I don’t remember how I first discovered this race.  I do remember my first reaction.  “That’s impossible!”  The best I recall those were my words the first time I heard about the Highland Sky 40.  There were two reasons for my reaction.  First, I’m not a runner.  I still don’t consider myself a runner.  Oh I ran some 10K and 5K races ten years ago.  Until 2010, when I first learned about HS 40, I had no idea people ran “ultra” distance races.  A road marathon seemed like an impossible (and ridiculous) task to me.

Second, I consider Dolly Sods to be my home turf.  In the early 60’s my family built a cabin on the banks of the South Prong of Red Creek in Laneville.  Yes, the same South Prong the race course crosses just before aid station 3.  I’ve been on these trails my entire life hunting, fishing and backpacking.  I already knew how rough they are.  Forty miles on these trails seemed, well, impossible.

Yet I knew it must not be impossible because people were doing it.  In fact, the Highland website did include a list of finishers to my amazement.  The more I read about this race, the more intrigued I became.  I started reading about ultra running.  Imagine my surprise upon learning 40 miles is a short ultra.  Before I had even admitted it, I knew I had to run this race.

My friends and family would ask, “Why?”  “I don’t know,” would be my answer.  I simply felt like this was something I had to do.  I started talking about it all the time.  In 2011, I scheduled a backpacking trip across roaring plains on race day so I could actually see the runners.  After watching several runners come up South Prong trail through aid station 3, my mind was set.  I went home and bought a pair of trail running shoes.  Still yet, I don’t really know why I decided to do something so out of the ordinary for me.

I have to admit, I was very nervous leading up to this race.  This was the first time I ever signed up for a race where just finishing the race was in question.  I intended to start my training in earnest during the spring of 2012.  The only problem was that I also quit my job and started my own business at this exact same time.  Turns out running a small business takes A LOT of time.  My available running time was nearly nonexistent for most of 2012, which only fueled my anxiety about this race.  I finally came to the realization that I simply was not going to be able to put in many miles during the week.  As the business grew, this problem didn’t get any better in 2013.

But when I had the time, I ran.  Once 2013 got here, I made certain to get a long run in every week.  I ran fourteen miles, then 18, then 20.  Running 20 miles was a mixed blessing for me.  On one hand, I couldn’t believe I actually ran 20 miles.  That was never on my list of things to do in life.  On the other hand, I was only half way there.  However, I soon ran the first half of the race course in April.  Then I did it again in May.  Then I ran to aid station 6 on Memorial Day weekend.  That was truly the turning point.  I said to myself on that day, “If I can run 27 miles of this course, I will finish this thing!”  Looking back, these long runs were both a blessing and a curse (more on that later.)

I want to go on a tangent for just a minute.  When I first started thinking about doing this race, I didn’t tell very many people.  This was because I didn’t want to tell people I was doing this and then decide I couldn’t.  As I started to run more, I started to mention my plan to some of the folks I ran with at times.  Some were overly encouraging.  They would tell me things like, “You can do it.  I know you can.”  That didn’t help much because neither of us knew if I could complete this race.  These were just empty words.  Others offered seemingly discouraging words.  I had one individual, who is an HS 40 finisher, explain to me how the HS was not a good first ultra, how I should run at least a road marathon first and how I should pick a different race.  To him, I say thank you.  I also say, I don’t want to pick a different first ultra.  I don’t want to run a road marathon – EVER.  I want to run this ultra, this year!  Any questions?  As I crowd 40 years old, I’m getting pretty sensitive to people telling me I can’t do things.  This was great motivation that I remain thankful for.

As race day grew closer, my anxiety level grew.  I can’t explain why.  I was confident I would finish within the cutoffs, which was my only goal for this race.  I tried to hide the anxiety.  I tried to act normal.  I don’t think I did.  I just wanted to get this thing started.

I noticed the crowd of runners all walking toward what I assumed was the start.  I didn’t even hear anyone say go.  Everyone just started running down the road.  I had to hold myself back on the road.  I was so jacked up I wanted to sprint down the black top.  We were off the road soon enough and headed up Flat Rock Run trail.

Flat Rock Run

Flat Rock went by quickly enough.  It was wet.  Really wet.  I ran the flatter sections and walked the steeper parts.  No problems with the nettles.  They were there, but easy to avoid.  My shoes and socks were soaked in this section.  They couldn’t have been any more wet.  I was amazed to watch people just like me trying to tip toe around mud and water.  “Your shoes are already soaked.  Just go,” I kept thinking.  I couldn’t understand all these people trying to figure out how to cross Flat Rock creek.  I just plowed through and must have passed 6 or 8 people right there.

Roaring Plains

Roaring Plains was probably the highlight of my day.  I felt great!  I ended up right behind a guy from Huntington.  It was as if God had placed the perfect pacer right in front of me.  I felt like I was floating through the rocks.  There were people walking downhill sections.  There were people stumbling and bumbling around.  I can’t remember how many people we passed in this section but it was a bunch.  No one passed us.  We hit aid station 2 shortly after 2 hours.  This section couldn’t have gone any better.  I was on top of the world here.

