2017 Massanutten 100: Thoughts From The Pain Cave

What if I flip my bib upside down?
Photo by Mike OGrady

 “Pain is only weakness leaving the body…..Pain is only weakness leaving the body…”

I was only at mile 44 when this mantra started flowing through my mind. With every step, I felt small needles digging into the bottom of my left foot. This exact pain was not familiar, but I knew it was more than scree and sand in my socks. Normally, I would keep running and diagnose the pain later, but with this being my first 100 miler, and so early in the race, I decided I needed to check it out. I sat down on a rock next to the trail, and took off my left shoe to survey the damage. It didn’t look good. I couldn’t tell if my skin was blistering or not, but it was puffy and starting to form deep crevices. 

As I started back down the trail I thought, “Oh well, I’ll get to Indian Grave in a few miles and figure it out there. And I have socks at Habron Gap, so suck it up buttercup.” Little did I know how much sucking it up I had to do over the next 22 hours. Pain and suffering would become the central theme of my race.

I decided on running the Massanutten Mountains Trails 100 for two reasons: I knew it was a hard 100, and it is in the Shenandoah Valley where my mom’s family has lived for the past 40 years. As a kid, I spent time with family in Stephen’s City, Front Royal, Harrisonburg, and Bridgewater. In a way, the Massanuttens feel like home. The familiar vistas east of I-81 are one of the reasons I love the Valley so much. It truly is a beautiful place. After I did a run on the Signal Knob trail on a winter day in 2014, I knew I wanted to be on these trails as much as possible. So, signing up for the MMT lottery was an easy decision, and I was stoked to get picked.

This was pinned to my office wall in January

My 10 week training block went well, and after a solid taper, I felt rested and ready to experience all that MMT had to offer. My goal was to finish, and to see how deep I needed to go to run 100 miles. Casey Fisher had encouraged me to run the Solo Division (no crew, no pacer, no headphones), partly because he thought I would enjoy the challenge and also because no one else I knew was available. Casey was tapering for UROC the next weekend, Don Riley and Brian Carr were both running MMT, and I didn’t feel like putting out the effort to recruit someone. Solo for my first 100? Sure! Sounded like an adventure. After a quick countdown to the 4am start, we were off across the field. Here we go! For the first 12 miles I felt great, and tried to keep a nice steady pace without much effort. My stomach felt a bit off, but I knew it would settle quickly, and soon enough, we rolled into Edinburg Gap where the hearty VHTRC volunteers were busy filling bottles and making sure we had everything we needed. 

Enjoying the early miles through Edinburg Gap.
Photo by Mike OGrady

On the climb to Powell Mountain, the clouds started filling in and the sliver of a sunrise off in the distance slowly disappeared. From watching the forecast, I knew there was a 36%-44% chance of rain in the morning, so I brought the Patagonia Houdini jacket just in case the rain was more than a drizzle or the temps dropped quickly. One thing I learned on the 3rd MMT training run was how quickly the weather can change in the Massanuttens. I got stuck in a thunder/rain/sleet squall on Jawbone that came out of nowhere and then left in a matter of minutes. It was crazy how fast it happened, so I wanted to be prepared on race day. Since the chance of rain was small, I wasn’t thinking it would have much of an impact. Boy was I wrong. It rained steadily from 9-1, and by the time I got to Elizabeth Furnace, my clothes were soaked, my feet hadn’t been dry in hours, but I was feeling great and moving well. Angela Russell was cheerfully volunteering at the busy aid station, and helped me quickly grab some calories for the trail. Soon I was headed up to Shawl Gap. I didn’t even think to change my socks here. My first rookie mistake, and it ended up being a big one!

