Chocolate, Chimneys, and (Gut) Checks

Last Saturday I went to New Hampshire to torture myself with a double mountain-climbing 50K.

Because? Because chocolate.

After I ran the Boston Marathon in 2017, Joyce and I went up to Manchester, New Hampshire to celebrate her birthday. The B&B owners referred us to a great chocolate shop nearby. This was the Dancing Lion, and we spent a wonderful couple of hours there with the owner, Richard Tango-Lowy, a world-class chocolatier. But they are closing in October, and I had to say goodbye to him in person, so I planned a trip out there during a rare free weekend between zero waste events. And as long as I was there, why not check for a race in the area?

As it turned out, August 30 was the Black Bear Trail races, including a 50K. My first ultra in New England? I’m in! Sure, the elevation profile didn’t look so friendly, but basically, I’d done that with the first 50K at Tahoe, and at double the altitude to boot. Deep respect? Sure. Afraid? No.

I should have been.

My drive there (sick of flying and its hassles), didn’t start well. My phone bricked and I found out just how dependent I’ve become on it. (That will be the subject of a future post.) But after a stop with Internet, I wrote down the remaining directions and got to my hotel okay.

Friday morning after procuring a used phone at a repair shop, I went to the Dancing Lion, only to find out that Richard was in Costa Rica, and wouldn’t be back for a couple weeks! I had ignored the first rule of such trips – call to confirm before making travel plans. So it will take another trip to see him in person once more. (Hopefully the subject of another future post.)

On I went to Waterville Valley to prep for the race. I had a good plan detailing what to wear, how to eat and hydrate, and a general sense of how to attack the course. A checkout run with a loaded pack went just fine, and I was in the starting queue on Saturday at 6:00 a.m.

Ready to go, thinking I’m all prepared for what lies ahead. Ignorance is bliss!

And yet I started on the wrong foot. I thought I’d misplaced my phone, and after finding it in my jacket pocket, started a bit late and with my jacket still on. Fixing that meant I was dead last for a while, and I was cursing myself for putting too much in my pack. As it turned out, a lot of runners ahead took a wrong turn, so when they got back on the correct path, I was right in the middle of them. A good thing, as I needed them during the long climb ahead.

I’d expected a steep climb. I had not expected boulder walls. “These are what we call New Hampshire staircases, Michigan Jeff,” the locals informed me. I had no idea which way to go, so I followed the others until my brain picked up the “trail” contours and I could manage solo as the steep climbs continued. And then…

You know you’re headed for trouble when the locals say, “We’ve got The Chimney coming up,” and they all start chuckling. Without further ado, here’s a photo, along with a link to someone’s blog with more photos of the “trail” up Osceola Mountain.

The “easy” way up on the left was blocked by people coming down, so I went up the center. Think I”m ready for El Capitan?

Well, I got up the thing! Many thanks to my trainer Skip at Body Specs for pushing my body with strength and stability work, because my legs felt strong the entire way, and while I slipped and fell a couple of times, they were not serious.

Summit! One down, one to go…if I can hold myself together.

The biggest problem turned out not to be going up, but coming down, over more boulder fields. I had to carefully pick my way down while the locals bounded past me like mountain goats. Talk about humbling. About a half mile before the aid station at mile 17, I hit a (mental) low. If the second mountain, Tecumseh, was anything like this, I was DONE. Couldn’t take no more of this. Ghosts of my three DNFs this year – Rocky Raccoon, Ozark Foothills, and Tahoe – danced in front of me, inviting this race to join them.

You’ve never had a DNF in a 50K before, my remaining scrap of rationality reminded me. So don’t. I agreed with myself to ask at the aid station. They assured me that Tecumseh, while just as steep, had far fewer rocks and an easier downhill. So on I pushed. And they were right, although miles of straight downhill on ski hills and roads after the summit was no easy task. Thanks again to Skip for beating my quads into shape!

Made it! Whew. What a day.

I crossed the finish line in 10 hours, 30 minutes – my slowest-ever 50K and nearly double my average time – but still well ahead of the 12-hour cutoff. I rank it among my toughest races of any distance. And in another ‘ignorance is bliss’ moment. I ran for a while with someone doing his first-ever ultra. He’d signed up for this race with no clue what a 50K was like. I told him if he got through this (he did), his next one would feel like nothing.

Lessons learned? Bringing extra water was good. My body adjusted to the extra weight of my pack and I never ran out. But I would use the hiking poles less. They were the most help climbing a dirt trail and got in the way sometimes in the tricky parts. I should also practice downhills more, albeit somewhere where a misstep doesn’t result in a 200-foot tumble over rocks.

But the biggest takeaway was regaining my ability to push through something hard without giving up. I’m not used to DNFs, with only five out of nearly 50 ultras, but this year was getting to me. It’s been a good reminder that a) ultrarunners do ultras because they are hard and there are no guarantees, and b) a few failures don’t make you a failure. As George M. Moore, Jr. wrote, “A winner is just a loser who tried one more time.”