Boar’s Nest and South Prong

I hate the hill going down Boar’s Nest.  First, it’s steep and wet and covered in loose rocks.  I’ve never quite figured out the best way to get down this hill.  This hill has always caused the onset of some knee issues during my training runs.  It did the same thing during the race.  At least, I’m consistent.  I took it really easy on the downhill.  I got down it and was glad to have it behind me.  South Prong trail is a different story.  It’s a lot like Flat Rock – an old railroad grade.  I made to aid station three and put this section in the books.

The section between aid station three and the road is another section I don’t like.  There’s nothing wrong with it, but I think I’m ready to be on some easier terrain after Roaring Plains.  I think my problem with this section is that other race reports talk about it like it’s a quick stroll through the park.  It’s not.  It’s rocky – very rocky.  It starts with probably the steepest, rockiest climb of the course.  It continues to be a very rocky, technical section of single track until close to the road.  Nevertheless, I made it in fine shape.  I counted off the ten bridges and made my way to the road and aid station 4.

The Road

I got a big surprise at aid station 4.  I knew my wife and friends would be there waiting to meet me.  I was looking forward to picking up some snacks and maybe dry shoes.  What I didn’t realize was the boost I would get from seeing them cheering me on and running around trying to help as quickly as possible.  It was as if Dale Earnhardt had pulled in for a pit stop.  My buddy John even changed my shoes and socks because I kept getting cramps when I bent my leg enough to take my shoe off.  John, that was above and beyond the call of duty.  Thanks!

I only stopped for maybe five minutes, which was much longer than the 30 seconds spent in each of the previous two aid stations.  I ate a few Pringles and had about my 10th Clif Shot of the day.   After my wife gave me two new water bottles and a liberal dose of sunscreen, I was off.  This was the high point of the race for me.

The Road Across the Sky doesn’t mentally bother me like it does others.  I’ve been up there so many times in my life I know exactly where I am on the road and what’s over the next rise.  What did bother me was all the runners I had previously passed on Roaring Plains passing me on the road.  In all honesty, I hated being passed on a gravel road, but there was nothing I could do about it.  I think this was the first time I started feeling the fatigue.  I just couldn’t keep up with these people on the road.    In hindsight, this is where my day began to go downhill.

I suspected this would happen.  I’ve never had ups and downs like I read about other runners having.  Every run is the same for me.  I start out feeling slow and lethargic.  I then start to feel strong after a few miles and then I gradually get more and more tired the longer I run.  It’s really pretty simple.  After about 20 miles, I progressively get more and more tired.  Seems perfectly logical to me.

Aid Station 6 To Aid Station 8

I can sum up the rest of the race pretty easily after aid station 6.  “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.  I’ll never do this again!”  In reality, things didn’t get too bad until I was almost to Rocky Ridge trail.  Quite simply, the longer I was on my feet, the more it hurt.  While I did have a couple of different nagging pains, what I’m talking about here is not really pain.  My legs had never felt so tired.  Tired to the point it felt like they hurt.  All I could think about was sitting down.  I have never so badly wanted to just sit down.  But I knew if I sat down, that would be that much longer before I finished so I just kept going.  I was mostly walking, but I would occasionally lapse into a half-hearted jog on a downhill section.  This point in the race was, by far, the most physically challenged I have ever been.

I didn’t look at the scenery.  I didn’t take pictures.  I told myself, “constant forward motion,” over and over.  The other thing I did was listen to my IPod.  I listened to a particular section of the audiobook Lone Survivor by US Navy SEAL Marcus Luttrell.    All I will say here is his ordeal reminded me what I was dealing with really wasn’t that bad.

This was not a pretty portion of the day for me.  I have to admit – I was miserable.  I decided right there my ultra running career began and ended with this Highland Sky.  I really didn’t want to have this kind of experience in my first ultra.  When I think back on this race, this is, unfortunately, what I think of.  From about mile 30 to aid station 8, was just plain bad for me.  The only good that came from this portion of the race – I never even thought of dropping.

Aid Station 8 to the Finish

I got another big surprise at Aid Station 8.  I was again amazed at how glad I was to see my wife and friends waiting for me.  I knew they would be there.  In fact, my friends John and Rachel were planning to run the last 4 miles to the finish with me.  I just didn’t realize what a huge mental boost I would get from seeing them.

I would guess that I spent less than a minute in this aid station, which had been my norm the entire day (except AS 4 when I changed shoes).  John, Rachel and I soon started a very slow jog/shuffle down the blacktop road.  I just couldn’t keep it up for long.  I had to walk.  Then shuffle.  Then walk some more.

Probably my most vivid memory from this section of the race is of something I wanted to do, not something I did.  We were shuffling along with about two and half miles to go.  I see this guy jogging toward us.  Even at some distance, I could tell this guy was not a racer.  First of all, he was clean, unlike me.  He had on a fresh T-shirt, his hair was all fluffy and he had hardly broken a sweat.  He smelled like cologne when he passed.  As he was approaching me, he looked right at me and said, “Come on! Pick it up.”