 

Who needs a sock change at mile 33 but doesn't know it? This rookie!
Photo by Angela Russell

From the start of the race, the trails were relatively dry, but now, sliding down the muddy Shawl Gap Trail, I realized I hadn’t seen anything but standing water and mud for the last 10 miles or so. I’ve never been worried about wet feet before, and happily trudged through most of the worst spots on the trail without much thought. I was looking forward to get back on the ridges of the Massanutten Trail where I knew it would be dryer, albeit rockier, and my shoes could drain.

Typical course conditions all day!
Photo by Paul Encarnacion

Then came mile 44. “Pain is only weakness leaving the body….” With the foot issue now fully consuming me, I knew I was starting to lose time on the course. My run slowed to a jog, then settled in a fast power walk. I tried to keep up with Rob “Rockstar” Kolb for a few miles but once we reached Route 717 after Indian Grave he took off with his trademark power shuffle. Note to self: “I need to learn how to move like that!”

I got some much needed Vaseline at Indian Grave and then Habron Gap. At this point, both feet felt like mini torches, burning from the inside out. The volunteers looked at my sad, wrinkled skin, and didn’t really have much to say at that point. I now realized the socks I thought were at Habron were actually back at Elizabeth Furnace. Back 20 miles, where I didn’t even think to change them. I had a basic foot care kit in my Salomon pack, but there were no distinct blisters yet, just a mass of wrinkled skin that looked like a terrain map of mini canyons. I am a firm believer in only focusing on the things I can control and forgetting everything else. At that point of the race, there was nothing I could do about not having fresh socks, so I resolved to suck it up and move out of the aid station. I lubed up, and took off on what I knew would be a long stretch into the darkness before Camp Roosevelt. 

At the trailhead, I realized I forgot my headlamp and went back. Looking through my drop bag, I did not find it, and I was pissed. I had meticulously planned my bags and knew I had a Petzl lamp in there. Did someone else grab it by mistake? I spoke with the aid station captain and he said I could not go on without a light and he graciously offered me a little dollar store hand held. He looked me in the eye and said, “You better finish this race.” I knew he thought I wouldn’t make it. The crewless runner, with bad feet, no headlamp, headed up Habron Gap Trail just before dark. The classic DNF setup was all starting to come together. It was now around 6:20p and I know there is around 1.5 hours of daylight, probably less with the cloud cover.

I’ve never had macerated feet before. Pruned feet? Yes. But nothing that burned. For the uninitiated, maceration is well defined by John Vonhoff, “Maceration happens when skin becomes soft and wet for long periods of time. When you take off your socks and find your feet look like prunes, this is what has happened. The skin is tender and can fold over on itself, separating and creating problems. As layers of skin separate, blisters spread, the skin becomes whitish in color, and it can split open and bleed. It is very hard to patch feet when this has happened. Feet become so tender that every step is painful.”

Every step is painful. Yes, that is the truth! But for some reason, I was able to position my feet in such a way on the climbs, that I had very little pain going up. In fact, on the climbs, the feet became almost a non-issue and allowed my legs to take over. It boosted my spirits that I was able to keep up and sometimes even pass other runners on the climbs. This pattern of climbing well would continue through the entire race. Needless to say, the joy of easily finishing the Habron Gap climb would soon be overshadowed by the onset of the slow hike and the burning sensation with every step. It was here, near Jacks Notch on the ridge, that I began to make peace with ending my race. I knew I could limp into Camp Roosevelt where I would at least get on the Visitor’s List, but I knew I would be angry at myself for not planning my sock changes better, and for losing my headlamp. I looked southeast over the valley toward the lights of Luray and thought about my wife and kids who were staying there tonight just so they could see me cross the finish line tomorrow. What a waste of their time! At this point I needed to move, so I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Then Dan Hawk arrived. He was moving well, but took time to make sure I was ok and encouraged me to keep going. When I told him about my headlamp, he quickly pulled out an extra one and I felt a surge of energy. In that moment of kindness, it literally hit me. “You can finish this thing Josh.” I looked at my watch and told Dan that if I could manage the pain and keep moving, I had 20 hours to go 49 miles. “I can do this!” I exclaimed. I knew meeting Dan had saved my race. He gave me the boost I needed to carry on. And so we did, first off the Massanutten Mountain ridge, then into the darkness, down to Camp Roosevelt.

