to lead me along safely.

At sunrise, I checked into the Bird Knob aid station. I was offered breakfast with eggs and bacon, but I just could not stomach anything fatty or rich now. I was not running much any more, as my left groin had started hurting a while ago, and each step was torture. I could walk fast alright, but I kept running to a minimum for fear of tripping over my own leg.

With hallucinations enriching the way, I continued on. At one time, I saw a beekeeper in his full outfit on the side of the trail, taking care of some beehives there. I was wondering why he was there in the middle of nowhere? But then - poof - he was gone, only a large white rock remaining.

Another time, I was so happy to see a volunteer in a folding chair up ahead at an intersection. I thought how nice it was of him to hike out and cheer us on. And then - poof - gone again. How disappointing.

I had “breakfast” with a protein shot and some fruit at the Picnic Area aid station. I did not see much of a picnic area. So I left soon again, after some maintenance work.

The 9 miles to the Gap Creek aid station, to finish the loop, seemed endless. Endless uphill, that is. I just hoped I had not gauged the next, final uphill out of Gap Creek wrong, as this would just crush me.

Now the hallucinations turned into sounds and voices. Clank, clank, clank, a bear bell. Wait, this was not a hallucination. It was Clank-clank behind me, and this time, she had a pacer with her.

She and her pacer apparently were not the best match. While Clank-clank was on the phone for a minute or two (it was one of the very few spots with a signal), wishing her husband a good morning, and chatting with her little son, her pacer ran ahead about 100 feet, and from up above, he yelled at her, urging her to speed up and “do some running here”. What a gentleman.

Clank-clank was actually very nice. On her bib, I could read her real name, and suddenly I realized she was a person. As she did not seem to care much about her pacer and his tantrums, we talked a bit, and when she mentioned that she lived in New York City, the bear bell after all started to make sense to me.

She was quite exhausted, and she seemed happy to be walking with me. After a while, however, she fixed something with her shoes, and I left her behind. She would finish about 1.5 hours after me eventually. Thanks to her pacer, in whichever way.

As the sun was rising, the temperature rose, too. It was warm and humid again. Patches of fog were drifting through the forest.

I enjoyed a longer downhill, one of the few downhills I actually enjoyed. Lots of mud, and it felt good to cool my burning feet. I could feel blisters starting to form on the soles, and I only hoped they would not break open before the finish line.

At Gap Creek, I found my last drop bag. Replenished food and drink, applied lots of vaseline on my beat up feet (and to my surprise, the skin on my soles was still perfectly intact without blisters - just why was it burning so badly), and was out quickly again. Just one more uphill, and then way to go to the finish.

Then I saw a white minivan, with a blue “ultra” sticker next to its license plate. Hey, someone had had just the same idea as I when putting the sticker on their car! Wait, two boys in the car? My DH studying a map? It was our car - DH who had driven up to the aid station to check where I was.

When I stopped next to his car, he looked at me sadly. “You did not make it. I’m so sorry, you did really well!” WTH?

He had gotten the cutoffs wrong. He thought the cutoff was 11 a.m. (which was the cutoff at the previous aid station), and now it was 11:20. However, the cutoff was actually at 2 p.m., and I was safe. I explained it to him, and he was elated. “See you at the finish line!”

I waved to my boys, and made my trip up the last hill. Long and steep, long and steep, but it will end soon. And it ended, just when I started to doubt I could make it.

Over the crest, and down the hill into the valley. I had made it!

Or so I thought.

Almost made it.

There was this last stretch, four miles. If this race was a 100 miles, I’d be crossing the finish line now. But it wasn’t. It was 104 miles.

Four miles on gravel road, in full sun, hot and cruel. Along the way, I met up with four guys who I had been meeting up with at different aid stations throughout the night. We each had run alone for most of the night and morning, but now we were together in a group. We kept trudging on, around bends, and at each bend, I thought we’d be done and arrive at the grassy area near the finish. But not for a while. The road kept winding on forever. Some of us started running again, some kept walking, and I ran whenever I could, but my groin just hurt badly. I could have toughed it out, but then I was afraid I’d do permanent damage to my body, so I played it safe and walked for the most part. I wished I could run to shorten the ordeal.

But then, eventually, the finish area appeared. Just a short maze through the picnic area, and then it turned toward the finish line. I started running again and crossed it at 33:40.

I met up with DH, had some lemonade and cookies (not gluten free, but for now I did not care, I just needed something to bring me back to life again), and then DH left for the hotel. I waited for the award ceremony, received my award, then drove back to the hotel and soaked in the jacuzzi for a long time.

For reasons of modesty, the picture has been replaced.

The next day, on our travel back home, we visited my father in law, who lives in the D.C. area. We went for dinner at a Chinese restaurant, where I cracked a fortune cookie. What did it say?

Congratulations FTYC !!!!!  Way to stick it out in very very tough conditions.  I can so relate to those rocky trails where your feet feel like hamburger meat.  And also doing 85 miles of it alone, in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, something about that just reinforces your inner strength that just can't be explained.

Really great report too.  Thanks.

What a tough person you are!  Way to get the job done.

A statement only a loving mother could make.

"My thought all along had been to drop from the race at the aid station because I was feeling so bad, and because I figured I had no chance making it through the cutoffs later. On the other hand, I had now seen Taper, and I did not want to disappoint him. Neither did I want to disappoint all the people who were following my progress on the live webcast and who were rooting for me. So I just hung in there."

Must have been a nice boost to see DH and the kids.

I don't know how you ran without a watch.  I need to have a watch to help keep my mind focused by doing math calculations.

Thanks for taking us along on your journey of determination and perseverance. You had the typical MMT spring day... heat humidity storms and rain.. as if the rocks and hills are not enough. I was sort of wondering how the runners(and you) were faring out there as after we shut down Edinburg and went for a little hot humid run on the drive home we drove through torrential rains. I guess that rain was a relief for you runners. Many drops and a rather low finishing rate but I kept an eye on you via the tracking and could see just plugging along as the day(s) went along. You were always well ahead of the cutoff but I guess it felt different for you out there. I was sure you would complete and finish and get that buckle. Funny how these forums keep us going.. we don't want to let our forum friends down but indeed we don't let ourselves down either. So congrats again on your race!

awesome race and report! You are amazing! What brand of protein shots do you use?

Great write up.  I'm always amazed at how a person can have so much fun while abusing themselves so much.  Just reading this makes me want to get running long again.

Here's the swag:

Couch this is a fantastic write up! It takes you right along the journey while reading it. You are very inspiring!I love the clank clank lady haha! It's funny how the smallest things in a race like that can be so irritating. Can't wait to see your next adventure.