The urge to punch this guy right in the face overwhelmed me.  I mean it almost got away from me.  I don’t think I’ve had that strong of an urge to punch someone since I was in high school over twenty years ago.  I can’t explain how close I came to letting a left hook fly on Mr. Fluffy Hair.  As I write this, I am kind of ashamed of how I let my emotions get away from me like that.  I can’t believe how close I came to punching that guy.  I guess it was a long day.  I can only blame this near lapse of judgment to extreme fatigue.

Fortunately, we soon hit the one mile to go sign without further incident.  I’m sure that sign only said something like “1 mile.”  What I saw was, “You only have one mile left.  If you hurry up, you can sit down sooner.”  I took off.  I don’t know where the energy came from, but I really took off.  I mean I was running!  Not jogging.  Running at 5K pace running.  I was like a horse headed back to the barn.  I still don’t know where that came from.  I think I just wanted to be done so I could sit down.

My goal in this race was to be an official finisher – under 12 hours.  My secret goal that I didn’t tell anyone about was to finish in under 10 hours.  I felt silly to say out loud that I wanted to finish Highland Sky in under 10 hours when there was a time not long ago I wasn’t too sure about finishing at all.

I crossed the finish line at 9:54:04.  It was a bittersweet end.  My finish time was better than I could have ever dreamed three years earlier when I learned about this race.  On one hand, I couldn’t have been happier about my time.  On the other, there were some very low points along the way.

I didn’t realize at the time how much I wanted to enjoy this day and wanted to like ultra running.  All of the hours of running in the cold, the rain, the snow and the dark had led me to this very moment.  I accomplished things I never thought were possible.  I really wanted to enjoy this day and this race.

I enjoyed the beginning and the first half.  I enjoyed when it ended.

I don’t know if this is really a race report.  This is more me, a way to write down my thoughts of this experience.  It’s now been over two months since the race.  I’m still not sure yet what I think about ultra running.  I’ve been asked time after time, “Are you going to do it again?”  My reply is still, “I’ll get back to you on that.”  It’s more of a possibility now than it was two months ago.

I have been absolutely amazed at the physical toll this race took on me.  It has taken a visit to the doctor and a month and a half to recover.  I can see several things I would change in my training that I think would make a huge difference in my ability to run this race again vs. endure this race.  I don’t know about next year.  I’ll get back to you on that.

Thank you Brenda for putting up with this crazy idea I got in my head.  There were a lot of days I should have been doing things at home that I was out running some trail.  Thanks for all of your help on race day.  I’m so glad you were there to share it with me.  I love you.  Thank you Adam for all of your advice.  It is a simple fact that I would have been doomed if not for your advice.  Everything you told me was much appreciated and dead on accurate.  John, thanks for changing my shoes and socks.  That was above and beyond!  Thanks to you and Rachel for running the last 4 with me.  I would have never made sub 10 without you two.  Thanks to Clint and Julie for a great post-race meal.  Thanks to Dan and all of the volunteers.  You put on a great race.  I appreciate you so graciously answering all of my newbie questions during the trail clearing day.  I thank God for the ability I have been blessed with to do something like this in such a beautiful place.  Also, thanks for reading.

Finally, to the gentleman with the pick a different race advice, if you check the race results for the 2013 Highland Sky 40 beside 85^th place, you will find my name.  Thanks for the motivation.

Highlands Sky 2013

Upon reaching the finish line, I realized that the intense training for HS is no longer required. I was fearful that I would physically abuse myself had I not put in adequate time and effort in training. Every drop of the effort was utilized on Saturday. Questions have arisen regarding our PR’s. There is no doubt for me that the lack of heat and intense humidity contributed more significantly than the change in course. The CRR would have all done well given the amount of training assistance provided. David, Jeremy, Ashley, and even Dennis were quite remarkable. While many of you do not know Pete Daly (Dennis’s first cousin), he struggled with his stomach and did not finish as he had hoped. For a change, I did not think I was going to die on the course, but I did experience significant pain going down the ski slope.

Early in the race, Dennis and I were caught behind a large group that slowed us down significantly, but they may have helped us in the end, by preventing us from going out too fast. Ultimately, our only choice was to plow through the middle of a mud bog to get around them. In several of those bogs we went in to our knees. The fellow who took the pictures, Nick, followed us through one of the bogs and remained close for several miles, at least until the second aid station as could be seen in the picture. Dennis was rather patient with me, but after about 6 miles, he reluctantly went ahead as I suggested. I did not see him again until the end when I found that he had finished nearly 30 minutes before me. Kudos to Dennis.

For those of you unfamiliar with the course, and if you have not heard me speak before about HS, please know that I hate rocks. By the time this race was over I not only hated rocks, I hated rocks that were underwater and unseen. I hated rocks that punched through your shoes, I hated rocks that were slippery and I hated rocks that you have to climb over when your legs are spent. As a trail runner, I am very surprised at how much I looked forward to the gravel road and the paved road to the entrance of the park. I actually held back some earlier in the race so that I could pick up speed on that part of the course.

As usual, Dan put on a great race; there was great scenery, and super camaraderie. For those who have not attempted this challenge, start training early in the year and make it a focus to at least complete one. Sorry to run, but my client just got here.