No socks in my drop bag at Camp Roosevelt either! It now felt like my race was custom designed this way by some sadistic Gamemaker from the Hunger Games. Except, I probably wasn’t going to get hacked to pieces by other runners, and I was somehow still in control of the final outcome. Like an old friend, I embraced my familiar rookie mistake and focused on what I could control. Tailwind, check. Long-sleeve shirt, check. Fenix HL55, check. I lubed up my feet with the traces of Vaseline that were left, grabbed some brownies, and headed up Duncan Hollow. Dan left the aid station with me, and in another amazing act of kindness, he offered me one of his trekking poles. Another huge boost of confidence that a fellow runner would help me in this way! Duncan Hollow was a joke of a trail at this point, but I was having such a bad day that it didn’t bother me at all. Ankle deep mud and water were nothing compared to the suffering I felt. All I really could do was laugh. Here I was, slogging up this river in the middle of the night in a race that I signed up for! I paid to do this! It was beautiful though. The sky was clear, the moon was out, and I tried to enjoy the sensation of the cold water cooling my burning feet. 

Duncan Hollow "Trail." Photo by Tim O'Donnell

We were soon welcomed by the music and party lights of the Gap Creek aid station, and immediately, two of the most amazing volunteers sat me down in a chair and began to work on my feet. After 70 miles of abuse, the blisters had formed, and with skill that only comes with ultra experience, these two trail angels cleaned my feet, popped blisters, taped me up, put on my clean socks (Finally a drop bag with something I needed!), washed my shoes, and sent me up Jawbone. I was pumped. These two kind souls knew what shape I was in. They knew I wanted to finish, and they worked on me faster than a NASCAR pit crew to get me going. I felt a surge of joy at their selflessness knowing it would propel me to the finish. At this point my new mantra became, “Just get to the next aid station.”

Call me a masochist, but Jawbone/Kerns Mountain is my favorite part of the MMT course. I ran it during the training run and loved it so much that I did a Gap to Gap run with Mark Broadwater a few weeks before the race. To me, it is what the hardest part of the race should be. Challenging and beautiful. Under full moon, 40 degree temps with a strong westerly wind, Dan and I moved relatively well toward the Visitor Center. We passed two or three runners who looked like zombies stumbling in their sleep. There was one moment on Kerns where the fog rolled through the lichen covered boulders and I had a moment of euphoria, feeling amazed that I had the opportunity to be out here in this hauntingly beautiful place. Or maybe I was just hallucinating? 

"When you're struggling, that's when you feel most alive." Dean Karnazes 

I knew Casey would be volunteering at the Visitor Center, and man was it good to see him! He told me I looked good, but to sit down and get my feet checked out again. Another amazing volunteer, Jen Lebendig, patched me up yet again, and I was off to Bird Knob, buzzing on a Starbucks Double Shot. I met Larry Watson at Bird Knob, which was really cool because he reminded me that our mutual friend, Melissa Wilson was cheering me on, and I kept moving down the fire road by feeding off of this energy. I hobbled most of the way to the Picnic Area and got to see Eric Eldridge who I met camping the day before. It was his first hundred, so it was cool to see how well he was doing.

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Jen working on my feet at the Visitor Center.
Photos by Casey Fisher

I took just a few minutes at the Picnic Area to top off my bottles and eat a few calories. At this point I knew without a doubt I would finish, but had to keep moving since my pace was so slow. I envied those who were sitting down enjoying their hot breakfast. They had luxuries that I could not afford. It was around this time that people really started to pass me. I saw Brian Carr and his wife Ashley for the last time, and a few other faces I recognized. They all took off running. I resolved to focus on only what I could control, and that was to maximize my pace, and not worry about how fast others could still move. Climbing up to the Scothorn Gap Trail was a long stretch. I really love this section of the course, and wanted to take in the rock formations, but all I could focus on was a steady push: up, up, up, and through the wet creek and then hobble down the rocky fire road to Crisman Hollow Road. 