Tired, yet content,

Rick

I always wanted to write a race report for Highland Sky but just never have taken the time. Since this was my 10^th year running it and the 11^th year involved (aid station 5 1st year), I felt compelled to do so. This race is by far my favorite, for the beautiful views, the varied terrain and oh yes, all the rocky, muddy and wet wonderful trails.  With all that the race wouldn’t be what it is without all the great people that pull together to make it work. Hats off to Dan, Adam and all the volunteers that give countless hours to this race. I do want to mention my wife also; she has been at aid station 5 ten of the eleven years of highland, it’s always nice to see her smiling face and hear her words of encouragement as I stumble past.  Also many of my family members have been involved with the race in some form, running, sweeping or for some of them many years at aid station 2.  This race has many different meanings for me, being able to mingle with all the runners and pick up bits and pieces of info that might help later races, proving one’s self on a difficult course, the comradery of all the trail runners, getting to see old friends and make new ones and also just being out in such a beautiful area.

I really enjoy the meeting/dinner on Friday night with family, friends and seeing all the new faces, many doing their first Highland and some doing their first Ultra, watching the excitement, determination and anticipation on the faces as Dan is doing his speech. The excitement at the start line on Saturday morning is very electrifying. Kelley, my wife always likes to see who is running out of the porta-potties when the race starts!

This being my 10^th year, I wanted to run a sub 8hr race, which I have only managed to do in 2009, the year of the monsoon! This was also the first time in 2 or 3 years that I wasn’t dealing with plantar fasciitis, so I felt the stars were in alignment. I started the race well, keeping a good pace through the first section of elevation gains, water, mud and rocks. Then finally the 10 foot bridges and I even managed to do somewhat well on the road across the sky.  I ended up at aid station 6 still with plenty of time to be well under 8 hrs. Knowing the rest of the course was easier than the previous 27 miles, (I forgot about the mud and rocks on the Raven Ridge section), I felt pretty good about being able to make it under 8 hrs. But then the running trolls got me, I begin falling apart; things going on that usually don’t happen to me much, stomach problems, leg cramps and just generally feeling downright nasty! I was wondering what was going on, as I forced myself to continue moving, watching the minutes tick away. I was trying everything to get back in the game, eating ginger candy, trying to hydrate more, trying to eat something, but nothing seemed to help.  By the time I was coming down the ski slope and almost on Freeland Road I was still feeling lousy, but felt I could possibly still make it under 8 hrs, but realized shortly that I wasn’t going to make my goal.  As Canaan came into view, knowing the end was near, made me start picking up pace a little and feeling a bit better. Finally the finish line was in sight, all the clapping, cheering, yelling and Dan’s smiling face and suddenly I felt great again!

In retrospect after a couple of days of pondering on why I fell apart in the last several miles of the race , it finally hit me, I made so many mistakes, from how I trained this year to how I took care of myself throughout the race. Mistakes that I made 11 or 12 years ago when I was first attempting to become a trail runner. I am still trying to become one! Anyhow with an 8:14:52 and more important a finish, number 10 in a row, there is always next year to try for under 8hr and maybe if I listen to all the advice, become smarter and train harder, chase my Brother Bill thru the woods a little more.  Who knows, I may even give him a race for his money!

P.S.   Dan,  forget what I said to you when I crossed the finish line about wanting to work an aid station next year………I’m gonna run again!

Highlands Sky 40.

Ascents, descents, creek crossings.

Mud, rocks, running.  Done.

The longer version is:

Months prior to toeing the line I had this re-occurring lower abdomen pain that was difficult for the doctors to diagnose.  (With a cancer diagnosis in my history, they were a little concerned.)  One morning’s run was so painful, that I contacted the race director and pulled out of the race.  After the pain subsided, I re-contacted him, and said I would at least try to make it to aid station four.  It was finally diagnosed as an inguinal hernia, and I await my very busy surgeon to have an opening.  To date I have not had some serious injury or health issue weeks prior to a race, so I knew to trust the grace of God to help me no matter how bad I felt.  One day, I proclaim and confess that this side of heaven I will run an ultra without a hernia, flu, viral syndrome, degenerative hip, cancer, Achilles tendonitis, plantar fasciitis, migraine headaches,  rotator cuff syndrome, bunions, capsulitus, etc., etc.

To add to the moment, my wife invites our middle granddaughter to join us, and a plan is made.  She is seven and is a natural runner, and has already completed a 5k so I knew she could handle the start to the first aid station if Dan would approve.  He did, and so grand dad and granddaughter on Father’s day Saturday started together.  By God’s divine timing, we just ‘happened’ to sit at a table that the aid station workers for #1 were sitting.  Amanda and Tom met my granddaughter and with their permission, they agreed to watch her until my wife arrived. There wasn’t a need as my wife was right behind us in the car, but it was nice to know she would stay with someone she knew if needed. This would put me in last place at the first aid station, but I didn’t really care.  Soon after the aid station, I met the first of many who would be having equipment malfunction due to the very wet, muddy bogs.  I read in another report that one person lost her shoe in a bog and the water was so deep, she never found it.  She had to go seven miles without a shoe.

Starting slow has its benefits.  I was able to pass a few people, and that gave me a little boost of morale.  My hernia was behaving and I felt decent and after the ascent from aid station one to the top the rocky filled and water filled bogs were fairly easy to navigate and led a few people through them at a decent pace.  I was afraid to look behind so I introduced myself and a nice sounding lady named Catherine was behind me and we ran well together through this section.   Leaving aid station two with 20 minutes to spare my hernia starting hurting, and this portion was painful.  When possible I tucked my hand between the strap on my waist pack and the hernia to hold it in place and push it back in.  This affected my coordination and balance on the pretty steep descents on this portion.  I finally found a rhythm and started running and led a pack of four talkative young ladies down and down.  I turned to see who it was near the bottom and nearly fell.  I let them pass as the ascent began, and now the hernia was combined with some serious stomach gas.  I have never prayed for a fart or poop, but I was doing some serious praying for one or the other.  The scenery and setting was absolutely the prettiest portions and I soaked in the beauty of the forest and the sound of the overflowing creeks to soak in some peace.  I remembered praying about some stressful issues from living in Washington D.C. and I got a strong sense to “don’t bring that stuff here.  Enjoy this moment and listen and see what is all around you.” The creek crossings were helped by the volunteers who put up ropes.  Even with the ropes, the crossing prior to aid station three was treacherous for me.  I almost fell in many times.  The rocks were slippery, so I slogged through thigh deep water, and still almost fell.  Leaving aid station three there was a notice that this was bobcat country.  If that is so, the bobcats must love steep grades.  Wow, is all I can say.  Eventually the top came, and then it was more creeks that once were a trail.  Holding my hernia and navigating the rocks was tricky and I eventually gave up running and walked most of this section.  I was glad to finally get to the bridges and then to the road.  I had pre-planned to stop at aid station four.  Running uphill on the road didn’t hurt the hernia as bad as the descents so I was able to finish fairly strong.  My wife and grand daughter were set up a half a mile from the aid station, and were surprised by my granddaughter who had gathered a handful of yellow flowers and jumped out from hiding and showered me with her bouquet.  I jogged into the aid station, and let them know I was done, and I was thankful to the Lord that the hernia, though painful wasn’t strangling an intestine or something even more serious.

I appreciated so many things about this race.  Dan Lehman, being the main reason.  He has gathered an incredible group of volunteers who were knowledgeable and helpful at each aid station.  His pre-race dinner was so filled with give a ways; most people that won got product that were equal to their race entry.  (Except the two who won a copy of my books.)  I appreciate the grace of God and the cool weather. I am also appreciative of the fellow back of the packer’s.  We all have a story and though we all dream of running with the lead pack are just glad to be alive and moving.  I am still undecided but for now I think I would rather have cold and wet, than hot and dry.  It was like running through creeks for ¾ of the first half of the race, but it was better than burning up from the heat.  Thanks be to God and everyone who made this race a reality, even though it was only half a reality for me.

Craig Burns

Highlands Sky is a tough,technical 40 (41) mile race in and around West Virginia’s
Dolly Sods Wilderness and finishing at Canaan Valley Resort State Park. The word is
that it runs more like a 50 miler, even though the profile doesn’t look all that imposing after 2 early
climbs.  My plan was to start conservatively and not exhaust my legs in
the first half, and make up time in the flatter/downhill, less technical second
half.  What I didn’t expect was the punch that would put me on the canvas
mid-race and nearly KO me.

I arrived shortly before the pre-race pasta dinner in the lodge, which should
be nice after the renovation is done.  Rooms in the outbuildings look like
they haven’t been updated since the 80s, but mine was adequate.  Sat with
Tammy and Rick Gray and some other VHTRCers at dinner. Tammy offered a ride
with them to the start in the morning, which was convenient and appreciated.

The weather looked good, high 40s to around 70 and dry.  But there had
been a lot of rain, and we were told the course would be wet.  Quite an
understatement.

The race started at 6am with 2 miles on the road to spread out the field before
we hit single track trail and the first muck and the first climb, about 2300
feet over 6 miles in the Monongahela National Forest.  The first mile or
so was pretty gentle and the pace seemed slow but I held back and let a few
people by while passing only a couple.  The grade increased, and in some
places water was pouring down the trail, the path of least resistance.
There was some stinging nettle, but my calf sleeves protected me
well.   It gets cooler as we go higher, and the clouds and fog keep
it very comfortable.  Somewhere in here we have the first of 3 major creek
crossings, which are running fast enough that the guide ropes are very
welcomed.

At around 4700 feet we top out and drop to Roaring Plains, still above 4000
feet.  A few sections are dry, but there are long sections of shoe-sucking
mud and/or ankle deep water.  Many try to find higher spots to run on but
it seems like a lot of effort is spent hopping from side to side and trying to
keep balance.  I’m already soaked so I mostly just straight-line it when
there’s not an easier way to avoid the hazards.  A couple times I step in
knee deep holes but no harm is done, and once I catch something and land almost
spread eagle in the mud, just barely keeping my face out of it.  For road
runners looking at finish times and wondering how they can be so slow for
barely more than a marathon and a half distance, imagine running on a road with
long stretches of rain filled potholes, and having to either run through them
or wear out your legs hopping between them on muddy ledges not even a shoe
width wide in many places.  Or running in a muddy roadside ditch after a
long rain might be more accurate.  Tack on 5400 feet of climb and 4800
feet of drop for good measure.  I knew it was a tough race, I didn’t
realize it would be this bad.