 

Just another stream-like trail headed up to Scothorn Gap.
Photo by Ted Bielawa

After a few miles of gravel road shuffling, I get to Gap Creek again where I polished off a cheeseburger and took some Fritos for the trail. I catch two runners on Jawbone and that gives me a little pride that I have some facet of my body that works well enough to match another runner on the course! At the top of Jawbone, I pull out the bourbon that Casey gave me at the Visitor Center, and take a celebratory shot. It felt so good to stand there in the cool breeze, and for just a moment, enjoy what the last 98 miles of suffering had brought me. No time for deep reflection, just 5.7 miles to go. I remember from the training run, this last trail section was about 2 miles to Moreland Gap Road and I dreaded that last road section. I hit pavement and settled into my 22 min/mile shuffle. It was all I could do. The burning sensation was so intense that I played every mind game in the book to distract myself. Counted to 50 over and over, pinched my fingers, thought about fly fishing in that cool stream to my left, and then mostly prayed to God that my suffering would end soon. I stopped counting after getting passed by 15 runners. I was even getting passed by those who were walking! No one was moving as slow as me, but it was also clear that none were suffering as much as I was. Everyone was seemingly in high spirits, joking and telling stories, and all I had was the internal satisfaction of knowing what I had endured. Soon it would end. I was going to cross the finish line.

Just as I turned on the dirt road into the camp, I saw a few more familiar faces cruise past me. I was happy they were finishing, and soon, I heard the loudspeaker and eased my way across the footbridge to the grass. It was a surreal feeling to be running again, as I really hadn’t done that for almost 60 miles! I just hoped I could keep running long enough to see that stop sign in Kevin’s hand. Then, almost as nonchalantly as the race started, I crossed the finish line in 34:27. My first 100 was finally over.

At the finish with Don Riley.
Photo by Danielle Jones

Sweet buckle and beer glass!

Some Final Thoughts:

1. The VHTRC is an amazing club! Everything they do is top notch. From course markings, to volunteers, to aid stations, they know how to treat runners well.
2. The MMT training runs were invaluable. They are well organized, and provide an opportunity to run the entire course. I couldn’t imagine running my first MMT without at least some prior course knowledge. I ran the Gap to Gap section two times in training and it paid off.
3. Put socks in every drop bag and be prepared for wet feet. I’ve heard that 2017 was an unusually wet year, but it always rains at MMT, so don’t be like me, and get a good foot care plan in place, and be comfortable running in wet weather.
4. Remember my missing headlamp at Habron Gap? After the race I found out that I had moved it to my Elizabeth Furnace drop bag. It was stashed in a separate zip lock bag with a t-shirt that I did not need to change into. If I would have changed shirts, I would have seen the headlamp. Poor drop bag management was rookie mistake #2.
5. Consider running this race solo. Who needs a crew, pacer and headphones anyway? Honestly, a crew would have saved my race much earlier because they would have had socks and made me change them. But I don’t regret going solo. It made me problem solve on my own and proved that my motivations for finishing were 100% internal. To me, that’s an invaluable discovery, because now I know I have the ability to push through deep suffering, and that is going to come in handy for future races when I need strength. I found that running solo exposed my weaknesses and revealed my strengths in a way that a crew would not have allowed. Post-race, I’ve got some stuff to fix, and some good stuff to build on.
6. Be a kind ultra-runner. I am indebted to Dan Hawk for giving me an extra headlamp and trekking pole. Next time you see a runner in need, think about what you have to offer them. It just might save their race!

Thanks again to VHTRC, Kevin Sayers, and all of the amazing volunteers who make MMT so special. I will be back to cross that finish line again!