Finally aid station 2 comes after 8 miles, and I refuel on continue on.
For the first half I use my Nathan Endurance Vest with 70 oz bladder of water,
and a 10 oz bottle that I’ll refill every aid station and mix with
Perpetuem.  Hammer Gel for nutrition, and Endurolytes for electrolyte
replacement.  The only solid food I eat is a couple Zone Perfect bars and
whatever looks good at aid stations, usually banana chunks and pretzels.
In the second half of the race the aid stations aren’t as far apart so I swap
my vest for my Nathan Trek waist pack which holds a 20 oz bottle that I mix
with Perpetuem.  I also carry an all-purpose bandana, ginger and Imodium
pills in case of stomach issues, a blister patch, and a small packet of lube in
case of chafing.  Fortunately all I’ll need today is a couple of the
ginger pills, and the bandana.

After AS 2 and Flatrock Plains comes a big drop, 1200 feet over 2 miles.
The water was annoying on the climb and flats, but on the downhill it’s
treacherous.  I take my time making my way down, and I’m not the slowest
one.  I’m watching my step so carefully that I take a branch to the face
and it actually ends up between my teeth!  Luckily it’s not sharp so it’s
funny.  Finally it levels off and climbs 1000 feet in 2+ miles to the next
aid station.  I still feel good and I’m running where it’s not too steep,
able to run more uphills than I had been in training.

A short climb after AS 3 and we’re on Red Creek Plains.  In some places
the views are open and incredible.  Also incredible is how much water is
up here.  The trail is almost always either a foot under water, in 4
inches of mud, or very rocky.  You can run it,  but very slowly and
you can’t lose focus and let your mind drift.  I trip in one place and
once again catch a low branch between my teeth.  Never had this happen
before, and now twice within an hour or two!

Finally, about a mile from the next aid station the trail dries out and is much
more runnable.  I take stock and as difficult as the course has been, I’m
still in a good mood and have been for the entire race.  There will still
be some rollers but the climbing is really done, and most of the technical
sections are behind me.  The mud and water have slowed me but my legs
don’t feel tired.  I’ve never had a good race beyond a 50K, but maybe this
will be it.

And then it happens.  My foot catches the lip of a rock and before I can
even get my hands out, BAM!  Face plant right into a rock.  I see
stars and am stunned.  I had heard some guys a bit behind me so I don’t
even try to get up.  A few seconds later 2 or 3 of them come up and pretty
quickly realize this was a hard fall.  They tell me my nose is bleeding,
but I figure out its on the bridge and not from inside.  I worry about my
teeth but I feel with my tongue that I didn’t chip them.  I talk with them
and assure them that I’ll be ok and will just walk to the aid station to get
checked out and they start to move out, but first one of them checks my eyes
and all seems fine.  All pretty standard stuff for trail runners to do,
but still I am very appreciative that they did stop to help.  I saw the
guy I talked with the most after the race and thanked him again, and he was
very happy and a bit surprised to hear that I finished.

After my standing 8 count, I continue on, and even jog a bit, though I’m
spooked by the rocks.  I soak my bandana with water and hold it to my nose
but there doesn’t seem to be much blood.  I get to the Road Across the Sky
a bit before the aid station.  Crew is allowed here and I see Tammy
driving as she’s heading out, which confirms that Rick is ahead of me as
expected.  She yells some encouragement and then her eyes get wide as she
sees my face so I know it doesn’t look good.  She tells me after the race
that she wanted to stop but was afraid I’d use it as an excuse to drop.
That actually wasn’t even on my mind but it’s still good tough love.

I had my drop bag here and I had hoped to switch packs and move out pretty
quickly but I figure sitting for a minute is a good idea.  A volunteer
offers a wet wipe to clean my face, and even though tradition says to wear your
blood proudly, I figure I ought to clean it and make sure it’s not
flowing.  I also decide to take time to change into dry socks even though
my feet feel ok.  My shoes (Inov8 319) are doing well so I slip them back
on rather than switch.  I burn about 10 minutes here, but I feel like I’m
good to go with my smaller pack and my mp3 player for the dirt road section.

The Road Across the Sky goes for over 7 miles across the Dolly Sods, which is a
designated wilderness area.  Logging and a major fire years ago took out
the trees, and with the rugged weather what grew back looks more like northern Minnesota or Canada than anything this far
south.  There are breaks where the views are wide open.  For race
purposes, what you have is a rolling non-technical packed dirt road where you
can make up time, but it’s dead straight and pretty imposing to see how much of
it you have in front of you.  Plus it’s very exposed so the sun can take
it’s toll on a hot day, but today’s there’s a breeze and it’s not that bad, and
it‘s not buggy.  It takes a minute to loosen up from sitting too long, but
I’m able to crank out an 8:30 mile on one stretch, though I haveto walk more
stretches of the uphills than I’d like.  My mp3 player stops after about 2
songs.  Apparently it bumped on in my bag and drained the battery.
My legs are starting to give out, and my nose is throbbing some.  The fall
is still on my mind too much and I’m wondering if I’m using it as an excuse to
take it easy, or I really am physically affected, but in any case I’m spiraling
down.

Finally we’re off the road and into the Dolly Sods on the Bear Rocks and Raven
Ridge trails.  It’s beautiful open highlands, with views in all
directions.  I think how nice it would be to curl up with a book under a
shade tree and take a nap.  It’s mostly runnable with some muck, but my
legs just don’t want to go.  I clock a 17 minute mile and vow I won’t have
another.  I almost hold to my promise, but in the wrong direction with a
17:57 mile.  Then 2 more in the 17s and then a couple more even slower.
When I look back at why my time was so slow, this is the place I had the most
control over.  I stop caring about time and just enjoy the views, but I’m
not in a very happy place for these miles.  I won’t quit, but I really,
really want it all to be over.

Aid station 7, and they promise downhills after a short climb.  Someone
comments that we have 90 minutes to run 8 miles to break 10 hours, and I shake
my head and know I can’t do it.  But wait!  The race director said we
were routing around a “butt slide” section on the ski slopes since
Timberline didn’t want us ruining the bike trails in the mud, so the course is
probably really 40 miles, not 41.  7 miles, I can probably do in that
time.

I struggle on a rock hopping section and people appear from nowhere and pass
me.  I hang onto them for awhile and they sail away.  We get to the
top of Timberline Ski resort and start down a ski run, and the running starts
to come easy for me.  I’m starting to reel back in many of those who have
passed me.  So many of them were encouraging when they passed me, and I
try to return the good will.  Back on another dirt road, and the final aid
station appears at mile 36.9, confirmed by my GPS watch.  A sign says 4.1
miles left.  So is it really 41 miles, or 40?  I hope for the best
and run with short walk breaks.  A paved road section should feel good
after such difficult terrain, but it always seems tough in a trail race.
At least it has some good views of the mountains we‘ve put behind us.  We
run a grass trail parallel to the highway, but it’s so marshy and slow that I
know I can’t make it if it’s 41.

The park road comes, and I try to remember how far it is to the lodge, and I
know we loop around to get behind the building.  Mile 40 is approaching
and just ahead I see a sign that says “I mile left”.  So, it is
41, and a bit more.  My watch says 9:52 and seconds aren’t displayed, so
I’d have to run sub 8 for the final mile+.  We leave the road and the
trail rolls and there are still some mucky sections.  I run what I can
because I want to finish strong, but the 10 hour mark passes and I can’t see
the finish.  Finally it comes into view, and I cross at 10:04.

Overall, even though my time was slow, I’m happy that I finished pretty strong
and nothing was really hurting.  My feet usually hurt the worst on a rocky
course, and they actually feel pretty good.  This really was like a 50
miler, by far my toughest run since knee surgery last year, and I made
it.  I’ve proven to myself that I can do everything I did before the torn
ACL, just not quite as fast.  The course was by far the prettiest I’ve run
on.  I can definitely see coming back, hopefully on a drier day!

Highland Sky 40

Canaan Valley, WV
June 15, 2013

Aaron was right: the 50k distance wasn’t too long for me, it was too short. Although I had been reluctant to try running a longer distance until I had mastered eating and holding my stomach in the 50k, Aaron had a theory that the 50k distance was my sweet spot (or rather my not-so-sweet spot), because the race was long enough to require me to eat a lot, but fast enough that I never had good opportunities to relax enough to chow down.  He had a notion that if I lengthened the distance and could lower the intensity, I’d be able to walk and eat and take my merry time and not experience my stomach eruptions.

Despite my catastrophically bad 2011 DNF at Highland Sky two years ago, the only DNF in my trail and road racing career, we decided to put Aaron’s notion to the test back at Highland Sky this year. Aaron has a vacation house in Canaan Valley and I have come to love running in the area, wiping away all the bad memories from the 2011 race, where my stomach went south and stumbling across that damned Road Across the Sky was one of my most miserable experiences of my running career.

I had never run as far as 40 miles before, but this year I was prepared. Aaron and I have been running together in the Sodds for two years now and I have come to adore the area and know the trails and terrain. I had a breakthrough a month ago when I finally discovered trail shoes that aren’t so high-cut and don’t irritate my ankle bone (Vasques), and here they made their racing debut and wonderfully spared my feet against the jagged rocks (although it was a bit terrifying how much more slippery they were than my Pegasus on wet rocks and wood). I also made the racing debut of my relatively light 1.5 liter bladder, complete with a drink mix I’ve found that agrees with me: U-CAN blueberry pomegranate.

Still, my ultra newbie was quickly made apparent by the fact that I put my bladder in upside down and Aaron had to fix it at mile 2 when I started complaining about the hose smacking me in the face. The guy running behind us who witnessed the blunder quickly identified me to the woman he was running with as someone who would surely come back to them later in the race. He told me this story at the finish line after the race, when it was particularly amusing as I had just set a new CR. My running green exhibited itself again when I asked Aaron at mile 10 to adjust my bladder straps, as it was entirely too loose and had been bouncing painfully on my poor innards.

But overall I couldn’t have asked for a smoother sail. Everything fell into place. Even though I felt bad for Doug that he had a work crisis and ended up having to crew instead of run, Let Me Tell You How Much I Love Crewing. Not that there was a lot of crewing to be done here, just one crewing spot at the half-way point. But having Doug drive Kerry, Aaron, and me to the race, Getting to Leave on My Warm Hoodie until the gun went off (yes, it was actually quite chilly at 6am). Divinity! And the highlight of the race was seeing Doug and Joe running up the road, keys and wallets jangling, to get drop bags for me and Aaron at mile 20.

Although the first half of Highland Sky is quite technical, the second half rewards those who can spare enough juice in their legs to clip right along in the faster road and Dolly Sods plains sections.  This year the first half of the race was particularly arduous, as Hurricane Andrea had dumped buckets on Canaan Valley over the last week, obscuring the rocks beneath long black puddle ponds and deep shoe-sucking black mud. One unfortunate runner this year actually lost her shoe in the mud and had it swept away by the water and had to run 7 miles with only one shoe to the next aid station. Due to the mud, the course had to be altered slightly at Timberline, going down the long and winding Salamander ski slope instead of the infamously steep ‘butt slide.’

Aaron ran with me for the first half, splashing through the puddles and doing our darndest to keep upright. During the first half we also ran with Regan for a bit, and three of us enjoyed a good 3-WUS pee at the top of the first climb. At mile 20 is the major aid station, where Doug and Joe provided excellent crewing (and an excellent opportunity for Kerry to drop when her tendinitis flared up). Aaron’s heel bursitis was also flaring, so at the aid station he told me to ‘Fly away, little bird’ for the next 7 miles of the dreaded ‘Road from the Sky’.

Running the long, straight road is dull enough, so I was particularly lonely running it without Aaron. But after that brutally slow mudfest, it was a somewhat welcome relief to be able to tick off some easier miles and look at something besides your feet for a bit. And there was something awfully nice about getting to that aid station at the end at mile 27 and being about to look back and see a mile of empty road with no one coming.

I was happy to catch up to two guys in the Sodds, including Matt Bugin, whose wife Holly I know from previous races. Given my complete ignorance of how to pace a 40-mile run, particularly those long gradual climbs in the Sodds, I was glad to have some guys to key off of, and I ran behind Matt to the end of the Sodds, where I took off down the long Salamander Ski slope. I spent much of the second half just trying to stay calm, cool, and collected. Whenever I felt my pace creeping up on me, I chided myself to ‘keep it in the pants’. Somehow this catchphrase always got me to slow down, maybe because it made me laugh so hard.

Although, as Brian G will attest to from last year, the last 5 miles of straight road are somewhat boring and onerous, it is awfully nice at the end of a race to be able to look back a half mile behind you and see nothing but empty road. By the time I rolled into the last aid station, I couldn’t see any runners behind me. I wasn’t wearing a watch, so I had no inkling that I was potentially set to break a CR. Apparently RD Dan Lehman had been tracking me and I went through the last aid station at 6:30-something and with 4.1 miles to go the CR was 7:03:51. But the end was mainly road (except for one abominable stretch of high grass that had turned to swamp in sections — by far Brian’s least favorite part of the finish when I paced him last year).

With no one behind me, I walked wherever it suited me. But fortunately after running for 7 hours there was an overwhelming drive to just get to the finish and I did sneak below the previous CR by a mere 30 seconds. More importantly, I felt strong and good and held my stomach, as my goal had not been to win, but to run a strong, comfortable race where I felt good. The last two aid stations I wasn’t having a whole lot of appetite, but I took a whole cup of ginger ale and made myself walk out of the aid station sipping it until I finished it. Honestly, if I had won the race, but barfed and felt terrible in the process, it would have been more disappointing than finishing 2nd or 3rd.

It was nice to be able to celebrate my good race with other WUSsies at the finish. Ragan finished second behind me, completing the WUSsie 1-2 domination reminiscent of the Women’s Half Marathon. She’s coming off a challenging spring of training while on sabbatical in NYC, which has a dearth of parks you can pee in. And Michele represented by winning the Masters division. It was an absolutely beautiful day, and Doug and Kerry continued to be angels of divinity by fetching a couple Siriani’s pizzas. There is a very friendly vibe at the finish area of Highland Sky, probably because all of us are so grateful to have had the opportunity to experience such a beautiful course — and so relieved to have survived its punishing design.

When we were driving home from the race, I remarked to Aaron that even though part of what we love about coming to our vacation house here in Canaan is getting away from everything and being entirely unfettered and unstructured with time and commitments, that the area has such a friendly and vibrant local community (including RD Dan Lehman, Adam Cassidy, Luke Fleishmen), that we should try to be more involved, even if it means having to set an alarm and plan a day from time to time.